Some really pretty Chinese girls and learning about China (Nov21 issue A)

This is a continuation of my posts on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. It’s all good fun. The idea behind this, is of course, to help expose people to what China is like, and by doing so while watching pretty girls. As the women within a nation are the best description that you can ever get of a nation and it’s society.

I’ve been putting this all off for a while as I have been dealing with other things and other issues, and then today, I am reading comments to my posted articles on LinkedIN. And some of them are astounding on how absolutely STUPID Americans have become. I mean STU-PID!

"You have now idea what kinds of filthy lives the Chinese live."

I don’t?  I’ve only been living here for twenty years now.

And..

"You are crazy to ever want to live in that Communist sweat-shop. I hope that you enjoy your lack of freedom in that gulag."

Coming from an American in Philadelphia. Tell me about all that “Philadelphia freedom” eh? And…

"More lies from the fifty cent agitprop."

What’s an agitprop?

Sigh.

Ok. China is not just a match of the bulk of American middle class, it has surpassed it, and the bulk standard of living for the vast majority of Chinese is well beyond anything that Americans can ever hope to have.

Chinese homes are not made out of the cheapest materials or substances.

  • China windows = thick 6mm vacuum dual pane with aluminum anodized frames
  • USA windows = thin 3mm glass with cheap plastic vinyl frames.

Or the flooring…

  • China flooring = Real actual stone (marble, granite) on reinforced cement.
  • USA flooring = carpet over lowest cost plywood.

Or the doors…

  • China doors = Solid wood interior. Hardwood facing. Metal exterior doors.
  • USA doors = Interior doors are sandwich panel. Outside doors are typical vinyl.

In China, the typical family owns two houses all paid for and at least one car.

They enjoy working at companies with a two hour long lunch that includes nap time, and allowances for alcohol consumption . They get yearly bonuses.

They also have two months off a year for vacation that they must take. Nearly free healthcare. Top rate transportation and infrastructure, and for the vast bulk of the Chinese, only one singular tax. An income tax which is roughly fixed at 3%.

America cannot even dream of competing.

All, and the only thing that it can do, is lie.

The images

When you look at these women, look at their homes around them.

Or this one. These are typical kitchens. This is the real China.

The Girls

I’ve packed the girls up in neat zip files. You simply download the file, unzip it,  and they start watching the movies. 

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Most are very short. Under a minute, some are only seconds long. And some are screen videos with either me, my kid, my wife, or others talking in the background. Well, it’s a mess. If you think you can do better, then do so.

Some really awesome gals here. Like REALLY.

Some Examples

Here’s a video or two to show you what is inside these ZIP files. Don’t be the jackass that looks at the pictures, fails to download the content, and says “oh they are pretty, but American girls are so much more attractive”.  Download and view, otherwise the message is not provided.

It’s like going into a restaurant filled with delicious food, taking a few sniffs, and then leaving without tasting the food.  (Video)

Don’t be that guy. (Video)

Seriously now. Don’t be that jackass.

Lecture time

I notice that many of the Americans that talk with me are grouchy, irritable and demanding. I think that it is because their world is crumbling all around them and there is nothing that they can do about it.

They are wrong.

YOU can do something about the world around you. You can make your tiny slice of the world good, and decent and special. Like this person does…

And he strikes again.

Make the most of your skills and talents. He made these women smile. He made them happy. he made their day. He uplifted their spirits. What are you doing today? Are you making a difference in the world, or are you just going sit there and demand others work so you have something to criticize?

If we all work together

The oligarchy wants people to live in tiny boxes surrounded and manipulated by fears.

Just look at what amounts to “news” these days.

But if you venture out, and become part of your society, and when you participate with others. When you don’t ask for anything. You just be good, nice, kind and helpful… together we all can CHANGE the world.

Be the Rufus.

Please be the Rufus

Do the good works that make the world a little bit better place to live.

Do you want more?

I have more posts related to this in my Pretty Girls of China index here…

Pretty Chinese Girls

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Another nice collection of pretty Chinese girls – look at what China is today

Here is another article in my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. This particular collection is a response to a Bloomberg article of never ending hate found on LinkedIN that was splashed all over Gab, Freerepublic, and the normal set of mouthpieces… FOX, CNN, MSN, etc. etc. etc.

Someone please screenshot his series of tweets and translate into English. I understand he has begin to criticize the western media ongoing negativity against China. 

One of his tweets claims his dream of being a journalist has been destroyed by the requirement to keep up the massive campaign of anti-China demonetization over the years of his journalism career. 

https://mobile.twitter.com/javihagen

Yada. Yada. Yada.

You know this multi-million dollar funded program of lies and distortions is really too high of a mountain for me to climb. So I won’t even bother. If you are still too brain-dead to see that it is all propaganda, then it’s not my business to change your mind. It’s your reality. Soak it in. How’s it going for you?

Are you a better person for believing that China is a pile of shit?

The idea behind these “pretty girls of China” articles is to give everyone a rather unique chance to see what China is… without someone yelling (at the top of their lungs) you are only showing the “wealthy” not the “real” people of China.

Yeah. Right.

What ever you say…

What ever you say…

This view is of the girls, or all sizes and shapes posting their videos on Douxing. Some are just being attractive butterflies. While others are just being cute and playful. Still others show off their wonderful eyes and nice cheeks. Some have amazing eyebrows (to die for – I’ll tell you what), while many have a nice backside, bouncy chest, or artistic arms.

Attributes that I love. By the way.

By looking at these videos you get to see what China is in all of it’s totality. You see the poor, the average, the wealthy. You see it all.

This is what China is.

  • Are they starving from famine?
  • Are the buildings in disrepair and neglect?
  • Are they yearning for (that delicious) freedom™ and democracy™?
  • Are they all wearing blue uni-sexy clothing?
  • Do they look like they are abused?

Today is a morning rain Thursday.

It’s right after the mid-autumn festival and normally it’s a cooler time of the year and dryer. Not this year. It has been hot and very humid. Being at the dew point for the last five or so days. Ugh!

Today we had a morning rain. This is what it looked like.

Anyways, that’s what it is like where I live. Video is from my back porch. My “laundry” porch.

You know, there is a calmness in the rain that I enjoy.

It’s a relaxing peace.

It doesn’t matter if you are in a car… or in a truck in a corn field… or if you are in a tent on the side of a gurgling brook. It is the same. Whether you are in a nice cozy bedroom, and reading a book in a gathering darkness living room. Or a porch…

…a rain is lovely. Don’t you think?

A lovely rain.

I’m a little hungry

As the rain falls, it’s sort of cozy inside. It’s dry. Nice. Quiet. Peaceful. A perfect time to snack.

So I made myself a “Back to School” sandwich.

A “Back to school” sandwich.

About the concept here…

Let’s get on to the girls of China, eh?

The idea here is that you would look at the girl, and in the process concentrate on the background around her. Because these are the “real deals”. This is what China is. And while the girls want you to focus on them, their eyes, their faces, their bodies, the background tells us much about where they live.

Besides… who doesn’t like to look at attractive people?

She’s attractive. Right?

A typical girl of Communist China.

Girls and food

The girl above is most certainly a cheeseburger gal. Maybe with a pearl tea, a side of fries, perhaps a beer later on. Not too much though, and a nice stroll though a park. I can picture it.

You have to be able to viscerally imagine and image your role in the world that surrounds you.

A fine delicious burger.

To Open the Files

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between  one and a half to four minutes long. All told each zip file will give you about five to ten minutes of viewing. So it’s a pretty quick event once you download the archives and open them up.

Another beautiful girl of Communist China.

I find the ladies lovely. But others might not.

For you others, well, I really hope that you are not too bored.

While I tend to prefer ladies with a more motherly and robust appearance, I find all of them to be very attractive. From the tall thin leggy beauties to the short cute little kitten like cuddle balls. One of the things that I enjoy about China are the oval face and the oval eyes.

Like this girl here…

You can learn so much about (Communist) China just by looking at the girls and the surroundings.

Girls remind me of food

Long time readers of MM will well know of my association of women and food. For some odd reason, I associate girls with types of food. Just like I associate guys with cars, truck, motorcycles and construction machinery.

I’m a Mercedes Benz C-class, if you must know.

If MM were a car.

Many times I will imagine myself taking this or that particular woman out and enjoying a nice meal together, having a great conversation.

Drinking some wine.

More talk. More wine.

A couple of jokes. Some crazy light-hearted stuff.

Just having a nice time. You know, dressed up a little bit. Shined and buffed shoes. Beard trimmed. Nice cologne. Finger nails manicured. A nice well chosen restaurant.

Or even if it is just a nice “burger joint”, you all can make it special with a theme. You eat and then go for a walk on the boardwalk, or explore a mall and window shop. Or even just ride those rent-a-bikes together.

There’s nothing stopping you from a fine delicious hamburger.

Some key points

Beauty is up to the person who views it. Not everyone agrees what is beautiful or not. Which is just fine. I think that there is a woman for every man, and a man for every woman.

Or, in the case of the movie “Land of the Lost” (2009), maybe 7000 girls for every man.

A happy ending on “Land of the Lost”.

And I have said this many, many times before.

You all have to close that “idea” or concept that what you should do, should date, should eat, should consume, should inject your selves with, is what is being defined by your electronic media. It isn’t.

None of that garbage is real.

Try running a prayer / affirmation campaign based on the images and directions that you get off the media, television, movies or social media. Then you’ll see.

You, and only you, can define what you like.

Not media.

Whether it is an apple on the table, a new pair of shoes, a nice car, or making friends with someone. You are the only person who can make that decision.

Beautiful girls and women are all over the world. These are the girls of China.

Now, when I was younger, my tastes in women were shaped by the images and magazines of the time such as Playboy, and Penthouse. That’s all I had to go on, and as a young man, with my hormones a raging, all I could do is tremble as I asked a girl out.

Which most of the time was a failure.

But it’s all a growth phase that we all go through.

Now, all I want to do is meet folk, and share a meal, some drink and a laugh. And if we hit it off and have a great conversation, well, buy goodness gracious! That’s marvelous!

A fine healthy woman that I would love to share a hot pot and some wine with.

Guys.

You know it, or you will.

And eventually you reach a balance point where your hormones are under control and all you really want to do is get to know the girl, have a good time together, and enjoy the moments. And really as you get older this becomes more and more pronounced.

Yikes!

Men change as they age.

Nah. It’s all good.

You savor the steaks you eat. You enjoy the perfume she wears, you listen to her talk and enjoy the night air after the dinner. You joke, you laugh, and maybe sing a song or two while walking on the jetty.

Women are magical.

Women are magical and wonderful.

I think that the beauty of these videos is that in a few seconds you can see the “personality” of the ladies as they try to display their charms for the world to see. It’s their choice of clothing, the area where the video was filmed, the selection of music, the way their hair is done up, and so much more.

Each little video is like a window to the soul. Where you get a little glimpse of the girl behind the mask. That little presentation is just pure gold.

The pandemic (Bio-weapons attack) really put a clamp on everyone’s style.

Some have personality.

And some really do. While others just have a strong softness. Some are calm and composed, some are happy and light. And some are stunning and serious while others remind you of Summer carnival rides, cotton candy and “bear claw” cakes to s’munch upon.

A steak dinner girl. She reminds me of red lipstick, a dry red wine. Baked potatoes and candlelight in a high-rise restaurant.

Some have a great body.

They have long legs, or great dimples. Some have just long, long hair or dark, dark eyes. Some have a soft touch, while others have a careful composed prettiness.

Some have a great personality.

Some are special in ways that cannot be adequately explained.

A thin, curvy body, long hair. What’s not to love?

Some just look great in a particular outfit, while others just fit the particular environment. Girls, ladies, women are like beautiful flowers that should be treasured and cherished. For they are all wonderful.

A little aside...

In 2004 - 2005 the Winter fashion for all the women in China were these knee-high boots. I have no idea what it was all about, but it drove me into a sexual frenzy every time I saw a girl in those things. And believe you me, they were friggin' everywhere.

Later on, Spring came and it was ultra-high mini-skirts and "ladder" high heels. (Yeah, 6" (150cm) high) High heels. Lord, how could you possibly walk in those things. But it was an awesome spectacle.

Anyways...

But do not mistake the cuteness of a tiger for the damage it could cause if you angered it. Chinese women are very, very capable people. You can take that “to the bank”. Never fail to understand that they are strong, knowledgeable and powerful in their own right.

Oval face with nice eyebrows. How is it even possible?

All are wonderful.

Such is the beauty of women. And for us, and for everyone, we need to appreciative the world around us more.

A beautiful girl of China. This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

That fat gal at the store that you see every day, she’s a kind, lovely beauty, who could use some TLC. There is nothing stopping you for saying hi, and saying something nice. Just do it, and if they don’t understand… well, don’t worry about it. Your mission is just to be nice.

It’s easy for me because the girls in China like to listen to others saying good and nice things about them. They get this big old smile. It’s like a sun shining though parting clouds. Try it some time.

Maybe if you two hit if off and don’t want to go out and get a coffee, how about a nice back or leg massage. Here in China it’s pretty cheap and a good way to pass a few hours. You just sit back and get pampered. I love it and I am a man, and all the gals I know think that this is a most excellent idea. It’s a great way to spend some time with someone you just met.

A nice relaxing massage. Yessur!

And that older woman wearing that elaborate outfit, just look at her, see how the light plays upon the details.

Oh, and I do love a cheerful gal with a sense of humor.

Cute and playful at any age. That’s how we should all be. Don’t you agree?

And that young girl going out with “her crew”, see the beauty of her age around and what they are doing. There’s a world of cheap eats out there. Ice cream cones to share. BBQ to enjoy. Little pockets of nachos and chips. French fries. Sushi.

Food and friends.

Lot’s of smiles all around.

What could possibly be nicer?

Share some delicious food with some new friends.

We have to be more aware, and certainly more appreciative.

When I meet a woman I always think of scenarios. Whether it is hiking in mountainous crags looking for the mysteries of the past, or having a cup of coffee in a pub on a foggy day. This is true whether it is images of romantic nights or just fun times on a train, or trolley. I always think of scenarios.

Cherish the moments.

Of course, I wasn’t always this way.

When I was younger, my mind was fully dedicated to sex and the more visceral elements of relationships. It’s that darn testosterone that all males have pumping through their body. But now that I am older I cherish so much more.

I cherish everything.

Most especially the little things. Like the details on her purse (You can tell a lot about a woman by her purse.) to the smell of her shampoo to how she treats her fingernails.

Oh by the way...
I do love those purses that have those little baubles and pockets and whimsy's all over it. But that is just me.

To the shoes she wears.

Notice the fingernails on this gal.

I do love the more sturdy and robust women.

The Videos

Let’s have a look at the videos shall we? I’ve got a bunch for certain.

What a beautiful set of legs. I would love to see her in a little black dress. I’d bet that she would look like steamed fish and oysters with a chardonnay.

In this particular post we will look at these groups of videos. I do hope that you enjoy them…

Collection one. FF-A

Download the archive HERE. 131MB.

 

FF-A

Collection Two. FF-B

Download the archive HERE. 155MB.

FF-B

Collection Three. FF-C

Download the archive HERE. 135MB.

FF-C

Collection Three. FF-D

Download the archive HERE. 196MB.

FF-D

Collection Three. FF-E

Download the archive HERE. 151MB.

FF-E

Collection Three. FF-F

Download the archive HERE. 141MB.

FF-F

You all might wonder why I am posting these pictures on the internet. But you shouldn’t.

Try to find pictures of beautiful girls from China using Google, Bing or any American or Western search engine. What you will get are stock images, advertisements, pictures of children, and professional photos associated with some Western “journalism”.

Google the women of China… this is what you will get.

What an American search engine thinks the women of China look like.

Nonsense.

This in these series of articles, is what it’s really like.

This is the real, honest to goodness deal.

Oh, and don’t leave yet! Let’s talk about the girls for a spell….

She is wearing a lovely short skirt, that flows outwards. What fun. I am a real sucker for cute dresses and skirts. I really am.

Cute skirts

I really, I mean REALLY, love cute dresses or shirt flowing dresses. They are like sunshine and flowers under a rainbow sky. They are like popcorn, and blueberries and cream on a hot Summer day. They are like lipstick, and smile and cute little purses big enough for a cell phone, some makeup and a tissue.

They are like this. VIDEO.

I just love how those skirts move. It’s like poetry.

TWICE – What is love MV.

Gosh! I just love those cute dresses! OMG!

Swish. Swish. Swish.

And I also really like the puffy yellow one, and the pearl dress to the right, don’t you know.

About the girls

These girls are mostly between the ages of 18 years and 45 years old. The vast bulk of them are in their late 20’s. In China, if you are a woman, the ages between 23 years old and 30 years old are the dating years where you look for a husband worthy to start a family with. In China, if a woman cannot find a man by the time she is 28, she is considered a Spinster.  And is considered unmarriageable.

This lass is approaching the unmarriageable age, and in a few months she will be considered a “spinster”.

The age to get married for a woman in China is between 25 and 28. If they do not get married their entire family will sponsor these date-a-thons where they will have these programmed courting-rituals where the girl and the boy (part of a long line of boys) will spend time together.

The family won’t tell the girl beforehand either. She’ll walk into the house, and before she knows it, she’s on the fast track to get married. In the USA we call this a “shotgun wedding”. Only in China it’s the other way around.

The fish shape is considered very attractive in China.

I don’t know about you’se guys, but all these girls look pretty darn marriageable to me.  They would be on the “A” list in any man’s personal list.

Isn’t China beautiful.

Comment

To give you an idea of just how evil the United States and their client nations (UK, Japan, Australia) are, they want to have a war with China, and start killing all these lovely, lovely people.

They want to kill all these women here for democracy™ and freedom™!

And don’t give me that bullshit that a war “isn’t going to happen”.

American Military expenditures as a function of GDP is higher than at any other time for any other war in the entire history of America. The USA is planning for a very large, long duration conventional war against China.

Hey!

I’ve got news for you all.

It ain’t gonna be conventional, and it isn’t going to be against China alone.

It’s going to be the USA (+it’s surrogate nations) against a unified nuclear Asia. And not to see that reflects a true head in the sand regarding the true and real situation in this world today.

So enjoy what you have around you now.

Enjoy what you have. Spend time with friends and family. If you see someone make friends with them. Especially if you want to know them better. There is no better time than right now.

Who know what it might lead to. Eh?

James Bond.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

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Why everyone from 6 years olds to those in retirement, within China, are all ready to fight tooth and nail to survive.

This article is about China. More specifically it is about the people of China and why everyone has military training, and why everyone is organized into military units, and why everyone is willing to blow up the rest of the world in a nuclear fireball without giving it a second thought. Yeah. It’s what all the bullshit out of Washington DC is saying, except they are not telling you that China is backed into a corner and this time…  THIS time, they are ready.

No. This is not your usual hate – hate – hate China bullshit that flows so readily out of the Western media mouthpieces. No, this is just an American expats view on what I see, based upon what I know, and in my discussions with members of other black programs. China is ready. Russia is ready, and Iran is ready, and the out of control “loose cannon” that America is is just about ready to have it’s wings clipped.

Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.

Introduction

I’ve written about all this before. I’ve discussed training for military warfare starting at six years old to the unification of the social structure, and the intense anger towards what happened in China by the Japanese. There’s no need to rehash much of that. You all can go through the archives.

The big news this week is how Australia has torn up it’s agreements with France and the EU to become the nuclear staging point for American submarines in the South Pacific. Big News! Except no one else really understands the implications.

Let this video tell you…

By hosting American nuclear weapons, Australia has now made itself a target for immediate decapitation were a war between the USA and China to break out. There is no way that it can remain neutral. All of it’s coastal cities are now at risk for total and complete obliteration.

Sheesh.

No one is taking China seriously and this is disturbing.

No one understands

Given the great ignorance in the Untied States and much of the West, it should be understandable. But it isn’t. I see otherwise intelligent people saying that a big buildup towards war is a good thing.  Maybe it’s because they haven’t held their loved ones in their arms while they died away in a painfully bloody broken death.

War is not a computer simulation.

War is not social media or a talk show.

War is not a newspaper you read while drinking your morning coffee. Nor it is a news feeds that you swipe away.

It is a nasty, nasty earth-shattering event. And it is coming to the West faster than you can what “wat”?

Even if the USA launches a first-strike nuclear salvo…

Systems are NOW in place to fucking throw America back into the coal age. You all do know what I mean by the coal age, eh?

It’s January 20th. Snow is blowing outside. There is no gasoline for your cars. All electrical systems are fried. Refrigerators are gone. Computer is a useless door stop. Cell phones are all dead. And you haven’t eaten for three weeks.

Coal age.

Here’s a small video of what each God Damn City in China has for their LOCAL RESERVIST CADRES… (VIDEO). Yes. This it the local reservist militia. Just imagine what the actual military would be like.

Local reservists.

Afghanistan it ain’t.

These are God Damn reservists guys. Do you have any fucking idea of what a war against China would be like?

It would be like a tiger against a Chihuahua.

No, it’s not going to be a throw back to the iron age (as I suggested before). Not the bronze age. Not the stone age. It’s gonna be into the coal age. The few straggling survivors will need to figure out how to make fire from sticks, how to tan hides for clothing, and how to farm without mechanized machinery.

75% of America will die.

Oh that’s so unfair, you might meep!

Some basic History.

Japan took over China and abused it horribly. This occurred after nearly 100 years of abuses of the British and European rule. If anyone thinks that China will “turn the other cheek” they are mistaken. China is ready for pay-back time. (video)

I do not blame them.

Somehow…

Somehow, everyone thinks that China is a peer manufacturer. Equal to that of the manufacturing giants of the West. Wrong. China is THE global manufacturer and they make everything and they have been busy making all sorts or reliable weapons systems for their 1.6 billion people nation. They do not play around.

(Video)

China does not play.

Learn to pay attention.

This is supposed to be a message to the American military establishment. Check out all those neutron bomb smart missiles. Yes, tactical missiles for use in conventional warfare. I guess that the American military are too brain dead to realize that any war with China will be nuclear.

Vehicle after vehicle of ugly, messy, dirty neutron warhead missiles. Some for taking out land targets like towns and cities. Some for taking out fleets of ships, flotillas and armadas. Some for blasting the entire sky into a fireball to wipe out aircraft assaults.

Watch it.

(Video)

Any war with China will be a nuclear war.

Why all this military posturing?

Well… The United States is being a fucking dick. The out of control giant is all about war, and the entire purpose of the QUAD is to support a war against China. Let’s be real. It’s not about fishing. It’s not about technology transfer. It’s not about immigration. It’s not about borders. It’s about conducting a war against China via the QUAD surrogates.

So China is ready.

Only an idiot (which pretty much describes most of the Western “leadership”) would still even conceive taking on Russia / China and Iran / North Korea simultaneously.

But you know…

While all this public display of terror and bluster is unsettling, let’s not forget what is going on behind the scenes.

Taiwan

What is NOT BEING REPORTED in the American “news”…

From PM…

An important event is going to happen tomorrow (Saturday;  Sep. 25th) but one can’t seem to find any news reports in the West about it.
.
Taiwan’s Kuomintang, the political party of Dr. Sun Yat-sen and Chiang Kai-shek, is going to elect a new leader. No one cares, right? Kuomintang has been totally discredited by its string of failures.
.
Its young members have left the sinking ship in droves.
.
There is no hope when all the candidates are well known imbeciles who know nothing beyond repeating the same drivel that everyone is tired of hearing.
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Yes, let’s get back to the 1992 Consensus and keep the ambiguous status quo forever, as if Xi will let that happen.
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I have a Taiwanese friend (an old ROC soldier, descendant of the Yunnan warlord’s clique) who is so disgusted with the KMT that he has given up hope that the party will survive.
.
Until a professor and the principal of the Sun Yat-sen School  leaps into the fray, and over the course of one month, goes from being an unknown to the top of the polls over his three opponents, two of them with significant entrenchment in the party.
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His name is Chang Ya-chung [张亚中]. How does he do it? He advocates unification with mainland China to form One-China!

The grassroot support for Prof Chang is amazing.
.
There are thousands of comments on Youtube clips in which the dark horse candidate explains his policy, and practically 100% supports him.
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It appears that he has stirred up a political storm.
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If he intends to push for unification regardless of whether he wins the KMT leadership or not, and therefore creates a movement, he may become a power to be reckoned with.
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In fact, Prof Chang could overturn the Taiwan political “applecart“.
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We are now faced with several scenarios all of which mean the realization of the One-China union probably within the next five years. Let me explain. It’s another long essay; have patience.
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I wrote in August of 2020 about a great strategic opportunity for China to unilaterally unify with Taiwan with minimal risk.
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It was based on the predictions, all of which were backed by simple observation, that (1) Trump would certainly lose the election (2) Trump would certainly not concede (3) Trump would therefore try to destabilize America in order to remain president (4) Trump would likely not succeed but he would create a royal mess (5) Biden would no doubt continue the war on China, and would use Taiwan as a pawn. Biden’s public protestations of America’s love of peace are laughable lies that will fool no one. 
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All of the predictions have come about.
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There was however an overestimation of Trump’s team. Trump was not surrounded by geniuses, and rather than stopping the legal ratification of the Electoral College’s votes in December, he used the mob to disrupt the formality at Congress in January. It was an asinine and meaningless task. Trump will suffer the consequences of his stupidity. 
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At the end of October 2020, just a few days before the presidential election, I wrote another article explaining how it would be possible for China to unilaterally effect reunification with Taiwan without much risk of bloodshed.
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One only needs to look at how Russia reunified with Crimea without firing a single bullet, and recently how easy it has been for the Taliban to reconquer Afghanistan to know that it’s possible.
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First of all, the narrative must be changed from “Unification by Military Force” or Wutong [武统] to “Defending Taiwan from Traitors and Foreigners.”
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I’d like to see anyone try to stop the PLA from doing its duty of defending the sovereignty of China.
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ROC soldiers are conscripted, most of them are ordinary young men and women with a family and the prospect of going home to live a long and fruitful life, hopefully in a peaceful and prosperous society.
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They’re not going to be stupid, as long as they understand that the PLA is coming to help them do their job, which is also to defend Taiwan from traitors and foreigners.
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Now, it is not possible that I was the only person who had the perspicacity to notice the strategic situation.
General Miley noticed it and he made secret calls to his counterpart in China before the election on Oct. 30th and two days after the Jan. 6 Trump revolution fiasco.
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Pundits and mouthpieces have made all kinds of comments on Miley’s secret calls to the enemy, but they’re all wrong. It was indeed as General Miley had explained, he was simply doing his job.
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General Miley called to deliver a tiresome Nixonian madman threat–we have a mad man at the helm and he may send nukes your way, so don’t do anything to give him an excuse.
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The poor general also had to deliver a contradicting message–at the same time, America is not falling apart; everything is hunky dory and the well-oiled machine is running smoothly.
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Which is to say, the Pentagon and the army are standing ready to attack when ordered. 
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If I was General MIley and I knew China had a window of opportunity to take Taiwan at no cost, completely turning the geopolitical tables on the US ring of fire around China, as well as controlling the majority of the world’s output in microchip, that’s what I would do to stop them.
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If I was China, I would of course ignore him.
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America is good at posturing and bullying small countries; just check out its wars since WWII.
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It will not destroy its dollar hegemony and the printed façade of its wealth by starting a nuclear war with China.
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Just think if you’re the owner of a vast orchard with your finger on a button that will burn everything to ashes, including yourself and your family, would you do it just to kill off squirrels picking nuts from your trees?
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I guess not.
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The madman threat is just a ruse. it won’t even fool the squirrels. As I said before, not a single American will die for Taiwan. The orchard owners are not as stupid as we think, or they would not be owners and we their slaves.
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I think, although I don’t know for sure, that China should know about all this, but it probably felt that a major factor was missing, and therefore preferred to wait for another opportunity.
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This factor is mentioned in the second article.
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Once the PLA takes Taiwan, how will China govern it?
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It is a headache if you do not know for certain that everything will run smoothly rather than turn into a bloody mess. China no longer trusts the KMT, whose leaders are discredited and ridiculed, how can China depend on them to maintain order?
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The emergence of Prof Chang and his army of ardent supporters from the general population provides a clarity that China needs for the Unification. .
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What China needs is to change its narrative of Wutong to defending China and Taiwan.
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The final contest for the KMT Chair is between Prof Chang Ya-chung and KMT Party apparatchik Eric Chu Li-luan [朱立伦]. The younger incumbent Johnny Chiang Chi-chen [江启辰] is a distant third. The fourth candidate Cho Po-yuan [卓伯源] is non-existent.
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Prof Chang and Eric Chu are in a dead heat.
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No one can predict the outcome of Saturday’s vote. Prof Chang’s participation and his Unification policy will at a minimum create a historic turnout.
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The dark horse candidate is already causing much excitement not only for the KMT but his carrion call for peace talks with mainland China is eliciting a groundswell of support from outside the party.
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This exposes the lie that people of Taiwan support only DPP’s (Democratic Progressive Party) policy of antagonism against China or KMT’s policy of the everlasting status quo of ambiguity.
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A new and powerful voice says let us negotiate for union and peace for prosperity and a future for our children, and it is resonating on the island. 
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Scenario 1: Prof Chang wins the chair and proceeds with his Unification plan. I won’t go into details here, but his plan is a viable one and receives quite a bit of grassroot support even at this early stage.
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It may have something to do with Prof Chang’s charisma and his ability to win all his debates by logic and eloquent elocution, letting his opponents expose themselves as morons and moral midgets.
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Assuming the Unification path becomes a KMT policy, it will culminate in the presidential election in 2024 as a contest of KMT’s peace with China vs DPP’s antagonism leading inevitably to war with China.
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If KMT’s candidate wins, then there will be a peaceful progression towards a negotiated unification.
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Let me place a caveat right here. It will likely not happen smoothly because the US will not let it happen. When push comes to shove, expect the chaos of Hong Kong to repeat on the streets of Taiwan or worse. 
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Scenario 2: Many obstacles stand in front of Prof Chang even if he wins the KMT Chair. He may have to resign because the party scuttles his Unification plan, his Unification MOU with China may not be passed in KMT, and the KMT presidential candidate may lose out to the DPP candidate in 2024. Then what? 
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Scenario 3: Eric Chu wins the KMT Chair, the comatose establishment of KMT breathes a sigh of relief, and goes back to their sinking ship, hoping the ship will somehow right itself by a miracle. It will not.
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So all three scenarios say Prof Chang’s plan will fail.
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How will Unification happen? It will happen because China now knows about the latent support for peace in Taiwan with the mainland. The Taiwanese people didn’t have a smart and courageous politician to take them to the promised land.
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But now they have Prof Chang.
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It is therefore important for China to change its narrative from Wutong to Defend the Homeland. It is a unifying call, and it’s not hard to understand what it means.
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China and Prof Chang should talk about Unification regardless of what official status Chang has. Hire Prof Chang as a Peace consultant if necessary. But direct talk means that Prof Chang will understand his potential role as the leader and organizer of an interim government in case the PLA needs to defend Taiwan from traitors and foreigners, most likely within hours and without bloodshed. 
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It will take time for Prof Chang, assuming he agrees, to prepare the infrastructure for such an interim government without violating any laws. .
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The reward to Prof Chang for doing this is the solemn undertaking by the Chinese government to provide a high degree of self-rule for Taiwan and to let the Taiwanese people run their own affairs despite China having effected unilateral unification.
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The five year period is a reasonable timeline, and by then, China will have surpassed the US in all aspects of wealth production, America will still be dealing with another Covid wave (I wrote an article explaining why), and Xi will be confident of success, establishing his legacy for future generations, so that the Central Committee of the CPC could start working on an orderly succession by bringing the next generation of leaders to the forefront. .
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Beyond that, all is murky and muck, but stay healthy and we will live to witness history.
 
PM

Remember – what’s really going on is not televised

We really do not know all of the story. We really do not know what everyone is thinking. What we do know is the visible actions that are taking place.

The news is talking about how Australia has torn up the agreement to buy submarines from France, and instead are going to buy them from the USA. Nuclear subs with nuclear weapons.

And that everything is under control with the QUAD meetings with Japan and India.

And the long-expected collapse of China is finally happening with the Evergrande collapse!

Nope. No. Not going on.

Evergrande

Evergrande’s share price collapse: The world’s biggest no-big-deal default
The monster debt crisis that utterly failed to cause any catastrophe this week was that of Evergrande, the Chinese property giant.
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Read in Axios: https://apple.news/AK9D5MyFXSmCoHX4VPBt7kg

Evergrande’s share price collapse: The world’s biggest no-big-deal default

The monster debt crisis that utterly failed to cause any catastrophe this week was that of Evergrande, the Chinese property giant.

Why it matters: Evergrande’s share price has collapsed to pennies, its bonds are pricing in a default with very limited recovery, and even its customers are demonstrating across China. But so far the broader repercussions have been minimal.

Driving the news: Global markets fell on Monday on fears that Chinese markets would collapse on Wednesday morning, when they reopened after a two-day holiday for the Mid Autumn Festival. When Shanghai did reopen on Wednesday, it closed the day up rather than down.

Between the lines: A deal with domestic bondholders, combined with the company’s deep political connections at both the national and local levels, have combined to reassure investors that the Chinese government will contain any fallout.

Evergrande is the first big test of the global financial system — and especially the Chinese financial system — since the pandemic-induced chaos of March 2020, when central banks around the world were forced to take unprecedented measures to prevent total collapse. So far, world markets seem to be coping just fine.

Context: By any measure, an Evergrande debt default is likely to be one of the largest in history of the world.

To put its $305 billion debt load in perspective, Argentina’s massive foreign-debt default in 2001 was about $93 billion; Greece’s restructuring in 2012 was about $200 billion; and Lehman Brothers had about $600 billion in debts when it filed for bankruptcy.

Those defaults shook entire economies. Evergrande, by contrast, seems to have been successfully contained.

Between the lines: Evergrande debt has always carried a low junk rating, and the company was being described as “the biggest pyramid scheme the world has yet seen” as long ago as 2017. As a result, investors in Evergrande, much like investors in bitcoin or GameStop, were acutely aware that they were taking a big risk.

Financial crises generally happen when (seemingly) safe assets unexpectedly default, not when risky assets do something that was largely foreseen.

The bottom line: It’s normal and healthy for markets to fall when giant companies fail. The fact that Chinese markets have been so sanguine this week implies the existence of some kind of “Xi put” — and the idea that Evergrande is, ultimately, too big to fail.

So what is actually going on?

We have a bunch of school-yard bullies hitting each other in the arms and congratulating each other on how tough they are.

The Asian kids are in a corner of the school yard, writing in their books. Planning things. Drawing diagrams in the sand, and taking notes.

The rest of the kinds in the school yard are playing but keeping an eye on both groups; the bullies and the smart Asian kids. They are not doing anything. Just watching and waiting.

Do not believe anything that you see in the “news”. The situation is still fluid.

Watch “Meng Wanzhou Wins Her Freedom!

US Drops Extradition Charges Against Huawei Executive!” on YouTube. I trust this report more than any on the western media …

Meanwhile, here’s some Chinese military videos…

Just some video that I collected. Some are training films. Some are recruitment films. Some are just studies. Some are personal videos. All in all a good mix. It will give you all a great idea about the Chinese military capability.

Group 1

You can download the Video Archive HERE.101MB.

Some of the films have children in it going through training. These are the elementary-school Pioneers (the Chinese cub scouts). Everyone in China gets full military training. Those older kids, are in middle school. They are the ones wearing blue slacks with the white line training and shooting AK-74’s.

You will see closeups of the various electronic weapons systems, and the state of the art Chinese SEAL and Special Forces troops as well. You will see some videos about how Japan came into China and killed off so many innocent civilians. And note that now that every civilian can fire a gun, and fight, that is never going to happen ever again.

Group 1

Group 2

You can download the Video Archive HERE. 257MB.

It starts off with some more middle school assault weapon training.

Next is the elementary school pioneers who undergo physical obstacle course training. Notice that they do it while carrying a full military rifle. Also note that it’s both boys and girls. No one gets a pass. VIDEO.

Boys and Girls no one gets a pass.

The third video is the reservists. China has an active military and the reserves that meet every few weeks. VIDEO.

Reservists practice and drill over and over and over and over.

Fourth video is for the young Pioneers. For inspiration and training. Very, very interesting.

It’s all your fault that all the people are being rounded up in the city.

So many interesting videos. Watch them all in this massive collection.

Group 2

Group 3B

Here’s another group. HERE. 381MB

Of course there are all sorts of interesting things in these videos.

Group 3B

Conclusions

Those videos are very interesting. Especially the ones where New York City is destroyed by a massive nuclear explosion. As you watch the movies, you can see that the military is infused in every aspect of the Chinese life. From elementary school through middle school and into college. There are layers upon layers of military. All driven by merit. All with the latest technology. All with a memory of how China has been hurt and abused int he past.

Next time you watch CNN, FOX, Hal Turner, or any of the rest and they are talking about hate – hate -hate China, keep in mind that it is a narrative based on insane levels of ignorance. There is not going to be any war against China, for if there were, America would cease to exist. While China might take a few dings, and then brush itself off and rebuild up bigger, better, faster.

Where SHTF in America it will be every man for himself, and that will be a fiasco.

So, don’t poke the Panda.

Realize that what you read is all bullshit propaganda. And that China has everything well under control. So turn off that propaganda outlet, focus on what you see around your life and your home, family and friends. That is what really matters.

What you read in the “news” is just a lie to anchor your thoughts towards a catastrophic fiasco. Ignore them.

Just go forth and live your life. Adults are in charge. Never forget that.

Just go forth and live your life.

Finally…

While this article is about China and it’s efforts to continue and thrive while the enormous American Military Empire has a hissy fit, do not think that that’s what is actually going on. Military Empires MUST have wars.

If they can’t have one with China right now, or soon, perhaps they can have one else where…

More than fifty-nine ships have massed in the central Atlantic Ocean, south of the Equator, in a non-shipping route area, and ALL have turned off their automated ship Identification transponders.

Ships massing off the coast of Venezuela.

No one can tell whose ships they are, or why they are gathering there.

Here’s a closer look:

Somethings up.

Somethings up…

Prep for an invasion.

Stand by.  What is this all about?

  • Invasion build-up?
  • Flotilla to collect Haitian refugees and send them to the Untied States?
  • Collect American Haitian refugees and send them back to Haiti?

Stand by?

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “China index” over here…

China

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Articles & Links

Master Index

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  • 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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A comparison of American Cub / Boy scouts and Chinese Pioneer Scouts

This is somethings that I have been wanting to do for a while now. What this is; is comparing the scouts programs for children. In particular we compare the programs found in the United States and those found in China. In America, the scouts are co-ed, which differs from what I grew up with. But that’s fine they are co-ed in China too. In China they are called the “Pioneers”. And they are quite active.

Actually, I don’t want to get into too much detail here. It’s not like a member of the American scouts is going to move to China and become a member of the Pioneers! LOL. Instead what this is; is a short visit to see how the philosophies of the two scouting programs differ.

Essentially, as far as I can make out, the United States scouting programs teach self-reliance, individualism, basic woodland skills, and obedience to authority.

Cub scouts of America.

While the Chinese Pioneers teach communication, working as part of a team, nationalism, and overcoming adversity.

It seems that the United States is about making the scout a better “rounded” person overall, while the Pioneers is a paramilitary organization that teaches defense of the homeland, strength during times of adversity, and leadership skills.

The United States Scouts

American Cub Scouts.

Cub Scouting is part of the Scouting program of the Boy Scouts of America (BSA), available to boys and girls from kindergarten through fifth grade, or 5 to 10 years of age and their families. Its membership is the largest of the five main BSA divisions (Cub Scouting, Scouts BSA, Venturing, Exploring and Sea Scouting ). 

- Wikipedia

And the Boy scouts…

American Boy Scouts.

The Boy Scouts of America places the greatest importance on creating the most secure environment possible for our youth members. To maintain such an environment, the BSA developed numerous procedural and leadership selection policies and provides parents and leaders with resources for the Cub Scout, Scouts BSA and Venturing programs. 

-Boy Scouts

The Cub Scouts are one of the BSA’s premier programs, offering citizenship, character, personal fitness, and leadership for youth in grades K to 5.

Cub scouts of America.

The mission of the Boy Scouts of America is to prepare young people to make ethical and moral choices over their lifetimes by instilling in them the values of the Scout Oath and Law.

[Note 1] According to Wikipedia there were 21,000,000 males age 10 -19 in 2000 in the US. Also according to Wikipedia there are 2,739,692 boy scout youths (age 11-17). That would indicate that more then 13% of boys are in scouting at a given time. 13% of American Children are in the scouts.

Cub scouts of America.

I think it sounds ok. Don’t you?

It’s a program to help young youth to become better rounded individuals.

Chinese Pioneers

I do not know about this program as an expert. I know of it as a parent. And that is a little different. But I can tell you that being in the Pioneers is a very important step in your child’s education within China.

It is very, very few people who will not allow their children to join the Pioneers. Mostly Christian fundamentalists. No problem with the Chinese Uighur Muslims,

It is a program that runs in parallel with the education system that provides group and community activities, rallies, a sense of community and belonging, not to mention skills, training, and social interaction. It is a critical system of development within China.

The following is an article that says more than I could ever say…

Chinese Pioneers.

This is from the Global Times

“Be prepared to struggle for the cause of communism!” As other children saluted the Communist Party of China (CPC) and swore their loyalty on the playground, Tao Hongkai, 6, was alone in the classroom studying.

Tao, a primary student at Wuhan’s Shuiguohu Primary School in Hubei Province, was the only one among his 50 classmates to not join the Young Pioneers – a State-run organization of 130 million children under the leadership of the CPC.

Check out this video…

As a result, he was not allowed to wear a red scarf, the emblem of the Young Pioneers, or join any related activities.

“I envied them so much that I saluted in front of a mirror at home,” Tao told the Global Times. “But I never felt empty because I had my own goals.”

Chinese Pioneers.

Six decades later, Tao is a sociologist and an expert on helping Internet-addicted children.

“I could focus on studying and accomplishing my goal – to be a useful person in society,” he said, looking back to the days when he was not a Young Pioneer.

[Note 1] Almost every primary school student between 6 and 14 years of age in China joins the Young Pioneers, which is widely seen as being a great honor. Being excluded from the organization would be seen as a blemish on one’s record. 98% of Chinese Children are in the Chinese Pioneers.

However, in recent years, as social values have diversified, some parents have begun to doubt the meaning of their children being “successors of communism” and discourage their kids from joining the Young Pioneers. They say they worry their children might be influenced by an ideology at such an early stage of life.

Chinese Pioneers.

Chinese Christians don’t want to participate

Xiao Yan, a Christian from Shandong Province whose son is about to attend primary school, told the Global Times that she and other religious parents are reluctant to see their children become Young Pioneers.The Chinese Young Pioneers National Working Committee declined to comment for this story, only emphasizing that membership in the movement is optional.

Even though it is officially optional to join, in many schools, new members are elected directly by teachers without being consulted or the entire student body is forced to join up.

Chinese Pioneers.

“I will tell my child the difference between the communism and Christianity, and I will make myself clear that as a parent I don’t want him to join,” she said. However, she admits that “if my child insists, I will let him do so.”

Xiao suggested that joining the Young Pioneers should be conducted by a third party.

“Schools are a place to teach knowledge, it should stay out of politics,” she said, “So if children are interested to join, they can apply to an external organization.”

However, Xiao said most children from religious families choose to be Red Scarves, often for fear of being left behind.

Chinese Pioneers.

Don’t be left behind!

In a secular society where many people do not share religious convictions and are not too bothered about ideology, Xiao’s case is rare.

“Parents often ask the teachers why their children are not in the Pioneers yet, and if there is anything that they can improve,” said Ma, a teacher in charge of recruiting new Young Pioneer members at the elite Asia-Pacific Experiment School of Beijing Normal University.

In Ma’s school, 1,100 of 1,400 Grade 1 students are all members of the Young Pioneers. The rest are on the waiting list. The head teachers for each class elect candidates based on their overall performance. “Star students” with good grades and talents will be the first batch to join, others join in the second batch.

Chinese Pioneers.

“But no one will be left behind. All the children will join the Young Pioneers eventually,” she said.

Many students are reportedly upset and unhappy if they are not part of the first batch. Ma explained this division exists to motivate students to behave themselves and study harder.

“Being a Young Pioneer means being outstanding. Of course star pupils should join first and set a good example for others,” she said.

Chinese Pioneers.

Scarves not so red

Most Chinese elites follow a set political career path: Students who graduate from the Young Pioneers can expect to join the Communist Youth League and then compete to become full-fledged members of the Party.

However, this ladder is not always straight and narrow now. Some teachers reportedly accept bribes from parents in exchange for helping their children become Pioneers first, and some teachers have even put their own children at the head of the line.

Earlier this month, an online post accused teachers at Southwest Central Primary School in Foshan, Guangdong Province, of ensuring their children to become Red Scarves before anyone else. This attracted thousands of hits and broad debate on wielding this kind of influence.

The Guangzhou-based Nanfang Daily quoted the school’s deputy headmaster Liu Xiuying as saying that some children in the first batch were teachers’ children, but that they were elected first because of their behavior and academic track record.

Chinese pioneers.

This was not the first time netizens had questioned the ideology of the Red Scarves. Last year, teachers from a primary school in Shaanxi Province gave green scarves to students with poor grades or bad behavior records, which drew criticism from both parents and educators, forcing the principal into an apology.

It was an easy leap for netizens to associate the elections of Red Scarves to the real world where power holds absolute sway.

Last year, the nickname of Five Stripes Boy, was given to Huang Yibo, 13, from Hubei Province who was pictured with a five-stripe badge on his uniform. The picture was to promote the Young Pioneers, but netizens said it resembled pictures of high-ranking officers. The Xinhua News Agency reported on Wednesday that a primary school in the province had canceled the use of the five-stripe badge to “let kids live as kids.”

Tao sees this phenomenon as a consequence of cultural deterioration.

Chinese Pioneers.

“I feel pity that some good traditions are fading and losing their meaning,” he explained. “It reflects concerns about the deterioration of China’s cultural, political and ideological environments.”

Considering this, some non-religious parents discourage their children from joining the Young Pioneers.

Fu Yongjie, the father of a young girl daughter from Shaanxi, said he would not push his child to join.

“What does a 6-year-old kid know about the goal of the Young Pioneers? I hope my daughter’s first lie will be denying she stole money to go out with her friends, not that she would struggle for a cause she doesn’t understand,” Fu told the Global Times.

Some religious parents have also expressed their concerns that they do not want their children to get involved with politics at such an early age.

Tao said the goals that the Young Pioneers are not always met, even once children join up.

“Interestingly, some badly behaved children I deal with are Red Scarves, that means being a member does not guarantee exemplary behavior,” he said.

Chinese Pioneers.

“Therefore, parents should not worry too much if their children are Young Pioneers or not, they should focus on their studies and their goals,” he continued.

Poor guidance

One reason why the organization has been losing its glory is also because Young Pioneers’ counselors, mainly head teachers or officials assigned by the educational bureau, do not know much about how to guide the Young Pioneers, Yan Kai, editor of Guangdong-based Children magazine, told the Global Times.

“Many children find it hard to accept the way they explain the organization as there are too many political terms,” he said.

The current generation of students has grown up with new media, which has become part of their lifestyle and affected the way they think, according to a survey issued in May by the Guangdong Provincial Social Sciences Academy.

It found out that half of the 5,000 students surveyed in 50 Guangzhou primary schools had microblogs and many had access to cell phones and iPads.

The education ministry announced in September that Young Pioneers activities would be listed as a required course in all primary schools, with one class every week for students from Grade 1 to 8.

Yan suggested that Young Pioneers’ counselors should broaden their approach to keep up with the new generation by organizing public or charity events rather than simply focusing on classes.

The organization also has a plan B. Earlier this month, on its 63rd anniversary, it announced that the Young Pioneers in Guangdong would now only receive counselors with master’s degrees.

Chinese Pioneers.

Three universities in the province launched a pilot project to create a new postgraduate program – children’s organization and ideological education. This aims to produce well-educated Young Pioneers’ counselors who could use positive discipline and show exemplary behavior to guide children, Xinhua quoted an unnamed director from the provincial working committee as saying.

There are over 170,000 counselors in the province. However, the pilot program will only recruit five students for 2013 although the provincial working committee said this number would increase according to the volume of applications.

“Those graduates can work in many education sectors like schools or NGOs. They will play a very important role in children’s education in the future,” the director said.

Chinese Pioneers.

Chen Xinyue, 12, who just graduated from Yahetang Primary School in Guangzhou this summer, was elected as the 2010-2011 excellent Young Pioneer of Guangzhou.

When asked whether she is aware that the organization has not lived up to its ideal, she said the title was a great honor but that she did not know much about what it mean to be an excellent Young Pioneer.

“I am really unlucky,” she said. “The reward was supposed to add some 5-10 points to my middle school entrance exam score, but the policy was canceled because some parents complained to the education ministry that it was unfair.”

Let’s look at some videos…

In China membership not only educates, but provides social scoring, and lays out a path for university and future careers. In America it is only a social club that helps one become a better person.

Here’s a bunch of videos that I’ve collected.

These little kids are tough little boys and girls and I really like how they use scaled down full-auto rifles firing smaller cartridges to train with.  When I say that China is a tough, tough nation that does not play, I really mean that.

Group 1 – 11 short videos

You can download the archive HERE. 79MB.

Tough little kids.

Group 2 -12 short videos

You can download the archive HERE. 67 MB.

Training in the use of firearms in elementary school.

Group 3 – 17 short videos

You can download the archive HERE – 17 Videos / 89MB

Tough little kids.

Conclusions

Throughout elementary school, Chinese children are encouraged to join the Pioneers. They become adept at working as a team, undergoing hardship, and learning basic paramilitary fighting, combat and shooting skills. Perhaps 98% join the Pioneers.

In Middle School, it is no longer optional. 100% of all Middle School students must take a two week “Boot Camp” military training every year while they are in school.

As all Chinese students study both English and Chinese, the students who graduate from High School make up the members of the irregular military force in their communities, were the need ever to arise. The best and the brightest are scored on their abilities, and their ability to become a Rufus. As China is a merit driven society, only the best can join the Communist Party, and then if they so desire go into the political administration of it.

USA – China meeting in Anchorage Alaska, in April 2021.

Which differs substantially from the buy-your-way into power, and set up a puppet show, “democracy” style. And you can see this.

USA-China meeting Anchorage Alaska April 2021.

China, being much larger than the United States is indeed a formidable giant, and the thought that somehow American (with Japanese and Australian military) could (somehow) invade China is a laughingly pathetic.

If you teach your youth to be strong, be tough, to overcome and to work as a team, there is nothing that they will not be able to accomplish.

Perhaps it would be best if America tackles it’s many, many systemic problems at home on the domestic front rather than worrying about what is going on at the other side of the globe.

And maybe, just maybe if the scouts would devote more time to community, communication and endurance, American wouldn’t be such a nation of ho-hos, donuts and booty wagging misfits.

Learning about the dangers of slingshots and chewing gum…

Teaching safety to cub scouts in slingshot use at the slingshot range.

…instead of having to rescue others in need during times of discord.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my China and America comparisons index…

USA vs CHN

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A no frills edition of Chinese girls – a gaggle of girls to google, oogle and enjoy

Here is part ten of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. This particular collection consists of a very average selection of attractive Chinese girls, and you all might just be “blown away” by the content. Indeed, there are some favorites in here.

As I said, this is a “no frills” presentation. Download the zip file and open it up. Inside will be a bunch of pretty girls videos. I do hope that you enjoy them.

Of course, the idea behind this presentation is to show that the people in China, and most especially the girls, are good and fine folk that do not resemble anything that is being portrayed in the American “news” media. And when you watch the girls, listen to the (mostly) Chinese pop music, you will start to notice something…

…they are happy. They are well fed, the buildings all look like they are well maintained. They eat well, the night life is alive, families look normal, and these none of that crime, and LGBT ram-rodding down your throats like you would see in the West. It’s refreshing.

This is China. It’s the “real deal”.

And for “new comers”  it tends to be a bit of a shock. As they had no idea that Chinese women looked like this. They still hold on to the fantasies that are well promoted in the American press. But you know… it’s all a fiction.

Here’s what the girls in China look like…

Group AA

First up is this bevy of beauties. Some nice all around girls. For certain. The folder and files tend to be on the large size. Sorry for that.

You can get the zip file HERE. 490MB. It’s large and might take some time to download.

AA – A “buffalo wings” kind of girl

Here’s one of the girls from the mix. She reminds me of a dish that used to be common in the United States. They were called “Buffalo wings”, and you would get this basket of deep fried chicken wings and a small saucer of blue cheese dressing to dip them in.

Chicken wings girl.

I well remember one time in Syracuse New York, my wife (at that time) took me out to a restaurant on South Selina street, and we went to a (then famous) chain called “The Ground Round” and she bought me a set of eight “Buffalo wings” and clue cheese dressing to dip it in. The cost came to $120 something and just under her entire weekly pay check.

I wonder if the current crop of American leadership has ever had that experience? To live in a land where you work hard, and for your reward all you can afford is eight measly chicken wings. If you call that “exceptional government” then you have a hole in your head. China has a basic guideline that food, clothing, shelter, medical care, housing and clothing, as well as all government services should be affordable by 90% of the nation.

Anyways…

This girl reminds me of this basket of chicken wings.

And here is what a basket of chicken wings look like…

Buffalo wings.

By the way, does anyone know why this is called “finger food”, because sure as shit your fingers are gonna get messy eating these things.

Group BB

You can get the zip file HERE. 448MB. Again, it is a large file.

I tend to associate girls, women with food. It’s an association that I have, and I make no apologizes for it. Women are delicious, and so is food. Here’s some of my favorites from this group.

BB – Cream of Asparagus Soup girl

This lady reminds me of a nice bowl of cream of asparagus soup. With crackers, or those little “goldfish” crackers that you put in it. As well as a nice little mound of mild cheddar cheese, ground up and place don the top. And for some reason, I’m not quite sure why… A tall glass of mint iced tea.

Cream of asparagus soup girl.

If you compare her to the picture of an actual bowl of soup, you can easily see what I am talking about. Right? Or is it just me? This girl reminds me of this…

Cream of Asparagus Soup.

BB – (Not-a-Upside-down) banana split girl

This little cutie reminds me of an “banana split”. Served in a ceramic dish shaped like a boat, and a nice little flag on the top near the cherry.  Can’t you just imagine going to an ice cream parlor and sharing a split with her? I can. It would be wonderful.

(Not a Upside down) banana split girl.

Come on! Can’t you just picture yourself sharing a banana split with this lass, chatting and just handing out in a fine air conditioned ice cream parlor?

An “old fashioned” banana split.

BB – Poached eggs on toast girl

This little lass reminds me of a simple meal. Poached eggs on toast with salted butter, some peanut butter, chopped tomatoes, salt and pepper and a drizzle of olive oil. Oh, and orange juice. This is the kind of girl that is best enjoyed in the morning.

Poached eggs on toast girl.

This is a morning girl. And what is more, she is most certainly a poached eggs on toast kind of girl…

Great poached eggs on toast.

Group CC

You can get the zip file HERE. 299MB.

The following girl is representative of this particular group. She is most certainly a baked ziti lass.

CC – A Baked Ziti Lass

You would think that I would be eating baked ziti all the time. After all it’s cheap and delicious and it is easy to make and delicious if you take the time to add the proper meat, and cheese.  But guys, for me, that was not the case. I can never get it in China. And we tend to eat better than the cheapest foods that I grew up with. Further, I never ate it in prison, we mostly ate beans, global, artificial eggs and mashed turnips. So it’s been maybe two, possibly three decades since I enjoyed a fine well-made ziti dish.

And when I think of that dish I think of women like this. She is my ideal ziti girl.

My ideal ziti girl.

I can just see us going outside for some fresh night air, as the boisterous crowds in the orange lit interior carry on with singing, dancing and a clinking of glasses. Ziti is best served with wine; a nice red wine. And some crunchy Italian bread, some cheese, some olives, maybe some red lipstick on my collar…

…heh. heh.

And you know, maybe I’m wearing a nice tux. Not a rental. A custom fitted tux like the one I used to have years ago. Made out of a fine weave and dark blue material. Not a shawl collar. A nice set of cuff links and a chance to wear a very extraordinary bow tie. Maybe something in a vibrant red, or purple / blue pattern.

Oh, but I digress…

And here is what a deep baked ziti looks like…

Deep baked ziti.

CC – Australian Prawns girl

The largest shrimp that I have ever seen in the world come from Australia and they are called prawns. They are bout the size of a small chicken, and believe you me, they are delicious. It’s sort of like a cross between a lobster and a shrimp and so very tasty.

Well this girl reminds me of giant prawns.

On one of my trips to Australia, the staff took me out to a meal and we ate some prawns. they ordered two enormous prawns for me, and I surprised them by eating the entire things. Well, I was hungry!

Anyways, this girl reminds me of two giant prawns.

Giant prawns girl.

Australian prawns.

So very delicious.

Australian prawns.

Group DD

You can get the zip file HERE. 344MB.

The following is a notable girl from this collection…

I am always a “sucker” for a girl with a big smile on her face. The smile just attracts me to her. Smiles always do this. Don’t you know.

A smiling beauty.

Well…

I am going to call it “quits” for now. I hope that you enjoyed these tasty female delights and learned a little about China in the process. I have many more videos and I am going to post them when I get a chance.

Have a great day you all.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

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Articles & Links

Master Index

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  • 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.
  • You can find out more about the author HERE.
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Holiday extravaganza from MM to you all.

Ok, guys and girls. This is going to be a little bit of a strange article. I make no apologies for it. It’s going to be confusing, rambling, and apparently unordered, but that is by INTENTION. I fully intend to produce this article in this manner, and if you don’t understand, then it’s simply because you haven’t learned the most basic tenants of MM.

Life is complex.

You cannot isolate certain sections without influencing everything else.

Background

All through life we have been taught to do one thing at a time. We studied reading, then we put our books away, and then we studied History. Then we put those books away, and we went to gym class. After that, we change our clothes and studied Math. Everything was nice and compartmentalized. So nice. So neat, and so tidy.

But as we became adults we realized with a big shock that the world is not fine, nice, neat and tidy. It wasn’t that way at all. When we married a person, we inherited an entire slew of interpersonal relationships, not one singular one. When we went to work at a company, we were expected to perform multiple tasks simultaneously. Not one singular one that we studied in school. We didn’t like this change. But we adapted to it. We adapted coping mechanisms. We learned to “multitask”.

But no one has breached the most basic point. Which is that life is complex, colorful, and encompasses multiple things, events, relationships, ideas, thoughts and emotions simultaneously. And unless we train our mind to handle and sort out this onslaught of data, we will be forever easily manipulated by it.

And what is what is going on today. People are being manipulated by the “fire-hose” of manipulation. And since people see things out of context, they believe the manipulations without questioning what’s going on.

Even the most intelligent and skeptical people fall into this trap.

An Example

Today, for example, is this little blurb on the “Drudge Report”;

So..

The Chinese military announced HOW they will attack Taiwan!

Well!

Well, I (being an interested person) ran to the site to see what is going on, and there is a very detailed explanation of a war plan. It looks like something out of a World War I American military college. Not something that the Chinese leadership would ever do.

So many interesting pictures, details and diagrams.

Ok. I’ll bite, where did this come from. I want to read the original.

Screen capture of the article.

So if you look in the article it says…

"An article in a state-controlled publication has offered a glimpse of a..."

Ok. So what is this article, and where is it? Who wrote it?

Nope. Nothing. But the article does go on to say…

"The article states: "The attacks against Taiwan’s airports would continue until [Chinese] surface troops had accomplished an assault landing.""

Ok. I want to see the article. I want to see it myself.

Still nothing. But it does say…

"the article states YJ-91 and CJ-10 cruise missiles..."

Still nothing about the source. Where did they get this bullshit? I want to know. So I read further…

"Finally, the article said warships and land-based rocket forces would wipe-out any remaining obstacles so the PLA’s marine corps..."

So I scroll down all the fancy graphs, and maps showing fighting. I scroll down the pictures of Chinese military. And I go all the way to the bottom of the page.

NOTHING!

The entire article is based on one big lie.

How do I know. I did a Baidu search. I did it in Chinese. There are no Chinese articles about this at all. It’s all made up bullshit.

Summary
Drudge said that the Chinese Government released this battle attack plan. Instead the truth is that a supermarket tabloid claimed to translate an important document in a Chinese magazine. Both of which are lies.

Many things

Right now the globe is a caldron of quanta seething and boiling over with the various interactions being generated out of the United States (and the UK).

It’s spitting quanta balls, and most humans are unable to grasp what is going on. They are being pelted with quantum “slime balls” and it hits them, manipulates their thoughts and sets the stage for some very, very bad and catastrophic things to happen.

And if you get your Intel from the American (or Western) “news” media, mainstream of alt-any, you are being deceived. Nothing like what is being stated is actually happening.

We need to see things AS THEY ARE. Not as what is being presented to us.

This article

It began simple enough.

I just wanted so show the real and true face of China.

And I do this by my very successful method of showing very pretty Chinese girls in their homes, in the public spaces, on bridges, inside restaurants and other places inside of China. And people come to MM to look at the pretty girls, and in the process see that the China that they see does not resemble anything like what is being showed at them out of the Western oligarchy.

So…

Here is a part of what was intended to be part 11A of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. (Don’t ask me about the interruption between series nine and the rest. It’s a long story. )

This particular collection consists of a very average selection of attractive Chinese girls, and you all might just be “blown away” by the content. Indeed, there are some favorites in here. And with each grouping, I have isolated and make a key social and societal point that I want to make.

These points are well understood by long time MM readers. But I “feel” the need to underline, or “underscore” these points so that the reader can best understand things in the proper context, and the most important context; THEIR context.

Undoing American propaganda

When you look at these women, please pay attention to the China that they are being filmed in. And ask yourself “Does this in any way represent the narrative promoted by the American MSM “?

And you need to.

The United States is out of control, and it’s going to get each and every one of us killed.

The western world is being led by people who are functionally insane, that is not hyperbole. 

There are any number of things that we 'could' 'should' 'might' or 'must' do about the situation but a lack of sane and workable solutions is not the problem. 

The problem is the vast concentration of wealth and power in the hands of a very few mostly unelected people.

People who would (and probably will) see the world go up in flames rather than relinquish their largely unearned and unwarranted power.

Posted by: MarkU
"No U.S. president will risk New York over Taipei City." one would think, but the crazies running usa foreign policy seem to have undue persuasion with usa presidents, as witnessed the past number of years usa behavior... maybe they want to go down in a blaze of glory? what do the end of worlders, or born agains think?? 

Posted by: james

Please kindly excuse me for my entanglement of thoughts, opinions, beauty, China, and Geo-politics…

Group A of Chinese beauties

And the first point that I want to make is that all you see on the internet is a fiction. It is a lie. It is a construction. Just like Hollywood has created illusions, so has the internet. What you read, and what you get has no bearing on reality. So the first point that I want to make is…

The reality is much better than what you read about.

According to the National Review, the Chinese are miserable and are just “pining away” for liberation from the evil oppressive Chinese government. You can see this oppression in the videos out of China.

oops!

What? There are NO videos showing this “oppression.”

What, oh, that’s right, Chinese videos are BANNED in the United States. Well, here we will show you just how oppressed the Chinese are. Here’s a typical woman just wanting to be liberated by the proud United States Marines from the “Bright and shining city on the hill”.

One of the Chinese girls from group “A”. Does it look like she is living in squalor and filth and needs to be liberated from the oppressive Chi-Coms for Democracy and Freedom?

Ah yes.

If these people actually believe what they write then they are delusional and need to be locked up in a mental institution for a long, long time. If they aren’t and they are lying. Then they need to be put in a situation where they can personally experience the horrific consequences of what they are tying to provoke.

Group "A" here. You can download a file of about thirty or so micro-videos of amazingly beautiful Chinese women. OMG!

But forget about the crazy man on the “shining house on the hill”. He’s really a mess and so fucking crazy that he’s not worth your time of day.

American neocons started the pandemic, tried to start world war III, and are constantly pushing and pushing to start a major war with SOMEONE.

But their reality is not YOURS.

So instead, Let’s concentrate on the girls. Ok?

Some of the girls from group “A”.

They are all awfully pretty, don’t you know. And when I look at them (like this particular beauty, for example)  I think of strawberry shortcake. I mean, really, when was the last time that you had a strawberry shortcake?

When was the last time that you had a strawberry shortcake?

Let me “single out” one especially delicious lady.

I choose this girl to discuss (in this particular instance).

Man! I do love a cute little pleated skirt.

Actually, this (particular) girl reminds me of a girl that walked in the restaurant where I was eating dinner today.

We ate some szechuan food.  It was truly delicious.

A “gaggle” of beauties came on off from work, they must have worked at the same company as they were all wearing the standard black and white office address code attire, and a lanyard around their neck with an ID QR code.

Szechuan food.

I love it when friends get together and are all happy and smiling. I like there attitude, and their nice fellowship.

She was a smiling, and chatting away, and while I wasn’t rude enough to eavesdrop, I could tell that they were all passionate.

This kind of event warms my heart and gives me hope for the future. You just cannot expect mankind; humans to grow and advance as a species, when they are living and toiling inside of sterile grey cubicles and chained to electronics media. No matter what the wealthy oligarchy believes.

They are wrong.

Anyways, this girl is most certainly a strawberry shortcake kind of gal. Admit it! You do KNOW what I am talking about, right?

Strawberry shortcake.

Just looking at her and her happy smiles and friendships put me in a great mood. It really does!

And so dusting off this old song from my parolee-bicycling days in Erie, PA, I present to you…

Group “B”

And the point that I want to associate with this next group of Chinese girls are that happy people are a real treasure. You need to associate with the happy, with the up-beat, with the cheerful, and the energetic.

I haven’t yet covered this, but we can exchange quanta (qi energy) from each other. Sad, disturbed, mentally ill, sick, upset and angry people can steal from you. And close association will them will drain you. Long term effects will destroy you.

Be around happy and cheerful people.

Happy people are a treasure.

Surround yourself with them.

One of the Chinese girls from group “B”. I am such a “sucker” for a nice wide smile, beautiful and clear eyes, and long lush hair. I mean it. The hair in Asia and in Africa are just amazing.

Group "B" here. It's about twenty five to thirty great videos of amazing Chinese women.

Some stunners, indeed.

Here I go again, with my association with food and beautiful women. There’s something that I just cannot “put my finger on” but I really associate beautiful and attractive ladies with food, conversation and companionship. And for me, well at least for me, that means food and chatting at a table.

This girl reminds me of an Australian meat pie. I guess you could refer to her as my “meat pie lady”.

Australian meat pie.

All men need a nice meat pie lady in their lives.

You all don’t probably “get” (understand) what I am trying to say. Women are like these big capacitors, or reservoirs that men can use to recharge. If the men give to them, the woman’s “battery” charges up and is there and provides the energy for the both of them (or more, if they have a family) and then combined, anything is possible a great meat pie lady can do this.

I think that meat pie ladies are not appreciated. They are the people that go visit a dying friend, and violate the pandemic restrictions to do so. They are the kind of people who will go out of their way to help a friend, a loved one, and an animal. They are natural Rufus’s.

They communicate with the unseen. They are in tune with nature, and the hidden. They can talk with faeries, and humans. They can understand things in a much greater scope than most of us can.

Meat pie ladies.

Totally and completely underappreciated.

Group “C”

And you know what? I’m going to talk about mothers.

Appreciate your mother.

Women are amazing. When the world is falling apart, they gather their family together and offer hope, comfort and protection. They help relatives, and provide a refuge from the storm. Whether it is Haiti, or Southern California. Real women are amazing.

A smiling girl from group “C”.

Group "C" here. It's about twenty five to thirty great videos of amazing Chinese women.

She is , and the rest of the gals are just lovely. This woman above embodies how I remember my mother. She was such a happy person on the holidays. But me, nah. I was a sultry spoiled teenager, and I made fun of her singing when she was cooking the meal for the family on the holiday.

I was such a little dweep-shit.

Family often takes people, roles, contributions as “givens”, without taking the time to think about how just very special these other people are. You all shouldn’t worry too much about your families and how the family dynamic exists. Just accept it as it is, and be the best you that you can be.

Anyways…

Women, especially (and mostly) those that smile and participate, are like precious treasures.

Precious.

Treasure.

And you know what this woman above reminds me of? I cannot help myself. They remind me of fresh vegetables and a fine delicious fruit salad. She reminds me of my mother, and in the Summer she would help us cut up fruit, and add cream and make a fine luscious Summer snack.

That’s what a true and fine woman can do.

They can evoke strong, visceral emotions, and trigger actions… which could lead to great things.

A fine delicious fruit salad.

Group “D”

Be part of something bigger.

Then you are never alone.

Video "D" cluster. HERE.

Lately I have been going through my old archives. I wrote a post on what it was like while on parole. And the situation there. And one of the groups that heavily influenced me at that time was the Japanese group Funky Monkey Babys. Of course, here I was, trapped in the United States under the jurisdiction of the Arkansas crew and in a “recovery / rehabilitation” system in Erie which was smack dab in the middle of poverty-central.

Both places had good people, I am sure. But I surrounded by the under-educated, the impoverished, the mentally ill, the survival-group of the criminal class, and the professional social networks that supported them. I felt very much alone and out of my environment.

I coped with the materials at hand. One of which was healthy up-beat music, my cat, painting, and my prayer affirmations with a goal of living an exceptional life inside of China. One of the videos that I watched, I just managed to dig up. Like all the music and videos from that time, they brought up memories of the things and images that I clutched to keep me going.

You know, I felt alone.

I was alone. It’s very different to have friends as a “sex offender”. So I was really isolated.

But then I would watch a video from Asia. Whether it is Korea, Japan, or China they all pointed to being part of something. Not being alone, and lonely. These videos pointed a way; a route and a direction for me to follow. They reminded me over and over that YOU ARE NOT ALONE. You are always part of something bigger.

As this video shows. This man is part of a trio of three people, but he always believed that he was alone. Nope. He was one of three. Together we are strong. Together we can do great things. Together we are significant.

Entire video HERE. Zip of the MV video HERE.

You are not alone.

You are NEVER alone. You are part of something bigger.

It’s just that those in the West (most ESPECIALLY Americans) don’t see this because the entire government and social structure is one of divide and conquer. Put people in isolation. Make them alone. Feed them drugs and passive entertainment. Get them addicted, and feed off them.

But in watching this video spoke to me. I could see that there was an option out. That I could join a society where I was an equal contributor and one where I was appreciated, and had a role. And now I am part of something bigger socially. And like this video, where the fellow was part of three. I am now part of a place, and a people that accepts, appreciates me.

We all need this.

Do not buy into the belief of isolation is being a “lone wolf” and that it will make you fantastically rich and wealthy. It’s a fucking lie.

Be part of a community.

Group D Videos HERE. It's about twenty five to thirty great videos of amazing Chinese women.

And here’s a little preview on what to expect…

But America is exceptional!

Today is the 100 year anniversary of the government of China.

Do you guys have any idea what happened in America on it’s 100 year anniversary? Yeah. It was right after the American Civil War, [1] the Federal government formally dissolved the tenth amendment (States Rights), [2] legalized slavery by renaming it “being a felon”, [3] destroyed the entire South-East of the United States under “Reconstruction”. And shortly afterwards went forth to fight wars with everyone.

All this, all these actions, have consequences. They are not “something” that “happened in the past”. All things must be bought and paid for. Even though those particular individuals have died, and their bodies have long rotted away, their souls, and their beings live off the quanta that they accumulated in those times.

Those quanta are still active. They are still “alert”. They need to be “dispersed”.

It is not that there is some great celestial “goal keeper” keeping score.

But rather, a recognition that the physical reality is far more complex than most humans realize. Everything is attached with everything else.

And since there is no such thing as time, the events and crimes against humanity that happened two hundred years ago still must be atoned for. The quanta-attachments are not settled.

It’s a “ticking time bomb”.

My guess is that during this generational turning, the build-up of the unseen must be rather enormous.

In America today

I am glad that I am not living inside of America right now.

It’s all starting to unravel.

But it is not being reported in that manner.

Here’s a scene from New York city…

Here’s another scene from the United States.

Just a “random” event. Nothing to see here. Keep moving on. Eh?

Some thoughts on stuff

What does food, pretty girls, media manipulation, bombs in New York, the concept of being part of something, and meat pie ladies have in common?

What?

They are all the outcomes of elements, of a host of events, that are occurring in the NON-PHYSICAL reality.

Our brains make it so that we want to keep things isolated in nice little neat boxes. There is a war in Taiwan, and it will be way over there and won’t affect anyone in Utah. Or, wearing a mask is a sign of loss of rights. Or that America is number one! And was, and is the best!

Really?

Yes. Really!

Silly, me.

Let’s take a look at the deaths for the “pandemic” shall we? It seems that America is actually the WORST place to be on the entire world right now. And the only way that you can justify this kind of “in your face” data is to deny it. To go around saying that the COVID is a hoax. To go and say that all media is bullshit, except the USA media, and so on, and so forth.

But that’s the bullshit that is being fed to Americans today.

You cannot take these selected snippets of information and consider yourself an expert on things.That is silly, but that is exactly what these “experts” in Washington DC, and those “think tanks” do. They don’t see the entire picture.

They write about China, and have written about China for five decades now, and never ONCE stepped inside the nation, learned Chinese, or had shao Kou.

They are like the guy in a restaurant that is complaining about a broken toothpick will ignoring the food, the table, the others in the room and everything else. Eventually he will rant on and on about that fucking toothpick, walk outside and get hit by a truck.

It’s the Fourth of July

America is NOT exceptional.

America is a failure, and American democracy is a failure. And these two truths must be reckoned with before the United States, and the people of the United States can get off their collective asses and start to do something about it.

I want to see America perform a course correction.

I want to see the American government to start caring for the American people. Not promoting one war after the other. They are going to get huge numbers of people hurt.

US strategy looks to be based on the thought that China will capitulate when the stakes become nuclear. Limited conventional war to blockade China at which point China capitulates. It is going to be an exceptionally bloody war if US goes down that road.  They will experience what Modi's "brave jawan" experienced in the Galwin valley. 

Posted by: Peter AU1

From all indications, the American oligarchy will not permit a controlled implosion of the American nation. They want to externalize it. They want to go out in a volley of hell and destruction.

That scares the living crap out of me.

But…

Be part of a community.

What we see is only a fraction of what there is

This is what I am trying to vocalize, but the subject is way too deep to get involved in.

Beauty, food, love, relationships, being good, Rufus behaviors, constructive efforts all are positives in building quantum associations in the non-physical reality.

While the build up of negative and destructive elements of quanta continues as well. Generational turnings are a release from the build-up. If the release is suppressed or avoided, the build up will continue until it becomes an enormous avalanche. And is very dangerous.

YOU MUST SEE EVERYTHING TO UNDERSTAND WHAT IS ACTUALLY GOING ON.

Most of what you see is a distraction.

However, when taken as a whole you can see that there is a great deal of bullshit, distortions, and illusions that are shrouding the judgments in the West. The greater the media influences, the less people are able to reason things out.

What is actually going on is far more interesting, and not all that gloomy. Those in Washington DC think that they know what is going on, but they are about 45 steps behind in the great game of Geo-political chess.

  • Rufus is the embodiment of the good.
  • Guns, wars, threats and destruction is the embodiment of the bad.

Let’s look at some videos, and images. Here’s some things to ponder…

Boy Gets a mangled leg. Rufus rescues him

This is real-life. This is in China….

Video HERE.

A Rufus rescues a baby on a skyscraper

This is real-life. This is in China…

Video HERE.

Scene from a popular American Movie

This is a fiction, but accurately describes what America is today…

The community gathers as one Rufus

This is in China today.

The video is HERE.

Rufus saves a drowning boy.

This is in China today.

Video HERE.

American exceptionalism!

Here’s an example of what America is today.

Video HERE.

Rufus saves a driver who has collapsed at the toll booth…

This is China. I would post these kinds of Rufus movies from America if I could find them. But they are getting fewer and far between as time moves on.

Video HERE.

China teaches and instills discipline in elementary school.

All Chinese students MUST take part in paramilitary training. The big major training period is in middle school. This is the most fundamental training for the formation of the Chinese “irregulars”. But certain geographical regions require earlier training in elementary school. Check it out.

Video HERE.

Here’s another video.

Video HERE.

And a third video.

Video HERE.

And keep in mind that the Chinese DO NOT PLAY. They are a serious, serious nation and they are fighting for their lives against a belligerent American Military Empire run by complete psychopaths.

Video HERE.

In the UK (An American client state)…

We see how far the rot has crept…

Video HERE.

Helping an old man cross the street.

Chinese style.

Video HERE.

And THIS is how much the Chinese people LOVE their government!

Soak it in. The American main stream media would NEVER show this.

Video HERE.

And this is Downtown America.

Soak it in. If you are an American you know how true this is. This guy was waving the flag of Puerto Rico which is an American territory. But that angered the illiterate urban youth who shot him dead.

Video HERE.

And this is America too…

It is not a healthy nation. She’s doing “her thing”, and all that “freedom” stuff. That’s why she is dead today. There is no freedom, just a bunch of words bantered about by the ultra-wealthy.

Video HERE.

A Rufus comes in all shapes and sizes.

In China.

Video HERE.

Meanwhile in Turkey

No matter where you are, or your situation, show some humanity.

Video HERE.

He’s only a delivery boy…

But he really likes this one girl. This is China.

Video HERE.

Just because the United States is completely falling to pieces, does not mean that the rest of the world is.

Actually the rest of the world is getting on far better now that there are some attack-dogs (China and Russia) willing to bitch-slap the out-of-control monster that the West has become. And with the guardians of tradition and sensibility in charge, the psychopaths have only one, and only ONE option, to maintain control. That option is destroy the world and hope that they can survive in their bunkers.

So is there going to be world war III?

What is actually going on? Well, you know there’s a great big build-up of negative energy, quanta, or qi in the United States right now. Not so much in the rest of the world.

Just in the United States, and it’s client nations.

And a release valve needs to be tapped. It doesn’t matter if it is a nation, a people, a place, a thing or something else. Understand what it is.

Accept it as it is.

Video is HERE.

Spread the good stuff.

Please be the beacon; the light that shines happiness to those around you.

  • Contribute in your community.
  • Smile more
  • Be helpful
  • Be the best you can be.
  • Participate.
  • Make friends, over and over, until you have some good ones.

Be part of a community. Once you are part of a group you will never be alone ever again.

My final present

Absorb this. The measure of our worth, as determined by our benefactors, is how we help and assist others within our community. For that defines our most important trait. A trait which gauges our relative value.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

.

Articles & Links

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 to find out how to go about this.
  • 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.

 

So many beautiful women! Yet, why do Americans consider Chinese women to look like adolescent children?

The narrative is out there, and well known.

"Chinese women look like adolescent children, they are flat chested, petite, subservient, timid, and look like little "brown" waifs."

It’s not at all true. It’s not at all realistic. It’s a terrible distortion of reality.

And it irritates me.

Most especially because I was facing 80 years at hard labor in the hot cotton plantations of Southern Arkansas. And the litany of excuses used to turn my life upside down were spellbinding in the lies, distortions, corrupted understandings, and just pure hatred that spewed forth from the Arkansas legal system.

  • I painted in figurine oils, so I must have a sex fetish.
  • I quit my career as a “heavy hitter” upper-management Vice President in a technology company to take care of my dying mother, and that became “lives with parent, unemployed, with no friends”.
  • And all my travels to China were not for business. Instead they were to indulge into my wild sick fantasies of sex with women who looked like little children.

Oh. It’s all fun and games. That is, until you are behind bars, and everyone despises you. They sit at you. They sneer, and call you names. All on bogus lies, and accusations.

The beliefs of many Americans are shaped by the government, wealthy oligarchs, and a rabid group of for-profit televangelists that emphasize the collection of money to fight “the scourge”.

And I was “this close” from spending the rest of my life behind bars because some red-neck hicks believed that Chinese women looked like little children.

About the girls

Chinese women are many things. But scared waifs, brown skinned, short tiny and petite, and flat chested are not them.

Rural Nigerian girl. Often confused as Chinese by her oval eyes.

Sigh.

Here is part ten of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. This particular collection consists of a very average selection of attractive Chinese girls, and you all might just be “blown away” by the content. Indeed, there are some favorites in here.

I was told, directly to my face, that “Chinese women look like five year old children”. This is by the entire Judicial Department in Little Rock, Arkansas. Does this woman look like a five year old to you? To me, she must be at least over eight years old.

Let’s get on to the girls of China, eh?

That’s why you are here, eh?

The idea here is that you would look at the girl, and in the process concentrate on the background around her. Because these are the “real deals”. This is what China is. And while the girls want you to focus on them, their eyes, their faces, their bodies, the background tells us much about where they live.

Besides… who doesn’t like to look at attractive people? And don’t you lie. It’s biologically encoded in all humans. (Bet you didn’t know that!)

And when I look at women, I look at them with different “eyes” than most do. Certainly, when I was younger I looked at at attractive woman and thought about sex. But that pretty much evaporated as life hit and I entered adulthood. Now when I look at an attractive woman I look at…

  • Form, and shape. This is my “artistic eye” that I use to judge what it would be like to paint her on canvas. Eyes are easy to paint. It’s the face frame is this more of a challenge.
  • Her personality. What characteristics she alludes.
  • Her body structure. I personally prefer a stout woman; a robust woman, that has a nice “fish shape”. But that does not mean that I am not attracted to other forms. A petite, or thin, or even short curvy woman are all attractive in “my book”.

And finally…

  • I always imagine what it would be like to go out. Maybe on a “date”, or simply just for lunch or dinner, or coffee. With them. Talking. Chatting. Looking good. Feeling good. Eating delicious foods, and drinking things in a nice slow pleasurably leisure pace.

And seriously guys. And then, say maybe mid-meal, I pretty much know how I want or desire to proceed with the relationship after the meal. Whether it’s going to be playful fun, a good friend, a ship that passes in the night, or something more substantive.

To Open the Files

Like my other posts.

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between  one and a half to four minutes long. All told each zip file will give you about five to ten minutes of viewing.

A fine Chinese woman. She’s in her late forties, early fifties. She’s a “looker”, and attractive. She is in no way a “child appearing brown-skin waif”.

I find the ladies lovely. But others might not.

For you others, well, I really hope that you are not too bored.

While I tend to prefer ladies with a more motherly and robust appearance, I find all of them to be very attractive. From the tall thin leggy beauties to the short cute little kitten like cuddle balls. But of course, most people from Arkansas think that my interest in these gals are because they look preadolescent.

A Chinese girl in her 20’s. She is attractive. But does not look like a child.

Really. Do you think that this beauty looks like a ten year old child?

I like women in all their attributes.

Just like I like cats in all their glory.

Women are like cats. You accept them as they are. You do not try to change them, or make them “better”. You live with them in peace and shared affection, or they will get up, leave the room, lick their wounds and find another place to hang out at.

Many women get this serious unsmiling look on their face. Not attractive. If you want to see attractive women, watch a J-Pop video. Like TWICE.

This gal has everything that I find attractive in a woman. Big smile. Clean appearance. Longish hair that is clean, healthy and well maintained. Robust Chest, is playful.  Is wearing comfortable clothes that fit her well.

TWICE “Heart Shaker”

You know, all of the girls of TWICE are ethnically Han Chinese. It’s a K-Pop group.

TWICE (트와이스) is a girl group consisting of 9 members: Jihyo, Nayeon, Jeongyeon, Momo, Sana, Mina, Dahyun, Chaeyoung, and Tzuyu. The band debuted on October 20, 2015, through the survival show Sixteen, under JYP Entertainment. As of February 2020, JYPE is partnering with Republic Records to help promote TWICE worldwide.

Here’s one of their videos. This one is “Heart Shaker”.

Notice how great and happy they “feel”. I argue that it is the smiles that they have. The smiles. The big glorious smiles! Watching the video will show that it’s the smiles that radiate…

Go ahead watch it. Pay particular attention to the smiles.

TWICE Official Accounts:
Official Website: twice.jype.com
Official Website (Japan): twicejapan.com
Twitter: @JYPETWICE
Twitter (Japan): @JYPETWICE_JAPAN
Instagram: @twicetagram
Instagram (Japan): @jypetwice_japan
Facebook: JYPETWICE
Youtube: Twice
Youtube (Japan): TWICE JAPAN OFFICIAL
Fan Cafe: TWICE9
V Live: TWICE
TikTok: @twice_tiktok_official
TikTok (Japan): @twice_tiktok_officialjp

Some key points

Beauty is up to the person who views it.

This is true for the human sexes, as it is for animals, for flowers and for things such as building and art. Personally, I find art that massages the soul to be truly beautiful and inspirational. Which is why I have a complete index devoted to the subject.

If you had a choice, wouldn’t you prefer to surround yourselves with beautiful things, beautiful creatures, beautiful places, and beautiful relationships. It is up to us to attract and emit the same kinds of attractions. Whether it is beauty, kindness or happiness. We become what we emit.

Maybe that is why I associate women, girls, ladies with fine and delicious food.

Some women remind me of delicious steamy burritos covered in hot delicious cheese.

This post discusses Han Chinese women and why they do not at all resemble the American narrative. And I am also including a MM lesson here. Smiles will increase your relative attractiveness to others by a good three (3!) points. After all, four points are all you need to have someone consider you to be attractive.

  • Be clean and well-groomed. (+1)
  • Dress comfortably and be yourself. (+1)
  • Smile (+3)

You will attract others. With +5 points you will be unstoppable.

This is important if you are going out on a date, interviewing for a job, meeting in-laws for the first time, trying to get a customer, or just want to make new friends. Smile.

Again. Check out the smiles on these girls from the group TWICE. The song is called “Ooh-Aah.”

Go ahead watch it. Pay particular attention to the smiles.

As I have said before…

Being a man, eventually you reach a balance point where your hormones are under control and all you really want to do is get to know the girl, have a good time together, and enjoy the moments. And really as you get older this becomes more and more pronounced.

You savor the steaks you eat. You enjoy the perfume she wears, you listen to her talk and enjoy the night air after the dinner. You joke, you laugh, and maybe sing a song or two while walking on the jetty.

Women are magical.

When I think of women, I tend to think of doing things with them. You know like some Korean BBQ.

To go out, chat on in a mall, go window shopping with, and enjoy a nice meal. Maybe Thai or Viet food is always a pleasure with companionship. Colorful, tasty, delicious and relaxing. I can easily picture sharing a steamed fish and some coconut / pineapple rice together.

Delicious and savory South East Asian food.

 

I think that the beauty of these videos is that in a few seconds you can see the “personality” of the ladies as they try to display their charms for the world to see. It’s their choice of clothing, the area where the video was filmed, the selection of music, the way their hair is done up, and so much more.

Like the clothes that they chose to spend the evening in, and the choice of shoes that they wore. Guys, you all had best be more attentive. Don’t you know.

I do not know what it is called, but boy does it look delicious.

Each little video is like a window to the soul. Where you get a little glimpse of the girl behind the mask. That little presentation is just pure gold.

They make me hungry.

I can’t help but think of buttered French baguettes, and some delicious soft cheese. Which reminds me of a friend that I was chatting with. She told me about the sad, sad story about how rural towns in France have been replacing their hand-made home-made (authentic) baguettes with machine made replacements. It’s horrible!

I mean… WHY! In God’s name; WHY?

Ah….(authentic) baguettes.

These wonderful, and delicious crunchy bits of Heaven are now being replaced by these pale imitations of robotic mass-production…

Fake baguettes have now flooded the rural French countryside.

For me, it is like replacing a nice dry red wine with grape soda. There is NO comparison.

For me it is like replacing a beautiful flower bed full of roses with plastic flowers stolen from a cemetery.

It’s horrible!

Notice the lack of air pockets, and the lack of a tough crusty exterior. No personality at all. Just a homogeneous blob.

Yuck!

I just cannot imagine any French person referring to this , this as a baguette.

Back to the girls of China

They like women all over the world, have beauty. And like elsewhere they all have their charms.

Some have personality.

Some girls have personality.

And some really do.

While others just have a strong softness. Some are calm and composed, some are happy and light.

Some have stories to tell, and adventures to experience.

Maybe you too can become part of their adventures.

Some girls are living an adventure.

 

Some have a great body.

Some girls work on physical training and it shows. I, myself, love to life weights. Though I have really toned down my passion in this area, I cannot help but admire the effort that these gals put into their program.

They have long legs, or great dimples. Some have just long, long hair or dark, dark eyes. Some have a soft touch, while others have a careful composed prettiness.

Some have a wonderful smile.

Some girls have a natural smile that is warm and inviting.

 

Some women are comforting.

They calm me. They sooth me. They relax me. They are like clean laundry blowing in the breeze on a sunny Spring day. Or like a nice toasted cheese sandwich that you eat with a bowl of tomato soup.

Some girls are like a nice toasted cheese sandwich that you eat with a bowl of tomato soup.

Some just look great in a particular outfit, while others just fit the particular environment.

Some girls look great in a particular outfit.

Girls, ladies, women are like beautiful flowers that should be treasured and cherished. For they are all wonderful.

But do not mistake the cuteness of a tiger for the damage it could cause if you angered it. Chinese women are very, very capable people. You can take that “to the bank”. Never fail to understand that they are strong, knowledgeable and powerful in their own right.

The girls of China tend to be very beautiful.

All are wonderful.

Such is the beauty of women. And for us, and for everyone, we need to appreciative the world around us more.

Some girls remind me of a cat that ate the bird.

Some girls take me to another time and place; and reality.

Some girls alter my reality.

And that’s what relationships do. So if you want to have a great adventure on your world-line travels hook up with a partner that will accentuate your world-line adventures through the MWI.

Some girls remind me of ravioli. Good. Warm. Delicious. Tasty. Pleasant aroma, and so fulfilling.

Some girls remind me of ravioli. Good. Warm. Delicious. Tasty. Pleasant aroma, and so fulfilling.

This girl reminds me of ice cream stands on hot Summer days. Maybe with a nice creamy orange-cream ice-cream. Or, perhaps a “Blizzard” with crunched up Oreo cookies as a topping. Or maybe a frosty root-beer float.

This girl reminds me of ice cream stands on hot Summer days.

As I have elaborated upon in other posts, I now associate women, girls and ladies with food. In fact, when I look at food I think of women. And when I look at women I think of food. I suppose that you all must think that I am completely bonkers in this regard.

But that’s just the way it is.

This gal reminds me of hot buttered corn, with Lays potato chips, dill garlic spears (pickles), potato salad, and Mr. Pibb. (An American soft drink.)

When I think of women wearing comfortable casual clothes I imagine us in the house together. She’s cooking on the stove wearing an apron. I know, I’m such an old fashioned chauvinist guy, and us talking. I sit there sipping on a wine, and helping her, maybe doing some food prep and she’s busy talking about this or that. Nothing too serious, but fun, light conversation that is engaging and delightful.

A delightful woman is like a fine loaf of bread, piping hot, out of the oven, hot and toasty.

Now, I know. I know. I mean it; I know that this is not what anyone really WANTS to hear.

They want to hear about sex, and porn. they want to hear about expensive clothing, makeup and beauty perfection. They want to hear about the salacious details on dates and relationships that have turned sour.

Not here.

(I’ve) been there. Done that.

I just want to have a good time and munch.

These two girls remind me of the silliest thing. I imagine left over meatloaf, on two slices of white bread with a bunch of ketchup on top. Don’t ask me why. Because I am not aware of the associative meaning.

And just because I enjoy the more curvy robust girls, that doesn’t mean that I do not find other women just as attractive. Some of my favorite girls are short, thin and very petite. But that is just me.

I like them all.

Just like I like Pizza, cheeseburgers, steaks and fried chicken. Don’t force me to choose. I just cannot. I love them all. And that is the same with beauty. There is no set idea of perfection, but rather a wide and diverse spectrum of characteristics that all work together to create an “image”.

A wonderful woman is like a fine roasted chicken. Tender and hot on the inside, and a bit crunchy on the outside.

We have to be more aware, and certainly more appreciative.

Not every girl is a “ten”. But that rating scale is based upon appearance alone. When the actual characteristics of a person consists of a wide spectrum of attributes. From appearance to personal grooming. To manners, the way that they talk, their friends, and their interests. To kindness, dreams, and opinions on life. Everything combines to a whole. And you all will not get that in a static image.

This gal reminds me of kite flying, a blanket on the lawn, two bottles of red wine (or chardonnay) and some hard crusty rolls with Gorgonzola cheese.

When I look at something, or someone who is beautiful it first strikes my interest. This is a normal reaction and there is nothing evil, disgusting or slimy about it. People naturally gravitate towards the attractive. But you know, and I am certain that some dog owners know, that even the most ugly dogs have characteristics that make them very special and beautiful in our eyes.

And that’s one of the great things about life.

It’s to experience beauty in everything. To appreciate beauty in everything, and to contribute to that beauty in good, substantive, and helpful ways. To make the life better for friends and family; to improve society and to rid the world of the evil, the confused and the horrible.

This girl reminds me of a jar of hot mixed vegetables. When I mean “hot”, I mean spicy. When you pickle vegetables with hot peppers. It’s oh so tasty. Like this woman here.

 

In this particular post we will look at these groups of videos. I do hope that you enjoy them…

You all might wonder why I am posting these pictures on the internet. But you shouldn’t.

Try to find pictures of beautiful girls from China using Google, Bing or any American or Western search engine. What you will get are stock images, advertisements, pictures of children, and professional photos associated with some Western “journalism”.

Now this is sexy.

Nonsense. This is what it’s like.

This is the real, honest to goodness deal.

The Videos

  • All the Videos HERE. It’s all in one big zip file. Just download and open up and watch. I hope you all enjoy them. 337 MB.

Oh, and don’t leave yet!

Special Bonus

Here’s another TWICE video. Please pay attention to all the smiles, and the upbeat action. This one is a favorite of mine (and my daughter) because it was filmed in Boston. And I have many, many fond memories of Boston Massachusetts.

The song and video is “Likey”. As you watch it, please keep in mind that people are attracted to smiles. You might be ugly as shit, but a big toothy smile will open doors for you.

Chalk it up to MM survival hints 101.

Go ahead watch it. Pay particular attention to the smiles.

Do not forget that a nice big smile can open up many doors.

And if you are a woman, and you want to snag a man, a very special guy, then smell like donuts. (Just joking. Kind of.) Actually, though, there is an entire website to the science behind perfume selection in this regard. You might want to visit it here.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

.

Articles & Links

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 to find out how to go about this.
  • 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.

 

A curious collection of wonderfully beautiful Chinese girls – Collection 9 – oh La La with images of food and delicious pastimes

Here is part nine of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. This particular collection consists of a very average selection of attractive Chinese girls, and you all might just be “blown away” by the content. Indeed, there are some favorites in here.

I’ve been spending way too much time dealing with the rubble of Metallicman after the three detailed attacks on my system, my content and my subscriber base. Apparently the people who attacked MM were not so worried about what I had been posting, but they wanted to know who have been subscribing to it, and since they couldn’t extract the data they tried to brute-force crowbar their way into the databases.

They failed, but boy or boy did they leave a lot of wreckage behind.  I guess, I really don’t know, but I guess, that their normal loopholes that they normally exploit revolve around the profit ends and the collection of data in that venture. And since I don’t do that, they were left scrambling to find other means to enter. All of which failed.

I wrote up a great post, that has been up for hours and no one is reading it. So I wonder why. Well they also corrupted my URL assignment code. Jeeze! Don’t these guys have better things to do with their time?

Well, I corrected the messed up URL and released the latest post about the movie Push and the United States media control. Why the Coronavirus narrative about vaccines resembles the science fiction movie Push. And it got zero hits. I mean What the Fuck! people. You asked me a questions and I wrote up a detailed answer and no one is checking it out. Really?

It seems really strange to me. Most MM readers are rather congenial, don’t you know. So I figure it must be a problem on my end. Sigh. So I’ve been debugging it all evening. Jeeze part two. Can’t I ever get a break?

But something else curious has been happening.

More than just a few people have been writing to me through the ‘back channels” telling me of similar events that they are experiencing. Taken as a whole, it seems that something bigger than just a nefarious hacking attempt has occurred.

I am a regular reader of your site. I am living in France, so I guess I must be 7 hours behind you. In any case, I experienced the problems on June 2, given the time difference from where you're at. Anyway, I had a "taunting" kind of dream very early in the morning and my husband couldn't stop bugging me. I couldn't gather my thoughts. He only calmed down and went to sleep after I started thinking that some outside force was using him as a conduit to bother me.

It was a blatantly ridiculous dream where someone tries to haunt me by saying "we know what you did in the past", which I brushed off and thought, "well i'm not the only sinner here hypocrite, and even then I'm a fucking saint by comparison"... But still, this is not a typical dream. Usually my dreams are just nonsense. It felt like it was a deliberate attack. A bullshit attack to be sure, but definitely felt "deliberate". I can't explain except that's how I felt when I woke up. I have no "proof". Just a very strong feeling, so take that as you will. 

Anyway, I wake up to my morning routine, which includes visiting your site for new articles. I see that your site is loading very slowly or not at all. I tried several times, but no dice. Then I immediately get a rash of appointment cancellations. I told myself to stay steady and remember my "homing thoughts" and to not break my stride. I also thought that this attack would not come if the resistance was not on the correct path. 

The next day, your site is working fine again. I get some additional perfect reviews and new appointments. I'm not saying the events I experienced are connected to what happened to you, but I had a sense that something was going to go haywire in the early morning of my suspicious dream. I was surprised to find out that Zhuhai experienced a suspiciously prolonged electromagnetic storm during this time.

Maybe you had other readers who experienced something strange or "off" the day your site got attacked. If this occurred, then it's definitely something worth remembering and keeping in the back of the mind for future reference. 

In any case, I (and I'm sure many silent readers as well) are grateful for your work and the information you put out there. 

-Anonymous M

Well, yeah. How the heck does someone not connected with the operation of the site also have odd and unusual experiences happening to them as well? So I responded…

Thank you for that. You are not the only one. Something has occurred, and it's bigger than what we humans understand. There was a battle, or reset, or "something". Call it an adjustment, if you want. But something happened. Yeah, you are not crazy.

Anyways…

Speaking of a “break”…

I’ve discovered another fine “white wine” that I have “taken a shine to”. It’s very cheap, and tastes great. But it’s at 43% alcohol instead of 55%. Never the less, aside from that, it’s rippin’ good. So it charges me up and refreshes me at the same time. Perhaps I have become more like Bender Bending Rodríguez who needs alcohol to function properly. Heh heh.

Bender Bending Rodríguez

I’ve been so wrapped up in dealing with the carnage that I haven’t had the time to enjoy the little pleasures in life. Like good food, good drink and fine companionship. Now that’s a shame, eh?

Let’s get on to the girls of China, eh?

That’s why you are here, eh?

The idea here is that you would look at the girl, and in the process concentrate on the background around her. Because these are the “real deals”. This is what China is. And while the girls want you to focus on them, their eyes, their faces, their bodies, the background tells us much about where they live.

Besides… who doesn’t like to look at attractive people? And don’t you lie. It’s biologically encoded in all humans. (Bet you didn’t know that!)

Women look at other women with “different eyes” than men do. Of course, everyone knows this. Let’s look at this picture below.

Here’s my comments.

Her eyebrows are perfect. Just perfect. You can see the lines and details in them. very nice. Very sweet.

Nice robust chest with a very comfortable top, and the way that those jeans fit her is really awesome. This is the “go around town” outfit where you feel good and comfortable and wear the clothes like a second skin.

I like the necklace. But I wonder what is it’s significance. Does the letter “H” mean something, or is it just an accessory? Us guys usually haven’t a clue, but when we are out eating a noon meal with the woman in question, ti would probably come up as a conversation piece.

I have to say that her hair is distressed. It’s thin, and seems to be over processed. I think that she needs to seriously condition it. My guess is that she has been changing her hair color far too often than she should.

She looks to be in her 30’s. But this is China, she could easily be in her 40’s without any issue.

To Open the Files

Like my other posts.

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between  one and a half to four minutes long. All told each zip file will give you about five to ten minutes of viewing.

Here is a younger lass. She’s in her 20’s. She have a very Asian face, and a very round face as opposed to an oval face. Like all Chinese, her eye color is brown. But with black hair and brown eyes, what’s not to love? I do love the way that he lips part, and the red color just matches her skin complexion. You will notice that the skin is pale. This is considered to be beautiful in China. Even in the Southern regions near Guangzhou.

She has a nice robust chest, and is wearing a cute top with a curious pattern. It seems to be embroidered, which (if you know me) is one of my loves. I just love embroidered work. Especially shirts and jackets.

Judging from the video, I would guess that she is in her middle 20’s and is healthy and fit. But I could be wrong. She might be 80 years old. It’s difficult to tell the age of a Chinese woman, don’t you know.

I find the ladies lovely. But others might not.

For you others, well, I really hope that you are not too bored.

While I tend to prefer ladies with a more motherly and robust appearance, I find all of them to be very attractive. From the tall thin leggy beauties to the short cute little kitten like cuddle balls. But of course, most people from Arkansas think that my interest in these gals are because they look preadolescent. Really. Do you think that this beauty looks like a ten year old child?

This gal has everything that I find attractive in a woman. Big smile. Clean appearance. Longish hair that is clean, healthy and well maintained. Robust Chest, is playful.  Is wearing comfortable clothes that fit her well. And has hands that dance…

…do you know what I mean “that dance”…

…smooth articulated moments that move like water, and are graceful and calm. Peaceful and eloquent.

Some key points

Beauty is up to the person who views it.

This is true for the human sexes, as it is for animals, for flowers and for things such as building and art. Personally, I find art that massages the soul to be truly beautiful and inspirational. Which is why I have a complete index devoted to the subject.

But, what I consider to be beautiful might repel others. And likewise, what others find beautiful repels me.

Consider this work of “art”…

Is this “art”? Is this “beautiful”? Does this evoke the senses?

I argue that it’s a contemporaneous joke that is trying to capitalize on the current contentious political scene. Not any kind of work of value, no matter what your political persuasion is. Art evokes the senses and stirs the emotions. If it fails to do so, then it is not art.

But beauty comes in many forms and many shapes. While this particular post or article is about the beauty of Chinese ladies, I argue that beauty can be found everywhere. Look at cats for instance…

A beautiful cat.

And I have said this many, many times before.

If you had a choice, wouldn’t you prefer to surround yourselves with beautiful things, beautiful creatures, beautiful places, and beautiful relationships. It is up to us to attract and emit the same kinds of attractions. Whether it is beauty, kindness or happiness. We become what we emit.

Again. Nice eyebrows. Very Chinese eyes.

Short fingernails. She’s obviously a working or office girl. You try typing on a  keyboard with long fingernails. Oh, Lordly as if that’s going to happen. Not!

Nice chest. Very cuddly soft sweater. Personally I find the bright blue too garish for my personal tastes, but she looks good in it.

Now, when I was younger, my tastes in women were shaped by the images and magazines of the time such as Playboy, and Penthouse. That’s all I had to go on, and as a young man, with my hormones a raging, all I could do is tremble as I asked a girl out. Which most of the time was a failure.

But it’s all a growth phase that we all go through.

This chick has over processed her hair. I really don’t think that she should do this.  But in all fairness, she is going for a “look”. You can tell by her clothing and her lipstick color.

Notice the background. She is in a typical Chinese housing complex, and the view is very common throughout China.

Bing a man, eventually you reach a balance point where your hormones are under control and all you really want to do is get to know the girl, have a good time together, and enjoy the moments. And really as you get older this becomes more and more pronounced.

You savor the steaks you eat. You enjoy the perfume she wears, you listen to her talk and enjoy the night air after the dinner. You joke, you laugh, and maybe sing a song or two while walking on the jetty.

Women are magical.

I will bet that this girl (below) would be fun to be with. To go out, chat on in a mall, go window shopping with, and enjoy a nice meal. Maybe Thai or Viet food. Colorful, tasty, delicious and relaxing. I can easily picture sharing a steamed fish and some coconut / pineapple rice together.

I think that the beauty of these videos is that in a few seconds you can see the “personality” of the ladies as they try to display their charms for the world to see. It’s their choice of clothing, the area where the video was filmed, the selection of music, the way their hair is done up, and so much more.

Like the clothes that they chose to spend the evening in, and the choice of shoes that they wore. Guys, you all had best be more attentive. Don’t you know.

Each little video is like a window to the soul. Where you get a little glimpse of the girl behind the mask. That little presentation is just pure gold.

Some have personality.

And some really do. While others just have a strong softness. Some are calm and composed, some are happy and light. And some are stunning and serious while others remind you of Summer carnival rides, cotton candy and “bear claw” cakes to s’munch upon.

Like this girl below. I would love to ride on a merry-go-round with her, a roller-coaster, or just explore a fun house while snapping videos to post on Tictok.

Some have a great body.

They have long legs, or great dimples. Some have just long, long hair or dark, dark eyes. Some have a soft touch, while others have a careful composed prettiness.

Some have a wonderful smile.

Some just look great in a particular outfit, while others just fit the particular environment. Girls, ladies, women are like beautiful flowers that should be treasured and cherished. For they are all wonderful.

But do not mistake the cuteness of a tiger for the damage it could cause if you angered it. Chinese women are very, very capable people. You can take that “to the bank”. Never fail to understand that they are strong, knowledgeable and powerful in their own right.

This girl below has artistic hands. Much like I have. She’s really pretty typical, but this particular pose would be really nice to paint in oils. Just remove the damn camera phone so that I can get a decent look at her face. You do know girls that there is more to your being than just your hips and chest. Your entire face is what presents your image to the world. Omit that, and you are just a thing.

I get it. You are proud of your attractive body. And I, like most me, appreciate that body. But when I am with a chick it’s how I picture us interacting together that means more than just the appearance. From the simple morning hello, to the nighttime escapades. What makes a person special is how they carry themselves.

All are wonderful.

Such is the beauty of women. And for us, and for everyone, we need to appreciative the world around us more.

Some girls just make me melt, and some with pony tails are just adorable. Here is a girl in a country backyard garden. It’s pretty typical China with blue skies, bright green colors and warm temperatures.

Oh, I guess that I am a tad bit crazy. When I see an attractive girl all I want to do is be with them and talk. Hopefully over food. This idea that I would associate attractive girls with food is nothing that I would ever believe when I was younger. But here we are.

In those days, I was always in a hurry. Eat, run, work at a frantic pace. Get laid off. Hustle to find new work. Work at a frantic pace to learn the job. Hurry up. Do the task. Complete the task. Crash. layoff. Repeat.

Now I savor life.

I savor the time that I share with others, and I appreciate the time that they devote in getting ready to go out with me. I appreciate the clothes that they wear, and the behaviors that they have. I pay special attention to what they have to say and why.

Speaking of food…

Here’s a random selection of some of the food and meals that I had over the last few weeks. Just like in my prayer / affirmation campaigns; “I eat fine, delicious and healthy food in a calm and relaxed manner with friends and family”.

Sweet and sour pork. Authentic Chinese Guangzhou style.

Sweet and sour pork is one of my favorite Chinese dishes. There is a sort of pale-copy of it in Chinese American restaurants back in the United States, but the real deal is fresh. It’s not pre-packaged out of a bag and cooked up on the stove like it is in America.

And here’s what I talk about when I eat beef….

Vietnamese style ginger beef. Oh so tender and so very delicious.

As much as I love a fine steak ( Filet mignon is my favorite), I do love those really tender slices of beef that are cooked oh so very right. So yummy.

The next meal was taken in a Dim Sum restaurant and the lunch meal was extraordinary. Of course, the main meals are great and tasty but make for great conversation pieces, like these little tank crapes…

Battle Dim Sum meal.

I love food in all of it’s many incarnations. And being in the Guangzhou area we get a fine selection of South East Asian food. I must tell you’se guys that Singapore food is just awesome, as is Malaysian, Cambodian, Thai and Vietnamese. Many of them have ingredients that are unavailable in the United States part of it is because of price, but a lot of it is because they are banned.

For the children…

…don’t you know.

Check out this nice Thai shrimp…

Sweet curried prawns.

We have some favorite restaurants that we hold VIP membership with. These “memberships” are an on going thing all over China. You get 20% off the price, a waiver of the various fees for tea, napkins, seats and rice, and preferential treatment. To get it you must deposit a few thousand yuan in the establishment and then you pay your bill drawing from that account.

And here’s a nice meal that I had in one of our “family restaurants”…

Pork neck and curried chicken.

For some odd reason, I now associate women, girls and ladies with food. In fact, when I look at food I think of women. And when I look at women I think of food. I suppose that you all must think that I am completely bonkers in this regard. But that’s just the way it is.

When I think of women wearing comfortable casual clothes I imagine us in the house together. She’s cooking on the stove wearing an apron. I know, I’m such an old fashioned chauvinist guy, and us talking. I sit there sipping on a wine, and helping her, maybe doing some food prep and she’s busy talking about this or that. Nothing too serious, but fun, light conversation that is engaging and delightful.

Now, I know. I know. I mean it; I know that this is not what anyone really WANTS to hear.

They want to hear about sex, and porn. they want to hear about expensive clothing, makeup and beauty perfection. They want to hear about the salacious details on dates and relationships that have turned sour.

Not here.

(I’ve) been there. Done that.

I just want to have a good time and munch.

And that young girl going out with “her crew”, see the beauty of her age around and what they are doing. As I have said, beauty comes in all shapes, sizes, ages, and types. And just because I enjoy the more curvy robust girls, that doesn’t mean that I do not find other women just as attractive. Some of my favorite girls are short, thin and very petite. But that is just me.

I like them all.

Just like I like Pizza, cheeseburgers, steaks and fried chicken. Don’t force me to choose. I just cannot. I love them all. And that is the same with beauty. There is no set idea of perfection, but rather a wide and diverse spectrum of characteristics that all work together to create an “image”.

I just love how she parts open her lips. What a very nice image.

We have to be more aware, and certainly more appreciative.

Not every girl is a “ten”. But that rating scale is based upon appearance alone. When the actual characteristics of a person consists of a wide spectrum of attributes. From appearance to personal grooming. To manners, the way that they talk, their friends, and their interests. To kindness, dreams, and opinions on life. Everything combines to a whole. And you all will not get that in a static image.

When I look at something, or someone who is beautiful it first strikes my interest. This is a normal reaction and there is nothing evil, disgusting or slimy about it. People naturally gravitate towards the attractive. But you know, and I am certain that some dog owners know, that even the most ugly dogs have characteristics that make them very special and beautiful in our eyes.

And that’s one of the great things about life.

It’s to experience beauty in everything. To appreciate beauty in everything, and to contribute to that beauty in good, substantive, and helpful ways. To make the life better for friends and family; to improve society and to rid the world of the evil, the confused and the horrible.

What I like about this particular picture is this model (and she is a model. She models trousers) is how comfortable she appears. She has a nice chest, thin waist, but the pants fit like a very comfortable glove. Haven’t you’se guys ever had clothing that felt so good when you put them on, that you felt… regal? Well, that is the feeling that I get from this particular picture.

In this particular post we will look at these groups of videos. I do hope that you enjoy them…

You all might wonder why I am posting these pictures on the internet. But you shouldn’t.

Try to find pictures of beautiful girls from China using Google, Bing or any American or Western search engine. What you will get are stock images, advertisements, pictures of children, and professional photos associated with some Western “journalism”.

Nonsense. This is what it’s like.

This is the real, honest to goodness deal.

The Videos

Oh, and don’t leave yet! Let’s talk about the girls for a spell….

Talking about the Girls

Smiles that can open up all sorts of doors.

Let’s talk a little about the girls.

These girls are mostly between the ages of 18 years and 45 years old. The vast bulk of them are in their late 20’s. In China, if you are a woman, the ages between 23 years old and 30 years old are the dating years where you look for a husband worthy to start a family with. In China, if a woman cannot find a man by the time she is 28, she is considered a Spinster.  And is considered unmarriageable.

Yikes!

The age to get married for a woman in China is between 25 and 28. If they do not get married their entire family will sponsor these date-a-thons where they will have these programmed courting-rituals where the girl and the boy (part of a long line of boys) will spend time together.

The family won’t tell the girl beforehand either. She’ll walk into the house, and before she knows it, she’s on the fast track to get married. In the USA we call this a “shotgun wedding”. Only in China it’s the other way around.

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

I don’t know about you’se guys, but all these girls look pretty darn marriageable to me.  They would be on the “A” list in any man’s personal list.

And no, someone had best hit those morons in Arkansas on their idiotic moronic  heads. They do not look like pre-adolescent children do they?

What age do you think this lass is? Ten or twelve?

A special bonus

Now here is a very special bonus that I am including in this article.

You know that the United States is all upset that China is forging relationships with nations in Africa, and the tried and true methods of giving wads of money to African dictators no longer works. And the Chinese help, infrastructure and investment is changing the nations of Africa.

But you NEVER see or hear about it.

China is leading the world in Change. Look at these beauties. Gosh their hair is so wonderful. And look at those eyes, and lips. My goodness!

Not once did FOX “news”, CNN, Salon, the Huffington Post, or Free Republic ever mention how the good works that China is doing inside Africa is transforming the societies there. It’s “soft power”, don’t you know, and America hates that. You cannot make money on wars when everyone is happy.

Here’s a video showing the good things that are happening in Africa, and not this is not a propaganda flick. Like all the videos in this article, this is the real deal taken by people who are participating in it first hand. Notice how beautiful the African ladies are. Notice how happy everyone is. Notice that they are providing a stable source of income and a future.

This is Africa today.

This is because of China. And notice how they are all speaking Chinese in Africa. It makes a difference when you are not blowing up their houses, machine gunning down their cattle, and carpet bombing their cities.

You can download the video HERE.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

.

Articles & Links

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 to find out how to go about this.
  • 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.

 

A rather nice collection of pretty Chinese girls – Collection 8 – This is China.

Here is part eight of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. And this one is a collection where I try to offer a different selection of all sorts and sizes.

Today is a nice lazy Saturday.

I went out to pick up some packages at the local “box store”, and then went off to the MeiYeJia quick-mart that I have mentioned before. It’s all so mellow. I passed one of the neighborhood kitty cats. He is a young gun. Maybe a year old, and taking a nice nap in the front. Like this…

Life is hard. Then you nap.

I went in to get a coke.

I don’t drink sodas like I used to in the United States. It’s far too sugary, and actually in China beer is just about the same price. So I tend to drink beer. But I wanted to get a “Black Coke” with is a zero calorie coke. I don’t care whether it has sugar or not. It’s just not as sweet as the regular coke.

And as I got it, I saw both of the children studying.

They are in first and second grade. And here it is on a Saturday at 3 in the afternoon, and they are there, next to their parents in their franchised quickie-mart, studying. So I slyly took a serendipitous photo of her while she was engrossed in her studies.

People. This is what China is.

First grader studying next to her parents in the family store on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

You would never see this in the United States.

Anyways…

Let’s get on to the girls of China, eh?

The idea here is that you would look at the girl, and in the process concentrate on the background around her. Because these are the “real deals”. This is what China is. And while the girls want you to focus on them, their eyes, their faces, their bodies, the background tells us much about where they live.

Besides… who doesn’t like to look at attractive people?

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

To Open the Files

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between  one and a half to four minutes long. All told each zip file will give you about five to ten minutes of viewing.

I find the ladies lovely. But others might not.

For you others, well, I really hope that you are not too bored.

While I tend to prefer ladies with a more motherly and robust appearance, I find all of them to be very attractive. From the tall thin leggy beauties to the short cute little kitten like cuddle balls.

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

Some key points

Beauty is up to the person who views it.

And I have said this many, many times before.

Now, when I was younger, my tastes in women were shaped by the images and magazines of the time such as Playboy, and Penthouse. That’s all I had to go on, and as a young man, with my hormones a raging, all I could do is tremble as I asked a girl out. Which most of the time was a failure.

But it’s all a growth phase that we all go through.

And eventually you reach a balance point where your hormones are under control and all you really want to do is get to know the girl, have a good time together, and enjoy the moments. And really as you get older this becomes more and more pronounced.

You savor the steaks you eat. You enjoy the perfume she wears, you listen to her talk and enjoy the night air after the dinner. You joke, you laugh, and maybe sing a song or two while walking on the jetty.

Women are magical.

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

I think that the beauty of these videos is that in a few seconds you can see the “personality” of the ladies as they try to display their charms for the world to see. It’s their choice of clothing, the area where the video was filmed, the selection of music, the way their hair is done up, and so much more.

Each little video is like a window to the soul. Where you get a little glimpse of the girl behind the mask. That little presentation is just pure gold.

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

Some have personality.

And some really do. While others just have a strong softness. Some are calm and composed, some are happy and light. And some are stunning and serious while others remind you of Summer carnival rides, cotton candy and “bear claw” cakes to s’munch upon.

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

Some have a great body.

They have long legs, or great dimples. Some have just long, long hair or dark, dark eyes. Some have a soft touch, while others have a careful composed prettiness.

Some have a great body.

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

Some just look great in a particular outfit, while others just fit the particular environment. Girls, ladies, women are like beautiful flowers that should be treasured and cherished. For they are all wonderful.

But do not mistake the cuteness of a tiger for the damage it could cause if you angered it. Chinese women are very, very capable people. You can take that “to the bank”. Never fail to understand that they are strong, knowledgeable and powerful in their own right.

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

All are wonderful.

Such is the beauty of women. And for us, and for everyone, we need to appreciative the world around us more.

A beautiful girl of China. This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

That fat gal at the store that you see every day, she’s a kind, lovely beauty, who could use some TLC.

And that older woman wearing that elaborate outfit, just look at her, see how the light plays upon the details.

A beautiful girl of China. This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

And that young girl going out with “her crew”, see the beauty of her age around and what they are doing.

We have to be more aware, and certainly more appreciative.

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

The Videos

Let’s have a look at the videos shall we? I’ve got a bunch for certain.

In this particular post we will look at these groups of videos. I do hope that you enjoy them…

  • Collection one HERE. 51MB.
  • Collection two HERE. 69MB.
  • Collection three HERE. 85MB.
  • Collection four. HERE. 78MB.
  • Collection five. HERE. 92MB.
  • Collection six. HERE. 95MB.
  • Collection seven. HERE. 123MB.
  • Collection eight HERE. 156MB.
  • Collection nine HERE. 147MB.
  • Collection ten. HERE. 149MB.

You all might wonder why I am posting these pictures on the internet. But you shouldn’t.

Try to find pictures of beautiful girls from China using Google, Bing or any American or Western search engine. What you will get are stock images, advertisements, pictures of children, and professional photos associated with some Western “journalism”.

Nonsense. This is what it’s like.

This is the real, honest to goodness deal.

Oh, and don’t leave yet! Let’s talk about the girls for a spell….

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

About the girls

These girls are mostly between the ages of 18 years and 45 years old. The vast bulk of them are in their late 20’s. In China, if you are a woman, the ages between 23 years old and 30 years old are the dating years where you look for a husband worthy to start a family with. In China, if a woman cannot find a man by the time she is 28, she is considered a Spinster.  And is considered unmarriageable.

The age to get married for a woman in China is between 25 and 28. If they do not get married their entire family will sponsor these date-a-thons where they will have these programmed courting-rituals where the girl and the boy (part of a long line of boys) will spend time together.

The family won’t tell the girl beforehand either. She’ll walk into the house, and before she knows it, she’s on the fast track to get married. In the USA we call this a “shotgun wedding”. Only in China it’s the other way around.

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

I don’t know about you’se guys, but all these girls look pretty darn marriageable to me.  They would be on the “A” list in any man’s personal list.

This is an average, but beautiful girl from China.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

.

Articles & Links

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 to find out how to go about this.
  • 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.

 

A super duper treasure trove of pretty Chinese girls – Collection (7) – All super, all duper. Whoa!!

Here is part seven of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. And this one is a “mother lode”.

Definition of motherload

“…a huge shipment, large in quantity.”

The idea here is that you would look at the girl, and in the process concentrate on the background around her. Because these are the “real deals”. This is what China is. And while the girls want you to focus on them, their eyes, their faces, their bodies, the background tells us much about where they live.

Besides… who doesn’t like to look at attractive people?

To Open the Files

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between  one and a half to four minutes long. All told each zip file will give you about five to ten minutes of viewing.

I find the ladies lovely. But others might not. For you others, well, I really hope that you are not too bored.

Some key points

Beauty is up to the person who views it. What is attractive to one person might not be attractive to others. A case in point is a girl who I had a relationship with when I was in High School working in the coal mines. Everyone thought that she was ugly because she did not have a great face. But I liked her, and her body was absolutely rocking.

Like, (hey!) guys, you have no… NO!… idea.

I think that the beauty of these videos is that in a few seconds you can see the “personality” of the ladies as they try to display their charms for the world to see.

Some have personality.

Some have a great body.

Some just look great in a particular outfit, while others just fit the particular environment.

All are wonderful.

Such is the beauty of women. And for us, and for everyone, we need to appreciative the world around us more. That fat gal at the store that you see every day, she’s a kind, lovely beauty, who could use some TLC. And that older woman wearing that elaborate outfit, just look at her, see how the light plays upon the details. And that young girl going out with “her crew”, see the beauty of her age around and what they are doing.

We have to be more aware, and certainly more appreciative.

The Videos

In this particular post we will look at these groups of videos. I do hope that you enjoy them…

Group 1 (Sorry it got lost in the sorting. I blame a host of problems resulting in a “perfect-storm” of erasure, deletion, and loss.)

Group 2 HERE. 129MB.

Group 3 HERE. 108MB.

Group 4 HERE. 112MB.

Group 5 HERE. 98MB.

Group 6 HERE. 107MB.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

.

Articles & Links

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 to find out how to go about this.
  • 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.

 

Law 1 of the 48 laws of Power by Robert Greene. Never Outshine the Master

Fearless (2006)

Fearless, as Jet Li's Fearless in the United Kingdom and in the United States, is a 2006 Chinese-Hong Kong martial arts film. It is loosely based on the life of Huo Yuanjia, a Chinese martial artist who challenged foreign fighters in highly publicised events, restoring pride and nationalism to China at a time when Western imperialism and Japanese manipulation were eroding the country in the final years of the Qing Dynasty before the birth of the Republic of China.

Lesson One.

This is one of the most important points that Robert Greene has taught us. Once a student, always a student until the day your mentor leaves. For a true master is a great ally, but an even worst foe. Be constantly on guard for your actions, and beware of your environment, least you damage something that has developed to be part of your very being.

LAW 1

NEVER OUTSHINE THE MASTER

JUDGMENT

Always make those above you feel comfortably superior. In your desire to please and impress them, do not go too far in displaying your talents or you might accomplish the opposite—inspire fear and insecurity. Make your masters appear more brilliant than they are and you will attain the heights of power.

TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW

Nicolas Fouquet, Louis XIV’s finance minister in the first years of his reign, was a generous man who loved lavish parties, pretty women, and poetry. He also loved money, for he led an extravagant lifestyle.

Fouquet was clever and very much indispensable to the king, so when the prime minister, Jules Mazarin, died, in 1661, the finance minister expected to be named the successor. Instead, the king decided to abolish the position.

This and other signs made Fouquet suspect that he was falling out of favor, and so he decided to ingratiate himself with the king by staging the most spectacular party the world had ever seen. The party’s ostensible purpose would be to commemorate the completion of Fouquet’s château, Vaux-le- Vicomte, but its real function was to pay tribute to the king, the guest of honor.

The most brilliant nobility of Europe and some of the greatest minds of the time—La Fontaine, La Rochefoucauld, Madame de Sévigné attended the party. Molière wrote a play for the occasion, in which he himself was to perform at the evening’s conclusion. The party began with a lavish seven- course dinner, featuring foods from the Orient never before tasted in France, as well as new dishes created especially for the night. The meal was accompanied with music commissioned by Fouquet to honor the king.

After dinner there was a promenade through the château’s gardens. The grounds and fountains of Vaux-le-Vicomte were to be the inspiration for Versailles.

Fouquet personally accompanied the young king through the geometrically aligned arrangements of shrubbery and flower beds.

Arriving at the gardens’ canals, they witnessed a fireworks display, which was followed by the performance of Molière’s play.

The party ran well into the night and everyone agreed it was the most amazing affair they had ever attended.

The next day, Fouquet was arrested by the king’s head musketeer, D’Artagnan. Three months later he went on trial for stealing from the country’s treasury. (Actually, most of the stealing he was accused of he had done on the king’s behalf and with the king’s permission.)

Fouquet was found guilty and sent to the most isolated prison in France, high in the Pyrenees Mountains, where he spent the last twenty years of his life in solitary confinement.

Interpretation

Louis XIV, the Sun King, was a proud and arrogant man who wanted to be the center of attention at all times; he could not countenance being outdone in lavishness by anyone, and certainly not his finance minister.

To succeed Fouquet, Louis chose Jean-Baptiste Colbert, a man famous for his parsimony and for giving the dullest parties in Paris. Colbert made sure that any money liberated from the treasury went straight into Louis’s hands.

With the money, Louis built a palace even more magnificent than Fouquet’s —the glorious palace of Versailles. He used the same architects, decorators, and garden designer. And at Versailles, Louis hosted parties even more extravagant than the one that cost Fouquet his freedom.

Let us examine the situation.

The evening of the party, as Fouquet presented spectacle on spectacle to Louis, each more magnificent than the one before, he imagined the affair as demonstrating his loyalty and devotion to the king.

Not only did he think the party would put him back in the king’s favor, he thought it would show his good taste, his connections, and his popularity, making him indispensable to the king and demonstrating that he would make an excellent prime minister.

Instead, however, each new spectacle, each appreciative smile bestowed by the guests on Fouquet, made it seem to Louis that his own friends and subjects were more charmed by the finance minister than by the king himself, and that Fouquet was actually flaunting his wealth and power.

Rather than flattering Louis XIV, Fouquet’s elaborate party offended the king’s vanity.

Louis would not admit this to anyone, of course—instead, he found a convenient excuse to rid himself of a man who had inadvertently made him feel insecure.

Such is the fate, in some form or other, of all those who unbalance the master’s sense of self, poke holes in his vanity, or make him doubt his pre- eminence.

When the evening began, Fouquet was at the top of the world.

By the time it had ended, he was at the bottom.

Voltaire, 1694-1778

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

In the early 1600s, the Italian astronomer and mathematician Galileo found himself in a precarious position.

He depended on the generosity of great rulers to support his research, and so, like all Renaissance scientists, he would sometimes make gifts of his inventions and discoveries to the leading patrons of the time.

Once, for instance, he presented a military compass he had invented to the Duke of Gonzaga.

Then he dedicated a book explaining the use of the compass to the Medicis.

Both rulers were grateful, and through them Galileo was able to find more students to teach.

No matter how great the discovery, however, his patrons usually paid him with gifts, not cash.

This made for a life of constant insecurity and dependence. There must be an easier way, he thought.

Galileo hit on a new strategy in 1610, when he discovered the moons of Jupiter. Instead of dividing the discovery among his patrons—giving one the telescope he had used, dedicating a book to another, and so on—as he had done in the past, he decided to focus exclusively on the Medicis.

He chose the Medicis for one reason: Shortly after Cosimo I had established the Medici dynasty, in 1540, he had made Jupiter, the mightiest of the gods, the Medici symbol—a symbol of a power that went beyond politics and banking, one linked to ancient Rome and its divinities.

Galileo turned his discovery of Jupiter’s moons into a cosmic event honoring the Medicis’ greatness.

Shortly after the discovery, he announced that “the bright stars [the moons of Jupiter] offered themselves in the heavens” to his telescope at the same time as Cosimo II’s enthronement.

He said that the number of the moons—four—harmonized with the number of the Medicis (Cosimo II had three brothers) and that the moons orbited Jupiter as these four sons revolved around Cosimo I, the dynasty’s founder.

More than coincidence, this showed that the heavens themselves reflected the ascendancy of the Medici family.

After he dedicated the discovery to the Medicis, Galileo commissioned an emblem representing Jupiter sitting on a cloud with the four stars circling about him, and presented this to Cosimo II as a symbol of his link to the stars.

In 1610 Cosimo II made Galileo his official court philosopher and mathematician, with a full salary. For a scientist this was the coup of a lifetime.

The days of begging for patronage were over.

Interpretation

In one stroke, Galileo gained more with his new strategy than he had in years of begging.

The reason is simple: All masters want to appear more brilliant than other people.

They do not care about science or empirical truth or the latest invention ; they care about their name and their glory.

Galileo gave the Medicis infinitely more glory by linking their name with cosmic forces than he had by making them the patrons of some new scientific gadget or discovery.

Scientists are not spared the vagaries of court life and patronage.

They too must serve masters who hold the purse strings. And their great intellectual powers can make the master feel insecure, as if he were only there to supply the funds—an ugly, ignoble job.

The producer of a great work wants to feel he is more than just the provider of the financing. He wants to appear creative and powerful, and also more important than the work produced in his name.

Instead of insecurity you must give him glory. Galileo did not challenge the intellectual authority of the Medicis with his discovery, or make them feel inferior in any way; by literally aligning them with the stars, he made them shine brilliantly among the courts of Italy.

He did not outshine the master, he made the master outshine all others.

KEYS TO POWER

Everyone has insecurities.

When you show yourself in the world and display your talents, you naturally stir up all kinds of resentment, envy, and other manifestations of insecurity. This is to be expected.

You cannot spend your life worrying about the petty feelings of others.

With those above you, however, you must take a different approach: When it comes to power, outshining the master is perhaps the worst mistake of all.

Do not fool yourself into thinking that life has changed much since the days of Louis XIV and the Medicis.

Those who attain high standing in life are like kings and queens: They want to feel secure in their positions, and superior to those around them in intelligence, wit, and charm.

It is a deadly but common misperception to believe that by displaying and vaunting your gifts and talents, you are winning the master’s affection.

He may feign appreciation, but at his first opportunity he will replace you with someone less intelligent, less attractive, less threatening, just as Louis XIV replaced the sparkling Fouquet with the bland Colbert. And as with Louis, he will not admit the truth, but will find an excuse to rid himself of your presence.

This Law involves two rules that you must realize. First, you can inadvertently outshine a master simply by being yourself. There are masters who are more insecure than others, monstrously insecure; you may naturally outshine them by your charm and grace.

No one had more natural talents than Astorre Manfredi, prince of Faenza.

The most handsome of all the young princes of Italy, he captivated his subjects with his generosity and open spirit.

In the year 1500, Cesare Borgia laid siege to Faenza.

When the city surrendered, the citizens expected the worst from the cruel Borgia, who, however, decided to spare the town: He simply occupied its fortress, executed none of its citizens, and allowed Prince Manfredi, eighteen at the time, to remain with his court, in complete freedom.

A few weeks later, though, soldiers hauled Astorre Manfredi away to a Roman prison.

A year after that, his body was fished out of the River Tiber, a stone tied around his neck.

Borgia justified the horrible deed with some sort of trumped-up charge of treason and conspiracy, but the real problem was that he was notoriously vain and insecure.

The young man was outshining him without even trying.

Given Manfredi’s natural talents, the prince’s mere presence made Borgia seem less attractive and charismatic.

The lesson is simple: If you cannot help being charming and superior, you must learn to avoid such monsters of vanity.

Either that, or find a way to mute your good qualities when in the company of a Cesare Borgia.

Second, never imagine that because the master loves you, you can do anything you want.

Entire books could be written about favorites who fell out of favor by taking their status for granted, for daring to outshine.

In late- sixteenth-century Japan, the favorite of Emperor Hideyoshi was a man called Sen no Rikyu.

The premier artist of the tea ceremony, which had become an obsession with the nobility, he was one of Hideyoshi’s most trusted advisers, had his own apartment in the palace, and was honored throughout Japan.

Yet in 1591, Hideyoshi had him arrested and sentenced to death.

Rikyu took his own life, instead.

The cause for his sudden change of fortune was discovered later: It seems that Rikyu, former peasant and later court favorite, had had a wooden statue made of himself wearing sandals (a sign of nobility) and posing loftily. He had had this statue placed in the most important temple inside the palace gates, in clear sight of the royalty who often would pass by.

To Hideyoshi this signified that Rikyu had no sense of limits. Presuming that he had the same rights as those of the highest nobility, he had forgotten that his position depended on the emperor, and had come to believe that he had earned it on his own.

This was an unforgivable miscalculation of his own importance and he paid for it with his life.

Remember the following: Never take your position for granted and never let any favors you receive go to your head.

Knowing the dangers of outshining your master, you can turn this Law to your advantage.

First you must flatter and puff up your master.

Overt flattery can be effective but has its limits; it is too direct and obvious, and looks bad to other courtiers.

Discreet flattery is much more powerful. If you are more intelligent than your master, for example, seem the opposite: Make him appear more intelligent than you. Act naive. Make it seem that you need his expertise. Commit harmless mistakes that will not hurt you in the long run but will give you the chance to ask for his help. Masters adore such requests. A master who cannot bestow on you the gifts of his experience may direct rancor and ill will at you instead.

If your ideas are more creative than your master’s, ascribe them to him, in as public a manner as possible.

Make it clear that your advice is merely an echo of his advice.

If you surpass your master in wit, it is okay to play the role of the court jester, but do not make him appear cold and surly by comparison.

Tone down your humor if necessary, and find ways to make him seem the dispenser of amusement and good cheer.

If you are naturally more sociable and generous than your master, be careful not to be the cloud that blocks his radiance from others.

He must appear as the sun around which everyone revolves, radiating power and brilliance, the center of attention.

If you are thrust into the position of entertaining him, a display of your limited means may win you his sympathy. Any attempt to impress him with your grace and generosity can prove fatal: Learn from Fouquet or pay the price.

In all of these cases it is not a weakness to disguise your strengths if in the end they lead to power.

By letting others outshine you, you remain in control, instead of being a victim of their insecurity.

This will all come in handy the day you decide to rise above your inferior status.

If, like Galileo, you can make your master shine even more in the eyes of others, then you are a godsend and you will be instantly promoted.

Image:

The Stars in the Sky. There can be only one sun at a time. Never obscure the sunlight, or rival the sun’s brilliance; rather, fade into the sky and find ways to heighten the master star’s intensity.

Authority:

Avoid outshining the master. All superiority is odious, but the superiority of a subject over his prince is not only stupid, it is fatal. This is a lesson that the stars in the sky teach us—they may be related to the sun, and just as brilliant, but they never appear in her company. 

(Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

REVERSAL

You cannot worry about upsetting every person you come across, but you must be selectively cruel.

If your superior is a falling star, there is nothing to fear from outshining him.

Do not be merciful—your master had no such scruples in his own cold-blooded climb to the top.

Gauge his strength.

If he is weak, discreetly hasten his downfall: Outdo, outcharm, outsmart him at key moments.

If he is very weak and ready to fall, let nature take its course.

Do not risk outshining a feeble superior—it might appear cruel or spiteful. But if your master is firm in his position, yet you know yourself to be the more capable, bide your time and be patient.

It is the natural course of things that power eventually fades and weakens. Your master will fall someday, and if you play it right, you will outlive and someday outshine him.

Conclusion

We are often nothing if we act alone, but we can achieve greatness if we form a bond with a group of people.

Within those people are those of great skill, knowledge, experience and ability. You can use their talents for the greater good of the group. You can also learn from them and then in tern become proficient as they.

However, when you are in a group, you must never outshine anyone. You must fit within the group and all praises o to the group, not to the individual stars. Once a group of hard-working individuals are ignored by a singular member, the negative emotions of human greet, envy, lust and others start to corrupt the group. It can harm everyone.

Be careful of what you do, and be humble in your assigned position in life.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my “48 Laws of Power” Index here…

The 48 Laws

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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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A treasure trove of pretty Chinese girls – Collection (6) – Many amazing beauties

Here is part of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. The idea is that you would look at the girl, and in the process concentrate on the background around her. Because these are the “real deals”. This is what China is. And while the girls want you to focus on them, their eyes, their faces, their bodies, the background tells us much about where they live.

Besides… who doesn’t like to look at attractive people?

To Open the Files

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between  one and a half to four minutes long. All told each zip file will give you about five to ten minutes of viewing.

I find the ladies lovely. But others might not. For you others, well, I really hope that you are not too bored.

Some key points

Beauty is up to the person who views it. What is attractive to one person might not be attractive to others. A case in point is a girl who I had a relationship with when I was in High School working in the coal mines. Everyone thought that she was ugly because she did not have a great face. But I liked her, and her body was absolutely rocking. Like, guys, you have no idea.

I think that the beauty of these videos is that in a few seconds you can see the “personality” of the ladies as they try to display their charms for the world to see.  Some have personality. Some have a great body. Some just look great in a particular outfit, while others just fit the particular environment. All are wonderful.

The Videos

In this particular post we will look at these groups of videos. I do hope that you enjoy them…

Video Set A

The archive starts out with a lot of cute butts, and a lot of shaking. I do love girls that are soft and cuddly. That’s one of the fundamental differences between the sexes. Mean tend to be lean with muscles everywhere. Women tend to be soft and nurturing.

You can download this file archive HERE. 56MB.

Video Set B

This grouping is a fine OMG archive. I hope that you like it.

You can download this file archive HERE. 48MB.

Video Set C

Look at these girls. You can control how your life will manifest. You do that by thoughts, and verbal affirmations in a prayer campaign. What’s stopping you from making the kind of life that you yearn from materialize? What is stopping you?

You can download this file archive HERE. 61MB.

Video Set D

All you need to do is show some compassion to animals, to others, and to the down and out, and you have won my heart. You can look good, and be super attractive, and you will be noticed, but it is what is inside of you that will act as the glue that will hold your life and your relationships together.

You can download this file archive HERE. 61 MB

Video Set E

Yes this is China, and some of the outfits would get you arrested in the United States. That’s a fact. Oh, but I do love China.

You can download this file archive HERE. 53MB.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

.

Articles & Links

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 to find out how to go about this.
  • 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.

 

A treasure trove of pretty Chinese girls – Collection (5) – What a batch of ladies.

This is collection five.

Here is part of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. The idea is that you would look at the girl, and in the process concentrate on the background around her. Because these are the “real deals”. This is what China is. And while the girls want you to focus on them, their eyes, their faces, their bodies, the background tells us much about where they live.

Besides… who doesn’t like to look at attractive people?

To Open the Files

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between  one and a half to four minutes long. All told each zip file will give you about five to ten minutes of viewing.

I find the ladies lovely. But others might not. For you others, well, I really hope that you are not too bored.

Some key points

Beauty is up to the person who views it. What is attractive to one person might not be attractive to others. A case in point is a girl who I had a relationship with when I was in High School working in the coal mines. Everyone thought that she was ugly because she did not have a great face. But I liked her, and her body was absolutely rocking. Like, guys, you have no idea.

I think that the beauty of these videos is that in a few seconds you can see the “personality” of the ladies as they try to display their charms for the world to see.  Some have personality. Some have a great body. Some just look great in a particular outfit, while others just fit the particular environment. All are wonderful.

The Videos

In this particular post we will look at these groups of videos. I do hope that you enjoy them…

Video Set A

All these girls are lovely. There is one video that takes place in Vietnam; that’s the one with the girl on the arm of the Westerner. There is also a video of a hiding space inside one of the apartments. The Chinese have not forgotten their past. They have secret rooms and access areas no matter how safe the world appears at the moment.

You can download this file archive HERE. 56MB.

Video Set B

I threw in one American girl Tictok video for comparison purposes and one WTF video showing how the government monitors people via drones and gets you to help, safety or to correct bad behavior. I also threw in a Chinese translation app that is really handy to have around. Check them all out. The rest are all cute girls.

You can download this file archive HERE. 95MB.

Video Set C

Here’s an interesting group with one video of a guy in Vietnam trying to pick up some street girls on break, and some other pretty Chinese girls. I do like to show compare and contrast videos for the viewer and reader to see things in a different way that is not intuitively obvious.

You can download this file archive HERE. 46MB.

Video Set D

More beautiful Chinese girls, with one from Thailand. Can you determine which one?

You can download this file archive HERE. 57MB.

Video Set E

My favorite clothing model and a girl that has flesh colored tights but doesn’t want to be filmed. Ah. It’s all fun.

You can download this file archive HERE. 62MB.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

.

Articles & Links

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 to find out how to go about this.
  • 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.

 

A treasure trove of pretty Chinese girls – Collection (4) – More, more and more!

Here is part of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. The idea is that you would look at the girl, and in the process concentrate on the background around her. Because these are the “real deals”. This is what China is. And while the girls want you to focus on them, their eyes, their faces, their bodies, the background tells us much about where they live.

Besides… who doesn’t like to look at attractive people?

To Open the Files

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between  one and a half to four minutes long. All told each zip file will give you about five to ten minutes of viewing.

I find the ladies lovely. But others might not. For you others, well, I really hope that you are not too bored.

Some key points

Beauty is up to the person who views it. What is attractive to one person might not be attractive to others. A case in point is a girl who I had a relationship with when I was in High School working in the coal mines. Everyone thought that she was ugly because she did not have a great face. But I liked her, and her body was absolutely rocking. Like, guys, you have no idea.

I think that the beauty of these videos is that in a few seconds you can see the “personality” of the ladies as they try to display their charms for the world to see.  Some have personality. Some have a great body. Some just look great in a particular outfit, while others just fit the particular environment. All are wonderful.

The Videos

In this particular post we will look at these groups of videos. I do hope that you enjoy them…

Video Set A

We start this set with an American girl. She’s not bad. Nice. Fun. Kind of cute. Then we follow up with the Chinese girls. Look, and see how they all present themselves. Some are elegant. Some a fun and playful. Some are nice, and others are exciting. All of this is what China is about.

You can download this file archive HERE. 56MB.

Video Set B

In this group I almost overdosed on cute. So many cute girls doing cute things. Why it just takes me back to a younger time, and an easier time. That’s magical. And that is what makes women so magical at times.

You can download this file archive HERE. 53MB.

Video Set C

Yes.  There are some beautiful girls here in this set. But the ones that I like the most are the girls being themselves in a normal situation, such as the girl in her college dorm room. You see, you don’t need to get all dressed up and made up to be attractive. You just need to be yourself. I find that amazingly refreshing.

That is not to say that I don’t like a woman to take care of herself. Because I really like it when she gets read, looks her best and goes out with me. But I really like the real girl. It’s the personality that makes the difference.

You can download this file archive HERE. 58MB.

Video Set D

Some girls are thin, some are beautiful. Some are cute, and some… well they just defy description. But each and everyone of them is appealing. It’s their dress, their actions and their choice of music that illustrate how they feel at the particular moment in time when they made that video. And they are all a treasure. A precious treasure that you just want to be near and appreciate.

You can download this file archive HERE. 44MB.

Video Set E

Some awfully wonderful girls here. Some would make great companions. But that’s just me, don’t you know.

You can download this file archive HERE. 51MB.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

.

Articles & Links

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 to find out how to go about this.
  • 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.

 

A treasure trove of pretty Chinese girls – Collection (3) – Lotta Lovelies.

Here is part of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. The idea is that you would look at the girl, and in the process concentrate on the background around her. Because these are the “real deals”. This is what China is. And while the girls want you to focus on them, their eyes, their faces, their bodies, the background tells us much about where they live.

Besides… who doesn’t like to look at attractive people?

To Open the Files

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between  one and a half to four minutes long. All told each zip file will give you about five to ten minutes of viewing.

I find the ladies lovely. But others might not. For you others, well, I really hope that you are not too bored.

Some key points

Beauty is up to the person who views it. What is attractive to one person might not be attractive to others. A case in point is a girl who I had a relationship with when I was in High School working in the coal mines. Everyone thought that she was ugly because she did not have a great face. But I liked her, and her body was absolutely rocking. Like, guys, you have no idea.

I think that the beauty of these videos is that in a few seconds you can see the “personality” of the ladies as they try to display their charms for the world to see.  Some have personality. Some have a great body. Some just look great in a particular outfit, while others just fit the particular environment. All are wonderful.

The Videos

In this particular post we will look at these groups of videos. I do hope that you enjoy them…

Video Set A

Some very fine active chest action with these girls in this group. I also threw in (accidentally) a video depicting how this one particular crew of pick-pockets operated by crashing into people and stealing their belongings when no one was watching. Don’t worry, they were caught and are now in prison doing time, and organ harvesting. After all, they were really bad. But the girls here are nice, and I love the aggressive boob action. Hey! If you’ve got it, let it rip!

You can download this file archive HERE. 63MB.

Video Set B

Some of my personal favorites are here. Maybe you all would enjoy them as well. Huh?

You can download this file archive HERE. 61MB

Video Set C

This is a pretty good collection. The second video shows some KTV girls getting paid for their time at the club, and it’s a pretty interesting set up, eh? And there are some really cute girls thrown in the mix as well.

You can download this file archive HERE. 62MB.

Video Set D

This is a nice set. I sort of “polluted it” by throwing in two American Tictok videos into the mix. Can you figure out which ones? Take your time. It’s tricky as one girl is an Asian-American.

You can download this file archive HERE. 59MB.

Video Set E

There’s a video of an American and one of a Mexican lady in this mix. Can you tell who is who and which ones are not Chinese? It’s a fun game. I have personal favorites here, and I think that you all might appreciate them.

You can download this file archive HERE.  63MB.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

.

Articles & Links

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 to find out how to go about this.
  • 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.

 

A treasure trove of pretty Chinese girls – Collection (2)- Lots of beauties

Here is part of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. The idea is that you would look at the girl, and in the process concentrate on the background around her. Because these are the “real deals”. This is what China is. And while the girls want you to focus on them, their eyes, their faces, their bodies, the background tells us much about where they live.

Besides… who doesn’t like to look at attractive people?

To Open the Files

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between  one and a half to four minutes long. All told each zip file will give you about five to ten minutes of viewing.

I find the ladies lovely. But others might not. For you others, well, I really hope that you are not too bored.

Some key points

Beauty is up to the person who views it. What is attractive to one person might not be attractive to others. A case in point is a girl who I had a relationship with when I was in High School working in the coal mines. Everyone thought that she was ugly because she did not have a great face. But I liked her, and her body was absolutely rocking. Like, guys, you have no idea.

I think that the beauty of these videos is that in a few seconds you can see the “personality” of the ladies as they try to display their charms for the world to see.  Some have personality. Some have a great body. Some just look great in a particular outfit, while others just fit the particular environment. All are wonderful.

The Videos

In this particular post we will look at these groups of videos. I do hope that you enjoy them…

Video Set A

You can download this file archive HERE. 13MB. Generally comparatively small.

Video Set B

Let’s play a game. I threw in one American girl from the American version of TicTok in the group can you find her? Look carefully. LOL. How would you describe her compared to the rest of the Chinese girls?

You can download this file archive HERE. 27MB.

Video Set C

Now the fun and games continue. I snuck in two (not one) American girls in this group. Can you find them? Can you identify them? Come on! It shouldn’t be so hard, eh?

Additionally, one of the videos, I think that it is the 9th one down shows an entire family. Note that the mother looks just a beautiful as her young 19 year old daughter. China is amazing.

You can download this file archive HERE. 76MB.

Video Set D

Here, we also have some girls from Vietnam thrown in to the mix. Can you identify which videos they are? Over all I strongly believe that there is a girl for every guy in this world and beauty only goes as far as to attact and get noticed, but it is the personality, the inner strength and their skills that maintain a relationship.

You can download this file archive HERE. 52MB.

Video Set E

Again, here there are many girls from China. They come in different sizes and shapes. Some are like beautiful flowers, while others are like cute little dolls, and still others are strong confident women. And for me, personally, all of them are attractive. I think that the beauty that a woman possess goes far deeper than what she displays to the world outside, and I hope that these little videos show that aspect.

You can download this file archive HERE. 53MB.

Video Set F

Again, some beautiful ladies that come in all sizes and in all shapes. This is why I have come to appreciate China. How many tattoos can you fin in this grouping? How many enormous asses, and how many are lifting their asses up high to wiggle for the world to see? Eh?

You can download this file archive HERE. 59MB

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

.

Articles & Links

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 to find out how to go about this.
  • 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.

 

A treasure trove of pretty Chinese girls – Collection – New Firsts

Here is part of my series on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. The idea is that you would look at the girl, and in the process concentrate on the background around her. Because these are the “real deals”. This is what China is. And while the girls want you to focus on them, their eyes, their faces, their bodies, the background tells us much about where they live.

Besides… who doesn’t like to look at attractive people?

After viewing this “treasure trove” of Chinese beauties, you too will have a better than average understanding about what Chinese ladies look like. Sure beats the stereotypical narrative by low-educated American sheeple…

"Chinese girls are all short, frail, little tiny women, that don't have chests and look like pre-adsolescent children."

To Open the Files

Just unzip to whatever folder you want and then just play the first video, the other videos will play immediately afterwards (if you follow the default settings on your OS). Most videos are between  one and a half to four minutes long. All told each zip file will give you about five to ten minutes of viewing.

I find the ladies lovely. But others might not. For you others, well, I really hope that you are not too bored.

Some key points

Beauty is up to the person who views it. What is attractive to one person might not be attractive to others. A case in point is a girl who I had a relationship with when I was in High School working in the coal mines. Everyone thought that she was ugly because she did not have a great face. But I liked her, and her body was absolutely rocking. Like, guys, you have no idea.

I think that the beauty of these videos is that in a few seconds you can see the “personality” of the ladies as they try to display their charms for the world to see.  Some have personality. Some have a great body. Some just look great in a particular outfit, while others just fit the particular environment. All are wonderful.

The Videos

In this particular post we will look at these groups of videos. I do hope that you enjoy them…

Video Set A

I have to apologize that I have four videos of the same girl in this particular collection, but she models those pants so well. And I am a sucker for bouncy chests on thin girls, don’t you know… (giggle).

You can download this file archive HERE. 59MB.

Video Set B

This group highlights eight (8x) videos of a more robust woman that I personally find quite alluring. But that’s just me. But I will tell you that even though I enjoy the women who wear the short cute little dresses, what I really love are all those traditional clothing, whether it is Han, or as shown in this collection the “Gone with the Wind” style. I think they are awesome.

Aside from my personal love of big smiles, big hair and big chests, you will note that all these girls are inside of China. Does China look dirty, filthy, stinky or disgusting to you? What about the buildings? Does it look like things are run down, work out, or that the infrastructure hasn’t been repaired in a long long time? No. Of course not.

You can download this file archive HERE. 54MB.

Video Set C

The featured girl in this collection of videos is so sweet that I could fall heads over heels over her and not realize what I am doing. This collection kind of shows that it’s not so much the appearance that a woman has, but rather how she acts and carries herself. Being feminine is surely very attractive.

You can download this file archive HERE. 58MB.

Video Set D

This is a pretty large archive at 128MB. But as large as it is, the length of time for the movies are comparatively long as well. So that’s a plus.

I threw in a video of some Middle Eastern girls in the mix. Can you pick it out? Is it easy or difficult to sort out. LOL. The last video is of the same girl that is the first video, and she is from Hunan. She’s a Hunan girl. And in the last video you can see her mother next to her.  My father always told me that to see what will happen to the girl that you marry, look at her mother. I would argue that it’s not always a direct correlation, but it has some merit worthy of thought, eh?

You can download this file archive HERE. 120MB. Pretty large, and might take a few minutes to download.

Video Set E

This collection is much smaller than the previous one, and would end up loading much faster. It’s a great way to look at some fine Chinese girls quickly.

You can download this file archive HERE. 29MB.

Video Set F

You can download this file archive HERE. 53MB.

Do you want more?

You can find many more videos in my “Learning about China by looking at pretty girls index” over here…

Pretty Girls

.

Articles & Links

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 to find out how to go about this.
  • 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.

 

Rheotaxis in the garden of the Ediacaran. Some history for the interested searcher.

Here is a MAJestic post.

I am sorry that I have been a little slow in releasing these particular kinds of articles, but you know it isn’t everyday where you are located in the middle of ground-zero for World War III. So I’ve been a little side-tracked, don’t you know.

Anyways…

Anyways, as far as this particular MAJestic post is concerned, please keep in mind the limitations that I have regarding the dissemination of information.

While I just cannot divulge any secrets, some of what I CAN discharge has to do with things that are not of a technical interest. Such as history, culture, society, and "the bigger picture". 

My role (as was Sebastian's) enabled us some very exclusive access to "understandings". 

Nothing that was really of a functional interest to MAJestic specifically. Just general odds and ends and curiosities. And one of these "tidbits" is how our planet in our solar system became populated with life.

This kind of information is not “secret”, “confidential” or “restricted”. It is considered to be an unimportant curiosity that does not matter in the grand scheme of things.

And this is the subject for today. It is a little history lesson.

We are going to talk about what the earth was like when the first organisms started to grow upon the earth. As well as the kinds of attention that this evolutionary process generated in the civilizations that were present at the time (elsewhere in the galaxy).

Ah. You all know that I have a particular interest in history, don’t you?

What I am going to present here is a mix of [1] what I have been exposed to, and I place it all [2] in context to what our present scientists (“experts”) believe. Combined, the two points of view can give the interested reader some real valuable insight into this rarer bit of obscure knowledge about the earth’s history. I also mention [3] some elements of life within the physical that many humans are unaware of, perhaps being alien to the Newtonian understanding of physics.

We are going to talk about about the Ediacaran Period.

This was a long, long, LONG time ago. Around 630 million years ago. Just about the time when the solar system was starting to become interesting to other species within our galaxy.

In comparison, the human species is only around 400,000 years old, and of that most of the time we were all very primitive. In fact the written history is only around 5,000 years old. We are very youthful. Here we talk about the time long before dinosaurs, flies, insects, fishes and trees. We are talking about the time when there wasn't a moon.

That is correct. 630,000,000 years ago the Earth had no moon.

I cover this subject elsewhere.

The earliest extraterrestrial humanoid (Physically-animated bipedal entities that utilize technology to visit the Earth) visitation known (to me personally) to our solar system occurred during the Ediacaran period (630 million years ago).

FYI: This is not “official” MAJestic knowledge. (This information is tangential to our roles and are personal observations that were debriefed, but not relative to our mission parameters. ) In general it is considered to be extemporaneous, non-mission critical information.

The base age of approximately 635 million years ago is based on the U-Pb (uranium-lead) isochron dating method.  

Here, strata from Namibia and China was dated using this method.  

There is a more or less active debate on the dating methodology regarding this time period.  In any event it is far above my head and rather esoteric for my tastes.  

The dating method I place here is approximate and based upon our limited understanding of the Earth at this time.

This was a long, long, very long time ago.  The reader must understand that fact.  Typically when humans think of the past, we tend to think in terms of thousands of years.  Officially, civilization is supposed to be less than 10,000 years old.

Civilization, in this meaning, loosely refers to the creation of stable and moderate sized agrarian communities which may or may not have a written language.

But, this particular period of time is far, far older than that.

In fact, it is not 100x older.  It is not 1000x older.  It is 63,000 times older than what we consider to be the start of bipedal human civilization.  It is so long ago as to be incomprehensible.

Please kindly refer to my notes (within the MAJestic Index) and my thoughts on the human ability to understand large swaths of time.

During this time, there were no evolved humanoids or proto-humans on the planet.  The life on the earth was quite primitive.

Therefore, any and all the visitations were made by extraterrestrials.  These creatures came and visited the earth and left. No one stayed for long. I would consider these visits and excursions to be survey expeditions made by long-extinct space-faring extraterrestrial species.

They had many forms.

The dominant physical form (by a “long shot”) that we, as humans, would recognize was the early variations of bipedal proto-humanoid extraterrestrials.

During this huge swath of time, the Earth was visited at various times by numerous species.

This period of time lasted for 94 million years, and began in the distant past around 630 million years ago.  A lot of things can happen in 94 million years.

Again, the reader is reminded that this particular period of time contains 94 million years.  That is an amazingly long expanse of time.

Indeed space-faring species developed, thrived and evolved past their physical forms many times during this period.

Obviously, this implies that there were space-faring, extraterrestrial races at this distant point in time so long ago.  (None of which originated on the earth.  They only visited it.)

During this period some would visit our solar system for various purposes and they would stay for varying lengths of time.    All of these visitation(s) were short lived affairs.

Any settlements were temporary and used for scientific study and other short duration activities.

The visits were, of course, by extraterrestrial species of various points of origin, as there was absolutely just the very beginnings of higher order life on the world at this time.

Our solar system

The reader must understand that at this time the Earth was a bare and desolate place. The land was barren rock, and mountains. Sure there was mater and ice on the land masses, and perhaps microbes. But no significant life on the land surfaces. The only life was in the seas.

Our solar system was mostly free of the huge dust disks and debris field of the earlier 3 billion years.

Our star had matured during that time and became much more stable.

But stability is a relative thing; the earth was no longer entirely molten.  Indeed, the surface of the earth was cooling and a thick gaseous envelope of various dusty gasses surrounded it.

Outside the Earth, the other rocky planets were also beginning to cool down and life was just beginning to form in the most unlikely of places. This included the smoggy Mars, and Venus, as well as numerous moons of Jupiter (because Jupiter was much closer to the Sun then as it is today).

At this point in time, the earth was just beginning to stabilize enough to maintain ambulatory life.  

Previous to this time, it was a hot and desolate place (prior to the Sturtian period around 710 Ma).  

Then it began to cool down.  

During the early Neoproterozoic (around 850 Ma to 740 Ma) it cooled down sufficiently for early life in the earliest forms to evolve.  

There was a pause or “burp” in evolution during the Sturtian glaciation around 710 to 735 Ma, and then a resumed period of growth during the Cryogenian period.  

This again was put on hold during the Marinoan glaciation that finally ended around 635 Ma.  

It was the Ediacaran period at around the end of the Marinoan glaciation where things started to evolve into life that we understand it to be; significant.  

Around the Vendian period (approximately 570 Ma), the first classes and orders of identifiable creatures became recognizable in the fossil records.

Mars, and Venus looked quite different than they do now. The atmospheres were different. The pressures and temperatures were different.  Their orbits, and orbital inclination to the ecliptic were different as well.

The earth had no moon, and our orbital inclination was different.

I do not know if there was another planet in orbit around the sun that eventually formed the asteroid belt. My personal belief that there wasn’t a planet, and what we see as asteroids are but the remnants of the solar system “frost zone”.  Not of a planet that broke up sometime int he distant past.

Jupiter was larger. It was hotter, and it was closer to the sun than it is now.

A number of it’s moons had atmospheres, and there was actually some (short lived) periods of liquid water on key moons.

All the other gas giants, Jupiter, Neptune and Uranus also migrated outwards, but their physical changes were not as radical as for Jupiter.

Our Planet

Our earth was indeed a desolate place; however it was not without its charms.

It was marginally habitable, but showed great promise to those races with a long term view point.

Our planet consisted of mostly exposed and harsh rocks and water in a harsh nearly lifeless world.  It was, of course, shrouded in toxic gasses under high temperature and pressure.  But even in this environment, life spawned.  During this time on the Earth we saw the continued emergence of simple organisms and simple creatures.

This time is considered the Neo-proterozoic era.

While nothing really existed on land, most life lived in the (emerging) waters of the earth and along the rocky shorelines.  Here is where we have found the first good fossils of the first multi-celled animals on the Earth.

These (over the last few hundred years) were discovered and obtained, and that is how we now know that this was a period of the first native biological life on the earth.

Atmosphere

The world (at that time) was not only bare (consisting of broken rocky surfaces and coarse sand and gravels), but the atmosphere was pretty rank.

While there was an oxygen atmosphere, it was then only 40% of what consider normal today.

Instead the climate was dominated by (poisonous to humans) carbon dioxide and at a level fully sixteen times that of today.  It was a time of thunderous storms, damp and dank weather and bleak, harsh rocky surroundings.

Yet, with all that being true, the world was still (considered) marginally habitable for bipedal humanoids.  Bipedal humanoids would of needed oxygen masks, protective clothing, and solid reliable shoes to walk about on the planet.

Of course there was be dust and dirt, but it tended to have a granular appearance.  The air, while rank, was breathable with filters and oxygen supplements.

The atmospheric pressure was tolerable but outside of what was considered normal for conventional humans.

The temperature varied by location, but for the most part was in the range considered to be marginally acceptable.

There was liquid water (over a large section of the globe); stable land forms, and a total lack of competing contentious native life forms.  The earth at that time was a potential oasis that would be viewed as having great future promise by any extraterrestrial who would visit it.

Those species who visited it left their marks in various ways.  Some of which eventually spawned higher order organisms unintentionally through careless behavior.

Which makes you wonder... "exactly what kinds of careless behaviors were involved?"

Native Life

It was during this time that the (so called) Ediacaran biota flourished.

Ediacaran biota.

The Ediacaran biota are the somewhat puzzling fauna of the Ediacaran period. 

This geological period was from 635–542 million years ago (mya), but the fossil biota was only from 575–542 mya. 

This was after a series of ice ages and just before the Cambrian period. 

The biota consists of soft-bodied multicellular organisms, probably animals, which left trace fossils in rocks of Ediacaran age.  

The biota is quite unusual, and there is no sign of it in the preceding Marinoan glaciation. 

The biota appears to suffer a fairly severe extinction event at the boundary with the Cambrian. 

Some of the biota may have survived into the early Cambrian.

Then the world consisted of very large and shallow seas.

These shallow seas permitted the growth of various simple organisms.

Simple trace fossils of possible worm-like creatures; known as the Trichophycus became common, as well as the very first sponges and trilobitomorphs (the early ancestors of trilobites).

The creatures of the earth at this time were simple in design and structure.

Throughout the history of the Earth from Cambrian to the present day, soft-bodied creatures are notorious for dying without a trace. The lack of tough structures leave them exposed to waves, winds, and scavengers, causing many of them to completely dissolve after death.

They were the earliest naturally evolving creatures of the earth and consisted of very simple proto-fungi and very simple proto-creatures.

At this time there were no insects, birds, or even flowers.  The earth was a land of proto-fungi and small simple creatures.

The reader should consider the land at this time to be rather bare and rocky, with the earliest fungi and simple creatures clustering around the shorelines.

The most significant life form; non-ambulatory, was the various Stromatolite colonies that persisted throughout the planet in the shallow seas.  These colonies looked like hard rounded sponge rocks and boulders.

Stromatolite colonies

These colonies grew close to the land and grew in great numbers due to the favorability of the local climate at that time.  Some grew to enormous size.  Truly, some were so enormous in size that they resembled low submerged islands.

The reader should consider this time to a period of all sorts of boneless ambulatory aquatic creatures such as jellyfish, and sea slugs.

There is some debate on which kind of life manifested first on the earth.  Go here to join the debate; http://www.livescience.com/58622-jellyfish-evolved-before-sponges.html

Indeed, may I indulge in a little creative fantasy and suggest that the sea slugs became quite diverse and colorful.  Imagine a world inhabited by such creatures.  Creatures such as;

  • Hypselodoris kanga
  • Acanthodoris pylosa
  • Cyerce nigricans
  • Elysia crispata(’Lettuce sea slug’)
  • Flabellina iodinea
  • Costasiella kuroshimae(’Sea sheep’)
  • Glaucus atlanticus(’Blue angel’)
  • Phyllodesmium poindimiei
  • Dirona albolineata
  • Hexabranchus sanguineus(’Spanish dancer’)

I suggest the reader to look up these wondrous creatures and watch a video or GIF of their behavior.  For indeed creatures similar to the aforementioned dominated the globe at that time.

Trilobite anatomy.

It was during this period that proto-trilobites came into existence.

We have scant knowledge of these creatures because they were soft shelled, and thus unable to be fossilized.

We can, however, surmise that they appeared similar to that of their later offspring; the trilobites, only with a far simpler biology and soft shell and cellular makeup.

Trilobites were among the early arthropods, a phylum of hard-shelled creatures with multiple body segments and jointed legs (although the legs, antennae and other finer structures of trilobites only rarely are preserved).

They constitute an extinct class of arthropods, the Trilobita, made up of ten orders, over 150 families, about 5,000 genera, and over 20,000 described species. 

New species of trilobites are unearthed and described every year. 

This makes trilobites the single most diverse class of extinct organisms, and within the generalized body plan of trilobites there was a great deal of diversity of size and form. 

The smallest known trilobite species is under a millimeter long, while the largest include species from 30 to over 70 cm in length (roughly a foot to over two feet long!). 

With such a diversity of species and sizes, speculations on the ecology of trilobites includes planktonic, swimming, and crawling forms, and we can presume they filled a varied set of trophic (feeding) niches, although perhaps mostly as detritivores, predators, or scavengers.

Consider where they lived…

Ediacara (formerly Vendian) biota.

The Ediacara (formerly Vendian) biota are ancient life-forms of the Ediacaran Period, which represent the earliest known complex multicellular organisms.

They appeared soon after the Earth thawed from the Cryogenian period’s extensive glaciers, and largely disappeared soon before the rapid appearance of biodiversity known as the Cambrian explosion.

This period saw the first appearance in the fossil record of the basic patterns and body-plans that would go on to form the basis of modern animals.

Little of the diversity of the Ediacara biota would be incorporated in this new scheme, with a distinct Cambrian biota arising and usurping the organisms that dominated the Ediacaran fossil record.

What was life like 560 million years ago? 

Bacteria and green algae were common in the seas, as were the enigmatic acritarchs, planktonic single-celled algae of uncertain affinity. 

But the Ediacaran also marks the first appearance of a group of large fossils collectively known as the "Ediacara biota."  

The question of what these fossils are is still not settled to everyone's satisfaction; at various times they have been considered algae, lichens, giant protozoans, or even a separate kingdom of life unrelated to anything living today. 

Some of these fossils are simple blobs that are hard to interpret and could represent almost anything. 

Some are most like cnidarians, worms, or soft-bodied relatives of the arthropods. 

Others are less easy to interpret and may belong to extinct phyla. 

But besides the fossils of soft bodies, Ediacaran rocks contain trace fossils, probably made by wormlike animals slithering over mud. 

The Ediacaran rocks thus give us a good look at the first animals to live on Earth.

Of course, there weren’t any naturally evolved humanoids at this time.  Nor were there any animals, rodents, flies or insects.

For the most part, any life that was on the earth existed solely within (or near) the water.

It was an aquatic world.

For all practical purposes, the Earth consisted of  land masses consisting of bare rocks, sand, dank clouds and waters of various salinity (some areas were alkaline, while others were rich in various salts).

Kimberella resembled a slug and has often been found near marks that resemble the feeding traces of more modern slugs and snails. Despite its seemingly simple body plan, Kimberella differed enough from the rest of the organisms living alongside it. This indicates that around 555 million years ago, 14 million years before the beginning of the Cambrian, life had started to evolve into various shapes and lifestyles.

Yet, even though there weren’t any significant large mammals around, we did see other kinds of life.  Here we saw an emergence of the first native life forms.

Jellyfish World

This period is marked, or the ultimate creation of, a sudden climatic change at the end of the Marinoan ice age.

Here, the temperature started to warm up and huge swaths of glaciers and frozen areas disappeared, and large pools of warm water and regions of comparative stability appeared.

While we have the earliest fossils on record from this geological time period, it is believed that many soft skinned creatures roamed the seas.  I like to think of this time period as the age of the jellyfish.

Given the environment and the nature of life, it seems probably that huge groups of various types of jellyfish evolved and swam in the seas of this early earth.  And possibly, quite possibly, some of those soft bodied creatures grew to enormous size.

For after all, they were the dominant life forms at that time.

One notable fossil is the Pteridinium. Almost like Charnia, this animal was superficially feather-like with an anchor tethering it to the seafloor. What sets it apart from Charnia is how the lobes across its body are positioned. Unlike most animals today whose bodies can be divided into roughly symmetrical left side and right sides, Pteridinium sprouted its “leaflets” in three different directions. As quirky as it seems, the three-fold symmetry is not unique to Pteridinium and its close relatives. One group of small, rounded animals that resemble sea urchins called Trilobozoa somehow developed the same symmetry. One member of this group called Tribrachidium put a literal twist to this body plan, growing three arm-like structures spiraling out from the center of its body.

The reader should think of images of jellyfish, piles, globs and puddles of organic mobile goo.  They should envision that these globs formed families or colonies of creatures and often conjugated together in the warm shallow seas.

Over time, the size and diversity of these groups changed.

However, any visitor to the planet would have been astounded by the great numbers of living organic masses that apparently thrived in the seas at that time.

The Ediacaran period was a time of flourishing soft skin and soft shelled life.  The seas were alive with lichen and other forms of simple marine life.

Jellyfish are more or less common today.

They have evolved to fulfill their proper environmental niche in the world and have honed their survival instincts into great diversity of forms and creatures.

At this time, however, the jellyfish were of a simpler design.

They were more benign and less adaptable to change.

Many life forms, and species developed, found a particular environmental niche and then died off.

We do not know what any of them looked like, but we can certainly make our own summations.


There is no doubt in my mind that soft-skinned marine life grew to enormous sizes during this time.

I further believe that there were many such variations of these creatures, which should be considered to be the precursors of jellyfishes and other evolutionary “dead ends”.

This is a picture of a huge jellyfish with a diver next to it for comparative purposes.  Obviously there were no humans on the planet at this time.  I place it here for a comparative aspect in that native life, especially the dominant native life at that time, can and did grow to enormous size.

Perhaps even the size of a whale or larger!

I am confident that these first jellyfishes or similar soft-shelled creatures were genetically primitive, but I am also confident that they were able to specialize and fill various niches in the ecosystem naturally.

In fact, it is highly possible that these creatures could grow to amazing sizes.  Though we do not really know for sure.

In any event, the Ediacara biota bear little resemblance to modern life forms.  Any soft skinned creatures would be unrecognizable to most humans today.

What the earth looked like at that time.

The Earth 630,000,000 years ago was a very different place.  Not only were the contents of different shapes than what we see today, but the weather and climate were also completely different as well.

The earth had poles at a different location and the axis of rotation relative to the obliquity of the ecliptic was completely different to what we know it to be today.

It was an ocean world populated with soft-skinned native life, and very few land based forms.

Yet this world held promise.

Visitors to our solar system would find that the earth not only held a moderately acceptable environment, but also the planet Mars would appear marginally interesting as well.  Mars had a thicker atmosphere, and while the once present oceans were long; long gone there would of still been slight evidence of glaciers and other frozen remnants that would of made visiting this solar system of great interest to extraterrestrial explorers.

Rheotaxis  in the Garden of the Ediacaran

The “Garden of the Ediacaran” was a period in the ancient past when Earth’s shallow seas were populated with a bewildering variety of enigmatic, soft-bodied creatures.

Scientists traditionally have pictured it as a tranquil, almost idyllic interlude that lasted from 635 to 540 million years ago. But new interdisciplinary studies suggests that the organisms living at the time may have been much more dynamic than experts have thought.

An international team of researchers from Canada, the UK and the USA, including Dr Imran Rahman from the University of Bristol, UK studied fossils of an extinct organism called Tribrachidium, which lived in the oceans some 555 million years ago. Using a computer modelling approach called computational fluid dynamics, they were able to show that Tribrachidium fed by collecting particles suspended in water. This is called suspension feeding and it had not previously been documented in organisms from this period of time.

Tribrachidium lived during a period of time called the Ediacaran, which ranged from 635 million to 541 million years ago. This period was characterised by a variety of large, complex organisms, most of which are difficult to link to any modern species. It was previously thought that these organisms formed simple ecosystems characterised by only a few feeding modes, but the new study suggests they were capable of more types of feeding than previously appreciated.

Dr Simon Darroch, an Assistant Professor at Vanderbilt University, said:

"For many years, scientists have assumed that Earth's oldest complex organisms, which lived over half a billion years ago, fed in only one or two different ways. Our study has shown this to be untrue, Tribrachidium and perhaps other species were capable of suspension feeding. This demonstrates that, contrary to our expectations, some of the first ecosystems were actually quite complex."

Read more at; https://phys.org/news/2015-11-earth-ecosystems-complex-previously-thought.html  More information: 'Suspension feeding in the enigmatic Ediacaran organism Tribrachidium demonstrates complexity of Neoproterozoic ecosystems' by Imran A. Rahman, Simon A. F. Darroch, Rachel A. Racicot and Marc Laflamme in Science Advances, DOI: 10.1126/sciadv.1500800

Scientists have found It extremely difficult to fit these Precambrian species into the tree of life. That is because they lived in a time before organisms developed the ability to make shells or bones. As a result, they didn’t leave much fossil evidence of their existence behind, and even less evidence that they moved around.

So, experts have generally concluded that virtually all of the Ediacarans—with the possible exception of a few organisms similar to jellyfish that floated about—were stationary and lived out their adult lives fixed in one place on the sea floor.

The new findings concern one of the most enigmatic of the Ediacaran genera, a penny-sized organism called Parvancorina, which ischaracterized by a series of ridges on its back that form the shape of a tiny anchor.

By analyzing the way in which water flows around Parvancorina’s body, an international team of researchers has concluded that these ancient creatures must have been mobile: specifically, they must have had the ability to orient themselves to face into the current flowing around them.

That would make them the oldest species known to possess this capability, which scientists call rheotaxis.

"Our analysis shows that the amount of drag produced with the current flowing from front to back is substantially less than that flowing from side to side," said Simon Darroch, assistant professor of earth and environmental sciences at Vanderbilt University, who headed the study. "In the strong currents characteristic of shallow ocean environments, that means Parvancorina would have benefited greatly from adjusting its position to face the direction of the flow."

The analysis, which used a technique borrowed from engineering called computational fluid dynamics (CFD), also showed that when Parvancorina faced into the current, its shape created eddy currents that were directed to several specific locations on its body.

 Details of the analysis are described in a paper titled "Inference of facultative mobility in the enigmatic Ediacaran organism Parvancorina" published online May 17 by the Royal Society journal Biology Letters. Read more at: https://phys.org/news/2017-05-life-precambrian-livelier-previously-thought.html#jCp

and…

"This would be very beneficial to Parvancorina if it was a suspension feeder as we suspect because it would have concentrated the suspended organic material making it easier to consume,"

-Darroch 

More information: Simon A. F. Darroch et al, Inference of facultative mobility in the enigmatic Ediacaran organism, Biology Letters (2017). DOI: 10.1098/rsbl.2017.0033 Read more at: https://phys.org/news/2017-05-life-precambrian-livelier-previously-thought.html#jCp

The absence of fast-moving animals allowed microbes to colonize the surface of the ocean floor, then create a layer of secretion wherever they grow. Such a sticky layer allowed the sediment to stabilize and acted as a mold when the animals died on top of them. This age was the Time of the Slime, where the ocean floor was filled with sticky substances. Such a slow-paced life, combined with the lack of predators, is a feature unique to this period. As a nod to the biblical Garden of Eden, some people have referred to this peaceful early Earth as the Garden of Ediacara.

Extraterrestrial Occupation

Now I am going to discuss extraterrestrial species and how they interacted with the earth at this time. 

Let it be known that the present species that MAJestic interacts with did not exist at that time. 

Here we are discussing (mostly) long extinct species that are known to the extraterrestrial species that we interact with today. 

But of which they are themselves unfamiliar with them in any degree of detail that they specifically and selectively choose not to communicate with me about. I cannot say much more than that. Cannot.

At this time, the universe was already mature.

So even though our solar system was still rather youthful, the rest of the universe was quite old.

In fact, the universe was already 11 billion years old when the Ediacaran period began.

What this means is that there were entire life cycles of stars that were born, grew into maturity, and died well before our solar system was even formed.

In fact, there is evidence, from the spectral composition of our sun, that at least four generations of previous stars came before our solar system was berthed.  This means that it completely realistic to expect the presence of extremely advanced galactic-wide extraterrestrial civilizations with interstellar transport technology in our region of space.

At this time, there was still consternation regarding specific pockets of unorganized quanta that had naturally formed into non-approved quantum soul archetypes.  

But none of that really was a concern to our physical world at that time.  

The quanta that surrounding the planet was just beginning to formulate into discrete packets; while some might argue otherwise, and the entire region was open for physical extraterrestrial exploration.  

(It had been explored much earlier by discarnate soul orders, but that is not our concern at this time.)

+ + +

The Ediacaran period saw the presence of the very first humanoid extraterrestrial bases on the earth.

These facilities were short duration affairs.  Mostly used for scientific inquiry.  To imagine what these facilities were like, one should consider what the current human research stations look like in Antarctica.

Scout. Scan. Visit. Sample. Leave.

I am quite confident that the extraterrestrial bases were very similar to those facilities in both form and function.

Essentially,we should realistically consider the base facilities at this time and place to be similar to that consisting of a small cluster of habitats around a secured landing area for the associative vehicles.

None of the bases or communities during this entire huge swath of time (during the Ediacaran period) were ever very large.

Typically, the species operated out of their spacecraft, which at that time, tended to be (comparatively) huge.  (Not all, and not the “critical” visits. Just the ones that made the greatest disruption in the quantum envelope that is recorded.) They would then send excursions to the surface and form “base camps” which typically tended to consist of rudimentary structures and facilities.

Typically planetary excursions were very; very short lived affairs.  Often lasting less than one month in duration.

Although there were a number which lasted for much longer; perhaps as long as two years in duration.  However, in all cases, they could just be considered to be scientific excursions, which were there for the purposes of scientific investigation and inquiry.

For some reason, I have always assumed that these visits required large spacecraft with interstellar propulsive capability.  However, I do not know if this was the case for every species.  Indeed, for the multi-dimensional and higher order species, they might have utilized other methods that are far beyond our level of understanding at this time.

Typically, one might expect (or more accurately, assume) the base facilities to lie close to the equator for reasons of avoiding the gravity sink of the earth.  Nevertheless, when one studies the map of the Earth at that time, one can clearly see a problem with the base placement.

It is my arrogant assumption that the extraterrestrial entities needed to land or walk on dry land, and that they would see ocean landings a barrier.  

All of this is assumptive on my part.

The reader should be made aware that the poles (North and South) as well as the equator as determined by conventional historical cartographers are typically incorrectly placed.  

The axis of rotation and the tilt of the earth at this time was wholly different than what it is today.  

The current maps relative to this time has to be adjusted to take this into account.  I hope that I was able to rectify this discrepancy in the maps that I presented here.

There weren’t too many dry land locations near the equator at this time.

That severely limited the location of the bases of operation around a water world swimming full of proto-jellyfish like creatures.  In any event, none were involved in any type of colonization or industrial facilities.

That I am aware of.

It is entirely possible that contamination of the native ecosystem by extraterrestrial races contributed to the emergence of life on the Earth at this time.

Contamination refers to any extraterrestrial influence on the biology of the earth ecosystem at that time.

We can be assured that there was some degree of contamination.

There always is.

This is both physical, spiritual and in all ways quantum.   But, no one knows for sure the impact it had, if any.

Nothing (physical) remains of whatever visitors occupied the earth at this time.

However, there is the remote possibility that the Baigong pipes in China might be the remains of what once was some kind of industrial facility of some type. 

The Baigong Pipes are a series of pipe-like features found on and near Mount Baigong, about 40 km southwest of the city of Delingha, in the Haixi Mongol and Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture, Qinghai Province, China.

Associated with these pipe-like features are "rusty scraps" and "strangely shaped stones". 

Analysis of the "rusty scraps" by Liu Shaolin at a "local smeltery" reportedly found that they consist of 30 percent ferric oxide and large amounts of silicon dioxide and calcium oxide. 

This is what one would expect of fossilized rust buried in sandy soil.  

The state run newspaper People's Daily reported on a 2007 investigation where a research fellow from the Chinese Earthquake Administration reported they had found some of the pipes to be highly radioactive.
Skeptics claim that this is a natural formation (of course they would).  

According to any measure of anthropological science, there was no way that naturally evolved tool-making bipedal humanoids could of evolved at this time.  

In any event, any remains of artificial constructions from this distant past would be altered beyond appearance and would have alternative material constructions.  

For a conventional explanation of what this site is please visit; http://skeptoid.com/episodes/4181.  

It has a moderately reasonable conventional explanation for the observed formations.  Yet, I must specifically stress to the reader that time and geologic pressures alter the appearance and shape of things..  

This site could just as well be a natural site as it could be the remains of a very ancient construction.  The reader needs to pursue life with an open mind and consider both possibilities.

The only evidence remaining for (supplemented) human observation are the tell-tale quantum level signatures of early visitations in the (local regional) quantum cloud.

In our universe, every time one quantum particle interacts with another one, even if it is just a thought, it leaves a “mark” for all eternity.  

Those with the proper tools can read and understand these marks.  

And thus have the ability to observe the past as it transpired, in real time.  

We know of a number of extremely advanced races that can do this.  

But as far as humans are concerned, only our quantum soul bodies have this ability.  (Even at that, it is rudimentary.) 

Our physical bodies are wholly unable to access these records.  Instead, we must utilize the assistance of other, more advanced physical races.

Unfortunately, we as humans, do not possess the ability to read and interpret these signatures.

We only know what is told to us by those whom have this ability.

What they tell us is quite simplistic.

They tell us that the planet was visited and explored by humanoid bipedal entities at this time.  We also know that they traveled through various methods, not limited to physical transport.  Indeed dimensional transport seemed to be the most common method.

Their past, history, appearance, and other traits that we might find interesting are shrouded in the mists of time.

That includes what happened to the various species whom visited this planet and where they are today.

This is the full extent of what I know about this time.

Summary

Around 650 million years ago, the first extraterrestrial life set foot on the earth and investigated it.  Over time there were numerous subsequent visits.  During some of these visits a small number of bases or facilities were constructed for various scientific and investigative purposes.

The solar system at that time was still very young, being only three billion years old.  There were many comets and orbiting rocky bodies that yet had to be absorbed or collided with the larger planetary bodies.

Mars was not habitable, but both Mars and Venus were more habitable to ambulatory humanoids than they are today.

To this end, this solar system was of interest because of the three possible marginally desirable planets in the system.  The Earth, Venus and Mars. Additionally, since the gas giants were closer to the sun than they are now, and hotter, a number of Jupiter moons possessed atmosphere in a gaseous state, and some even had oceans that held water in a liquid state.

This entire solar system held promise.

The earth at that time was mostly bare rock with oceans teeming with soft-shell creatures.

At that time there was no galactic federation that would claim administration for our solar system.

For the Ediacaran Period of nearly 89 million years, the situation was pretty much a stable one.  Our solar system was mapped, explored, and systematically ignored by other species.

The vast bulk of time where this occurred was from 600 Ma to around 560 Ma.

They actually found our solar neighbors far more interesting for a host of reasons, and thus at this time just mostly ignored our solar system.

The solar system was still evolving and there were various comets and rogue asteroids that would and did present a threat to any native life in the solar system.  This system was considered to be moderately interesting but not worthy of colonization by any of the species who visited it.

It was noted; explored in a more or less cursory manner, and archived.

Very little happened on the earth in the regard to extraterrestrial involvement of a substantive nature during this time period.

Those MM readers who might wonder what life might resemble around planets in the habitual zone of stars around three billion years old, might well learn from this narrative and explanation here.

Do you want more?

I have more posts in my MAJestic Index here…

MAJestic

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Articles & Links

Master Index

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More pretty girls and learning about China by looking at their videos.

This is a continuation of my posts on learning about China by looking at pretty girls. As with my most recent posts, just click on the picture to open up a short video of the girl. It’s all good fun. The idea behind this, is of course, to help expose people to what China is like, and by doing so while watching pretty girls. As the women within a nation are the best description that you can ever get of a nation and it’s society.

Do you want more?

I have more posts related to this in my Pretty Girls of China index here…

Pretty Chinese Girls

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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What High School taught me about Diversity.

After the Obama Administration reworked American industry to promote “diversity” over merit, much of the Western world has followed suite and adopted his policy. It’s sort of a kind of mass mob acceptance of the latest fad that no one wants to be left out of.

You know, like “pet rocks”, “swallowing goldfish”, and “Deming Quality controls”.

It does pay well. LinkedIN advertises for “Diversity Directors” worth half a million dollars a year in salary.

Just about the same as all those “experts” for Y2K were paid, and those “experts” for “Global Cooling” back in the 1970’s. But really just how beneficial is it to the “bottom line”; the profitability of a given business? Is the hiring of a “diverse” selection of people better than hiring on merit?

If you believe all the hype, the answer is “yes”.

But somehow, I have this bad nagging feeling at the back of my head that says otherwise. Because “diversity” isn’t about wearing different clothes, or different skin tones, or believing different religious dogma. Diversity is a methodology that places no measurable criteria on the hiring requirements for a given position.

Diversity is a methodology that places no measurable criteria on the hiring requirements for a given position. 

Well, let’s look at this.

We will look at idea of “diversity” this from the point of view of what it was like in my High School years. For my High School was fully and intentionally diverse. And at that time, there were two techniques of grouping people. These techniques were by [1] merit, and [2] by random association. Or in other words; “diversity”. Thus we can compare diversity against merit as the criteria used in a selection process.

Now, the fact and truth is that "diversity" is just a code word for a scheme to provide an avenue to move African-Americans into positions of power all through American industry and institutions. 

That was why it was started, and the unspoken truth of why it exists.

High School

High School, and Elementary school for that matter, was always about equal doses of Diversity selection criteria, and criteria by merit.

High School, and Elementary school for that matter, was always about equal doses of Diversity selection criteria, and criteria by merit.
High School, and Elementary school for that matter, was always about equal doses of Diversity selection criteria, and criteria by merit.

Diversity selection was simply random groupings of children by arbitrary means. The most common way by the first letter of your last name. (I know this well, as that is how I always ended up sitting at the back of the classroom.) On rare occasions we would be organized by height, or some other arbitrary factor.

Which is, more or less, exactly the same thing as “diversity”. Which is the utilization of other characteristics aside from merit to rank and classify people.

Grading of students

However, when it came to grades, students were classified by merit. That being such that the best performing students obtained the highest grades. This was not only true in the class, but also in terms of the sports.

Cheerleaders were selected in their abilities to memorize and fit within the cheer-leading routines.

Athletes and football (and basketball) team tryouts determined who would become “letter-men”, and who would play what role in the games and sports that the High School would participate within. If you couldn’t perform, meet the requirements, or score, you would (more often than not) end up sitting on the bench most of the season.

Grouping of students

During class, sometimes the students would “form groups”.

More often than not, these groups were formed by random convenience. Members of each group would consist of some of the smarter kinds in the class and some of the stupidest. Some would have jocks and others would have princesses. Some would have nerds, and some would have metal heads. They would be just as diverse as you could possible imagine.

Now, in every single case, this is how it always worked out…

  • One or two of the most popular kids would take over the group.
  • The smartest nerds or high-performers would do the vast majority of the work.
  • The rest of the group would “slide by”.

In groups, the tendency was for the group to share the credit for the work of a precious few. At no time would there be any exceptions.

Occasionally, you might have a group with a combination of the high-performers, the nerds, and the “smart kids”. Who, of course would always win the award for the best performing group.

Occasionally, you might have a group with a combination of the high-performers, the nerds, and the "smart kids". Who, of course would always win the award for the best performing group.
Occasionally, you might have a group with a combination of the high-performers, the nerds, and the “smart kids”. Who, of course would always win the award for the best performing group.

There would also be groups, by the “luck of the draw” would end up with the lazy, low performing, and marginal students. These would end up never winning any awards or appreciation for what ever effort they put into the project they were assigned.

There would also be groups, by the "luck of the draw" would end up with the lazy, low performing, and marginal students. These would end up never winning any awards or appreciation for what ever effort they put into the project they were assigned.
There would also be groups, by the “luck of the draw” would end up with the lazy, low performing, and marginal students. These would end up never winning any awards or appreciation for what ever effort they put into the project they were assigned.

Formation of teams in sports

When I attended school, we had these events called “try outs”. There, a group of 50 or so kids would “try out” for a position on one of the many sports teams that the school had. You needed to “try out” and prove yourself valuable and worthy for the team. After all, there might only be some 20 slots available for you, and there were 50 people vying for those spots.

I grew up in the 1960's and the 1970's where the movie "Dazed and Confused" took place. That was my life.
I grew up in the 1960’s and the 1970’s where the movie “Dazed and Confused” took place. That was my life.

Member were selected by ability and skill. Those students with the best throwing arms ended up being Football quarterbacks. The fastest swimmers got to take lead roles in water sports, and the students that could hit the ball furthest got to play baseball.

The only people who wore seatbelts in the 1970s must’ve worked for  NHTSA. Manufacturers had been installing them in cars since 1968 when  they were ordered to by the federal government, and from that point  forward, car builders and policymakers tried everything to get people to  use them. First was just a gentle reminder on the dash. Then there was a  light on the dash. Then a light and a buzzer. Then a buzzer that  wouldn’t turn off, so you pulled the fuse, or you wrapped the seatbelt  behind you instead of just clicking it over your body the way the  manufacturer intended. 

It wouldn’t be until the 1980s until states encouraged seatbelt use. In  1993, that all started to change as California passed the nation’s first  seatbelt law that made not wearing one a primary violation, meaning you  could be stopped and ticketed just for not wearing one, rather than  having to be stopped for a more serious violation first. 

No one cared about the color of their skin, their family background, how smart they were, or whether their parents made enough or too little money. It was based on merit, and only those with merit in their respective fields could participate in the games.

No one cared about the color of their skin, their family background, how smart they were, or whether their parents made enough or too little money. It was based on merit, and only those with merit in their respective fields could participate in the games
No one cared about the color of their skin, their family background, how smart they were, or whether their parents made enough or too little money. It was based on merit, and only those with merit in their respective fields could participate in the games

I know. I was pretty terrible at sports. I couldn’t dribble for the life of me, and my ability to hit the baseball with a bat was hit or miss. Though, I was a pretty mean-little crab-soccer player. Yes, so instead of playing sports, I ended up working after school. First in the coal mines and then in the steel mills. Not to mention stock clerk and Gas station attendant.

It’s called life.

Those that could play ball well, got all the girls and had a lively time on the weekends. Those that couldn’t ended up working during our free time.

Modern contemporaneous examples

You can see examples in public and in industry on the effects of selecting membership by diversity as opposed to merit.

Here we have Detroit. It’s been a champion of diversity for decades now…

Detroit has been championing diversity hiring at all levels since well into the 1970's.
Detroit has been championing diversity hiring at all levels since well into the 1970’s.

Shanghai, in contrast, has been hiring by merit for at least fifty years. You can see what happens when people are in positions of power through merit.

Shanghai, China has been filling positions in government through merit for at least fifty years. You can see what happens when people who are in control, know well what they are doing.
Shanghai, China has been filling positions in government through merit for at least fifty years. You can see what happens when people who are in control, know well what they are doing.

Baltimore, USA is another example of how diversity hires can affect the overall standard and quality of life in a given community. Here we see a typical Baltimore community that has been managed by diversity hires for a good two decades…

Baltimore has been promoting using diversity criteria for at least two decades. you can well see how successful it has been.
Baltimore has been promoting using diversity criteria for at least two decades. you can well see how successful it has been.

Here is Hangzhou Bay Bridge China’s Hangzhou Bay Trans-oceanic Bridge is one of the masterpieces of modern architecture. It is the longest sea-crossing bridge in the world – 36 kilometres – and comes with a price tag of 11.8 billion yuan (US$1.70 billion). It was designed and built by the best engineers and designers in China. Each one obtained their positions through merit.

Hangzhou Bay Trans-oceanic Bridge is one of the masterpieces of modern architecture. It is the longest sea-crossing bridge in the world - 36 kilometres.
Hangzhou Bay Trans-oceanic Bridge is one of the masterpieces of modern architecture. It is the longest sea-crossing bridge in the world – 36 kilometres

Here is an American pedestrian overpass walkway in Florida designed and built by diversity hires. It was designed, and constructed by a group of mostly-female diversity hires. It collapsed on it’s very first day of use. This is in Florida, USA.

Newly built pedestrian walkway designed and built by diversity hires collapses in Florida.  Six people died and ten others were injured when the 174-foot span of the FIU pedestrian bridge collapsed.
Newly built pedestrian walkway designed and built by diversity hires collapses in Florida. Six people died and ten others were injured when the 174-foot span of the FIU pedestrian bridge collapsed.

Conclusion

Just because a mob of people believe something, and it is well-promoted in the media, does not make it true. At one time, people believed tomatoes were poisonous, and that bathing caused sickness, and that Epstein killed himself. All of which were false.

Diversity hires will ALWAYS perform poorly when compared to hires based on merit.

If I ever need to have open-heart surgery, I want the best doctor available. I do not want to have surgery performed on me by a slacker who fell asleep during heart-surgery class.

Some cool links on diversity

Posts Regarding Life and Contentment

Here are some other similar posts on this venue. If you enjoyed this post, you might like these posts as well. These posts tend to discuss growing up in America. Often, I like to compare my life in America with the society within communist China. As there are some really stark differences between the two.

Some of my favorite links and browser bookmarks.
Here are just some pretty decent websites, bookmarks, URL's and sites that I would like to share. I think that there is something here for everyone. These, in my mind, are the "cream of the crop" of underappreciated websites, and some places that you all might want to visit.
Mongolian Women under Genghis Khan
The history of how Australia obtained Sheilas; the story of The Lady Juliana, The 18th-Century Prison Ship Filled With Women.   This is the story of the Lady Juliana. This was a special ship designed to convey female convicts from England to Australia. The idea was that a boat load of female convicts would happily link up with a colony of convicts in Australia. Thus making everyone very, very happy, and reform the colony in New South Wales.
What is going on in Hollywood?
Why no High-Speed rail in the USA?
Link
Gaslighting
Link
Link
End of the Day Potato
Dog Shit
Tomatos
Link
Mad scientist
The Navy is scrapping the F/A-18 Hornet.
Gorilla Cage in the basement
The two family types and how they work.
How to manage a family household.
Link
The most popular American foods.
Soups, Sandwiches and ice cold beer.
Pleasures
Work in the 1960's
School in the 1970s
Cat Heaven
Corporate life
Corporate life - part 2
Build up your life
Grow and play - 1
Grow and play - 2
Baby's got back
Link
A womanly vanity
Army and Navy Store
Playground Comparisons
Excuses that we use that keep us enslaved.

More Posts about Life

I have broken apart some other posts. They can best be classified about ones actions as they contribute to happiness and life. They are a little different, in subtle ways.

Being older
Things I wish I knew.
Asian Nazi Chic
Link
Travel
PT-141
Bronco Billy
How they get away with it
Paper Airplanes
Snopes
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
1960's and 1970's link
The Confederados
Democracy Lessons
The Rule of Eight

Funny Pictures

Picture Dump 1

Be the Rufus – Tales of Everyday Heroism.

Be the Rufus - 1
Be the Rufus, part II. More tales of heroism.

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.

  • 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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The Lottery (Full Text) by Shirley Jackson

This is the full text of the classic story by Shirley Jackson titled “The Lottery”. This story used to be taught in schools all over the nation until politically correct progressives banned it. Today, only “old timers” such as myself, remember this story. Please enjoy it for what it is.

The main character.
The Lottery a story by Shirley Jackson.

The Lottery by Shirley Jackson

The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green. The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the post office and the bank, around ten o’clock; in some towns there were so many people that the lottery took two days and had to be started on June 20th, but in this village, where there were only about three hundred people, the whole lottery took less than two hours, so it could begin at ten o’clock in the morning and still be through in time to allow the villagers to get home for noon dinner.

The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play, and their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix—the villagers pronounced this name “Dellacroy”—eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside, talking among themselves, looking over their shoulders at the boys, and the very small children rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older brothers or sisters.

Soon the men began to gather, surveying their own children, speaking of planting and rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the corner, and their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed. The women, wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their menfolk. They greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands. Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to their children, and the children came reluctantly, having to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin ducked under his mother’s grasping hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and took his place between his father and his oldest brother.

The lottery was conducted—as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program—by Mr. Summers, who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called. “Little late today, folks. ” The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three-legged stool, and the stool was put in the center of the square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it. The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space between themselves and the stool, and when Mr. Summers said, “Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?” there was a hesitation before two men. Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.

The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box now resting on the stool had been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man in town, was born. Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box. There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking again about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without anything’s being done. The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no longer completely black but splintered badly along one side to show the original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.

Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box securely on the stool until Mr. Summers had stirred the papers thoroughly with his hand. Because so much of the ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been successful in having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations. Chips of wood, Mr. Summers had argued, had been all very well when the village was tiny, but now that the population was more than three hundred and likely to keep on growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into he black box. The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper and put them in the box, and it was then taken to the safe of Mr. Summers’ coal company and locked up until Mr. Summers was ready to take it to the square next morning. The rest of the year, the box was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes another; it had spent one year in Mr. Graves’s barn and another year underfoot in the post office. and sometimes it was set on a shelf in the Martin grocery and left there.

There was a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery open. There were the lists to make up–of heads of families, heads of households in each family, members of each household in each family. There was the proper swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one time, some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory, tuneless chant that had been rattled off duly each year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so when he said or sang it, others believed that he was supposed to walk among the people, but years and years ago this p3rt of the ritual had been allowed to lapse. There had been, also, a ritual salute, which the official of the lottery had had to use in addressing each person who came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed with time, until now it was felt necessary only for the official to speak to each person approaching. Mr. Summers was very good at all this; in his clean white shirt and blue jeans, with one hand resting carelessly on the black box, he seemed very proper and important as he talked interminably to Mr. Graves and the Martins.

Just as Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers, Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly along the path to the square, her sweater thrown over her shoulders, and slid into place in the back of the crowd. “Clean forgot what day it was,” she said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her, and they both laughed softly. “Thought my old man was out back stacking wood,” Mrs. Hutchinson went on, “and then I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running. ” She dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Delacroix said, “You’re in time, though. They’re still talking away up there. “

Mrs. Hutchinson craned her neck to see through the crowd and found her husband and children standing near the front. She tapped Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as a farewell and began to make her way through the crowd. The people separated good-humoredly to let her through: two or three people said, in voices just loud enough to be heard across the crowd, “Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson,” and “Bill, she made it after all. ” Mrs. Hutchinson reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting, said cheerfully. “Thought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie. ” Mrs. Hutchinson said, grinning, “Wouldn’t have me leave m’dishes in the sink, now, would you, Joe?” and soft laughter ran through the crowd as the people stirred back into position after Mrs. Hutchinson’s arrival.

“Well, now. ” Mr. Summers said soberly, “guess we better get started, get this over with, so’s we can go back to work. Anybody ain’t here?”

“Dunbar. ” several people said. “Dunbar. Dunbar. “

Mr. Summers consulted his list. “Clyde Dunbar. ” he said. “That’s right. He’s broke his leg, hasn’t he? Who’s drawing for him?”

“Me. I guess,” a woman said, and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. “Wife draws for her husband. ” Mr. Summers said. “Don’t you have a grown boy to do it for you, Janey?” Although Mr. Summers and everyone else in the village knew the answer perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the lottery to ask such questions formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while Mrs. Dunbar answered.

“Horace’s not but sixteen yet. ” Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. “Guess I gotta fill in for the old man this year. “

“Right. ” Sr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he asked, “Watson boy drawing this year?”

A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. “Here,” he said. “I m drawing for my mother and me. ” He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in the crowd said things like “Good fellow, lack. ” and “Glad to see your mother’s got a man to do it. “

“Well,” Mr. Summers said, “guess that’s everyone. Old Man Warner make it?”

“Here,” a voice said, and Mr. Summers nodded.

A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked at the list. “All ready?” he called. “Now, I’ll read the names–heads of families first–and the men come up and take a paper out of the box. Keep the paper folded in your hand without looking at it until everyone has had a turn. Everything clear?”

The people had done it so many times that they only half listened to the directions: most of them were quiet, wetting their lips, not looking around. Then Mr. Summers raised one hand high and said, “Adams. ” A man disengaged himself from the crowd and came forward. “Hi. Steve. ” Mr. Summers said, and Mr. Adams said. “Hi. Joe. ” They grinned at one another humorlessly and nervously. Then Mr. Adams reached into the black box and took out a folded paper. He held it firmly by one corner as he turned and went hastily back to his place in the crowd, where he stood a little apart from his family, not looking down at his hand.

“Allen. ” Mr. Summers said. “Anderson… Bentham. “

“Seems like there’s no time at all between lotteries any more. ” Mrs. Delacroix said to Mrs. Graves in the back row.

“Seems like we got through with the last one only last week. “

“Time sure goes fast” Mrs. Graves said.

“Clark… Delacroix. “

“There goes my old man. ” Mrs. Delacroix said. She held her breath while her husband went forward.

“Dunbar,” Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar went steadily to the box while one of the women said. “Go on, Janey,” and another said, “There she goes. “

“We’re next. ” Mrs. Graves said. She watched while Mr. Graves came around from the side of the box, greeted Mr. Summers gravely and selected a slip of paper from the box. By now, all through the crowd there were men holding the small folded papers in their large hand, turning them over and over nervously Mrs. Dunbar and her two sons stood together, Mrs. Dunbar holding the slip of paper.

“Harburt… Hutchinson. “

“Get up there, Bill,” Mrs. Hutchinson said, and the people near her laughed.

“Jones. “

“They do say,” Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, “that over in the north village they’re talking of giving up the lottery. “

Old Man Warner snorted. “Pack of crazy fools,” he said. “Listening to the young folks, nothing’s good enough for them. Next thing you know, they’ll be wanting to go back to living in caves, nobody work any more, live hat way for a while. Used to be a saying about Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon. ‘ First thing you know, we’d all be eating stewed chickweed and acorns. There’s always been a lottery,” he added petulantly. “Bad enough to see young Joe Summers up there joking with everybody. “

“Some places have already quit lotteries,” Mrs. Adams said.

“Nothing but trouble in that,” Old Man Warner said stoutly. “Pack of young fools. “

“Martin. ” And Bobby Martin watched his father go forward. “Overdyke… Percy. “

“I wish they’d hurry,” Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. “I wish they’d hurry.”

“They’re almost through,” her son said.

“You get ready to run tell Dad,” Mrs. Dunbar said.

Mr. Summers called his own name and then stepped forward precisely and selected a slip from the box. Then he called, “Warner. “

“Seventy-seventh year I been in the lottery,” Old Man Warner said as he went through the crowd. “Seventy-seventh time. “

“Watson. ” The tall boy came awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, “Don’t be nervous, Jack,” and Mr. Summers said, “Take your time, son. “

“Zanini. “

After that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers, holding his slip of paper in the air, said, “All right, fellows. ” For a minute, no one moved, and then all the slips of paper were opened. Suddenly, all the women began to speak at once, saving. “Who is it?,” “Who’s got it?,” “Is it the Dunbars?,” “Is it the Watsons?” Then the voices began to say, “It’s Hutchinson. It’s Bill,” “Bill Hutchinson’s got it. “

“Go tell your father,” Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son.

People began to look around to see the Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was standing quiet, staring down at the paper in his hand. Suddenly, Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr. Summers. “You didn’t give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn’t fair!”

“Be a good sport, Tessie,” Mrs. Delacroix called, and Mrs. Graves said, “All of us took the same chance. “

“Shut up, Tessie,” Bill Hutchinson said.

“Well, everyone,” Mr. Summers said, “that was done pretty fast, and now we’ve got to be hurrying a little more to get done in time. ” He consulted his next list. “Bill,” he said, “you draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any other households in the Hutchinsons?”

“There’s Don and Eva,” Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. “Make them take their chance!”

“Daughters draw with their husbands’ families, Tessie,” Mr. Summers said gently. “You know that as well as anyone else. “

“It wasn’t fair,” Tessie said.

“I guess not, Joe,” Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. “My daughter draws with her husband’s family; that’s only fair. And I’ve got no other family except the kids. “

“Then, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it’s you,” Mr. Summers said in explanation, “and as far as drawing for households is concerned, that’s you, too. Right?”

“Right,” Bill Hutchinson said.

“How many kids, Bill?” Mr. Summers asked formally.

“Three,” Bill Hutchinson said.

“There’s Bill, Jr. , and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and me. “

“All right, then,” Mr. Summers said. “Harry, you got their tickets back?”

Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips of paper. “Put them in the box, then,” Mr. Summers directed. “Take Bill’s and put it in. “

“I think we ought to start over,” Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. “I tell you it wasn’t fair. You didn’t give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that. “

Mr. Graves had selected the five slips and put them in the box, and he dropped all the papers but those onto the ground, where the breeze caught them and lifted them off.

“Listen, everybody,” Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her.

“Ready, Bill?” Mr. Summers asked, and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance around at his wife and children, nodded.

“Remember,” Mr. Summers said, “take the slips and keep them folded until each person has taken one. Harry, you help little Dave. ” Mr. Graves took the hand of the little boy, who came willingly with him up to the box. “Take a paper out of the box, Davy,” Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into the box and laughed. “Take just one paper. ” Mr. Summers said. “Harry, you hold it for him. ” Mr. Graves took the child’s hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and held it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly.

“Nancy next,” Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed heavily as she went forward switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from the box “Bill, Jr. ,” Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet overlarge, near knocked the box over as he got a paper out. “Tessie,” Mr. Summers said. She hesitated for a minute, looking around defiantly, and then set her lips and went up to the box. She snatched a paper out and held it behind her.

“Bill,” Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hutchinson reached into the box and felt around, bringing his hand out at last with the slip of paper in it.

The crowd was quiet. A girl whispered, “I hope it’s not Nancy,” and the sound of the whisper reached the edges of the crowd.

“It’s not the way it used to be,” Old Man Warner said clearly. “People ain’t the way they used to be. “

“All right,” Mr. Summers said. “Open the papers. Harry, you open little Dave’s. “

Mr. Graves opened the slip of paper and there was a general sigh through the crowd as he held it up and everyone could see that it was blank. Nancy and Bill, Jr. , opened theirs at the same time, and both beamed and laughed, turning around to the crowd and holding their slips of paper above their heads.

“Tessie,” Mr. Summers said. There was a pause, and then Mr. Summers looked at Bill Hutchinson, and Bill unfolded his paper and showed it. It was blank.

“It’s Tessie,” Mr. Summers said, and his voice was hushed. “Show us her paper, Bill. “

Bill Hutchinson went over to his wife and forced the slip of paper out of her hand. It had a black spot on it, the black spot Mr. Summers had made the night before with the heavy pencil in the coal company office. Bill Hutchinson held it up, and there was a stir in the crowd.

“All right, folks. ” Mr. Summers said. “Let’s finish quickly. “

Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still remembered to use stones. The pile of stones the boys had made earlier was ready; there were stones on the ground with the blowing scraps of paper that had come out of the box Delacroix selected a stone so large she had to pick it up with both hands and turned to Mrs. Dunbar. “Come on,” she said. “Hurry up. “

Mrs. Dunbar had small stones in both hands, and she said, gasping for breath. “I can’t run at all. You’ll have to go ahead and I’ll catch up with you. “

The children had stones already. And someone gave little Davy Hutchinson a few pebbles.

Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her hands out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. “It isn’t fair,” she said. A stone hit her on the side of the head. Old Man Warner was saying, “Come on, come on, everyone. ” Steve Adams was in the front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs. Graves beside him.

“It isn’t fair, it isn’t right,” Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.

The End

Other links

Commentary

When I was in school, many of my classmates preferred to read the Cliff-notes version so that they could pass the tests, rather than just simply read the story for themselves. What an absolute waste. You pass a class, but learn nothing.

In a like way, you can go on the internet today, and read what other people have to think about this story. Yup. That’s progressive “group think” for you. Get consensus, then follow the herd. Be a mindless drone, why don’t you?

Your reaction to this story is important. It is unique and that uniqueness is what makes YOU special. Embrace it and treasure it.

Posts Regarding Life and Contentment

Here are some other similar posts on this venue. If you enjoyed this post, you might like these posts as well. These posts tend to discuss growing up in America. Often, I like to compare my life in America with the society within communist China. As there are some really stark differences between the two.

Why no High-Speed rail in the USA?
Link
Link
Link
Tomatos
Link
Mad scientist
Gorilla Cage in the basement
The two family types and how they work.
Link
Soups, Sandwiches and ice cold beer.
Pleasures
Work in the 1960's
School in the 1970s
Cat Heaven
Corporate life
Corporate life - part 2
Build up your life
Grow and play - 1
Grow and play - 2
Asshole
Baby's got back
Link
A womanly vanity
SJW
Army and Navy Store
Playground Comparisons
Excuses that we use that keep us enslaved.

Posts about the Changes in America

America is going through a period of change. Change is good… that is, after it occurs. Often however, there are large periods of discomfort as the period of adjustment takes place. Here are some posts that discuss this issue.

Parable about America
What is planned for American Conservatives - Part 2
What is going to happen to conservatives - Part 3.
What is planned for conservatives - part 4
What is in store for Conservatives - part 5
What is in store for conservatives - part 6
Civil War
The Warning Signs
r/K selection theory
Line in the sand
A second passport
Link
Make America Great Again.
What would the founders think?

More Posts about Life

I have broken apart some other posts. They can best be classified about ones actions as they contribute to happiness and life. They are a little different, in subtle ways.

Being older
Things I wish I knew.
Link
Travel
PT-141
Bronco Billy
How they get away with it
Paper Airplanes
Snopes
Taxiation without representation.
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
1960's and 1970's link
Democracy Lessons
A polarized world.
The Rule of Eight
Types of American conservatives.

Stories that Inspired Me

Here are reprints in full text of stories that inspired me, but that are nearly impossible to find in China. I place them here as sort of a personal library that I can use for inspiration. The reader is welcome to come and enjoy a read or two as well.

Link
Space Cadet (Full Text) by Robert Heinlein
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
The Last Night
The Flying Machine
A story of escape.
All Summer in a day.
The Smile by Ray Bradbury
The menace from Earth
Delilah and the Space Rigger
Life-Line
The Tax-payer
The Pedestrian
Time for the stars.
Glory Road by Robert Heinlein
Starman Jones (Full Text) by Robert Heinlein.

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.

  • 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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Starman Jones (Full Text) by Robert Heinlein.

This is a wonderful story. It is great “escapist reading”, and has some very significant deeper elements.

''there were things that were right and others that were wrong and it was not just a matter of where you were. He felt this with an inner conviction too deep to be influenced by Sam’s cheerful cynicism.''

 This ''inner conviction'' places Heinlein's work apart. Morality can't be proved. We must be convinced.

 This reflective, thoughtful, wondering threads it's way throughout. Who hasn't pondered -

 'Is morality adjustable?
 Who says what is right?
 How can I know for sure?
 Should I forgive myself or punish myself?'

 Presented so skillfully, so warmly, I have returned to Max several times in over five decades. I still tear up each visit.

 Max is disclosing his deception -

 “I was always explaining—in my mind of course, why I did it, justifying myself, pointing out that the system was at fault, not me. Now I don’t want to justify myself. Not that I regret it, not when I think what I would have missed. But I don’t want to duck out of paying for it, either.”
 
Walther nodded. 

“That sounds like a healthy attitude. Captain, no code is perfect. A man must conform with judgment and commonsense, not with blind obedience. I’ve broken rules; some violations I paid for, some I didn’t. This mistake you made could have turned you into a moralistic prig, a ‘Regulation Charlie’ determined to walk the straight and narrow and to see that everyone else obeyed the letter of the law. Or it could have made you a permanent infant who thinks rules are for everyone but him. It doesn’t seem to have had either effect; I think it has matured you.”

 Keen insight.

 Another theme is the proper use and abuse of authority. Government regulations -

 ''You don’t believe in anarchy, surely? Our whole society is founded on entrusting grave secrets only to those who are worthy.''

 Government protects you -

 When the idea soaked in, Max was shocked.
 “But they put you in jail for that!”
 “Where do you think you are now?”
 “Well, I’m not in jail. And I don’t want to be.”
 “This whole planet is one big jail, and a crowded one at that.''

 Security vs Liberty, a question that all face and choose their answer.
 And yet (this is what makes Heinlein fascinating) he is not defiant or disrespectful to authority.

 Explains why Max must agree to be Captain . . .

 Mr. Samuels said quietly,

 “I don’t agree with the Chief Engineer about the unimportance of legal aspects; most of these laws have wise reasons behind them. But I agree with what else he says. Mr. Jones, a ship is not just steel, it is a delicate political entity. Its laws and customs cannot be disregarded without inviting disaster.’’

 This deep respect for law and legality drive this story. The dangerous curves are when ‘law’ has to be superseded by ‘legal principles’.
 When? Why? How? Well . .
 .
 “It will be far easier to maintain morale and discipline in this ship with a young captain—with all his officers behind him—than it would be to let passengers and crew suspect that the man who must make the crucial decisions, those life-and-death matters involving the handling of the ship, that this all-powerful man nevertheless can’t be trusted to command the ship. No, sir, such a situation would frighten me; that is how mutinies are born.”

 This is deep trust in authority.

 However, this power is used to help others, not the captain.
 The respect is earned and willingly given.

 What a lesson!

 Heinlein presents this growing and searching - to submit, defy, accept and use authority in this work. Wonderful!

-Amazon product review by Clay Garner

THE TOMAHAWK

Max liked this time of day, this time of year. With the crops in, he could finish his evening chores early and be lazy. When he had slopped the hogs and fed the chickens, instead of getting supper he followed a path to a rise west of the barn and lay down in the grass, unmindful of chiggers. He had a book with him that he had drawn from the county library last Saturday, Bonforte’s Sky Beasts: A Guide to Exotic Zoology, but he tucked it under his head as a pillow. A blue jay made remarks about his honesty, then shut up when he failed to move. A red squirrel sat on a stump and stared at him, then went on burying nuts.

Max kept his eyes to the northwest. He favored this spot because from it he could see the steel stilts and guide rings of the Chicago, Springfield, & Earthport Ring Road emerge from a slash in the ridge to his right. There was a guide ring at the mouth of the cut, a great steel hoop twenty feet high. A pair of

stilt-like tripods supported another ring a hundred feet out from the cut. A third and last ring, its stilts more than a hundred feet high to keep it level with the others, lay west of him where the ground dropped still more sharply into the valley below. Half way up it he could see the power-link antenna pointing across the gap.

On his left the guides of the C.S.&E. picked up again on the far side of the gap. The entering ring was larger to allow for maximum windage deviation; on its stilts was the receptor antenna for the power link. That ridge was steeper; there was only one more ring before the road disappeared into a tunnel. He had read that, on the Moon, entrance rings were no larger than pass-along rings, since there was never any wind to cause variation in ballistic. When he was a child this entrance ring had been slightly smaller and, during an unprecedented windstorm, a train had struck the ring and produced an unbelievable wreck, with more than four hundred people killed. He had not seen it and his father had not allowed him to poke around afterwards because of the carnage, but the scar of it could still be seen on the lefthand ridge, a

darker green than the rest.

He watched the trains go by whenever possible, not wishing the passengers any bad luck—but still, if there should happen to be a catastrophe, he didn’t want to miss it.

Max kept his eyes fixed on the cut; the Tomahawk was due any instant. Suddenly there was a silver gleam, a shining cylinder with needle nose burst out of the cut, flashed through the last ring and for a breathless moment was in free trajectory between the ridges. Almost before he could swing his eyes the projectile entered the ring across the gap and disappeared into the hillside—just as the sound hit him.

It was a thunderclap that bounced around the hills. Max gasped for air. “Boy!” he said softly. “Boy, oh boy!” The incredible sight and the impact on his ears always affected him the same way. He had heard that for the passengers the train was silent, with the sound trailing them, but he did not know; he had never ridden a train and it seemed unlikely, with Maw and the farm to take care of, that he ever would.

He shifted to a sitting position and opened his book, holding it so that he would be aware of the southwestern sky. Seven minutes after the passing of the Tomahawk he should be able to see, on a clear evening, the launching orbit of the daily Moonship. Although much father away and much less dramatic than the nearby jump of the ring train it was this that he had come to see. Ring trains were all right, but spaceships were his love—even a dinky like the moon shuttle.

But he had just found his place, a description of the intelligent but phlegmatic crustaceans of Epsilon Ceti IV, when he was interrupted by a call behind him. “Oh, Maxie! Maximilian! Max… mil… yan!”

He held still and said nothing.

“Max! I can see you, Max—you come at once, hear me?”

He muttered to himself and got to his feet. He moved slowly down the path, watching the sky over his shoulder until the barn cut off his view. Maw was back and that was that—she’d make his life miserable if he didn’t come in and help. When she had left that morning he had had the impression that she would be gone overnight—not that she had said so; she never did—but he had learned to read the signs. Now he would have to listen to her complaints and her petty gossip when he wanted to read, or just as bad, be disturbed by the slobbering stereovision serials she favored. He had often been tempted to sabotage the pesky SV set—by rights with an ax! He hardly ever got to see the programs he liked.

When he got in sight of the house he stopped suddenly. He had supposed that Maw had ridden the bus from the Corners and walked up the draw as usual. But there was a sporty little unicycle standing near the stoop—and there was someone with her.

He had thought at first it was a “foreigner”—but when he got closer he recognized the man. Max would rather have seen a foreigner, any foreigner. Biff Montgomery was a hillman but he didn’t work a farm; Max couldn’t remember having seen him do any honest work. He had heard it said that Montgomery sometimes hired out as a guard when one of the moonshine stills back in the hills was operating and it might be so—Montgomery was a big, beefy man and the part might fit him.

Max had known Montgomery as long as he could remember, seen him loafing around Clyde’s Corners. But he had ordinarily given him “wagon room” and had had nothing to do with him—until lately: Maw had started being seen with him, even gone to barn dances and huskings with him. Max had tried to tell her that Dad wouldn’t have liked it. But you couldn’t argue with Maw—what she didn’t like she just didn’t hear.

But this was the first time she had ever brought him to the house. Max felt a slow burn of anger starting in

him.

“Hurry up, Maxie!” Maw called out. “Don’t stand there like a dummy.” Max reluctantly moved along and joined them. Maw said, “Maxie, shake hands with your new father,” then looked roguish, as if she had said something witty. Max stared and his mouth sagged open.

Montgomery grinned and stuck out a hand. “Yep, Max, you’re Max Montgomery now—I’m your new pop. But you can call me Monty.”

Max stared at the hand, took it briefly. “My name is Jones,” he said flatly. “Maxie!” protested Maw.

Montgomery laughed jovially. “Don’t rush him, Nellie my love. Let Max get used to it. Live and let live; that’s my motto.” He turned to his wife. “Half a mo’, while I get the baggage.” From one saddlebag of the unicycle he extracted a wad of mussed clothing; from the other, two flat pint bottles. Seeing Max watching him he winked and said, “A toast for the bride.”

His bride was standing by the door; he started to brush on past her. She protested, “But Monty darling, aren’t you going to—”

Montgomery stopped. “Oh. I haven’t much experience in these things. Sure.” He turned to Max—”Here, take the baggage”—and shoved bottles and clothes at him. Then he swung her up in his arms, grunting a bit, and carried her over the threshold, put her down and kissed her while she squealed and blushed.

Max silently followed them, put the items on the table and turned to the stove. It was cold, he had not used it since breakfast. There was an electric range but it had burned out before his father had died and there had never been money to repair it. He took out his pocket knife, made shavings, added kindling and touched the heap with an Everlite. When it flared up he went out to fetch a pail of water.

When he came back Montgomery said, “Wondered where you’d gone. Doesn’t this dump even have running water?”

“No.” Max set the pail down, then added a couple of chunks of cord wood to the fire. His Maw said, “Maxie, you should have had dinner ready.”

Montgomery interceded pleasantly with, “Now, my dear, he didn’t know we were coming. And it leaves time for a toast.” Max kept his back to them, giving his full attention to slicing side meat. The change was so overwhelming that he had not had time to take it in.

Montgomery called to him. “Here, son! Drink your toast to the bride.” “I’ve got to get supper.”

“Nonsense! Here’s your glass. Hurry up.”

Montgomery had poured a finger of amber liquid into the glass; his own glass was half full and that of his bride at least a third. Max accepted it and went to the pail, thinned it with a dipper of water.

“You’ll ruin it.”

“I’m not used to it.”

“Oh, well. Here’s to the blushing bride—and our happy family! Bottoms up!”

Max took a cautious sip and put it down. It tasted to him like the bitter tonic the district nurse had given him one spring. He turned back to his work, only to be interrupted again. “Hey, you didn’t finish it.”

“Look, I got to cook. You don’t want me to burn supper, do you?”

Montgomery shrugged. “Oh, well—the more for the rest of us. We’ll use yours for a chaser. Sonny boy, when I was your age I could empty a tumbler neat and then stand on my hands.”

Max had intended to sup on side meat and warmed-over biscuits, but there was only half a pan left of the biscuits. He scrambled eggs in the grease of the side meat, brewed coffee, and let it go at that. When they sat down Montgomery looked at it and announced, “My dear, starting tomorrow I’ll expect you to live up to what you told me about your cooking. Your boy isn’t much of a cook.” Nevertheless he ate heartily. Max decided not to tell him that he was a better cook than Maw—he’d find out soon enough.

Presently Montgomery sat back and wiped his mouth, then poured himself more coffee and lighted a cigar. Maw said, “Maxie, dear, what’s the dessert?”

“Dessert? Well—there’s that ice cream in the freezer, left over from Solar Union Day.” She looked vexed. “Oh, dear! I’m afraid it’s not there.”

“Huh?”

“Well, I’m afraid I sort of ate it one afternoon when you were out in the south field. It was an awfully hot day.”

Max did not say anything, he was unsurprised. But she was not content to leave it. “You didn’t fix any dessert, Max? But this is a special occasion.”

Montgomery took his cigar out of his mouth. “Stow it, my dear,” he said kindly. “I’m not much for sweets, I’m a meat-and-potatoes man—sticks to the ribs. Let’s talk of pleasanter things.” He turned to Max. “Max, what can you do besides farm?”

Max was startled. “Huh? I’ve never done anything else. Why?”

Montgomery touched the ash of the cigar to his plate. “Because you are all through farming.”

For the second time in two hours Max had more change than he could grasp. “Why? What do you mean?”

“Because we’ve sold the farm.”

Max felt as if he had had a rug jerked out from under him. But he could tell from Maw’s face that it was true. She looked the way she always did when she had put one over on him—triumphant and slightly apprehensive.

“Dad wouldn’t like that,” he said to her harshly. “This land has been in our family for four hundred years.”

“Now, Maxie! I’ve told you I don’t know how many times that I wasn’t cut out for a farm. I was city raised.”

“Clyde’s Corners! Some city!”

“It wasn’t a farm. And I was just a young girl when your father brought me here—you were already a big boy. I’ve still got my life before me. I can’t live it buried on a farm.”

Max raised his voice. “But you promised Dad you’d…”

“Stow it,” Montgomery said firmly. “And keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to your mother—and to me.”

Max shut up.

“The land is sold and that’s that. How much do you figure this parcel is worth?” “Why, I’ve never thought about it.”

“Whatever you thought, I got more.” He gave Max a wink. “Yes, sir! It was a lucky day for your mother and you when she set her cap for me. I’m a man with his ear to the ground. I knew why an agent was around buying up these worn-out, worthless pieces of property. I…”

“I use government fertilizers.”

“Worthless I said and worthless I meant. For farming, that is.” He put his finger along his nose, looked sly, and explained. It seemed that some big government power project was afoot for which this area had been selected—Montgomery was mysterious about it, from which Max concluded that he didn’t know very much. A syndicate was quietly buying up land in anticipation of government purchase. “So we held ’em up for five times what they expected to pay. Pretty good, huh?”

Maw put in, “You see, Maxie? If your father had known that we would ever get…” “Quiet, Nellie!”

“But I was just going to tell him how much…” “‘Quiet!’ I said.”

She shut up. Montgomery pushed his chair back, stuck his cigar in his mouth, and got up. Max put water on to heat for the dishes, scraped the plates and took the leavings out to the chickens. He stayed out quite a spell, looking at the stars and trying to think. The idea of having Biff Montgomery in the family shook him to his bones. He wondered just what rights a stepfather had, or, rather a step-stepfather, a man who had married his stepmother. He didn’t know.

Presently he decided that he had to go back inside, much as he hated to. He found Montgomery standing at the bookshelf he had built over the stereo receiver; the man was pawing at the books and had piled several on the receiver. He looked around. “You back? Stick around, I want you to tell me about the live stock.”

Maw appeared in the doorway. “Darling,” she said to Montgomery, “can’t that wait till morning?”

“Don’t be in a hurry, my dear,” he answered. “That auctioneer fellow will be here early. I’ve got to have the inventory ready.” He continued to pull books down. “Say, these are pretty things.” He held in his hands half a dozen volumes, printed on the finest of thin paper and bound in limp plastic. “I wonder what they’re worth? Nellie, hand me my specs.”

Max advanced hastily, reached for them. “Those are mine!”

“Huh?” Montgomery glanced at him, then held the books high in the air. “You’re too young to own anything. No, everything goes. A clean sweep and a fresh start.”

“They’re mine! My uncle gave them to me.” He appealed to his mother. “Tell him, Maw.”

Montgomery said quietly, “Yes, Nellie, set this youngster straight—before I have to correct him.” Nellie looked worried. “Well, I don’t rightly know. They did belong to Chet.”

“And Chet was your brother? Then you’re Chet’s heir, not this young cub.” “He wasn’t her brother, he was her brother-in-law!”

“So? No matter. Your father was your uncle’s heir, then, and your mother is your father’s heir. Not you, you’re a minor. That’s the law, son. Sorry.” He put the books on the shelf but remained standing in front of them.

Max felt his right upper lip begin to twitch uncontrollably; he knew that he would not be able to talk coherently. His eyes filled with tears of rage so that he could hardly see. “You… you thief!”

Nellie let out a squawk. “Max!”

Montgomery’s face became coldly malignant. “Now you’ve gone too far. I’m afraid you’ve earned a taste of the strap.” His fingers started unbuckling his heavy belt.

Max took a step backward. Montgomery got the belt loose and took a step forward. Nellie squealed, “Monty! Please!”

“Keep out of this, Nellie.” To Max he said, “We might as well get it settled once and for all who is boss around here. Apologize!”

Max did not answer. Montgomery repeated, “Apologize, and we’ll say no more about it.” He twitched the belt like a cat lashing its tail. Max took another step back; Montgomery stepped forward and grabbed at him.

Max ducked and ran out the open door into darkness. He did not stop until he was sure that Montgomery was not following. Then he caught his breath, still raging. He was almost sorry that Montgomery had not chased him; he didn’t think that anyone could match him on his home grounds in the dark. He knew where the wood pile was; Montgomery didn’t. He knew where the hog wallow was.

Yes, he knew where the well was—even that.

It was a long time before he quieted down enough to think rationally. When he did, he was glad it had ended so easily, Montgomery outweighed him a lot and was reputed to be a mean one in a fight.

If it had ended, he corrected. He wondered if Montgomery would decide to forget it by morning. The light was still on in the living room; he took shelter in the barn and waited, sitting down on the dirt floor and leaning against the planks. After a while he felt terribly tired. He considered sleeping in the barn but there was no fit place to lie down, even though the old mule was dead. Instead he got up and looked at the house.

The light was out in the living room, but he could see a light in the bedroom; they were still awake, surely. Someone had closed the outer door after his flight; it did not lock so there was no difficulty getting in, but he was afraid that Montgomery might hear him. His own room was a shed added at the kitchen end of the main room, opposite the bedroom, but it had no outside door.

No matter—he had solved that problem when he had first grown old enough to wish to get in and out at night without consulting his elders. He crept around the house, found the saw horse, placed it under his window, got on and wiggled loose the nail that held the window. A moment later he stepped silently down into his own room. The door to the main part of the house was closed but he decided not to risk

switching on the light; Montgomery might take it into his head to come out into the living room and see a crack of light under his door. He slipped quietly out of his clothes and crawled into his cot.

Sleep wouldn’t come. Once he began to feel that warm drowsiness, then some tiny noise had brought him wide, stiff awake. Probably just a mouse—but for an instant he had thought that Montgomery was standing over his bed. With his heart pounding, he sat up on the edge of his cot, still in his skin.

Presently he faced up to the problem of what he was to do—not just for the next hour, not just tomorrow morning, but the following morning and all the mornings after that. Montgomery alone presented no problem; he would not voluntarily stay in the same county with the man. But how about Maw?

His father had told him, when he had known that he was dying, “Take care of your mother, son.” Well, he had done so. He had made a crop every year—food in the house and a little money, even if things had been close. When the mule died, he had made do, borrowing McAllister’s team and working it out in labor.

But had Dad meant that he had to take care of his stepmother even if she remarried? It had never occurred to him to consider it. Dad had told him to look out for her and he had done so, even though it had put a stop to school and did not seem to have any end to it.

But she was no longer Mrs. Jones but Mrs. Montgomery. Had Dad meant for him to support Mrs. Montgomery?

Of course not! When a woman married, her husband supported her. Everybody knew that. And Dad wouldn’t expect him to put up with Montgomery. He stood up, his mind suddenly made up.

The only question was what to take with him.

There was little to take. Groping in the dark he found the rucksack he used for hunting hikes and stuffed into it his other shirt and his socks. He added Uncle Chet’s circular astrogation slide rule and the piece of volcanic glass his uncle had brought back for him from the Moon. His citizen’s identification card, his toothbrush, and his father’s razor—not that he needed that very often—about completed the plunder.

There was a loose board back of his cot. He felt for it, pulled it out and groped between the studs—found nothing. He had been hiding a little money from time to time against a rainy day, as Maw couldn’t or wouldn’t save. But apparently she had found it on one of her snooping tours. Well, he still had to leave; it just made it a little more difficult.

He took a deep breath. There was something he must get… Uncle Chet’s books… and they were still (presumably) on the shelf against the wall common with the bedroom. But he had to get them, even at the risk of meeting Montgomery.

Cautiously, most slowly, he opened the door into the living room, stood there with sweat pouring down him. There was still a crack of light under the bedroom door and he hesitated, almost unable to force himself to go on. He heard Montgomery muttering something and Maw giggle.

As his eyes adjusted he could see by the faint light leaking out under the bedroom door something piled at the outer door. It was a deadfall alarm of pots and pans, sure to make a dreadful clatter if the door were opened. Apparently Montgomery had counted on him coming back and expected to be ready to take care of him. He was very glad that he had sneaked in the window.

No use putting it off—he crept across the floor, mindful of the squeaky board near the table. He could not see but he could feel and the volumes were known to his fingers. Carefully he slid them out, being

sure not to knock over the others.

He was all the way back to his own door when he remembered the library book. He stopped in sudden panic.

He couldn’t go back. They might hear him this time—or Montgomery might get up for a drink of water or something.

But in his limited horizon, the theft of a public library book—or failure to return it, which was the same thing—was, if not a mortal sin, at least high on the list of shameful crimes. He stood there, sweating and thinking about it.

Then he went back, the whole long trek, around the squeaky board and tragically onto one he had not remembered. He froze after he hit it, but apparently it had not alarmed the couple in the room beyond. At last he was leaning over the SV receiver and groping at the shelf.

Montgomery, in pawing the books, had changed their arrangement. One after another he had to take them down and try to identify it by touch, opening each and feeling for the perforations on the title page.

It was the fourth one he handled. He got back to his room hurrying slowly, unbearably anxious but afraid to move fast. There at last, he began to shake and had to wait until it wore off. He didn’t chance closing his door but got into his clothes in the dark. Moments later he crept through his window, found the saw horse with his toe, and stepped quietly to the ground.

His shoes were stuffed on top of the books in his rucksack; he decided to leave them there until he was well clear of the house, rather than chance the noise he might make with his feet shod. He swung wide around the house and looked back. The bedroom light was still on; he started to angle down toward the road when he noticed Montgomery’s unicycle. He stopped.

If he continued he would come to the road the bus passed along. Whether he turned right or left there, Montgomery would have a fifty-fifty chance of catching him on the unicycle. Having no money he was dependent on Shank’s ponies to put distance under him; he could not take the bus.

Shucks! Montgomery wouldn’t try to fetch him back. He would say good riddance and forget him!

But the thought fretted him. Suppose Maw urged him? Suppose Montgomery wouldn’t forget an insult and would go to any trouble to “get even”?

He headed back, still swinging wide of the house, and cut across the slopes toward the right of way of the C.S.&E.

Good Samaritan

He wished for a light, but its lack did not bother him much. He knew this country, every slope, almost every tree. He stayed high, working along the hillside, until he reached the exit ring where the trains jumped the gap, and there he came out on the road used by the ring road’s maintenance crews. He sat down and put on his shoes.

The maintenance road was no more than a track cut through trees; it was suited to tractor treads but not

to wheels. But it led down across the gap and up to where the ring road disappeared in the tunnel through the far ridge. He followed it, making good time in the born mountaineer’s easy, loose-jointed walk.

Seventy minutes later he was across the gap and passing under the entrance ring. He went on until he was near the ring that marked the black entrance to the tunnel. He stopped at what he judged to be a safe distance and considered his chances.

The ridge was high, else the rings would have been built in a cut rather than a tunnel. He had often hunted on it and knew that it would take two hours to climb it—in daylight. But the maintenance road ran right through the hill, under the rings. If he followed it, he could go through in ten or fifteen minutes.

Max had never been through the ridge. Legally it was trespass—not that that bothered him, he was trespassing now. Occasionally a hog or a wild animal would wander into the tunnel and be trapped there when a train hurtled through. They died, instantly and without a scratch. Once Max had spotted the carcass of a fox just inside the tunnel and had ducked in and salvaged it. There were no marks on it, but when he skinned it he found that it was a mass of tiny hemorrhages. Several years earlier a man had been caught inside; the maintenance crew brought out the body.

The tunnel was larger than the rings but no larger than necessary to permit the projectile to ride ahead of its own reflected shock wave. Anything alive in the tunnel could not avoid the wave; that unbearable thunderclap, painful at a distance, was so loaded with energy as to be quick death close up.

But Max did not want to climb the ridge; he went over the evening schedule of trains in his mind. The Tomahawk was the one he had watched at sundown; the Javelin he had heard while he was hiding in the barn. The Assegai must have gone by quite a while ago though he didn’t remember hearing it; that left only the midnight Cleaver. He then looked at the sky.

Venus had set, of course, but he was surprised to see Mars still in the west. The Moon had not risen. Let’s see—full moon was last Wednesday. Surely…

The answer he got seemed wrong, so he checked himself by taking a careful eyesight of Vega and compared it with what the Big Dipper told him. Then he whistled softly—despite everything that had happened it was only ten o’clock, give or take five minutes; the stars could not be wrong. In which case the Assegai was not due for another three-quarters of an hour. Except for the faint chance of a special train he had plenty of time.

He headed into the tunnel. He had not gone fifty yards before he began to be sorry and a bit panicky; it was as dark as a sealed coffin. But the going was much easier as the bore was lined to permit smooth shockwave reflections. He had been on his way several minutes, feeling each step but hurrying, when his eyes, adjusting to complete darkness, made out a faint grey circle far ahead. He broke into a trot and then into a dead run as his fear of the place piled up.

He reached the far end with throat burned dry and heart laboring; there he plunged downhill regardless of the sudden roughening of his path as he left the tunnel and hit the maintenance track. He did not slow up until he stood under stilt supports so high that the ring above looked small. There he stood still and fought to catch his breath.

He was slammed forward and knocked off his feet.

He picked himself up groggily, eventually remembered where he was and realized that he had been knocked cold. There was blood on one cheek and his hands and elbows were raw. It was not until he noticed these that he realized what had happened; a train had passed right over him.

It had not been close enough to kill, but it had been close enough to blast him off his feet. It could not have been the Assegai; he looked again at the stars and confirmed it. No, it must have been a special—and he had beaten it out of the tunnel by about a minute.

He began to shake and it was minutes before he pulled himself together, after which he started down the maintenance road as fast as his bruised body could manage. Presently he became aware of an odd fact; the night was silent.

But night is never silent. His ears, tuned from babyhood to the sounds and signs of his hills, should have heard an endless pattern of little night noises—wind in the leaves, the scurrying of his small cousins, tree frogs, calls of insects, owls.

By brutal logic he concluded correctly that he could not hear—”deef as a post”—the shock wave had left him deaf. But there was no way to help it, so he went on; it did not occur to him to return home. At the bottom of this draw, where the stilts were nearly three hundred feet high, the maintenance road crossed a farm road. He turned down hill onto it, having accomplished his first purpose of getting into territory where Montgomery would be less likely to look for him. He was in another watershed now; although still only a few miles from home, nevertheless by going through the ridge he had put himself into a different neighborhood.

He continued downhill for a couple of hours. The road was hardly more than a cart track but it was easier than the maintenance road. Somewhere below, when the hills gave way to the valley where the “foreigners” lived, he would find the freight highway that paralleled the ring road on the route to Earthport—Earthport being his destination although he had only foggy plans as to what he would do when he got there.

The Moon was behind him now and he made good time. A rabbit hopped onto the road ahead, sat up and stared, then skittered away. Seeing it, he regretted not having brought along his squirrel gun. Sure, it was worn out and not worth much and lately it had gotten harder and harder to buy the slugs thrown by the obsolete little weapon—but rabbit in the pot right now would go mighty nice, mighty nice! He realized that he was not only weary but terribly hungry. He had just picked at his supper and it looked like he’d breakfast on his upper lip.

Shortly his attention was distracted from hunger to a ringing in his ears, a ringing that got distressingly worse. He shook his head and pounded his ears but it did not help; he had to make up his mind to ignore it. After another half mile or so he suddenly noticed that he could hear himself walking. He stopped dead, then clapped his hands together. He could hear them smack, cutting through the phantom ringing. With a lighter heart he went on.

At last he came out on a shoulder that overlooked the broad valley. In the moonlight he could make out the sweep of the freight highway leading southwest and could detect, he thought, its fluorescent traffic guide lines. He hurried on down.

He was nearing the highway and could hear the rush of passing freighters when he spotted a light ahead. He approached it cautiously, determined that it was neither vehicle nor farm house. Closer approach showed it to be a small open fire, visible from uphill but shielded from the highway by a shoulder of limestone. A man was squatting over it, stirring the contents of a can resting on rocks over the fire.

Max crept nearer until he was looking down into the hobo jungle. He got a whiff of the stew and his mouth watered. Caught between hunger and a hillman’s ingrown distrust of “foreigners” he lay still and stared. Presently the man set the can off the fire and called out, “Well, don’t hide there! Come on down.”

Max was too startled to answer. The man added, “Come on down into the light. I won’t fetch it up to

you.”

Max got to his feet and shuffled down into the circle of firelight. The man looked up. “Howdy. Draw up a chair.”

“Howdy.” Max sat down across the fire from the tramp. He was not even as well dressed as Max and he needed a shave. Nevertheless he wore his rags with a jaunty air and handled himself with a sparrow’s cockiness.

The man continued to stir the mess in the can then spooned out a sample, blew on it, and tasted it. “About right,” he announced. “Four-day mulligan, just getting ripe. Find yourself a dish.” He got up and picked over a pile of smaller cans behind him, selected one. Max hesitated, then did the same, settling on one that had once contained coffee and appeared not to have been used since. His host served him a liberal portion of stew, then handed him a spoon. Max looked at it.

“If you don’t trust the last man who used it,” the man said reasonably, “hold it in the fire, then wipe it. Me, I don’t worry. If a bug bites me, he dies horribly.” Max took the advice, holding the spoon in the flames until the handle became too hot, then wiped it on his shirt.

The stew was good and his hunger made it superlative. The gravy was thick, there were vegetables and unidentified meat. Max didn’t bother his head about the pedigrees of the materials; he simply enjoyed it. After a while his host said, “Seconds?”

“Huh? Sure. Thanks!”

The second can of stew filled him up and spread through his tissues a warm glow of well-being. He stretched lazily, enjoying his fatigue. “Feel better?” the man asked.

“Gee, yes. Thanks.”

“By the way, you can call me Sam.” “Oh, my name is Max.”

“Glad to know you, Max.”

Max waited before raising a point that had been bothering him. “Uh, Sam? How did you know I was there? Did you hear me?”

Sam grinned. “No. But you were silhouetted against the sky. Don’t ever do that, kid, or it may be the last thing you do.”

Max twisted around and looked up at where he had lurked. Sure enough, Sam was right. He’d be dogged!

Sam added, “Traveled far?” “Huh? Yeah, quite a piece.” “Going far?”

“Uh, pretty far, I guess.”

Sam waited, then said, “Think your folks’ll miss you?”

“Huh? How did you know?”

“That you had run away from home? Well, you have, haven’t you?” “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I have.”

“You looked beat when you dragged in here. Maybe it’s not too late to kill the goose before your bridges are burned. Think about it, kid. It’s rough on the road. I know.”

“Go back? I won’t ever go back!” “As bad as that?”

Max stared into the fire. He needed badly to get his thoughts straight, even if it meant telling a foreigner his private affairs—and this soft-spoken stranger was easy to talk to. “See here, Sam, did you ever have a stepmother?”

“Eh? Can’t remember that I ever had any. The Central Jersey Development Center for State Children used to kiss me good night.”

“Oh.” Max blurted out his story with an occasional sympathetic question from Sam to straighten out its confusion. “So I lit out,” he concluded. “There wasn’t anything else to do. Was there?”

Sam pursed his lips. “I reckon not. This double stepfather of yours—he sounds like a mouse studying to be a rat. You’re well shut of him.”

“You don’t think they’ll try to find me and haul me back, do you?”

Sam stopped to put a piece of wood on the fire. “I am not sure about that.”

“Huh? Why not? I’m no use to him. He doesn’t like me. And Maw won’t care, not really. She may whine a bit, but she won’t turn her hand.”

“Well, there’s the farm.”

“The farm? I don’t care about that, not with Dad gone. Truthfully, it ain’t much. You break your back trying to make a crop. If the Food Conservation Act hadn’t forbidden owners to let farm land fall out of use, Dad would have quit farming long ago. It would take something like this government condemnation to make it possible to find anybody to take it off your hands.”

“That’s what I mean. This joker got your mother to sell it. Now my brand of law may not be much good, but it looks as if that money ought to come to you.”

“What? Oh, I don’t care about the money. I just want to get away from them.”

“Don’t talk that way about money; the powers-that-be will have you shut up for blasphemy. But it probably doesn’t matter how you feel, as I think Citizen Montgomery is going to want to see you awful bad.”

“Why?”

“Did your father leave a will?”

“No. Why? He didn’t have anything to leave but the farm.”

“I don’t know the ins and outs of your state laws, but it’s a sure thing that at least half of that farm belongs to you. Possibly your stepmother has only lifetime tenure in her half, with reversion to you when she dies. But it’s a certainty that she can’t grant a good deed without your signature. Along about time your county courthouse opens up tomorrow morning the buyers are going to find that out. Then they’ll come

high-tailing up, looking for her—and you. And ten minutes later this Montgomery hombre will start looking for you, if he hasn’t already.”

“Oh, me! If they find me, can they make me go back?” “Don’t let them find you. You’ve made a good start.”

Max picked up his rucksack. “I guess I had better get moving. Thanks a lot, Sam. Maybe I can help you someday.”

“Sit down.”

“Look, I had better get as far away as I can.”

“Kid, you’re tired out and your judgment has slipped. How far can you walk tonight, the shape you’re in? Tomorrow morning, bright and early, we’ll go down to the highway, follow it about a mile to the freighters’ restaurant south of here and catch the haulers as they come out from breakfast, feeling good. We’ll promote a ride and you’ll go farther in ten minutes than you could make all night.”

Max had to admit that he was tired, exhausted really, and Sam certainly knew more about these wrinkles than he did. Sam added, “Got a blanket in your bindle?”

“No. Just a shirt… and some books.”

“Books, eh? Read quite a bit myself, when I get a chance. May I see them?”

Somewhat reluctantly Max got them out. Sam held them close to the fire and examined them. “Well, I’ll be a three-eyed Martian! Kid, do you know what you’ve got here?”

“Sure.”

“But you ought not to have these. You’re not a member of the Astrogators’ Guild.” “No, but my uncle was. He was on the first trip to Beta Hydrae,” he added proudly. “No foolin’!”

“Sure as taxes.”

“But you’ve never been in space yourself? No, of course not.”

“But I’m going to be!” Max admitted something that he had never told anyone, his ambition to emulate his uncle and go out to the stars. Sam listened thoughtfully. When Max stopped, he said slowly, “So you want to be an astrogator?”

“I certainly do.”

Sam scratched his nose. “Look, kid, I don’t want to throw cold water, but you know how the world wags. Getting to be an astrogator is almost as difficult as getting into the Plumbers’ Guild. The soup is thin these days and there isn’t enough to go around. The guild won’t welcome you just because you are anxious to be apprenticed. Membership is hereditary, just like all the other high-pay guilds.”

“But my uncle was a member.” “Your uncle isn’t your father.”

“No, but a member who hasn’t any sons gets to nominate someone else. Uncle Chet explained it to me. He always told me he was going to register my nomination.”

“And did he?”

Max was silent. At the time his uncle had died he had been too young to know how to go about finding out. When his father had followed his uncle events had closed in on him—he had never checked up, subconsciously preferring to nurse the dream rather than test it. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I’m going to the Mother Chapter at Earthport and find out.”

“Hmmm—I wish you luck, kid.” He stared into the fire, sadly it seemed to Max. “Well, I’m going to grab some shut-eye, and you had better do the same. If you’re chilly, you’ll find some truck back under that rock shelf—burlap and packing materials and such. It’ll keep you warm, if you don’t mind risking a flea or two.”

Max crawled into the dark hole indicated, found a half-way cave in the limestone. Groping, he located the primitive bedding. He had expected to be wakeful, but he was asleep before Sam finished covering the fire.

He was awakened by sunlight blazing outside. He crawled out, stood up and stretched the stiffness out of his limbs. By the sun he judged it to be about seven o’clock in the morning. Sam was not in sight. He looked around and shouted, not too loudly, and guessed that Sam had gone down to the creek for a drink and a cold wash. Max went back into the shelter and hauled out his rucksack, intending to change his socks.

His uncle’s books were missing.

There was a note on top of his spare shirt: “Dear Max,” it said, “There is more stew in the can. You can warm it up for breakfast. So long—Sam P.S. Sorry.”

Further search disclosed that his identification card was missing, but Sam had not bothered with his other pitiful possessions. Max did not touch the stew but set out down the road, his mind filled with bitter thoughts.

Earthport

The farm road crossed under the freight highway; Max came up on the far side and headed south beside the highway. The route was marked by “NO TRESPASS” signs but the path was well worn. The highway widened to make room for a deceleration strip. At the end of its smooth reach, a mile away, Max could see the restaurant Sam had mentioned.

He shinnied over the fence enclosing the restaurant and parking grounds and went to the parking stalls where a dozen of the big land ships were lined up. One was quivering for departure, its flat bottom a few inches clear of the metallic pavement. Max went to its front end and looked up at the driver’s

compartment. The door was open and he could see the driver at his instrument board. Max called out, “Hey, Mister!”

The driver stuck his head out. “What’s itching you?” “How are the chances of a lift south?”

“Beat it, kid.” The door slammed.

None of the other freighters was raised off the pavement; their control compartments were empty. Max was about to turn away when another giant scooted down the braking strip, reached the parking space, crawled slowly into a stall, and settled to the ground. He considered approaching its driver, but decided to wait until the man had eaten. He went back toward the restaurant building and was looking through the door, watching hungry men demolish food while his mouth watered, when he heard a pleasant voice at his shoulder.

“Excuse me, but you’re blocking the door.” Max jumped aside. “Oh! Sorry.”

“Go ahead. You were first.” The speaker was a man about ten years older than Max. He was profusely freckled and had a one-sided grin. Max saw on his cap the pin of the Teamsters’ Guild. “Go on in,” the man repeated, “before you get trampled in the rush.”

Max had been telling himself that he might catch Sam inside—and, after all, they couldn’t charge him just for coming in, if he didn’t actually eat anything. Underlying was the thought of asking to work for a meal, if the manager looked friendly. The freckled-faced man’s urging tipped the scales; he followed his nose toward the source of the heavenly odors pouring out the door.

The restaurant was crowded; there was one vacant table, for two. The man slid into a chair and said, “Sit down.” When Max hesitated, he added, “Go ahead, put it down. Never like to eat alone.” Max could feel the manager’s eyes on him, he sat down. A waitress handed them each a menu and the hauler looked her over appreciatively. When she left he said, “This dump used to have automatic service—and it went broke. The trade went to the Tivoli, eighty miles down the stretch. Then the new owner threw away the machinery and hired girls and business picked up. Nothing makes food taste better than having a pretty girl put it in front of you. Right?”

“Uh, I guess so. Sure.” Max had not heard what was said. He had seldom been in a restaurant and then only in the lunch counter at Clyde’s Corners. The prices he read frightened him; he wanted to crawl under the table.

His companion looked at him. “What’s the trouble, chum?” “Trouble? Uh, nothing.”

“You broke?” Max’s miserable expression answered him. “Shucks, I’ve been there myself. Relax.” The man waggled his fingers at the waitress. “Come here, honey chile. My partner and I will each have a breakfast steak with a fried egg sitting on top and this and that on the side. I want that egg to be just barely dead. If it is cooked solid, I’ll nail it to the wall as a warning to others. Understand me?”

“I doubt if you’ll be able to get a nail through it,” she retorted and walked away, swaying gently. The hauler kept his eyes on her until she disappeared into the kitchen. “See what I mean? How can machinery compete?”

The steak was good and the egg was not congealed. The hauler told Max to call him “Red” and Max gave his name in exchange. Max was pursuing the last of the yolk with a bit of toast and was considering whether it was time to broach the subject of a ride when Red leaned forward and spoke softly. “Max—you got anything pushing you? Free to take a job?”

“What? Why, maybe. What is it?” “Mind taking a little run southwest?”

“Southwest? Matter of fact, I was headin’ that way.”

“Good. Here’s the deal. The Man says we have to have two teamsters to each rig—or else break for eight hours after driving eight. I can’t; I’ve got a penalty time to meet—and my partner washed out. The flathead got taken drunk and I had to put him down to cool. Now I’ve got a check point to pass a hundred thirty miles down the stretch. They’ll make me lay over if I can’t show another driver.”

“Gee! But I don’t know how to drive, Red. I’m awful sorry.”

Red gestured with his cup. “You won’t have to. You’ll always be the off-watch driver. I wouldn’t trust little Molly Malone to somebody who didn’t know her ways. I’ll keep myself awake with Pep pills and catch up on sleep at Earthport.”

“You’re going all the way to Earthport?” “Right.”

“It’s a deal!”

“Okay, here’s the lash up. Every time we hit a check point you’re in the bunk, asleep. You help me load and unload—I’ve got a partial and a pick-up at Oke City—and I’ll feed you. Right?”

“Right!”

“Then let’s go. I want to scoot before these other dust jumpers get underway. Never can tell, there might be a spotter.” Red flipped a bill down and did not wait for change.

The Molly Malone was two hundred feet long and stream lined such that she had negative lift when cruising. This came to Max’s attention from watching the instruments; when she first quivered and raised, the dial marked ROAD CLEARANCE showed nine inches, but as they gathered speed down the acceleration strip it decreased to six.

“The repulsion works by an inverse-cube law,” Red explained. “The more the wind pushes us down the harder the road pushes us up. Keeps us from jumping over the skyline. The faster we go the steadier we are.”

“Suppose you went so fast that the wind pressure forced the bottom down to the road? Could you stop soon enough to keep from wrecking it?”

“Use your head. The more we squat the harder we are pushed up—inverse-cube, I said.”

“Oh.” Max got out his uncle’s slide rule. “If she just supports her own weight at nine inches clearance, then at three inches the repulsion would be twenty-seven times her weight and at an inch it would be seven hundred and twenty-nine, and at a quarter of an inch—”

“Don’t even think about it. At top speed I can’t get her down to five inches.”

“But what makes her go?”

“It’s a phase relationship. The field crawls forward and Molly tries to catch up—only she can’t. Don’t ask me the theory, I just push the buttons.” Red struck a cigarette and lounged back, one hand on the tiller. “Better get in the bunk, kid. Check point in forty miles.”

The bunk was thwartships abaft the control compartment, a shelf above the seat. Max climbed in and wrapped a blanket around himself. Red handed him a cap. “Pull this down over your eyes. Let the button show.” The button was a teamster’s shield, Max did as he was told.

Presently he heard the sound of wind change from a soft roar to a sigh and then stop. The freighter settled to the pavement and the door opened. He lay still, unable to see what was going on. A strange voice said, “How long you been herding it?”

“Since breakfast at Tony’s.”

“So? How did your eyes get so bloodshot?” “It’s the evil life I lead. Want to see my tongue?”

The inspector ignored this, saying instead, “Your partner didn’t sign his trick.” “Whatever you say. Want me to wake the dumb geek?”

“Umm… don’t bother. You sign for him. Tell him to be more careful.” “Right.”

The Molly Malone pulled out and picked up speed. Max crawled down. “I thought we were sunk when he asked for my signature.”

“That was on purpose,” Red said scornfully. “You have to give them something to yap about, or they’ll dig for it.”

Max liked the freighter. The tremendous speed so close to the ground exhilarated him; he decided that if he could not be a spaceman, this life would not be bad—he’d find out how high the application fee was and start saving. He liked the easy way Red picked out on the pavement ahead the speed line that matched the Molly’s speed and then laid the big craft into a curve. It was usually the outermost line, with the Molly on her side and the horizon tilted up at a crazy angle.

Near Oklahoma City they swooped under the ring guides of the C.S.&E. just as a train went over—the

Razor, by Max’s calculations. “I used to herd those things,” Red remarked, glancing up. “You did?”

“Yep. But they got to worrying me. I hated it every time I made a jump and felt the weight sag out from under me. Then I got a notion that the train had a mind of its own and was just waiting to turn aside instead of entering the next guide ring. That sort of thing is no good. So I found a teamster who wanted to better himself and paid the fine to both guilds to let us swap. Never regretted it. Two hundred miles an hour when you’re close to the ground is enough.”

“Uh, how about space ships?”

“That’s another matter. Elbow room out there. Say, kid, while you’re at Earthport you should take a look at the big babies. They’re quite something.”

The library book had been burning a hole in his rucksack; at Oklahoma City he noticed a postal box at the freight depot and, on impulse, dropped the book into it. After he had mailed it he had a twinge of worry that he might have given a clue to his whereabouts which would get back to Montgomery, but he suppressed the worry—the book had to be returned. Vagrancy in the eyes of the law had not worried him, nor trespass, nor impersonating a licensed teamster—but filching a book was a sin.

Max was asleep in the bunk when they arrived. Red shook him. “End of the line, kid.” Max sat up, yawning. “Where are we?”

“Earthport. Let’s shake a leg and get this baby unloaded.”

It was two hours past sunrise and growing desert hot by the time they got the Molly disgorged. Red stood him to a last meal. Red finished first, paid, then laid a bill down by Max’s plate. “Thanks, kid. That’s for luck. So long.” He was gone while Max still had his mouth hanging open. He had never learned his friend’s name, did not even know his shield number.

Earthport was much the biggest settlement Max had ever seen and everything about it confused him—the hurrying self-centered crowds, the enormous buildings, the slidewalks in place of streets, the noise, the desert sun beating down, the flatness—why, there wasn’t anything you could call a hill closer than the skyline!

He saw his first extra-terrestrial, an eight-foot native of Epsilon Gemini V, striding out of a shop with a package under his left arms—as casually, Max thought, as a farmer doing his week’s shopping at the Corners. Max stared. He knew what the creature was from pictures and SV shows, but seeing one was another matter. Its multiple eyes, like a wreath of yellow grapes around the head, gave it a grotesque faceless appearance. Max let his own head swivel to follow it.

The creature approached a policeman, tapped the top of his cap, and said, “Excuse me, sahr, but can you tirect me to the Tesert Palms Athletic Club?” Max could not tell where the noise came out.

Max finally noticed that he seemed to be the only one staring, so he walked slowly on, while sneaking looks over his shoulder—which resulted in his bumping into a stranger. “Oh, excuse me!” Max blurted. The stranger looked at him. “Take it easy, cousin. You’re in the big city now.” After that he tried to be careful.

He had intended to seek out the Guild Hall of the Mother Chapter of Astrogators at once in the forlorn hope that even without his books and identification card he might still identify himself and find that Uncle Chet had provided for his future. But there was so much to see that he loitered. He found himself presently in front of Imperial House, the hotel that guaranteed to supply any combination of pressure, temperature, lighting, atmosphere, pseudogravitation, and diet favored by any known race of intelligent creatures. He hung around hoping to see some of the guests, but the only one who came out while he was there was wheeled out in a pressurized travel tank and he could not see into it.

He noticed the police guard at the door eyeing him and started to move on—then decided to ask directions, reasoning that if it was all right for a Geminian to question a policeman it certainly must be all right for a human being. He found himself quoting the extra-terrestrial. “Excuse me, sir, but could you direct me to the Astrogators’ Guild Hall?”

The officer looked him over. “At the foot of the Avenue of Planets, just before you reach the port.” “Uh, which way do…”

“New in town?” “Yeah. Yes, sir.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Staying? Why, nowhere yet. I just got here. I…” “What’s your business at the Astrogators’ Hall?”

“It’s on account of my uncle,” Max answered miserably. “Your uncle?”

“He… he’s an astrogator.” He mentally crossed his fingers over the tense.

The policeman inspected again. “Take this slide to the next intersection, change and slide west. Big building with the guild sunburst over the door—can’t miss it. Stay out of restricted areas.” Max left without waiting to find out how he was to know a restricted area. The Guild Hall did prove easy to find; the slidewalk to the west ducked underground and when it emerged at its swing-around Max was deposited in front of it.

But he had not eyes for it. To the west where avenue and buildings ended was the field and on it space ships, stretching away for miles—fast little military darts, stubby Moon shuttles, winged ships that served the satellite stations, robot freighters, graceless and powerful. But directly in front of the gate hardly half a mile away was a great ship that he knew at once, the starship Asgard. He knew her history, Uncle Chet had served in her. A hundred years earlier she had been built out in space as a space-to-space rocket ship; she was then the Prince of Wales. Years passed, her tubes were ripped out and a mass-conversion torch was kindled in her; she became the Einstein. More years passed, for nearly twenty she swung empty around Luna, a lifeless, outmoded hulk. Now in place of the torch she had Horst-Conrad impellers that clutched at the fabric of space itself; thanks to them she was now able to touch Mother Terra. To commemorate her rebirth she had been dubbed Asgard, heavenly home of the gods.

Her massive, pear-shaped body was poised on its smaller end, steadied by an invisible scaffolding of thrust beams. Max knew where they must be, for there was a ring of barricades spotted around her to keep the careless from wandering into the deadly loci.

He pressed his nose against the gate to the field and tried to see more of her, until a voice called out, “Away from there, Jack! Don’t you see that sign?”

Max looked up. Above his head was a sign: RESTRICTED AREA. Reluctantly he moved away and walked back to the Guild Hall.

THE ASTROGATORS’ GUILD

Everything about the hall of the Mother Chapter was to Max’s eyes lavish, churchlike, and frightening. The great doors opened silently as he approached, dilating away into the walls. His feet made no sound on the tesselated floor. He started down the long, high foyer, wondering where he should go, when a firm voice stopped him. “May I help you, please?”

He turned. A beautiful young lady with a severe manner held him with her eye. She was seated behind a desk. Max went up to her. “Uh, maybe you could tell me, Ma’am, who I ought to see. I don’t rightly know just…”

“One moment. Your name, please?” Several minutes later she had wormed out of him the basic facts of his quest. “So far as I can see, you haven’t any status here and no excuse for appealing to the Guild.”

“But I told you…”

“Never mind. I’m going to put it up to the legal office.” She touched a button and a screen raised up on her desk; she spoke to it. “Mr. Hanson, can you spare a moment?”

“Yes, Grace?”

“There is a young man here who claims to be a legacy of the Guild. Will you talk with him?”

The voice answered, “Look, Grace, you know the procedures. Get his address, send him on his way, and send his papers up for consideration.”

She frowned and touched another control. Although Max could see that she continued to talk, no sound reached him. Then she nodded and the screen slid back into the desk. She touched another button and said, “Skeeter!”

A page boy popped out of a door behind her and looked Max over with cold eyes. “Skeeter,” she went on, “take this visitor to Mr. Hanson.”

The page sniffed. “Him?”

“Him. And fasten your collar and spit out that gum.”

Mr. Hanson listened to Max’s story and passed him on to his boss, the chief legal counsel, who listened to a third telling. That official then drummed his desk and made a call, using the silencing device the girl had used.

He then said to Max, “You’re in luck, son. The Most Worthy High Secretary will grant you a few minutes of his time. Now when you go in, don’t sit down, remember to speak only when spoken to, and get out quickly when he indicates that the audience is ended.”

The High Secretary’s office made the lavishness that had thus far filled Max’s eyes seem like austerity. The rug alone could have been swapped for the farm on which Max grew up. There was no communication equipment in evidence, no files, not even a desk. The High Secretary lounged back in a mammoth easy chair while a servant massaged his scalp. He raised his head as Max appeared and said, “Come in, son. Sit down there. What is your name?”

“Maximilian Jones, sir.”

They looked at each other. The Secretary saw a lanky youth who needed a haircut, a bath, and a change of clothes; Max saw a short, fat little man in a wrinkled uniform. His head seemed too big for him and Max could not make up his mind whether the eyes were kindly or cold.

“And you are a nephew of Chester Arthur Jones?” “Yes, sir.”

“I knew Brother Jones well. A fine mathematician.” The High Secretary went on, “I understand that you

have had the misfortune to lose your government Citizen’s Identification. Carl.”

He had not raised his voice but a young man appeared with the speed of a genie. “Yes, sir?”

“Take this young man’s thumb print, call the Bureau of Identification—not here, but the main office at New Washington. My compliments to the Chief of Bureau and tell him that I would be pleased to have immediate identification while you hold the circuit.”

The print was taken speedily; the man called Carl left. The High Secretary went on, “What was your purpose in coming here?” Diffidently Max explained that his uncle had told him that he intended to nominate him for apprenticeship in the guild.

The man nodded. “So I understand. I am sorry to tell you, young fellow, that Brother Jones made no nomination.”

Max had difficulty in taking in the simple statement. So much was his inner pride tied to his pride in his uncle’s profession, so much had he depended on his hope that his uncle had named him his professional heir, that he could not accept at once the verdict that he was nobody and nothing. He blurted out, “You’re sure? Did you look?”

The masseur looked shocked but the High Secretary answered calmly, “The archives have been searched, not once, but twice. There is no possible doubt.” The High Secretary sat up, gestured slightly, and the servant disappeared. “I’m sorry.”

“But he told me,” Max said stubbornly. “He said he was going to.”

“Nevertheless he did not.” The man who had taken the thumb print came in and offered a memorandum to the High Secretary, who glanced at it and waved it away. “I’ve no doubt that he considered you.

Nomination to our brotherhood involves a grave responsibility; it is not unusual for a childless brother to have his eye on a likely lad for a long time before deciding whether or not he measures up. For some reason your uncle did not name you.”

Max was appalled by the humiliating theory that his beloved uncle might have found him unworthy. It could not be true—why, just the day before he died, he had said—he interrupted his thoughts to say, “Sir—I think I know what happened.”

“Eh?”

“Uncle Chester died suddenly. He meant to name me, but he didn’t get a chance. I’m sure of it.”

“Possibly. Men have been known to fail to get their affairs in order before the last orbit. But I must assume that he knew what he was doing.”

“But—”

“That’s all, young man. No, don’t go away. I’ve been thinking about you today.” Max looked startled, the High Secretary smiled and continued, “You see, you are the second ‘Maximilian Jones’ who has come to us with this story.”

“Huh?”

“Huh indeed.” The guild executive reached into a pocket of his chair, pulled out some books and a card, handed them to Max, who stared unbelievingly.

“Uncle Chet’s books!”

“Yes. Another man, older than yourself, came here yesterday with your identification card and these books. He was less ambitious than you are,” he added dryly. “He was willing to settle for a rating less lofty than astrogator.”

“What happened?”

“He left suddenly when we attempted to take his finger prints. I did not see him. But when you showed up today I began to wonder how long a procession of ‘Maximilian Jones’s’ would favor us. Better guard that card in the future—I fancy we have saved you a fine.”

Max placed it in an inner pocket. “Thanks a lot, sir.” He started to put the books in his rucksack. The High Secretary gestured in denial.

“No, no! Return the books, please.” “But Uncle Chet gave them to me.”

“Sorry. At most he loaned them to you—and he should not have done even that. The tools of our profession are never owned individually; they are loaned to each brother. Your uncle should have turned them in when he retired, but some of the brothers have a sentimental fondness for having them in their possession. Give them to me, please.”

Max still hesitated. “Come now,” the guildsman said reasonably. “It would not do for our professional secrets to be floating around loose, available to anyone. Even the hairdressers do not permit that. We have a high responsibility to the public. Only a member of this guild, trained, tested, sworn, and accepted, may lawfully be custodian of those manuals.”

Max’s answer was barely audible. “I don’t see the harm. I’m not going to get to use them, it looks like.”

“You don’t believe in anarchy, surely? Our whole society is founded on entrusting grave secrets only to those who are worthy. But don’t feel sad. Each brother, when he is issued his tools, deposits an earnest with the bursar. In my opinion, since you are the nearest relative of Brother Jones, we may properly repay the earnest to you for their return. Carl.”

The young man appeared again. “The deposit monies, please.” Carl had the money with him—he seemed to earn his living by knowing what the High Secretary was about to want. Max found himself accepting an impressive sheaf of money, more than he had ever touched before, and the books were taken from him before he could think of another objection.

It seemed time to leave, but he was motioned back to his chair. “Personally, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am merely the servant of my brothers; I have no choice. However… ” The High Secretary fitted his finger tips together. “Our brotherhood takes care of its own. There are funds at my disposal for such cases. How would you like to go into training?”

“For the Guild?”

“No, no! We don’t grant brotherhood as charity. But for some respectable trade, metalsmith, or chef, or tailor—what you wish. Any occupation not hereditary. The brotherhood will sponsor you, pay your ‘prentice fee and, if you make good, lend you your contribution when you are sworn in.”

Max knew he should accept gratefully. He was being offered an opportunity free that most of the swarming masses never got on any terms. But the cross-grained quirk in him that had caused him to

spurn the stew that Sam had left behind made this generous offer stick in his craw. “Thanks just the same,” he answered in tones almost surly, “but I don’t rightly think I can take it.”

The High Secretary looked bleak. “So? It’s your life.” He snapped his fingers, a page appeared, and Max was led quickly out of the Hall.

He stood on the steps of the Guild Hall and wondered dejectedly what he should do next. Even the space ships on the field at the foot of the street did not attract; he could not have looked at one without feeling like crying. He looked to the east instead.

A short distance away a jaunty figure leaned against a trash receptacle. As Max’s eyes rested on the man he straightened up, flipped a cigarette to the pavement, and started toward him.

Max looked at him again. “Sam!” It was undoubtedly the wayfarer who had robbed him—well dressed, clean shaved—but Sam nonetheless. Max hurried toward him.

“Howdy, Max,” Sam greeted him with an unembarrassed grin, “how did you make out?” “I ought to have you arrested!”

“Now, now—keep your voice down. You’re making yourself conspicuous.” Max took a breath and lowered his voice. “You stole my books.”

“Your books? They weren’t yours—and I returned them to their owners. You want to arrest me for that?”

“But you… Well, anyhow you…”

A voice, civil, firm, and official, spoke at Max’s elbow. “Is this person annoying you, sir?” Max turned and found a policeman standing behind him. He started to speak, then bit off the words as he realized the question had been addressed to Sam.

Sam took hold of Max’s upper arm in a gesture that was protective and paternal, but quite firm. “Not at all, officer, thank you.”

“Are you sure? I received word that this chico was headed this way and I’ve had my eye on him.” “He’s a friend of mine. I was waiting for him here.”

“As you say. We have a lot of trouble with vagrants. They all seem to head for Earthport.”

“He’s not a vagrant. He’s a young friend of mine from the country and I’m afraid he’s gotten a bit confused. I’ll be responsible.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Not at all.” Max let himself be led away. When they were out of earshot Sam said, “That was close. That nosy clown would have had us both in the bull pen. You did all right, kid—kept your lip zipped at the right time.”

They were around the corner into a less important street before Sam let go his grip. He stopped and faced Max, grinning. “Well, kid?”

“I should a’ told that cop about you!”

“Why didn’t you? He was right there.”

Max found himself caught by contradictory feelings. He was angry with Sam, no doubt about it, but his first unstudied reaction at seeing him had been the warm pleasure one gets from recognizing a familiar face among strangers—the anger had come a split second later. Now Sam looked at him with easy cynicism, a quizzical smile on his face. “Well, kid?” he repeated. “If you want to turn me in, let’s go back and get it over with. I won’t run.”

Max looked back at him peevishly. “Oh, forget it!” “Thanks. I’m sorry about it, kid. I really am.” “Then why did you do it?”

Sam’s face changed suddenly to a sad, far-away look, then resumed its cheerful cynicism. “I was tempted by an idea, old son—every man has his limits. Some day I’ll tell you. Now, how about a bit to eat and a gab? There’s a joint near here where we can talk without having the nosies leaning over our shoulders.”

“I don’t know as I want to.”

“Oh, come now! The food isn’t much but it’s better than mulligan.”

Max had been ready with a stiff speech about how he would not turn Sam in, but he certainly did not want to eat with him; the mention of mulligan brought him up short. He remembered uneasily that Sam had not inquired as to his morals, but had shared his food.

“Well… okay.”

“That’s my boy!” They went on down the street. The neighborhood was a sort to be found near the port in any port city; once off the pompous Avenue of the Planets it became more crowded, noisier, more alive, and somehow warmer and more friendly despite a strong air of “keep your hand on your purse.” Hole-in-the-wall tailor shops, little restaurants none too clean, cheap hotels, honky-tonks, fun arcades, exhibits both “educational” and “scientific,” street vendors, small theaters with gaudy posters and sounds of music leaking out, shops fronting for betting parlors, tattoo parlors fronting for astrologers, and the inevitable Salvation Army mission gave the street flavor its stylish cousins lacked. Martians in trefoil sunglasses and respirators, humanoids from Beta Corvi III, things with exoskeletons from Allah knew where, all jostled with humans of all shades and all blended in easy camaraderie.

Sam stopped at a shop with the age-old symbol of three golden spheres. “Wait here. Be right out.” Max waited and watched the throng. Sam came out shortly without his coat. “Now we eat.” “Sam! Did you pawn your coat?”

“Give the man a cigar! How did you guess?”

“But… Look, I didn’t know you were broke; you looked prosperous. Get it back, I’ll… I’ll pay for our lunch.”

“Say, that’s sweet of you, kid. But forget it. I don’t need a coat this weather. Truth is, I was dressed up just to make a good impression at—well, a little matter of business.”

Max blurted out, “But how did you… “, then shut up. Sam grinned. “Did I steal the fancy rags? No. I encountered a citizen who believed in percentages and engaged him in a friendly game. Never bet on

percentages, kid; skill is more fundamental. Here we are.”

The room facing the street was a bar, beyond was a restaurant. Sam led him on through the restaurant, through the kitchen, down a passage off which there were card rooms, and ended in a smaller, less pretentious dining room; Sam picked a table in a corner. An enormous Samoan shuffled up, dragging one leg. Sam nodded, “Howdy, Percy.” He turned to Max. “A drink first?”

“Uh, I guess not.”

“Smart lad. Lay off the stuff. Irish for me, Percy, and we’ll both have whatever you had for lunch.” The Samoan waited silently. Sam shrugged and laid money on the table, Percy scooped it up.

Max objected, “But I was going to pay.”

“You can pay for the lunch. Percy owns the place,” he added. “He’s offensively rich, but he didn’t get that way by trusting the likes of me. Now tell me about yourself, old son. How you got here? How you made out with the astrogators… everything. Did they kill the fatted calf?”

“Well, no.” There seemed to be no reason not to tell Sam and he found that he wanted to talk. Sam nodded at the end.

“About what I had guessed. Any plans now?” “No. I don’t know what to do now, Sam.”

“Hmm… it’s an ill wind that has no turning. Eat your lunch and let me think.” Later he added, “Max, what do you want to do?”

“Well… I wanted to be an astrogator…” “That’s out.”

“I know.”

“Tell me, did you want to be an astrogator and nothing else, or did you simply want to go into space?” “Why, I guess I never thought about it any other way.”

“Well, think about it.”

Max did so. “I want to space. If I can’t go as an astrogator, I want to go anyhow. But I don’t see how. The Astrogators’ Guild is the only one I stood a chance for.”

“There are ways.”

“Huh? Do you mean put in for emigration?”

Sam shook his head. “It costs more than you could save to go to one of the desirable colonies—and the ones they give you free rides to I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Sam hesitated. “There are ways to wangle it, old son—if you do what I say. This uncle of yours—you were around him a lot?”

“Why, sure.”

“Talked about space with you?” “Certainly. That’s all we talked about.”

“Hmm… how well do you know the patter?”

“…YOUR MONEY AND MY KNOW-HOW… “

“The patter?” Max looked puzzled. “I suppose I know what everybody knows.” “Where’s the worry hole?”

“Huh? That’s the control room.”

“If the cheater wants a corpse, where does he find it?”

Max looked amused. “That’s just stuff from SV serials, nobody talks like that aboard ship. The cook is the cook, and if he wanted a side of beef, he’d go to the reefer for it.”

“How do you tell a ‘beast’ from an animal?”

“Why, a ‘beast’ is a passenger, but an animal is just an animal, I guess.”

“Suppose you were on a ship for Mars and they announced that the power plant had gone blooie and the ship was going to spiral into the Sun? What would you think?”

“I’d think somebody was trying to scare me. In the first place, you wouldn’t be ‘on’ a ship—’in’ is the right word. Second, a spiral isn’t one of the possible orbits. And third, if a ship was headed for Mars from Earth, it couldn’t fall into the Sun; the orbit would be incompatible.”

“Suppose you were part of a ship’s crew in a strange port and you wanted to go out and look the place over. How would you go about asking the captain for permission?”

“Why, I wouldn’t.” “You’d just jump ship?”

“Let me finish. If I wanted to hit dirt, I’d ask the first officer; the captain doesn’t bother with such things. If the ship was big enough, I’d have to ask my department head first.” Max sat up and held Sam’s eye. “Sam—you’ve been spaceside. Haven’t you?”

“What gave you that notion, kid?” “What’s your guild?”

“Stow it, Max. Ask me no questions and I’ll sell you no pigs in a poke. Maybe I’ve studied up on the jive just as you have.”

“I don’t believe it,” Max said bluntly.

Sam looked pained. Max went on, “What’s this all about? You ask me a bunch of silly questions—sure, I know quite a bit about spaceside; I’ve been reading about it all my life and Uncle Chet would talk by the hour. But what of it?”

Sam looked at him and said softly, “Max—the Asgard is raising next Thursday—for starside. Would you like to be in her?”

Max thought about it. To be in the fabulous Asgard, to be heading out to the stars, to be—he brushed the vision aside. “Don’t talk that way, Sam! You know I’d give my right arm. Why needle me?”

“How much money have you?” “Huh? Why?”

“How much?”

“I haven’t even had time to count it.” Max started to haul out the wad of bills he had been given; Sam hastily and unobtrusively stopped him.

“Psst!” he protested. “Don’t flash a roll in here. Do you want to eat through a slit in your throat? Keep it down!”

Startled, Max took the advice. He was still more startled when he finished the tally; he had known that he had been given quite a lot of money but this was more than he had dreamed. “How much?” Sam persisted. Max told him, Sam swore softly. “Well, it will just have to do.”

“Do for what?”

“You’ll see. Put it away.”

As Max did so he said wonderingly, “Sam, I had no idea those books were so valuable.” “They aren’t.”

“Huh?”

“It’s malarkey. Lots of guilds do it. They want to make it appear that their professional secrets are precious, so they make the candidate put up a wad of dough for his reference books. If those things were published in the ordinary way, they’d sell at a reasonable price.”

“But that’s right, isn’t it? As the Worthy High Secretary explained, it wouldn’t do for just anybody to have that knowledge.”

Sam made a rude noise and pretended to spit. “What difference would it make? Suppose you still had them—you don’t have a ship to conn.”

“But… ” Max stopped and grinned. “I can’t see that it did any good to take them away from me anyhow. I’ve read them, so I know what’s in them.”

“Sure you know. Maybe you even remember some of the methods. But you don’t have all those columns of figures so you can look up the one you need when you need it. That’s what they care about.”

“But I do! I read them, I tell you.” Max wrinkled his forehead, then began to recite: “‘Page 272, Calculated Solutions of the Differential Equation of Motion by the Ricardo Assumption—” He began to reel off a series of seven-place figures. Sam listened in growing surprise, then stopped him.

“Kid, you really remember that? You weren’t making it up?” “Of course not, I read it.”

“Well, I’ll be a beat up… Look, you’re a page-at-a-glance reader? Is that it?”

“No, not exactly. I’m a pretty fast reader, but I do have to read it. But I don’t forget. I never have been able to see how people forget. I can’t forget anything.”

Sam shook his head wonderingly. “I’ve been able to forget a lot of things, thank Heaven.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe we should forget the other caper and exploit this talent of yours. I can think of angles.”

“What do you mean? And what other caper?”

“Hmm… no, I was right the first time. The idea is to get away from here. And with your funny memory the chances are a whole lot better. Even though you sling the slang pretty well I was worried. Now I’m not.”

“Sam, stop talking riddles. What are you figuring on?’

“Okay, kid, I’ll lay it on the table.” He glanced around, leaned forward, and spoke even more quietly. “We take the money and I spread it around carefully. When the Asgard raises, we’re signed on as crewmen.”

“As apprentices? We wouldn’t even have time for ground school. And besides you’re too old to ‘prentice.”

“Use your head! We don’t have enough to pay one apprentice fee, let alone two, in any space guild—and the Asgard isn’t signing ‘prentices anyhow. We’ll be experienced journeymen in one of the guilds, with records to prove it.”

When the idea soaked in, Max was shocked. “But they put you in jail for that!” “Where do you think you are now?”

“Well, I’m not in jail. And I don’t want to be.”

“This whole planet is one big jail, and a crowded one at that. What chance have you got? If you aren’t born rich, or born into one of the hereditary guilds, what can you do? Sign up with one of the labor companies.”

“But there are non-hereditary guilds.”

“Can you pay the fee? You’ve got a year, maybe two until you’re too old to ‘prentice. If you were sharp with cards you might manage it—but can you earn it? You should live so long! Your old man should have saved it; he left you a farm instead.” Sam stopped suddenly, bit his thumb. “Max, I’ll play fair. Your old man did leave you a fair start in life. With the money you’ve got you can go home, hire a shyster, and maybe squeeze that Montgomery item out of the money he swindled for your farm. Then you can buy your apprenticeship in some guild. Do it, kid. I won’t stand in your way.” He watched Max narrowly.

Max reflected that he had just refused a chance to pick a trade and be given a free start. Maybe he should reconsider. Maybe… “No! That’s not what I want. This… this, uh, scheme of yours; how do we do it?”

Sam relaxed and grinned. “My boy!”

Sam got them a room over Percy’s restaurant. There he coached him. Sam went out several times and Max’s money went with him. When Max protested Sam said wearily, “What do you want? To hold my heart as security? Do you want to come along and scare ’em out of the dicker? The people I have to reason with will be taking chances. Or do you think you can arrange matters yourself? It’s your money and my know-how… that’s the partnership.”

Max watched him leave the first time with gnawing doubts, but Sam came back. Once he brought with him an elderly, gross woman who looked Max over as if he were an animal up for auction. Sam did not introduce her but said, “How about it? I thought a mustache would help.”

She looked at Max from one side, then the other. “No,” she decided, “that would just make him look made up for amateur theatricals.” She touched Max’s head with moist, cold fingers; when he drew back, she admonished, “Don’t flinch, honey duck. Aunt Becky has to work on you. No, we’ll move back his hair line above his temples, thin it out on top, and kill its gloss. Some faint wrinkles tattooed around his eyes. Mmm… that’s all. Mustn’t overdo it.”

When this fat artist was through Max looked ten years older. Becky asked if he wanted his hair roots killed, or would he prefer to have his scalp return to normal in time? Sam started to insist on permanence, but she brushed him aside. “I’ll give him a bottle of ‘Miracle Gro’—no extra charge, it’s just rubbing alcohol—and he can make a big thing of using it. How about it, lover? You’re too pretty to age you permanently.”

Max accepted the “Miracle Gro”—hair restored or your money back.

Sam took away his citizen’s identification card, returned with another one. It had his right name, a wrong age, his right serial number, a wrong occupation, his own thumb print, and a wrong address. Max looked at it curiously. “It looks real.”

“It should. The man who made it makes thousands of real ones—but he charges extra for this.” That night Sam brought him a book titled Ship Economy and embossed with the seal of the Guild of Space Stewards, Cooks, and Purser’s Clerks. “Better stay up all night and see how much you can soak up. The man it belongs to won’t sleep more than ten hours even with the jolt Percy slipped into his nightcap. Want a pill to keep you awake?”

“I don’t think so.” Max examined it. It was in fine print and quite thick. But by five in the morning he had finished it. He woke Sam and gave it back, then went to sleep, his head buzzing with stowage and dunnage, moment arms and mass calculations, hydroponics techniques, cargo records, tax forms, diets, food preservation and preparation, daily, weekly, and quarterly accounts, and how to get rats out of a compartment which must not be evacuated. Simple stuff, he decided—he wondered why such things were considered too esoteric for laymen.

On the fourth day of his incarceration Sam fitted him out with spaceside clothes, none of them new, and gave him a worn plastileather personal record book. The first page stated that he was an accepted brother of the Stewards, Cooks, and Purser’s Clerks, having honorably completed his apprenticeship. It listed his skills and it appeared that his dues had been paid each quarter for seven years. What appeared to be his own signature appeared above that of the High Steward, with the seal of the guild embossed through both. The other pages recorded his trips, his efficiency ratings, and other permanent data, each properly signed by the first officers and pursers concerned. He noted with interest that he had been fined three days pay in the Cygnus for smoking in an unauthorized place and that he had once for six weeks been allowed to strike for chartsman, having paid the penalty to the Chartsmen & Computers Guild for

the chance.

“See anything odd?” asked Sam. “It all looks funny to me.”

“It says you’ve been to Luna. Everybody’s been to Luna. But the ships you served in are mostly out of commission and none of the pursers happens to be in Earthport now. The only starship you ever jumped in was lost on the trip immediately after the one you took. Get me?”

“I think so.”

“When you talk to another spaceman, no matter what ship he served in, it’s not one you served in—you won’t be showing this record to anybody but the purser and your boss anyhow.”

“But suppose they served in one of these?”

“Not in the Asgard. We made darn sure. Now I’m going to take you out on an evening of gaiety. You’ll drink warm milk on account of your ulcer and you’ll complain when you can’t get it. And that’s just about all you’ll talk about—your symptoms. You’ll start a reputation right now for being untalkative; you can’t make many mistakes with your mouth shut. Watch yourself, kid, there will be spacemen around you all evening. If you mess it up, I’ll leave you dirtside and raise without you. Let me see you walk again.”

Max walked for him. Sam cursed gently. “Cripes, you still walk like a farmer. Get your feet out of those furrows, boy.”

“No good?”

“It’ll have to do. Grab your bonnet. We’ll strike while the iron’s in the fire and let the bridges fall where they may.”

“SPACEMAN” JONES

The Asgard was to raise the next day. Max woke early and tried to wake Sam, but this proved difficult. At last the older man sat up. “Oh, what a head! What time is it?”

“About six.”

“And you woke me? Only my feeble condition keeps me from causing you to join your ancestors. Go back to sleep.”

“But today’s the day!”

“Who cares? She raises at noon. We’ll sign on at the last minute; that way you won’t have time to make a slip.”

“Sam? How do you know they’ll take us?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake! It’s all arranged. Now shut up. Or go downstairs and get breakfast—but don’t talk to anybody. If you’re a pal, you’ll bring me a pot of coffee at ten o’clock.”

“And breakfast?”

“Don’t mention food in my presence. Show some respect.” Sam pulled the covers up over his head.

It was nearly eleven thirty when they presented themselves at the gate of the port; ten minutes later before the bus deposited them at the base of the ship. Max looked up at its great, bulging sides but was cut short by a crewman standing at the lift and holding a list. “Names.”

“Anderson.” “Jones.”

He checked them off. “Get in the ship. You should have been here an hour ago.” The three climbed into the cage; it swung clear of the ground and was reeled in, swaying, like a bucket on a well rope.

Sam looked down and shuddered. “Never start a trip feeling good,” he advised Max. “It might make you sorry to be leaving.” The cage was drawn up inside the ship; the lock closed after them and they stepped out into the Asgard. Max was trembling with stage fright.

He had expected to be sworn into the ship’s company by the first officer, as called for by law. But his reception was depressingly unceremonious. The crewman who had checked them into the ship told them to follow him; he led them to the Purser’s office. There the Chief Clerk had them sign and thumbprint the book, yawning the while and tapping his buck teeth. Max surrendered his forged personal record book, while feeling as if the deception were stamped on it in bold letters. But Mr. Kuiper merely chucked it into a file basket. He then turned to them. “This is a taut ship. You’ve started by very nearly missing it. That’s a poor start.”

Sam said nothing. Max said, “Yessir.”

The Chief Clerk went on, “Stow your gear, get your chow, and report back.” He glanced at a wall chart. “One of you in D-112, the other in E-009.”

Max started to ask how to get there, but Sam took his elbow and eased him out of the office. Outside he said, “Don’t ask any questions you can avoid. We’re on Baker deck, that’s all we need to know.” Presently they came to a companionway and started back down. Max felt a sudden change in pressure, Sam grinned. “She’s sealed. Won’t be long now.”

They were in D-112, an eight-man bunkroom, and Sam was showing him how to set the lock on the one empty locker when there was a distant call on a loudspeaker. Max felt momentarily dizzy and his weight seemed to pulse. Then it stopped. Sam remarked, “They were a little slow synchronizing the field—or else this bucket of bolts has an unbalanced phaser.” He clapped Max on the back. “We made it, kid.”

They were in space.

E-009 was down one more deck and on the far side; they left Sam’s gear there and started to look for lunch. Sam stopped a passing engineer’s mate. “Hey, shipmate—we’re fresh caught. Where’s the crew’s mess?”

“Clockwise about eighty and inboard, this deck.” He looked them over. “Fresh caught, eh? Well, you’ll find out.”

“Like that, huh?”

“Worse. A madhouse squared. If I wasn’t married, I’d ‘a’ stayed dirtside.” He went on his way.

Sam said, “Ignore it, kid. All the oldtimers in a ship claim its the worst madhouse in space. A matter of pride.” But their next experience seemed to confirm it; the serving window in the mess room had closed at noon, when the ship lifted; Max mournfully resigned himself to living with a tight belt until supper. But Sam pushed on into the galley and came out presently with two loaded trays. They found empty places and sat down.

“How did you do it?”

“Any cook will feed you if you let him explain first what a louse you are and how by rights he doesn’t have to.”

The food was good—real beef patties, vegetables from the ship’s gardens, wheat bread, a pudding, and coffee. Max polished his platter and wondered if he dared ask for seconds. He decided against it. The talk flowed around him and only once was there danger that his tyro status might show up, that being when a computerman asked him a direct question as to his last trip.

Sam stalled it off. “Imperial survey,” he answered briefly. “We’re both still covered.”

The computerman grinned knowingly. “Which jail were you in? The Imperial Council hasn’t ordered a secret survey in years.”

“This one was so secret they forgot to tell you about it. Write ’em a letter and burn them out about it,” Sam stood up. “Finished, Max?”

On the way back to the Purser’s Office Max worried as to his probable assignment, checking over in his mind the skills and experience he was alleged to have. He need not have worried; Mr. Kuiper, with a fine disregard for such factors, assigned him as stableman.

The Asgard was a combined passenger liner and freighter. She carried this trip Hereford breeding stock, two bulls and two dozen cows, and an assortrnent of other animals consigned for ecologic and economic reasons to colonies—pigs, chickens, sheep, a pair of Angora goats, a family of llamas. It was contrary to Imperial policy to plant most terrestrial fauna on other planets; the colonials were expected to establish economy with indigenous flora and fauna—but some animals have been bred for so many generations for the use of man that they are not easily replaced by exotic creatures. On Gamma Leonis VI (b), New Mars, the saurians known locally as “chuckleheads” or “chucks” could and did replace Percherons as draft animals with greater efficiency and economy—but men disliked them. There was never the familial trust that exists between horses and men; unless a strain of chucks should develop a degree of rapport with men (which seemed unlikely) they would eventually die out and be replaced by the horse, for the unforgivable sin of failing to establish a firm treaty with the most ravenous, intolerant, deadly, and successful of the animals in the explored universe, Man.

There was also a cage of English sparrows. Max never did find out where these noisy little scavengers were believed to be necessary, nor was he acquainted with the complex mathematical analysis by which such conclusions were reached. He simply fed them and tried to keep their quarters clean.

There were cats in the Asgard, too, but most of these were free citizens and crewmen, charged with holding down the rats and mice that had gone into space along with mankind. One of Max’s duties was to change the sand boxes on each deck and take the soiled ones to the oxydizer for processing. The other cats were pets, property of passengers, unhappy prisoners in the kennel off the stables. The passengers’ dogs lived there, too; no dogs were allowed to run free.

Max wanted to look back at Earth and see it as a shrinking globe in the sky, but that was a privilege reserved for passengers. He spent the short period when it would have been possible in hauling (by hand) green timothy hay from the hydroponics airconditioning plant to the stables and in cleaning said stables. It was a task he neither liked nor disliked; by accident he had been assigned to work that he understood.

His immediate boss was the Chief Ship’s Steward, Mr. Giordano. Mr. “Gee” split the ship’s housekeeping with Mr. Dumont, Chief Passengers’ Steward; their domains divided at Charlie deck. Thus Mr. Dumont had passengers’ quarters, officers’ country, offices, and the control and communication stations, while Giordano was responsible for everything down (or aft) to but not including the engineering space—crew’s quarters, mess, and galley, stores, stables and kennel, hydroponics deck, and cargo spaces. Both worked for the Purser, who in turn was responsible to the First Officer.

The organization of starships derived in part from that of military vessels, in part from ocean liners of earlier days, and in part from the circumstances of interstellar travel. The first officer was boss of the ship and a wise captain did not interfere with him. The captain, although by law monarch of his miniature world, turned his eyes outward; the first officer turned his inward. As long as all went well the captain concerned himself only with the control room and with astrogation; the first officer bossed everything else. Even astrogators, communicators, computermen, and chartsmen were under the first officer, although in practice he had nothing to do with them when they were on duty since they worked in the “worry hole” under the captain.

The chief engineer was under the first officer, too, but he was nearly an autonomous satrap. In a taut, well-run ship he kept his bailiwick in such shape that the first officer did not need to worry about it. The chief engineer was responsible not only for the power plant and the Horst-Conrad impellers but for all auxiliary engineering equipment wherever located—for example the pumps and fans of the hydroponics installations, even though the purser, through his chief ship’s steward, took care of the farming thereof.

Such was the usual organization of starship liner-freighters and such was the Asgard. It was not identical with the organization of a man-of-war and very different from that of the cheerless transports used to ship convicts and paupers out to colonies that were being forced—in those ships, the purser’s department was stripped to a clerk or two and the transportees did all the work, cooking, cleaning, handling cargo, everything. But the Asgard carried paid passengers, some of whom measured their wealth in megabucks; they expected luxury hotel service even light-years out in space. Of the three main departments of the Asgard, astrogation, engineering, and housekeeping, the Purser’s was by far the largest.

A first officer could reach that high status from chief astrogator, from chief engineer, or from purser, but only if he were originally an astrogator could he go on to captain. The three officer types were essentially mathematicians, business managers, or physicists; a captain necessarily had to be able to practice the mathematical skill of astrogation. First Officer Walther, as was usually the case with a liner, had formerly been a purser.

The Asgard was a little world, a tiny mobile planet. It had its monarch the captain, its useless nobility the passengers, its technical and governing class, and its hewers of wood and drawers of water. It contained flora and fauna in ecological balance; it carried its miniature sun in its power plant. Although its schedule contemplated only months in space, it was capable of staying in space indefinitely. The chef might run out of caviar, but there would be no lack of food, nor of air, nor of heat and light.

Max decided that he was lucky to be assigned to Mr. Giordano rather than to Chief Clerk Kuiper. Mr.

Kuiper supervised his clerks minutely, but Mr. Gee did not often stir his fat frame out of his

office-stateroom. He was a jovial boss—provided everything ran to suit him. Mr. Gee found it an effort

to go all the way down to the stables; once he became convinced that Max was giving the animals proper care and keeping the place clean he gave up inspecting, merely requiring Max to report daily. This gave Giordano more time for his principal avocation, which was distilling a sort of vodka in a cubby in his stateroom, using materials grown in the hydroponds—also in his charge. He carried on a clandestine trade in his product with the crew. By keeping his mouth shut and his ears open Max learned that this was a usual prerogative of a chief ship’s steward, ignored as long as the steward had the judgment to limit his operations. The ship, of course, had a wine mess and bar, but that was for the “beasts”—crewmen could not patronize it.

“I was once in a ship,” Sam told Max, “where the First clamped down—busted up the still, busted the steward to cleaning decks, and generally threw the book.” He stopped to puff on his cigar, a gift from the passenger steward; they were hiding out in Max’s stables, enjoying a rest and a gab. “Didn’t work out.”

“Why not?”

“Use your head. Forces must balance, old son. For every market there is a supplier. That’s the key to the nutshell. In a month there was a still in durn near every out-of-the-way compartment in the ship and the crew was so demoralized it wasn’t fit to stuff vacuum. So the Captain had a talk with the First and things went back to normal.”

Max thought it over. “Sam? Were you that ship’s steward?” “Huh? What gave you that idea?”

“Well… you’ve been in space before; you no longer make any bones about it. I just thought—well, you’ve never told me what your guild was, nor why you were on dirt, or why you had to fake it to get back to space again. I suppose it’s none of my business.”

Sam’s habitual cynical smile gave way to an expression of sadness. “Max, a lot of things can happen to a man when he thinks he has the world by the tail. Take the case of a friend of mine, name of Roberts. A sergeant in the Imperial Marines, good record, half a dozen star jumps, a combat decoration or two. A smart lad, boning to make warrant officer. But he missed his ship once—hadn’t been on Terra for some time and celebrated too much. Should have turned himself in right away, of course, taken his reduction in rank and lived it down. Trouble was he still had money in his pocket. By the time he was broke and sober it was too late. He never quite had the guts to go back and take his court martial and serve his sentence. Every man has his limits.”

Max said presently, “You trying to say you used to be a marine?”

“Me? Of course not, I was speaking of this guy Richards, just to illustrate what can happen to a man when he’s not looking. Let’s talk of more pleasant things. Kid, what do you plan to do next?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what do you figure on doing after this jump?’

“Oh. More of the same, I guess. I like spacing. I suppose I’ll try to keep my nose clean and work up to chief steward or chief clerk.”

Sam shook his head. “Think it through, kid. What happens when your record in this ship is mailed to the guild? And another copy is mailed to the Department of Guilds and Labor?”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you. Maybe nothing happens at first, maybe you can space for another cruise. But eventually the red tape unwinds, they compare notes and see that while your ship lists you as an experienced steward’s mate, there isn’t any Max Jones in their files. Comes the day you ground at Terra and a couple of clowns with sidearms are waiting at the foot of the lift to drag you off to the calabozo.”

“But Sam! I thought it was all fixed?”

“Don’t blow a gasket. Look at me, I’m relaxed—and it applies to me, too. More so, for I have other reasons we needn’t go into to want to let sleeping dogs bury their own dead. As for it being ‘all fixed,’ it is—everything I promised. You’re here, aren’t you? But as for the files: old son, it would have taken ten times the money to tamper with guild files, and as for locating a particular microfilm in New Washington and substituting a fake that would show the record you are supposed to have—well, I wouldn’t know how to start, though no doubt it could be done, with enough time, money, and finesse.”

Max felt sensations almost identical with those he had experienced when Montgomery had announced that the farm was sold. Despite his menial position he liked it aboard ship, he had had no intention of ever doing anything else. He got along with his boss, he was making friends, he was as cozy as a bird in its nest. Now the nest was suddenly torn down. Worse, he was in a trap.

He turned white. Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “Stop spinning, kid! You’re not in a jam.” “Jail—”

“Jail my aunt’s Sunday hat! You’re safe as dirt until we get back. You can walk away from the Asgard at Earthport with your wages in your pocket and have days at least, maybe weeks or months, before anyone will notice, either at the guild mother hall or at New Washington. You can lose yourself among four billion people. You won’t be any worse off than you were when you first ran into me—you were trying to get lost then, remember?—and you’ll have one star trip under your belt to tell your kids about. Or they may never look for you; some clerk may chuck your trip record into the file basket and leave it there until it gets lost rather than bother. Or you might be able to persuade a clerk in Mr. Kuiper’s office to lose the duplicates, not mail them in. Nelson, for example; he’s got a hungry look.” Sam eyed him carefully, then added, “Or you might do what I’m going to do.”

Only part of what Sam had said had sunk in. Max let the record play back and gradually calmed down as he began to understand that his situation was not entirely desperate. He was inclined to agree about Nelson, as Nelson had already suggested indirectly that sometimes the efficiency marks on the ship’s books were not necessarily the ones that found their way into the permanent records—under certain circumstances. He put the idea aside, not liking it and having no notion anyhow of how to go about offering a bribe.

When he came, in his mental play back, to Sam’s last remark, it brought him to attention. “What are you

going to do?”

Sam eyed the end of his cigar stub. “I’m not going back.”

This required no diagram to be understood. But, under Imperial decrees, the suggested offense carried even heavier punishment than faking membership in a guild. Deserting was almost treason. “Keep talking,” Max said gruffly.

“Let’s run over where we touch this cruise. Garson’s Planet—domed colonies, like Luna and Mars. In a domed colony you do exactly what the powers-that-be say, or you stop breathing. You might hide out and have a new identity grafted on, but you would still be in the domes. No good, there’s more freedom even back on Terra. Nu Pegasi VI, Halcyon—not bad though pretty cold at aphelion. But it is still

importing more than it exports which means that the Imperials run the show and the locals will help dig out a wanted man. Now we come to Nova Terra, Beta Aquarü X—and that, old son, is what the doctor ordered and why the preacher danced.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Once. I should have stayed. Max, imagine a place like Earth, but sweeter than Terra ever was. Better weather, broader richer lands… forests aching to be cut, game that practically jumps into the stew pot. If you don’t like settlements, you move on until you’ve got no neighbors, poke a seed in the ground, then jump back before it sprouts. No obnoxious insects. Practically no terrestrial diseases and no native diseases that like the flavor of our breed. Gushing rivers. Placid oceans. Man, I’m telling you!”

“But wouldn’t they haul us back from there?”

“Too big. The colonists want more people and they won’t help the Imperials. The Imperial Council has a deuce of a time just collecting taxes. They don’t even try to arrest a deserter outside the bigger towns.” Sam grinned. “You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because it didn’t pay. An Imperial would be sent to Back-and-Beyond to pick up someone; while he was looking he would find some golden-haired daughter of a rancher eyeing him—they run to eight or nine kids, per family and there are always lots of eligible fillies, husband-high and eager. So pretty quick he is a rancher with a beard and a new name and a wife. He was a bachelor and he hasn’t been home lately—or maybe he’s married back on Terra and doesn’t want to go home. Either way, even the Imperial Council can’t fight human nature.”

“I don’t want to get married.”

“That’s your problem. But best of all, the place still has a comfortable looseness about it. No property taxes, outside the towns. Nobody would pay one; they’d just move on, if they didn’t shoot the tax collector instead. No guilds—you can plow a furrow, saw a board, drive a truck, or thread a pipe, all the same day and never ask permission. A man can do anything and there’s no one to stop him, no one to tell him he wasn’t born into the trade, or didn’t start young enough, or hasn’t paid his contribution. There’s more work than there are men to do it and the colonists just don’t care.”

Max tried to imagine such anarchy and could not, he had never experienced it. “But don’t the guilds object?”

“What guilds? Oh, the mother lodges back earthside squawked when they heard, but not even the Imperial Council backed them up. They’re not fools—and you don’t shovel back the ocean with a fork.”

“And that’s where you mean to go. It sounds lovely,” Max said wistfully.

“I do. It is. There was a girl—oh, she’ll be married now; they marry young—but she had sisters. Now here is what I figure on—and you, too, if you want to tag along. First time I hit dirt I’ll make contacts. The last time I rate liberty, which will be the night before the ship raises if possible, I’ll go dirtside, then in a front door and out the back and over the horizon so fast I won’t even be a speck. By the time I’m marked ‘late returning’ I’ll be hundreds of miles away, lying beside a chuckling stream in a virgin wilderness, letting my beard grow and memorizing my new name. Say the word and you’ll be on the bank, fishing.”

Max stirred uneasily. The picture aroused in him a hillbilly homesickness he had hardly been aware of.

But he could not shuffle off his proud persona as a spaceman so quickly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Do that. It’s a good many weeks yet, anyhow.” Sam got to his feet. “I’d better hurry back before Ole Massa Dumont wonders what’s keeping me. Be seeing you, kid—and remember: it’s an ill wind that has no turning.

Eldreth

Max’s duties did not take him above “C” deck except to service the cats’ sand boxes and he usually did that before the passengers were up. He wanted to visit the control room but he had no opportunity, it being still higher than passengers’ quarters. Often an owner of one of the seven dogs and three cats in Max’s custody would come down to visit his pet. This sometimes resulted in a tip. At first his

cross-grained hillbilly pride caused him to refuse, but when Sam heard about it, he swore at him dispassionately. “Don’t be a fool! They can afford it. What’s the sense?”

“But I would exercise their mutts anyhow. It’s my job.” He might have remained unconvinced had it not been that Mr. Gee asked him about it at the end of his first week, seemed to have a shrewd idea of the usual take, and expected a percentage—”for the welfare fund.”

Max asked Sam about the fund, was laughed at. “That’s a very interesting question. Are there any more questions?”

“I suppose not.”

“Max, I like you. But you haven’t learned yet that when in Rome, you shoot Roman candles. Every tribe has its customs and what is moral one place is immoral somewhere else. There are races where a son’s first duty is to kill off his old man and serve him up as a feast as soon as he is old enough to swing it—civilized races, too. Races the Council recognizes diplomatically. What’s your moral judgment on that?”

Max had read of such cultures—the gentle and unwarlike Bnathors, or the wealthy elephantine amphibians of Paldron who were anything but gentle, probably others. He did not feel disposed to pass judgment on nonhumans. Sam went on, “I’ve known stewards who would make Jelly Belly look like a philanthropist. Look at it from his point of view. He regards these things as prerogatives of his position, as rightful a part of his income as his wages. Custom says so. It’s taken him years to get to where he is; he expects his reward.”

Sam, Max reflected, could always out-talk him.

But he could not concede that Sam’s thesis was valid; there were things that were right and others that were wrong and it was not just a matter of where you were. He felt this with an inner conviction too deep to be influenced by Sam’s cheerful cynicism. It worried Max that he was where he was as the result of chicanery, he sometimes lay awake and fretted about it.

But it worried him still more that his deception might come to light. What to do about Sam’s proposal was a problem always on his mind.

The only extra-terrestrial among Max’s charges was a spider puppy from the terrestrian planet Hespera. On beginning his duties in the Asgard Max found the creature in one of the cages intended for cats; Max looked into it and a sad, little, rather simian face looked back at him. “Hello, Man.”

Max knew that some spider puppies had been taught human speech, after a fashion, but it startled him; he jumped back. He then recovered and looked more closely. “Hello yourself,” he answered. “My, but you are a fancy little fellow.” The creature’s fur was a deep, rich green on its back, giving way to orange on the sides and blending to warm cream color on its little round belly.

“Want out,” stated the spider puppy.

“I can’t let you out. I’ve got work to do.” He read the card affixed to the cage: “Mr. Chips” it stated, Pseudocanis hexapoda hesperae, Owner: Miss E. Coburn, A-092; there followed a detailed instruction as to diet and care. Mr. Chips ate grubs, a supply of which was to be found in freezer compartment

H-118, fresh fruits and vegetables, cooked or uncooked, and should receive iodine if neither seaweed nor artichokes was available. Max thumbed through his mind, went over what he had read about the creatures, decided the instructions were reasonable.

“Please out!” Mr. Chips insisted.

It was an appeal hard to resist. No maiden fayre crying from a dungeon tower had ever put it more movingly. The compartment in which the cats were located was small and the door could be fastened; possibly Mr. Chips could be allowed a little run—but later; just now he had to take care of other animals.

When Max left, Mr. Chips was holding onto the bars and sobbing gently. Max looked back and saw that it was crying real tears; a drop trembled on the tip of its ridiculous little nose; it was hard to walk out on it. He had finished with the stables before tackling the kennel; once the dogs and cats were fed and their cages policed he was free to give attention to his new friend. He had fed it first off, which had stopped the crying. When he returned, however, the demand to be let out resumed.

“If I let you out, will you get back in later?”

The spider puppy considered this. A conditional proposition seemed beyond its semantic attainments, for it repeated, “Want out.” Max took a chance.

Mr. Chips landed on his shoulder and started going through his pockets. “Candy,” it demanded. “Candy?”

Max stroked it. “Sorry, chum. I didn’t know.” “Candy?”

“No candy.” Mr. Chips investigated personally, then settled in the crook of Max’s arm, prepared to spend a week or more. It wasn’t, Max decided, much like a puppy and certainly not like a spider, except that six legs seemed excessive. The two front ones had little hands; the middle legs served double duty. It was more like a monkey, but felt like a cat. It had a slightly spicy fragrance and seemed quite clean.

Max tried talking to it, but found its intellectual attainments quite limited. Certainly it used human words meaningfully but its vocabulary was not richer than that which might be expected of a not-too-bright toddler.

When Max tried to return it to its cage there ensued twenty minutes of brisk exercise, broken by stalemates. Mr. Chips swarmed over the cages, causing hysterics among the cats. When at last the spider puppy allowed itself to be caught it still resisted imprisonment, clinging to Max and sobbing. He ended by

walking it like a baby until it fell asleep.

This was a mistake. A precedent had been set and thereafter Max was not permitted to leave the kennel without walking the baby.

He wondered about the “Miss Coburn” described on the tag as Mr. Chips’ owner. All of the owners of cats and dogs had shown up to visit their pets, but Mr. Chips remained unvisited. He visualized her as a sour and hatchet-faced spinster who had received the pet as a going-away present and did not appreciate it. As his friendship with the spider puppy grew his mental picture of Miss E. Coburn became even less attractive.

The Asgard was over a week out and only days from its first spatial transition before Max had a chance to compare conception with fact. He was cleaning the stables, with Mr. Chips riding his shoulder and offering advice, when Max heard a shrill voice from the kennel compartment. “Mr. Chips! Chipsie!

Where are you?”

The spider puppy sat up suddenly and turned its head. Almost immediately a young female appeared in the door; Mr. Chips squealed, “Ellie!” and jumped to her arms. While they were nuzzling each other Max looked her over. Sixteen, he judged, or seventeen. Or maybe even eighteen—shucks, how was a fellow to tell when womenfolk did such funny things to their faces? Anyhow she was no beauty and the expression on her face didn’t help it any.

She looked up at him and scowled. “What were you doing with Chipsie? Answer me that!”

It got his back fur up. “Nothing,” he said stiffly. “If you will excuse me, ma’am, I’ll get on with my work.” He turned his back and bent over his broom.

She grabbed his arm and swung him around. “Answer me! Or… or—I’ll tell the Captain, that’s what I’ll do!”

Max counted ten, then just to be sure, recalled the first dozen 7-place natural logarithms. “That’s your privilege, ma’am,” he said with studied calmness, “but first, what’s your name and what is your business here? I’m in charge of these compartments and responsible for these animals—as the Captain’s representative.” This he knew to be good space law, although the concatenation was long.

She looked startled. “Why, I’m Eldreth Coburn,” she blurted as if anyone should know. “And your business?”

“I came to see Mr. Chips—of course!”

“Very well, ma’am. You may visit your pet for a reasonable period,” he added, quoting verbatim from his station instruction sheet. “Then he goes back in his cage. Don’t disturb the other animals and don’t feed them. That’s orders.”

She started to speak, decided not to and bit her lip. The spider puppy had been looking from face to face and listening to a conversation far beyond its powers, although it may have sensed the emotions involved. Now it reached out and plucked Max’s sleeve. “Max,” Mr. Chips announced brightly. “Max!”

Miss Coburn again looked startled. “Is that your name?”

“Yes, ma’am. Max Jones. I guess he was trying to introduce me. Is that it, old fellow?” “Max,” Mr. Chips repeated firmly. “Ellie.”

Eldreth Coburn looked down, then looked up at Max with a sheepish smile. “You two seem to be friends. I guess I spoke out of turn. Me and my mouth.”

“No offense meant I’m sure, ma’am.”

Max had continued to speak stiffly; she answered quickly, “Oh, but I was rude! I’m sorry—I’m always sorry afterwards. But I got panicky when I saw the cage open and empty and I thought I had lost Chipsie.”

Max grinned grudgingly. “Sure. Don’t blame you a bit. You were scared.”

“That’s it—I was scared.” She glanced at him. “Chipsie calls you Max. May I call you Max?” “Why not? Everybody does—and it’s my name.”

“And you call me Eldreth, Max. Or Ellie.”

She stayed on, playing with the spider puppy, until Max had finished with the cattle. She then said reluctantly, “I guess I had better go, or they’ll be missing me.”

“Are you coming back?” “Oh, of course!” “Ummm… Miss Eldreth…” “Ellie.”

“—May I ask a question?” He hurried on, “Maybe it’s none of my business, but what took you so long? That little fellow has been awful lonesome. He thought you had deserted him.”

“Not ‘he’—’she’.” “Huh?”

“Mr. Chips is a girl,” she said apologetically. “It was a mistake anyone could make. Then it was too late, because it would confuse her to change her name.”

The spider puppy looked up brightly and repeated, “‘Mr. Chips is a girl.’ Candy, Ellie?” “Next time, honey bun.”

Max doubted if the name was important, with the nearest other spider puppy light-years away. “You didn’t answer my question?”

“Oh. I was so mad about that I wanted to bite. They wouldn’t let me.” “Who’s ‘they’? Your folks?”

“Oh, no! The Captain and Mrs. Dumont.” Max decided that it was almost as hard to extract information from her as it was from Mr. Chips. “You see, I came aboard in a stretcher—some silly fever, food poisoning probably. It couldn’t be much because I’m tough. But they kept me in bed and when the Surgeon did let me get up, Mrs. Dumont said I mustn’t go below ‘C’ deck. She had some insipid notion that it wasn’t proper.”

Max understood the stewardess’s objection; he had already discovered that some of his shipmates were

a rough lot—though he doubted that any of them would risk annoying a girl passenger. Why, Captain Blaine would probably space a man for that.

“So I had to sneak out. They’re probably searching for me right now. I’d better scoot.”

This did not fit in with Mr. Chips’ plans; the spider puppy clung to her and sobbed, stopping occasionally to wipe tears away with little fists. “Oh, dear!”

Max looked perturbed. “I guess I’ve spoiled him—her. Mr. Chips, I mean.” He explained how the ceremony of walking the baby had arisen.

Eldreth protested, “But I must go. What’ll I do?”

“Here, let’s see if he—she—will come to me.” Mr. Chips would and did. Eldreth gave her a pat and ran out, whereupon Mr. Chips took even longer than usual to doze off. Max wondered if spider puppies could be hypnotized; the ritual was getting monotonous.

Eldreth showed up next day under the stern eye of Mrs. Dumont. Max was respectful to the stewardess and careful to call Eldreth “Miss Coburn.” She returned alone the next day. He looked past her and raised his eyebrows. “Where’s your chaperone?”

Eldreth giggled. “La Dumont consulted her husband and he called in your boss—the fat one. They agreed that you were a perfect little gentleman, utterly harmless. How do you like that?”

Max considered it. “Well, I’m an ax murderer by profession, but I’m on vacation.” “That’s nice. What have you got there?”

It was a three-dimensional chess set. Max had played the game with his uncle, it being one that all astrogators played. Finding that some of the chartsmen and computermen played it, he had invested his tips in a set from the ship’s slop chest. It was a cheap set, having no attention lights and no arrangements for remote-control moving, being merely stacked transparent trays and pieces molded instead of carved, but it sufficed.

“It’s solid chess. Ever seen it?”

“Yes. But I didn’t know you played it.” “Why not? Ever play flat chess?” “Some.”

“The principles are the same, but there are more pieces and one more direction to move. Here, I’ll show you.

She sat tailor-fashion opposite him and he ran over the moves. “These are robot freighters… pawns. They can be commissioned anything else if they reach the far rim. These four are starships; they are the only ones with funny moves, they correspond with knights. They have to make interspace transitions, always off the level they’re on to some other level and the transition has to be related a certain way, like this—or this. And this is the Imperial flagship; it’s the one that has to be checkmated. Then there is… ” They ran through a practice game, with the help of Mr. Chips, who liked to move the pieces and did not care whose move it was.

Presently he said, “You catch on pretty fast.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course, the real players play four-dimensional chess.” “Do you?”

“Well, no. But I hope to learn some day. It’s just a matter of holding in your mind one more spatial relationship. My uncle used to play it. He was going to teach me, but he died.” He found himself explaining about his uncle. He trailed off without mentioning his own disappointment.

Eldreth picked up one of the starship pieces from a tray. “Say, Max, we’re pretty near our first transition, aren’t we?”

“What time is it?”

“Uh, sixteen twenty-one—say, I’d better get upstairs.”

“Then it’s, uh, about thirty-seven hours and seven minutes, according to the computer crew.”

“Mmm… you seem to know about such things. Could you tell me just what it is we do? I heard the Astrogator talking about it at the table but I couldn’t make head nor tail. We sort of duck into a space warp; isn’t that right?”

“Oh no, not a space warp. That’s a silly term—space doesn’t ‘warp’ except in places where pi isn’t exactly three point one four one five nine two six five three five eight nine seven nine three two three eight four six two six four three three eight three two seven, and so forth—like inside a nucleus. But we’re heading out to a place where space is really flat, not just mildly curved the way it is near a star.

Anomalies are always flat, otherwise they couldn’t fit together—be congruent.” She looked puzzled. “Come again?”

“Look, Eldreth, how far did you go in mathematics?”

“Me? I flunked improper fractions. Miss Mimsey was very vexed with me.” “Miss Mimsey?”

“Miss Mimsey’s School for Young Ladies, so you see I can listen with an open mind.” She made a face. “But you told me that all you went to was a country high school and didn’t get to finish at that. Huh?”

“Yes, but I learned from my uncle. He was a great mathematician. Well, he didn’t have any theorems named after him—but a great one just the same, I think.” He paused. “I don’t know exactly how to tell you; it takes equations. Say! Could you lend me that scarf you’re wearing for a minute?”

“Huh? Why, sure.” She removed it from her neck.

It was a photoprint showing a stylized picture of the solar system, a souvenir of Solar Union Day. In the middle of the square of cloth was the conventional sunburst surrounded by circles representing orbits of solar planets, with a few comets thrown in. The scale was badly distorted and it was useless as a structural picture of the home system, but it sufficed. Max took it and said, “Here’s Mars.”

Eldreth said, “You read it. That’s cheating.”

“Hush a moment. Here’s Jupiter. To go from Mars to Jupiter you have to go from here to here, don’t you?”

“Obviously.”

“But suppose I fold it so that Mars is on top of Jupiter? What’s to prevent just stepping across?” “Nothing, I guess. Except that what works for that scarf wouldn’t work very well in practice. Would it?”

“No, not that near to a star. But it works fine after you back away from a star quite a distance. You see, that’s just what an anomaly is, a place where space is folded back on itself, turning a long distance into no distance at all.”

“Then space is warped.”

“No, no, no! Look, I just folded your scarf. I didn’t stretch it out of shape! I didn’t even wrinkle it. Space is the same way; it’s crumpled like a piece of waste paper—but it’s not warped, just crumpled. Through some extra dimensions, of course.”

“I don’t see any ‘of course’ about it.”

“The math of it is simple, but it’s hard to talk about because you can’t see it. Space—our space—may be crumpled up small enough to stuff into a coffee cup, all hundreds of thousands of light-years of it. A

four-dimensional coffee cup, of course.”

She sighed. “I don’t see how a four-dimensional coffee cup could even hold coffee, much less a whole galaxy.”

“No trouble at all. You could stuff this sheer scarf into a thimble. Same principle. But let me finish. They used to think that nothing could go faster than light. Well, that was both right and wrong. It…”

“How can it be both?”

“That’s one of the Horst anomalies. You can’t go faster than light, not in our space. If you do, you burst out of it. But if you do it where space is folded back and congruent, you pop right back into our own space again—but a long way off. How far off depends on how it’s folded. And that depends on the mass in the space, in a complicated fashion that can’t be described in words but can be calculated.”

“But suppose you do it just anywhere?”

“That’s what happened to the first ones who tried it. They didn’t come back. And that’s why surveys are dangerous; survey ships go poking through anomalies that have been calculated but never tried. That’s also why astrogators get paid so much. They have to head the ship for a place you can’t see and they have to put the ship there just under the speed of light and they have to give it the gun at just the right world point. Drop a decimal point or use a short cut that covers up an indeterminancy and it’s just too bad. Now we’ve been gunning at twenty-four gee ever since we left the atmosphere. We don’t feel it of course because we are carried inside a discontinuity field at an artificial one gravity—that’s another of the anomalies. But we’re getting up close to the speed of light, up against the Einstein Wall; pretty soon we’ll be squeezed through like a watermelon seed between your finger and thumb and we’ll come out near Theta Centauri fifty-eight light-years away. Simple, if you look at it right.”

She shivered. “If we come out, you mean.”

“Well… I suppose so. But it’s not as dangerous as helicopters. And look at it this way: if it weren’t for the anomalies, there never would have been any way for us to reach the stars; the distances are too great.

But looking back, it is obvious that all that emptiness couldn’t be real—there had to be the anomalies. That’s what my uncle used to say.”

“I suppose he must have been right, even if I don’t understand it.” She scrambled to her feet. “But I do know that I had better hoof it back upstairs, or Mrs. Dumont may change her mind.” She hugged Mr. Chips and shoved the little creature into Max’s arms. “Walk the baby—that’s a pal.”

THREE WAYS TO GET AHEAD

Max intended to stay awake during the first transition, but he slept through it. It took place shortly after five in the morning, ship’s time. When he was awakened by idlers’ reveille at six it was all over. He jerked on his clothes, fuming at not having awakened earlier, and hurried to the upper decks. The passageways above Charlie deck were silent and empty; even the early risers among the passengers would not be up for another hour. He went at once to the Bifrost Lounge and crossed it to the view port, placed there for the pleasure of passengers.

The stars looked normal but the familiar, age-old constellations were gone. Only the Milky Way, our own galaxy, seemed as usual—to that enormous spiral of stars, some hundred thousand light-years across, a tiny displacement of less than sixty light-years was inconsequential.

One extremely bright yellow-white star was visible; Max decided that it must be Theta Centauri, sun of Garson’s Planet, their first stop. He left shortly, not wanting to chance being found loafing in passengers’ country. The sand boxes which constituted his excuse were then replaced with greater speed than usual and he was back in crew’s quarters in time for breakfast.

The passage to Garson’s Planet took most of a month even at the high boost possible to Horst-Conrad ship. Eldreth continued to make daily trips to see Mr. Chips—and to talk with and play 3-dee chess with Max. He learned that while she had not been born on Hespera, but in Auckland on Terra, nevertheless Hespera was her home. “Daddy sent me back to have them turn me into a lady, but it didn’t take.”

“What do you mean?”

She grinned. “I’m a problem. That’s why I’ve been sent for. You’re in check, Max. Chipsie! Put that back. I think the little demon is playing on your side.”

He gradually pieced together what she meant. Miss Mimsey’s school had been the third from which she had been expelled. She did not like Earth, she was determined to go home, and she had created a reign of terror at each institution to which she had been entrusted. Her widower father had been determined that she must have a “proper” education, but she had been in a better strategic position to impose her will—her father’s Earthside attorneys had washed their hands of her and shipped her home.

Sam made the mistake of joshing Max about Eldreth. “Have you gotten her to set the day yet, old son?” “Who set what day?”

“Now, now! Everybody in the ship knows about it, except possibly the Captain. Why play dumb with your old pal?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about!”

“I wasn’t criticizing, I was admiring. I’d never have the nerve to plot so high a trajectory myself. But as

grandpop always said, there are just three ways to get ahead; sweat and genius, getting born into the right family, or marrying into it. Of the three, marrying the boss’s daughter is the best, because—Hey! Take it easy!” Sam skipped back out of range.

“Take that back!”

“I do, I do. I was wrong. But my remarks were inspired by sheer admiration. Mistaken, I admit. So I apologize and withdraw the admiration.”

“But… ” Max grinned in spite of himself. It was impossible to stay angry at Sam. Sure, the man was a scamp, probably a deserter, certainly a belittler who always looked at things in the meanest of terms, but—well, there it was. Sam was his friend.

“I knew you were joking. How could I be figuring on getting married when you and I are going to…” “Keep your voice down.” Sam went on quietly, “You’ve made up your mind?”

“Yes. It’s the only way out, I guess. I don’t want to go back to Earth.”

“Good boy! You’ll never regret it.” Sam looked thoughtful. “We’ll need money.” “Well, I’ll have some on the books.”

“Don’t be silly. You try to draw more than spending money and they’ll never let you set foot on dirt. But don’t worry—save your tips, all that Fats will let you keep, and I’ll get us a stake. It’s my turn.”

“How?”

“Lots of ways. You can forget it.”

“Well… all right. Say, Sam, just what did you mean when you—I mean, well, suppose I did want to marry Ellie—I don’t of course; she’s just a kid and anyhow I’m not the type to marry—but just supposing? Why should anybody care?”

Sam looked surprised. “You don’t know?” “Why would I be asking?”

“You don’t know who she is?”

“Huh? Her name’s Eldreth Coburn and she’s on her way home to Hespera, she’s a colonial. What of it?”

“You poor boy! She didn’t mention that she is the only daughter of His Supreme Excellency, General Sir John FitzGerald Coburn, O.B.E., K.B., O.S.U., and probably X.Y.Z., Imperial Ambassador to Hespera and Resident Commissioner Plenipotentiary?”

“Huh? Oh my gosh!”

“Catch on, kid? With the merest trifle of finesse you can be a remittance man, at least. Name your own planet, just as long as it isn’t Hespera.”

“Oh, go boil your head! She’s a nice kid anyhow.”

Sam snickered. “She sure is. As grandpop used to say, ‘It’s an ill wind that gathers no moss.'”

The knowledge disturbed Max. He had realized that Eldreth must be well to do—she was a passenger,

wasn’t she? But he had no awe of wealth. Achievement as exemplified by his uncle held much more respect in his eyes. But the notion that Eldreth came from such an impossibly high stratum—and that he, Maximilian Jones, was considered a fortune-hunter and social climber on that account—was quite upsetting.

He decided to put an end to it. He started by letting his work pile up so that he could say truthfully that he did not have time to play three-dee chess. So Ellie pitched in and helped him. While he was playing the unavoidable game that followed he attempted a direct approach. “See here, Ellie, I don’t think you ought to stay down here and play three-dee chess with me. The other passengers come down to see their pets and they notice. They’ll gossip.”

“Pooh!”

“I mean it. Oh, you and I know it’s all right, but it doesn’t look right.”

She stuck out her lower lip. “Am I going to have trouble with you? You talk just like Miss Mimsey.” “You can come down to see Chipsie, but you’d better come down with one of the other pet owners.”

She started to make a sharp answer, then shrugged, “Okay, this isn’t the most comfortable place anyhow. From now on we play in Bifrost Lounge, afternoons when your work is done and evenings.”

Max protested that Mr. Giordano would not let him; she answered quickly, “Don’t worry about your boss. I can twist him around my little finger.” She illustrated by gesture.

The picture of the gross Mr. Gee in such a position slowed up Max’s answer, but he finally managed to get out, “Ellie, crew members can’t use the passenger lounge. It’s…”

“They can so. More than once, I’ve seen Mr. Dumont having a cup of coffee there with Captain Blaine.”

“You don’t understand. Mr. Dumont is almost an officer, and if the Captain wants him as his guest, well, that’s the Captain’s privilege.”

“You’d be my guest.”

“No, I wouldn’t be.” He tried to explain to her the strict regulation that crew members were not to associate with passengers. “The Captain would be angry if he could see us right now—not at you, at me. If he caught me in the passengers’ lounge he’d kick me all the way clown to ‘H’ deck.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“But… ” He shrugged. “All right. I’ll come up this evening. He won’t kick me, actually; that would be beneath him. He’ll just send Mr. Dumont over to tell me to leave, then he’ll send for me in the morning. I don’t mind being fined a month’s pay if that is what it takes to show you the way things are.”

He could see that he had finally reached her. “Why, I think that’s perfectly rotten! Everybody is equal. Everybody! That’s the law.”

“They are? Only from on top.”

She got up suddenly and left. Max again had to soothe Mr. Chips, but there was no one to soothe him. He decided that the day that he and Sam disappeared over a horizon and lost themselves could not come too soon.

Eldreth returned next day but in company with a Mrs. Mendoza, the devoted owner of a chow who

looked much like her. Eldreth treated Max with the impersonal politeness of a lady “being nice” to servants, except for a brief moment when Mrs. Mendoza was out of earshot.

“Max?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“I’ll ‘Yes, Miss’ you! Look, Max, what was your uncle’s name? Was it Chester Jones?” “Why, yes, it was. But why…”

“Never mind.” Mrs. Mendoza rejoined them. Max was forced to drop it.

The following morning the dry-stores keeper sought him out. “Hey, Max! The Belly wants you. Better hurry—I think you’re in some sort of a jam.”

Max worried as he hurried. He couldn’t think of anything he had done lately; he tried to suppress the horrid fear that Ellie was involved.

It was clear that Mr. Giordano was not pleased but all that he said was, “Report to the Purser’s Office. Jump.” Max jumped.

The Purser was not there; Mr. Kuiper received him and looked him over with a cold eye. “Put on a clean uniform and make it quick. Then report to the Captain’s cabin.”

Max stood still and gulped. Mr. Kuiper barked, “Well? Move!” “Sir,” Max blurted, “I don’t know where the Captain’s cabin is.”

“What? I’ll be switched! Able deck, radius nine oh and outboard.” Max moved.

The Captain was in his cabin. With him was Mr. Samuels the Purser, Mr. Walther the First Officer, and Dr. Hendrix the Astrogator. Max concluded that whatever it was he was about to be tried for, it could be nothing trivial. But he remembered to say, “Steward’s Mate Third Class Jones reporting, sir.”

Captain Blaine looked up. “Oh, yes. Find a chair.” Max found one, sat down on the edge of it. The Captain said to the First Officer, “Under the circumstances, Dutch, I suppose it’s the best thing to do—though it seems a little drastic. You agree, Hal?”

The Purser agreed. Max wondered just how drastic it was and whether he would live through it.

“We’ll log it as an exception, then, Doc, and I’ll write up an explanation for the board. After all, regulations were made to be broken. That’s the end of it.” Max decided that they were simply going to space him and explain it later.

The Captain turned back to his desk in a manner that signified that the meeting was over. The First Officer cleared his throat. “Captain… ” He indicated Max with his eyes.

Captain Blaine looked up again. “Oh, yes! Young man, your name is Jones?” “Yessir.”

“I’ve been looking over your record. I see that you once tried out for chartsman for a short time in the

Thule?”

“Uh, yes, Captain.” “Didn’t you like it?”

“Well, sir.” Max asked himself what Sam would say when confronted by such a ghost. “It was like this… to tell you the truth I didn’t do much except empty ash trays in the Worry—in the control room.” He held his breath.

The Captain smiled briefly. “It can sometimes work out that way. Would you be interested in trying it again?”

“What? Yes, sir!” “Dutch?”

“Captain, ordinarily I see no point in a man striking twice for the same job. But there is this personal matter.”

“Yes, indeed. You can spare him, Hal?”

“Oh, certainly, Captain. He’s hardly a key man where he is.” The Purser smiled. “Bottom deck valet.” The Captain smiled and turned to the Astrogator. “I see no objection, Doc. It’s a guild matter, of course.” “Kelly is willing to try him. He’s short a man, you know.”

“Very well, then…”

“Just a moment, Captain.” The Astrogator turned to Max. “Jones… you had a relative in my guild?” “My uncle, sir. Chester Jones.”

“I served under him. I hope you have some of his skill with figures.” “Uh, I hope so, sir.”

“We shall see. Report to Chief Computerman Kelly.”

Max managed to find the control room without asking directions, although he could hardly see where he was going.

CHARTSMAN JONES

The change in Max’s status changed the whole perspective of his life. His social relations with the other crew members changed not entirely for the better. The control room gang considered themselves the gentry of the crew, a status disputed by the power technicians and resented by the stewards. Max found that the guild he was leaving no longer treated him quite as warmly while the guild for which he was trying out did not as yet accept him.

Mr. Gee simply ignored him—would walk right over him if Max failed to jump aside. He seemed to

regard Max’s trial promotion as a personal affront.

It was necessary for him to hit the slop chest for dress uniforms. Now that his duty station was in the control room, now that he must pass through passengers’ country to go to and from work, it was no longer permissible to slouch around in dungarees. Mr. Kuiper let him sign for them; his cash would not cover it. He had to sign as well for the cost of permission to work out of his guild, with the prospect of going further in debt to both guilds should he be finally accepted. He signed cheerfully.

The control department of the Asgard consisted of two officers and five men—Dr. Hendrix the Astrogator, his assistant astrogator Mr. Simes, Chief Computerman Kelly, Chartsman First Class Kovak, Chtsmn 2/C Smythe, and computermen Noguchi and Lundy, both second class. There was also

“Sack” Bennett, communicator first class, but he was not really a part of the control gang, even though his station was in the Worry Hole; a starship was rarely within radio range of anything except at the very first and last parts of a trip. Bennett doubled as Captain Blaine’s secretary and factotum and owed his nickname to the often-stated belief of the others that he spent most of his life in his bunk.

Since the Asgard was always under boost a continuous watch was kept; not for them were the old, easy days of rocket ships, with ten minutes of piloting followed by weeks of free fall before more piloting was required. Since the Asgard carried no apprentice astrogator, there were only two officers to stand watches (Captain Blaine was necessarily an astrogator himself, but skippers do not stand watches); this lack was made up by Chief Computerman Kelly, who stood a regular watch as control

officer-of-the-watch. The other ratings stood a watch in four; the distinction between a computerman and a chartsman was nominal in a control room dominated by “Decimal Point” Kelly—what a man didn’t know he soon learned, or found another ship.

Easy watches for everyone but Max—he was placed on watch-and-watch for instruction, four hours on followed by four hours off in which he must eat, keep himself clean, relax, and—if he found time—sleep.

But he thrived on it, arriving early and sometimes having to be ordered out of the Worry Hole. Not until much later did he find out that this stiff regime was Kelly’s way of trying to break him, discover his weakness and get rid of him promptly if he failed to measure up.

Not all watches were pleasant. Max’s very first watch was under Mr. Simes. He crawled up the hatch into the control room and looked around him in wonderment. On four sides were the wonderfully delicate parallax cameras. Between two of them Lundy sat at the saddle of the main computer; he looked up and nodded but did not speak. Mr. Simes sat at the control console, facing the hatch; he must have seen Max but gave no sign of it.

There were other instruments crowded around the walls, some of which Max recognized from reading and from seeing pictures, some of which were strange—tell-tales and gauges from each of the ship’s compartments, a screen to reproduce the view aft or “below,” microphone and controls for the ship’s announcing system, the “tank” or vernier stereograph in which plates from the parallax cameras could be compared with charts, spectrostellograph, dopplerscope, multipoint skin temperature recorder, radar repeater for landing, too many things to take in at once.

Overhead through the astrogation dome was the starry universe. He stared at it, mouth agape. Living as he had been, inside a steel cave, he had hardly seen the stars; the firmament had been more with him back home on the farm.

“Hey! You!”

Max shook his head and found Mr. Simes looking at him. “Come here.” Max did so, the assistant astrogator went on, “Don’t you know enough to report to the watch officer when you come on duty?”

“Uh—sorry, sir.”

“Besides that, you’re late.” Max slid his eyes to the chronometer in the console; it still lacked five minutes of the hour. Simes continued, “A sorry state of affairs when crewmen relieve the watch later than the watch officer. What’s your name?”

“Jones, sir.”

Mr. Simes sniffed. He was a red-faced young man with thin, carroty hair and a sniff was his usual conversational embellishment, at least with juniors. “Make a fresh pot of coffee.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Max started to ask where and how, but Mr. Simes had gone back to his reading. Max looked helplessly at Lundy, who indicated a direction with his eyes. Behind the chart safe Max found a coffee maker and under it cups, saucers, sugar, and tins of cream.

He burned himself before getting the hang of the gear’s idiosyncrasies. Mr. Simes accepted the brew without looking at him. Max wondered what to do next, decided to offer a cup to Lundy. The computerman thanked him quietly and Max decided to risk having one himself, since it seemed to be accepted. He took it over beside the computer to drink it.

He was still doing so when the watch officer spoke up. “What is this? A tea party? Jones!” “Yes, sir?”

“Get the place policed up. Looks as if a herd of chucks had been wallowing in it.”

The room seemed clean, but Max found a few scraps of paper to pick up and stuff down the chute, after which he wiped already-gleaming brightwork. He had started to go over things a second time when Lundy motioned him over. Max then helped Lundy change plates in the parallax cameras and watched him while he adjusted the electronic timer. Mr. Simes pushed the ready button himself, which seemed to be his sole work during the watch.

Lundy removed the plates and set them up in the tank for chart comparison, took the readings and logged them. Max gave him nominal help and gathered some notion of how it was done, after which he again wiped brightwork.

It was a long watch. He went to his bunk drained of the elation he had felt.

But watches with Dr. Hendrix and with Chief Kelly were quite different. The Worry Hole was a jolly place under Kelly; he ruled as a benevolent tyrant, shouting, cursing, slandering the coffee, slurring his juniors and being sassed back. Max never touched a polish rag when Kelly was at control; he was kept too busy not merely helping but systematically studying everything in the room. “We haven’t a condemned thing to do,” Kelly shouted at him, “until we hit Carson’s Folly. Nothing to do but to ride this groove down until we hit dirt. So you, my laddy buck, are going to do plenty. When we get there you are going to know this condemned hole better than your mother knew your father—or you can spend your time there learning what you’ve missed while your mates are dirtside getting blind. Get out the instruction manual for the main computer, take off the back plate and get lost in them wires. I don’t want to see anything but your ugly behind the rest of this watch.”

Within ten minutes Kelly was down on his knees with him, helping him trace the intricate circuits.

Max learned, greatly assisted by his photographic memory and still more by the sound grounding in theory he had gotten from his uncle. Kelly was pleased. “I reckon you exaggerated a mite when you said you hadn’t learned anything in the Thule.”

“Well, not much.”

“Johansen have the Worry Hole when you were striking?”

“Uh, yes.” Max hoped frantically that Kelly would not ask other names.

“I thought so. That squarehead wouldn’t tell his own mother how old he was.”

There came a watch when Kelly trusted him to do a dry run for a transition approach on the computer, with Noguchi handling the tables and Kelly substituting for the astrogator by following records of the actual transition the ship had last made. The programming was done orally, as is the case when the astrogator is working under extreme pressure from latest data, just before giving the crucial signal to boost past the speed of light.

Kelly took it much more slowly than would happen in practice, while Noguchi consulted tables and called out figures to Max. He was nervous at first, his fingers trembling so that it was hard to punch the right keys—then he settled down and enjoyed it, feeling as if he and the machine had been born for each other.

Kelly was saying, “—times the binary natural logarithm of zero point eight seven oh nine two.” Max heard Noguchi’s voice call back the datum while he thumbed for the page—but in his mind Max saw the page in front of his eyes long before Noguchi located it; without conscious thought he depressed the right

keys.

“Correction!” sang out Kelly. “Look, meathead, you don’t put in them figures; you wait for translation by Noggy here. How many times I have to tell you?”

“But I did—” Max started, then stopped. Thus far he had managed to keep anyone aboard the Asgard

from learning of his embarrassingly odd memory.

“You did what?” Kelly started to clear the last datum from the board, then hesitated. “Come to think of it, you can’t possibly feed decimal figures into that spaghetti mill. Just what did you do?”

Max knew he was right and hated to appear not to know how to set up a problem. “Why, I put in the figures Noguchi was about to give me.”

“How’s that again?” Kelly stared at him. “You a mind reader?” “No. But I put in the right figures.”

“Hmm… ” Kelly bent over the keyboard. “Call ’em off, Noggy.” The computerman reeled off a string of ones and zeroes, the binary equivalent of the decimal expression Kelly had given him; Kelly checked the depressed keys, his lips moving in concentration. He straightened up. “I once saw a man roll thirteen sevens with honest dice. Was it fool luck, Max?”

“No.”

“Well! Noggy, gimme that book.” Kelly went through the rest of the problem, giving Max raw data and the operations to be performed, but not translating the figures into the binary notation the computer required. He kept thumbing the book and glancing over Max’s shoulder. Max fought off stage fright and punched the keys, while sweat poured into his eyes.

At last Kelly said, “Okay. Twist its tail.” Max flipped the switch which allowed the computer to swallow the program and worry it for an instant; the answer popped out in lights, off or on—the machine’s

equivalent of binary figures.

Kelly translated the lights back into decimal notation, using the manual. He then glanced at the recorded problem. He closed the record book and handed it to Noguchi. “I think I’ll have a cup of coffee,” he said quietly and walked away.

Noguchi reopened it, looked at the lights shining on the board and consulted the manual, after which he looked at Max very oddly. Max saw Kelly staring at him over a cup with the same expression. Max reached up and cleared the board entirely; the lights went out. He got down out of the computerman’s saddle. Nobody said anything.

Max’s next watch was with Dr. Hendrix. He enjoyed watches with the Astrogator almost as much as those with Kelly; Dr. Hendrix was a friendly and soft-spoken gentleman and gave as much attention to training Max as Kelly did. But this time Kelly lingered on after being relieved—in itself nothing, as the Chief Computerman frequently consulted with, or simply visited with, the Astrogator at such times. But today, after relieving the watch, Dr. Hendrix said pleasantly, “Kelly tells me that you are learning to use the computer, Jones?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“Very well, let’s have a drill.” Dr. Hendrix dug out an old astrogation log and selected a

transition-approach problem similar to the one Max had set up earlier. Kelly took the manual, ready to act as his “numbers boy”—but did not call the translations. Max waited for the first one; when it did not come, he read the figures from the page shining in his mind and punched them in.

It continued that way. Kelly said nothing, but wet his lips and checked what Max did each time the doctor offered a bit of the problem. Kovak watched from nearby, his eyes moving from actor to actor.

At last Dr. Hendrix closed the book. “I see,” he agreed, as if it were an everyday occurrence. “Jones, that is an extremely interesting talent. I’ve read of such cases, but you are the first I have met. You’ve heard of Blind Tom?”

“No, sir.”

“Perhaps the ship’s library has an account of him.” The Astrogator was silent for a moment. “I don’t mean to belittle your talent, but you are not to use it during an actual maneuver. You understand why?”

“Yes, sir. I guess I do.”

“Better say that you are not to use it unless you think an error has been made—in which case you will speak up at once. But the printed tables remain the final authority.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Good. See me, please, in my room when you come off watch.”

It was “day time” by the ship’s clocks when he went off watch. He went to the passageway outside Dr. Hendrix’s room and waited; there Ellie came across him. “Max!”

“Oh. Hello, Ellie.” He realized uncomfortably that he had not seen her since his tentative promotion.

“Hello he says!” She planted herself in front of him. “You’re a pretty sight—with your bloodshot eyes matching the piping on your shirt. Where have you been? Too good for your old friends? You haven’t even been to see Chipsie.”

He had been, once, although he had not run into Ellie. He had not repeated the visit because the shipmate who had replaced him had not liked being assigned as chambermaid to cows, sheep, llamas, et al.; he had seemed to feel that it was Max’s fault. “I’m sorry,” Max said humbly, “but I haven’t had time.”

“A feeble excuse. Know what you are going to do now? You’re going straight to the lounge and I am going to trim your ears—I’ve figured out a way to box your favorite gambit that will leave you gasping.”

Max opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “No.” “Speak louder. You used a word I don’t understand.”

“Look, Ellie, be reasonable. I’m waiting for Dr. Hendrix and as soon as he lets me go I’ve got to get some sleep. I’m about ten hours minus.”

“You can sleep any time.”

“Not when you’re standing four hours on and four off. You nap anytime you get a chance.” She looked perplexed. “You don’t mean you work every other watch? Why, that’s criminal.” “Maybe so but that’s how it is.”

“But—I’ll fix that! I’ll speak to the Captain.” “Ellie! Don’t you dare!”

“Why not? Captain Blaine is old sugar pie. Never you mind, I’ll fix it.”

Max took a deep breath, then spoke carefully. “Ellie, don’t say anything to the Captain, not anything. It’s a big opportunity for me and I don’t mind. If you go tampering with things you don’t understand, you’ll ruin my chances. I’ll be sent back to the stables.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t do that.”

“You don’t understand. He may be an ‘old sugar pie’ to you; to me he is the Captain. So don’t.” She pouted. “I was just trying to help.”

“I appreciate it. But don’t. And anyhow, I can’t come to the lounge, ever. It’s off limits for me.”

“But I thought—I think you’re just trying to avoid me. You run around up here now and you dress in pretty clothes. Why not?”

They were interrupted by Dr. Hendrix returning to his room. “Morning, Jones. Good morning, Miss Coburn.” He went on in.

Max said desperately, “Look, Ellie, I’ve got to go.” He turned and knocked on the Astrogator’s door.

Dr. Hendrix ignored having seen him with Ellie. “Sit down, Jones. That was a very interesting exhibition you put on.” The Astrogator went on, “I’m curious to know how far your talent extends. Is it just to figures?”

“Why, I guess not, sir.”

“Do you have to study hard to do it?”

“No, sir.”

“Hmm… We’ll try something. Have you read—let me see—any of the plays of Shakespeare?”

“Uh, we had Hamlet and As You Like It in school, and I read A Winter’s Tale. But I didn’t like it,” he answered honestly.

“In that case I don’t suppose you reread it. Remember any of it?” “Oh, certainly, sir.”

“Hmm—” Dr. Hendrix got down a limp volume.

“Let me see. Act two, scene three; Leontes says, ‘Nor night nor day nor rest: it is but weakness… ‘”

Max picked it up. “… it is but weakness to bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If the cause were not in being… ” He continued until stopped.

“That’s enough. I don’t care much for that play myself. Even the immortal Will had his off days. But how did you happen to have read that book of tables? Shakespeare at his dullest isn’t that dull. I’ve never read them, not what one would call’reading.'”

“Well, sir, Uncle Chet had his astrogation manuals at home after he retired and he used to talk with me a lot. So I read them.”

“Do I understand that you have memorized the entire professional library of an astrogator?” Max took a deep breath. “Well, sir, I’ve read them.”

Dr. Hendrix took from his shelves his own tools of his profession. He did not bother with the binary tables, that being the one Max had shown that he knew. He leafed through them, asked Max questions, finally identifying what he wanted only by page number. He closed the last of them. “Whew!” he commented, and blinked. “While I am aware that there are numerous cases of your talent in the history of psychology, I must admit it is disconcerting to encounter one.” He smiled. “I wonder what Brother Witherspoon would think of this.”

“Sir?”

“Our High Secretary. I’m afraid he would be shocked; he has conservative notions about protecting the’secrets’ of our profession.”

Max said uncomfortably, “Am I likely to get into trouble, sir? I didn’t know it was wrong to read Uncle’s books.”

“What? Nonsense. There are no’secrets’ to astrogation. You use these books on watch, so does every member of the ‘Worry’ gang. The passengers can read them, for all I care. Astrogation isn’t secret; it is merely difficult. Few people are so endowed as to be able to follow accurately the mathematical reasoning necessary to plan a—oh, a transition, let us say. But it suits those who bother with guild politics to make it appear an arcane art—prestige, you know.” Dr. Hendrix paused and tapped on his chair arm. “Jones, I want you to understand me. Kelly thinks you may shape up.”

“Uh, that’s good, sir.”

“But don’t assume that you know more than he does just because you have memorized the books.”

“Oh, no, sir!”

“Actually, your talent isn’t necessary in the control room. The virtues needed are those Kelly has—unflagging attention to duty, thorough knowledge of his tools, meticulous care for details, deep loyalty to his job and his crew and his ship and to those placed over him professionally. Kelly doesn’t need eidetic memory, ordinary good memory combined with intelligence and integrity are what the job takes—and that’s what I want in my control room.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Astrogator hesitated. “I don’t wish to be offensive but I want to add this. Strange talents are sometimes associated with ordinary, or even inferior, mentality—often enough so that the psychologists use the term ‘idiot savant.’ Sorry. You obviously aren’t an idiot, but you are not necessarily a genius, even if you can memorize the Imperial Encyclopedia. My point is: I am more interested in your horse sense and your attention to duty than I am in your phenomenal memory.”

“Uh, I’ll try, sir.”

“I think you’ll make a good chartsman, in time.” Dr. Hendrix indicated that the interview was over; Max got up. “One more thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“There are excellent reasons of discipline and efficiency why crew members do not associate with passengers.”

Max gulped. “I know, sir.”

“Mind your P’s and Q’s. The members of my department are careful about this point—even then it is difficult.”

Max left feeling deflated. He had gone there feeling that he was about to be awarded something—even a chance to become an astrogator. He now felt sweated down to size.

GARSON’S PLANET

Max did not see much of Sam during the weeks following; the stiff schedule left him little time for visiting. But Sam had prospered.

Like all large ships the Asgard had a miniature police force, experienced ratings who acted as the First Officer’s deputies in enforcing ship’s regulations. Sam, with his talent for politics and a faked certffication as steward’s mate first class, managed during the reshuffle following Max’s transfer to be assigned as master-at-arms for the Purser’s department. He did well, treading on no toes, shutting his eyes to such violations as were ancient prerogatives and enforcing those rules of sanitation, economy, and behavior which were actually needed for a taut, happy ship… all without finding it necessary to haul offenders up before the First Officer for punishment—which suited both Mr. Walther and the crew. When Stores Clerk Maginnis partook too freely of Mr. Gee’s product and insisted on serenading his bunk mates, Sam merely took him to the galley and forced black coffee down him—then the following day took him down

to ‘H’ deck, laid his own shield of office aside, and gave Maginnis a scientific going over that left no scars but deeply marked his soul. In his obscure past Sam had learned to fight, not rough house, not in the stylized mock combat of boxing, but in the skilled art in which an unarmed man becomes a lethal machine.

Sam had selected his victim carefully. Had he reported him Maginnis would have regarded Sam as a snoop, a mere busybody to be outwitted or defied, and had the punishment been severe he might have been turned into a permanent discipline problem—not forgetting that reporting Maginnis might also have endangered a sacred cow, Chief Steward Giordano. As it was, it turned Maginnis into Sam’s strongest supporter and best publicist, as Maginnis’s peculiar but not unique pride required him to regard the man who defeated him as “the hottest thing on two feet, sudden death in each hand, a real man! No nonsense about old Sam—try him yourself and see how you make out. Go on, I want to lay a bet.”

It was not necessary for Sam to set up a second lesson.

A senior engineer’s mate was chief master-at-arms and Sam’s nominal superior; these two constituted the police force of their small town. When the technician asked to go back to power room watch-standing and was replaced by an engineer’s mate third, it was natural that Walther should designate Sam as Chief Master-at-Arms.

He had had his eye on the job from the moment he signed on. Any police chief anywhere has powers far beyond those set forth by law. As long as Sam stayed well buttered up with Mr. Kuiper, Mr. Giordano, and (to a lesser extent) with Mr. Dumont, as long as he was careful to avoid exerting his authority in either the engineering spaces or the Worry Hole, he was the most powerful man in the ship—more powerful in all practical matters than the First Officer himself since he was the First Officer’s visible presence.

Such was the situation when the ship grounded at Garson’s Planet.

Garson’s Planet appears to us to be a piece of junk left over when the universe was finished. It has a surface gravity of one-and-a-quarter, too much for comfort, it is cold as a moneylender’s heart, and it has a methane atmosphere unbreathable by humans. With the sky swarming with better planets it would be avoided were it not an indispensable way station. There is only one survey Horst congruency near Earth’s Sun and transition of it places one near Theta Centauri—and of the thirteen planets of that sun, Carson’s Planet possesses the meager virtue of being least unpleasant.

But there are half a dozen plotted congruencies accessible to Theta Centauri, which makes Carson’s Planet the inevitable cross-roads for trade of the Solar Union.

Max hit dirt there just once, once was plenty. The colony at the space port, partly domed, partly dug in under the domes, was much like the Lunar cities and not unlike the burrows under any major Earth city, but to Max it was novel since he had never been on Luna and had never seen a big city on Terra other than Earthport. He went dirtside with Sam, dressed in his best and filled with curiosity. It was not necessary to put on a pressure suit; the port supplied each passenger liner with a pressure tube from ship’s lock to dome lock.

Once inside Sam headed down into the lower levels. Max protested, “Sam, let’s go up and look around.”

“Huh? Nothing there. A hotel and some expensive shops and clip joints for the pay passengers. Do you want to pay a month’s wages for a steak?”

“No. I want to see out. Here I am on a strange planet and I haven’t seen it at all. I couldn’t see it from the control room when we landed and now I haven’t seen anything but the inside of a trans tube and this.” He

gestured at the corridor walls.

“Nothing to see but a dirty, thick, yellow fog that never lifts. Worse than Venus. But suit yourself. I’ve got things to do, but if you don’t want to stick with me you certainly don’t have to.”

Max decided to stick. They went on down and came out in a wide, lighted corridor not unlike that street in Earthport where Percy’s restaurant was located, save that it was roofed over. There were the same bars, the same tawdry inducements for the stranger to part with cash, even to the tailor shop with the permanent “CLOSING OUT” sale. Several other ships were in and the sector was crowded. Sam looked around. “Now for a place for a quiet drink and a chat.”

“How about there?” Max answered, pointing to a sign reading THE BETTER ‘OLE. “Looks clean and cheerful.”

Sam steered him quickly past it. “It is,” he agreed, “but not for us.” “Why not?”

“Didn’t you notice the customers? Imperial Marines.” “What of that? I’ve got nothing against the Imperials.”

“Mmm… no,” Sam agreed, still hurrying, “but those boys stick together and they have a nasty habit of resenting a civilian who has the bad taste to sit down in a joint they have staked out. Want to get your ribs kicked in?”

“Huh? That wouldn’t happen if I minded my own business, would it?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Suppose a hostess decides that you’re ‘cute’—and the spit-and-polish boy she was with wants to make something of it? Max, you’re a good boy—but there just ain’t no demand for good boys. To stay out of trouble you have to stay away from it.”

They threaded their way through the crowd for another hundred yards before Sam said, “Here we are—provided Lippy is still running the place.” The sign read THE SAFE LANDING; it was larger but not as pleasant as THE BETTER ‘OLE.

“Who’s Lippy?”

“You probably won’t meet him.” Sam led the way in and picked out a table.

Max looked around. It looked like any other fifth-rate bar grille. “Could I get a strawberry soda here? I’ve had a hankering for one for ages—I used always to get one Saturdays when I went to the Corners.”

“They can’t rule you out for trying.”

“Okay. Sam, something you said—you remember the story you told me about your friend in the Imperials? Sergeant Roberts?”

“Who?”

“Or Richards. I didn’t quite catch it.” “Never heard of the guy.”

“But…”

“Never heard of him. Here’s the waiter.”

Nor had the humanoid Sirian waiter heard of strawberry soda. He had no facial muscles but his back skin crawled and rippled with embarrassed lack of comprehension. Max settled for something called “Old Heidelberg” although it had never been within fifty light-years of Germany. It tasted to Max like cold soap suds, but since Sam had paid for it he nursed it along and pretended to drink it.

Sam bounced up almost at once. “Sit tight, kid. I won’t be long.” He spoke to the barman, then disappeared toward the back. A young woman came over to Max’s table.

“Lonely, spaceman?” “Uh, not especially.”

“But I am. Mind if I sit down?” She sank into the chair that Sam had vacated. “Suit yourself. But my friend is coming right back.”

She didn’t answer but turned to the waiter at her elbow. “A brown special, Giggles.” Max made an emphatic gesture of denial. “No!”

“What’s that, dear?”

“Look,” Max answered, blushing, “I may look green as paint—I am, probably. But I don’t buy colored water at house prices. I don’t have much money.”

She looked hurt. “But you have to order or I can’t sit here.”

“Well… ” He glanced at the menu. “I could manage a sandwich, I guess.”

She turned again to the waiter. “Never mind the special, Giggles. A cheese on rye and plenty of mustard.” She turned back to Max. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Max.”

“Mine’s Dolores. Where are you from?” “The Ozarks. That’s Earthside.”

“Now isn’t that a coincidence! I’m from Winnipeg—we’re neighbors!”

Max decided that it might appear so, from that distance. But as Dolores babbled on it became evident that she knew neither the location of the Ozarks nor that of Winnipeg, had probably never been on Terra in her life. She was finishing the sandwich while telling Max that she just adored spacemen, they were so romantic, when Sam returned.

He looked down at her. “How much did you take him for?”

Dolores said indignantly, “That’s no way to talk! Mr. Lipski doesn’t permit…”

“Stow it, kid,” Sam went on, not unkindly. “You didn’t know that my partner is a guest of Lippy. Get me? No’specials,’ no ‘pay-me’s’—you’re wasting your time. Now how much?”

Max said hastily, “It’s okay, Sam. All I bought her was a sandwich.”

“Well… all right. But you’re excused, sister. Later, maybe.” She shrugged and stood up. “Thanks, Max.”

“Not at all, Dolores. I’ll say hello to the folks in Winnipeg.” “Do that.”

Sam did not sit down. “Kid, I have to go out for a while.” “Okay.”

Max started to rise, Sam motioned him back. “No, no. This I’d better do by myself. Wait here, will you? They won’t bother you again—or if they do, ask for Lippy.”

“I won’t have any trouble.”

“I hope not.” Sam looked worried. “I don’t know why I should fret, but there is something about you that arouses the maternal in me. Your big blue eyes I guess.”

“Huh? Oh, go sniff space! Anyway, my eyes are brown.”

“I was speaking,” Sam said gently, “of the eyes of your dewy pink soul. Don’t speak to strangers while I’m gone.”

Max used an expression he had picked up from Mr. Gee; Sam grinned and left.

But Sam’s injunction did not apply to Mr. Simes. Max saw the assistant astrogator appear in the doorway. His face was redder than usual and his eyes looked vague. He let his body revolve slowly as he surveyed the room. Presently his eyes lit on Max and he grinned unpleasantly.

“Well, well, well!” he said as he advanced toward Max. “If it isn’t the Smart Boy.” “Good evening, Mr. Simes.” Max stood up.

“So it’s ‘good evening, Mr. Simes’! But what did you say under your breath?’ “Nothing, sir.”

“Humph! I know! But I think the same thing about you, only worse.” Max did not answer, Simes went on, “Well, aren’t you going to ask me to sit down?”

“Have a seat, sir,” Max said without expression.

“Well, what do you know? The Smart Boy wants me to sit with him.” He sat, called the waiter, ordered, and turned back to Max. “Smart Boy, do you know why I’m sitting with you?”

“No, sir.”

“To put a flea in your ear, that’s why. Since you pulled that hanky-panky with the computer, you’ve been Kelly’s hair-faired—fair-haired—boy. Fair-haired boy,” he repeated carefully. “That gets you nowhere with me. Get this straight: you go sucking around the Astrogator the way Kelly does and I’ll run you out of the control room. Understand me?”

Max felt himself losing his temper. “What do you mean by ‘hanky-panky,’ Mr. Simes?”

“You know. Probably memorized the last half dozen transitions—now you’ve got Kelly and the Professor thinking you’ve memorized the book. A genius in our midst! You know what that is? That’s a lot of…”

Fortunately for Max they were interrupted; he felt a firm hand on his shoulder and Sam’s quiet voice said, “Good evening, Mr. Simes.”

Simes looked confused, then recognized Sam and brightened. “Well, if it isn’t the copper. Sit down, Constable. Have a drink.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Sam pulled up another chair. “Do you know Smart Boy here?”

“I’ve seen him around.”

“Keep your eye on him. That’s an order. He’s very, very clever. Too clever. Ask him a number. Pick a number between one and ten.”

“Seven.”

Mr. Simes pounded the table. “What did I tell you? He memorized it before you got here. Someday he’s going to memorize one and they’ll stencil it across his chest. You know what, Constable? I don’t trust smart boys. They get ideas.”

Reinforced by Sam’s calming presence Max kept quiet. Giggles had come to the table as soon as Sam joined them; Max saw Sam write something on the back of a menu and pass it with money to the humanoid. But Mr. Simes was too busy with his monologue to notice. Sam let him ramble on, then suddenly interrupted. “You seem to have a friend here, sir.”

“Huh? Where?”

Sam pointed. At the bar Dolores was smiling and gesturing at the assistant navigator to join her. Simes focused his eyes, grinned and said, “Why, so I do! It’s my Great Aunt Sadie.” He got up abruptly.

Sam brushed his hands together. “That disposes of that. Give you a bad time, kid?” “Sort of. Thanks, Sam. But I hate to see him dumped on Dolores. She’s a nice kid.”

“Don’t worry about her. She’ll roll him for every thin he has on him—and a good job, too.” His eyes became hard. “I like an officer who acts like an officer. If he wants to pin one on, he should do it in his own part of town. Oh, well.” Sam relaxed. “Been some changes, eh, kid? Things are different from the way they were when we raised ship at Terra.”

“I’ll say they are!”

“Like it in the Worry gang?”

“It’s more fun than I ever had in my life. And I’m learning fast—so Mr. Kelly says. They’re a swell bunch—except for him.” He nodded toward Simes.

“Don’t let him worry you. The best soup usually has a fly in it. Just don’t let him get anything on you.” “I sure don’t intend to.”

Sam looked at him, then said softly, “Ready to take the dive?”

“Huh?”

“I’m getting our stake together. We’ll be all set.”

Max found it hard to answer. He had known that his transfer had not changed anything basic; he was still in as much danger as ever. But he had been so busy with the joy of hard, interesting work, so dead for sleep when he was not working, that the subject had been pushed back in his mind. Now he drew patterns on the table in the sweat from the glasses and thought about it. “I wish,” he said slowly, “that there was some way to beat it.”

“There is a way, I told you. Your record gets lost.”

Max raised his eyes. “What good would that do? Sure, it would get me another trip. But I don’t want just another trip; I want to stay with it.” He looked down at the table top and carefully sketched an hyperboloid. “I’d better go with you. If I go back to Terra, it’s the labor companies for me—even if I stay out of jail.”

“Nonsense.” “What?”

“Understand me, kid. I’d like to have you with me. A time like that, having a partner at your elbow is the difference between—well, being down in the dumps and being on top. But you can stay in space, with a record as clean as a baby’s.”

“Huh? How?”

“Because you are changing guilds. Now only one paper has to get lost—your strike-out record with the stewards, cooks, and clerks. And they will never miss it because you aren’t on their books, anyhow. You start fresh with the chartsmen and computers, all neat and legal.”

Max sat still and was tempted. “How about the report to the Department of Guilds and Labor?”

“Same thing. Different forms to different offices. I checked. One form gets lost, the other goes in—and Steward’s Mate Jones vanishes into limbo while Apprentice Chartsman Jones starts a clean record.”

“Sam, why don’t you do it? With the drag you’ve got now you could switch to… uh, well, to…”

“To what?” Sam shook his head sadly. “No, old son, there is nothing I can switch to. Besides, there are reasons why I had better be buried deep.” He brightened. “Tell you what—I’ll pick my new name before I take the jump and tell you. Then some day, two years, ten, twenty, you’ll lay over at Nova Terra and look me up. We’ll split a bottle and talk about when we were young and gay. Eh?”

Max smiled though he did not feel happy. “We will, Sam. We surely will.” Then he frowned. “But, Sam, I don’t know how to wangle the deal—and you’ll be gone.”

“I’ll fix it before I leave. I’ve got Nelson eating out of my hand now. Like this: half cash down and half on delivery—and I’ll fix it so that you have something on him—never mind what; you don’t need to know yet. When you ground at Earthport, he asks you to mail the reports because you are going dirtside and he has work to finish. You check to see that the two reports you want are there, then you give him his pay off. Done.”

Max said slowly, “I suppose that’s best.”

“Quit fretting. Everybody has a skeleton in the closet; the thing is to keep ’em there and not at the feast.” He pushed an empty glass aside. “Kid, would you mind if we went back to the ship? Or had you planned to make a night of it?”

“No, I don’t mind.” Max’s elation at setting foot on his first strange planet was gone—Garson’s Hole was, he had to admit, a sorry sample of the Galaxy.

“Then let’s get saddled up. I’ve got stuff to carry and I could use help.”

It turned out to be four fairly large bundles which Sam had cached in public lockers. “What are they?” Max asked curiously.

“Tea cozies, old son. Thousands of them. I’m going to sell ’em to Procyon pinheads as skull caps.” Somewhat affronted, Max shut up.

Everything coming into the ship was supposed to be inspected, but the acting master-at-arms on watch at the lock did not insist on examining the items belonging to the Chief Master-at-Arms any more than he would have searched a ship’s officer. Max helped Sam carry the bundles to the stateroom which was the prerogative of the ship’s chief of police.

“THROUGH THE CARGO HATCH”

From Garson’s Planet to Halcyon around Nu Pegasi is a double dogleg of three transitions, of 105, 487, and 19 light-years respectively to achieve a “straight line” distance of less than 250 light-years. But neither straight-line distance nor pseudo-distance of transition is important; the Asgard covered less than a

light-year between gates. A distance “as the crow flies” is significant only to crows.

The first transition was barely a month out from Carson’s Planet. On raising from there Kelly placed Max on a watch in three, assigning him to Kelly’s own watch, which gave Max much more sleep, afforded him as much instruction (since the watch with Simes was worthless, instruction-wise), and kept Max out of Simes’ way, to his enormous relief. Whether Kelly had planned that feature of it Max never knew—and did not dare ask.

Max’s watch was still an instruction watch, he had no one to relieve nor to be relieved by. It became his habit not to leave the control room until Kelly did, unless told to do so. This resulted in him still being thrown into the company of Dr. Hendrix frequently, since the Astrogator relieved the Chief Computerman and Kelly would usually hang around and chat… during which time the Astrogator would sometimes inquire into Max’s progress.

Occasionally the Captain would show up on Dr. Hendrix’s watch. Shortly after leaving Garson’s Planet Dr. Hendrix took advantage of one such occasion to have Max demonstrate for Captain Blaine and First Officer Walther his odd talent. Max performed without a mistake although the Captain’s presence made him most self-conscious. The Captain watched closely with an expression of gentle surprise. Afterwards he said, “Thank you, lad. That was amazing. Let me see—what is your name?”

“Jones, sir.”

“Jones, yes.” The old man blinked thoughtfully. “It must be terrifying not to be able to forget—especially

in the middle of the night. Keep a clear conscience, son.”

Twelve hours later Dr. Hendrix said to him, “Jones, don’t go away. I want to see you.” “Yes, sir.”

The Astrogator spoke with Kelly for a few moments, then again spoke to Max. “The Captain was impressed by your vaudeville act, Jones. He is wondering whether you have any parallel mathematical ability.”

“Well—no, sir. I’m not a lightning calculator, that is. I saw one in a sideshow once. He could do things I couldn’t.”

Hendrix brushed it aside. “Not important. I believe you told me that your uncle taught you some mathematical theory?”

“Just for astrogation, sir.”

“What do you think I am talking about? Do you know how to compute a transition approach?” “Uh, I think so, sir.”

“Frankly, I doubt it, no matter how much theoretical drill Brother Jones gave you. But go ahead.” “Now, sir?”

“Try it. Pretend you’re the officer of the watch. Kelly will be your assistant. I’ll just be audience. Work the approach we are on. I realize that we aren’t close enough for it to matter—but you are to assume that the safety of the ship depends on it.”

Max took a deep breath. “Aye aye, sir.” He started to get out fresh plates for the cameras. Hendrix said, “No!”

“Sir?”

“If you have the watch, where’s your crew? Noguchi, help him.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Noguchi grinned and came over. While they were bending over the first camera, Noguchi whispered, “Don’t let him rattle you, pal. We’ll give him a good show. Kelly will help you over the humps.”

But Kelly did not help; he acted as “numbers boy” and nothing else, with no hint to show whether Max was right, or wildly wrong. After Max had his sights and had taken his comparison data between plates and charts he did not put the problem through the computer himself, but let Noguchi man the machine, with Kelly translating. After a long time and much sweat the lights blinked what he hoped was the answer.

Dr. Hendrix said nothing but took the same plates to the tank and started to work the problem again, with the same crew. Very quickly the lights blinked on again; the Astrogator took the tables from Kelly and looked up the translation himself. “We differ only in the ninth decimal place. Not bad.”

“I was wrong only in the ninth place, sir?”

“I didn’t say that. Perhaps I was more in error.”

Max started to grin, but Dr. Hendrix frowned. “Why didn’t you take doppler spectra to check?” Max felt a cold chill. “I guess I forgot, sir.”

“I thought you were the man who never forgot?”

Max thought intuitively—and correctly—that two kinds of memory were involved, but he did not have a psychologist’s jargon with which to explain. One sort was like forgetting one’s hat in a restaurant, that could happen to anyone; the other was being unable to recall what the mind had once known.

Hendrix went on, “A control room man must not forget things necessary to the safety of the ship. However as an exercise you solved it very well—except that you have no speed. Had we been pushing close to the speed of light, ready to cross, your ship would have been in Hades and crashed in the River Styx before you got the answer. But it was a good first try.”

He turned away. Kelly jerked his head toward the hatch and Max went below.

As he was falling asleep Max turned over in his mind the notion that Dr. Hendrix might even be thinking of him for—Oh no! He put the thought aside. After all, Kelly could have done it; he had seen him do early approaches many times, and faster, too. Probably Noguchi could have done it.

Certainly Noguchi could have done it, he corrected. After all, there weren’t any “secrets.”

As they approached the first anomaly the easy watch in three for officers and watch in four for the men changed to watch-and-watch, with an astrogator, an assistant, a chartsman, and a computerman on each watch. Max was at last assigned to a regular watch; the first watch was Dr. Hendrix assisted by Chartsman 1/c Kovak, Max as chartsman of the watch and Noguchi on the computer; the other watch was Mr. Simes assisted by Chief Kelly, Smythe as chartsman and Lundy as computerman. Max noticed that Dr. Hendrix had assigned his “first team” to Simes and had taken the less experienced technicians himself. He wondered why, but was pleased not to be working for Simes.

He learned at last why they called it the “Worry Hole.” Dr. Hendrix became a frozen-masked automaton, performing approach correction after correction and demanding quick, accurate, and silent service.

During the last twenty hours of the approach the Astrogator never left the control room, nor did anyone else other than for short periods when nominally off watch. Simes continued to take his regular watch but Dr. Hendrix hung over him, checking everything that he did. Twice he required the junior astrogator to reperform portions of his work and once elbowed him aside and did it himself. The first time it happened Max stared—then he noticed that the others were careful to be busy doing something else whenever Dr. Hendrix spoke privately to Simes.

The tension grew as the critical instant approached. The approach to an anomalous intraspatial transition can hardly be compared to any other form of piloting ever performed by human beings, though it might be compared to the impossible trick of taking off in an atmosphere plane, flying a thousand miles blind—while performing dead reckoning so perfectly as to fly through a narrow tunnel at the far end, without ever seeing the tunnel. A Horst congruency cannot be seen, it can only be calculated by abstruse mathematics of effects of mass on space; a “gateway” is merely unmarked empty space in vaster emptiness. In approaching a planet an astrogator can see his destination, directly or by radar, and his speed is just a few miles per second. But in making a Horstian approach the ship’s speed approaches that of light—and reaches it, at the last instant. The nearest landmarks are many billions of miles away, the landmarks themselves are moving with stellar velocities and appear to be crowding together in the

exaggerated parallax effects possible only when the observer is moving almost as fast as is his single clue to location and speed—the wave fronts of the electromagnetic spectrum.

Like searching at midnight in a dark cellar for a black cat that isn’t there.

Toward the last Kelly himself was on the computer with Lundy at his ear. Smythe and Kovak were charting, passing new data to Dr. Hendrix, who was programming orally to the computer crew, setting up the problems in his head and feeding them to the electronic brain almost without delay. The power room was under his direct control now; he had a switch led out from the control console in each hand, one to nurse the ship along just below speed of light, the other to give the Asgard the final kick that would cause her to burst through.

Max was pushed aside, no task remained in which there was not someone more experienced. On a different level, Simes too had been pushed aside; there was place for only one astrogator at the moment of truth.

Of all those in the Worry Hole only Captain Blaine seemed to be relaxed. He sat in the chair sacred to him, smoking quietly and watching Hendrix. The Astrogator’s face was gray with fatigue, greasy with unwashed sweat. His uniform was open at the collar and looked slept in, though he certainly had not slept. Max looked at him and wondered why he had ever longed to be an astrogator, ever been foolish enough to wish to bear this undivided and unendurable burden.

But the doctor’s crisp voice showed no fatigue; the endless procession of numbers marched out, sharp as print, each spoken so that there could be no mistake, no need to repeat, “nine” always sounded as one syllable, “five” always stretched into two. Max listened and learned and wondered.

He glanced up through the dome, out into space itself, space shown distorted by their unthinkable speed. The stars ahead, or above, had been moving closer together for the past several watches, the huge parallax effect displacing them to the eye so that they seemed to be retreating in the very sector of the sky they were approaching. They were seeing by infra-red waves now, ploughing into oncoming wave trains so fast that doppler effect reduced heat wave lengths to visible light.

The flood of figures stopped. Max looked down, then looked up hastily as he heard Dr. Hendrix say, “Stand by!”

The stars seemed to crawl together, then instantly they were gone to be replaced without any lapse of time whatever by another, new and totally different starry universe.

Hendrix straightened up and sighed, then looked up. “There’s the Albert Memorial,” he said quietly. “And there is the Hexagon. Well, Captain, it seems we made it again.” He turned to Simes. “Take it, Mister.” He let the Captain go first, then followed him down the hatch.

The control gang went back to easy watches; the next transition was many days away. Max continued as chartsman-of -the-watch in place of Kovak, who temporarily replaced Dr. Hendrix while the Astrogator got a week of rest: There was truly not much to do during the early part of a leg and the doctor’s superb skill was not needed. But Max greatly enjoyed the new arrangements; it made him proud to sign the rough log “M. Jones, Chtsmn o/W.” He felt that he had arrived—even though Simes found fault with him and Kelly continued to drill him unmercifully in control room arts.

He was surprised but not apprehensive when he was told, during an off-watch period, to report to the Astrogator. He put on a fresh uniform, slicked his hair clown, and went above “C” deck. “Apprentice Chartsman Jones reporting, sir.”

Kelly was there, having coffee with the Astrogator. Hendrix acknowledged Max’s salutation but left him standing. “Yes, Jones.” He turned to Kelly. “Suppose you break the news.”

“If you say so, sir.” Kelly looked uncomfortable. “Well, Jones, it’s like this—you don’t really belong in my guild.”

Max was so shocked that he could not answer. He was about to say that he had thought—he had understood—he hadn’t known—But he got nothing out; Kelly continued, “The fact is, you ought to buck for astrogator. The Doctor and I have been talking it over.”

The buzzing in his head got worse. He became aware that Dr. Hendrix was repeating, “Well, Jones? Do you want to try it? Or don’t you?”

Max managed to say, “Yes. Yes, sir.”

“Good. Kelly and I have been watching you. He is of the opinion and so am I that you may, just possibly, have the latent ability to develop the skill and speed necessary. The question is: do you think so?”

“Uh… that is—I hope so, sir!”

“So do I,” Hendrix answered dryly. ‘We shall see. If you haven’t, you can revert to your own guild and no harm is done. The experience will make you a better chartsman.” The Astrogator turned to Kelly. “I’ll quiz Jones a bit, Kelly. Then we can make up our minds.”

“Very good, sir.” Kelly stood up.

When the Chief Computerman had gone Hendrix turned to his desk, hauled out a crewman’s personal record. To Max he said harshly, “Is this yours?”

Max looked at it and gulped. “Yes, sir.”

Dr. Hendrix held his eye. “Well? How good a picture is it of your career thus far? Any comment you want to make?”

The pause might have been a dozen heart beats, though to Max it was an endless ordeal. Then a catharsis came bursting up out of him and he heard himself answering, “It’s not a good picture at all, sir. It’s phony from one end to the other.”

Even as he said it, he wondered why. He felt that he had kicked to pieces his one chance to achieve his ambition. Yet, instead of feeling tragic, he felt oddly relaxed.

Hendrix put the personal record back on his desk. “Good,” he answered. “Very good. If you had given any other answer, I would have run you out of my control room. Now, do you want to tell me about it? Sit down.”

So Max sat down and told him. All that he held back was Sam’s name and such details as would have identified Sam. Naturally Dr Hendrix noticed the omission and asked him point blank.

“I won’t tell you, sir.”

Hendrix nodded. “Very well. Let me add that I shall make no attempt to identify this, ah, friend of yours—if by chance he is in this ship.”

“Thank you, sir.”

There followed a considerable silence. At last Hendrix said, “Son, what led you to attempt this preposterous chicanery? Didn’t you realize you would be caught?”

Max thought about it. “I guess I knew I would be, sir—eventually. But I wanted to space and there wasn’t any other way to do it.” When Hendrix did not answer Max went on. After the first relief of being able to tell the truth, he felt defensive, anxious to justify himself—and just a little bit irked that Dr. Hendrix did not see that he had simply done what he had to do—so it seemed to Max. “What would you have done, sir?”

“Me? How can I answer that? What you’re really asking is: do I consider your actions morally wrong, as well as illegal?”

“Uh, I suppose so, sir.”

“Is it wrong to lie and fake and bribe to get what you want? It’s worse than wrong, it’s undignified!”

Dr. Hendrix chewed his lip and continued. “Perhaps that opinion is the sin of the Pharisees… my own weakness. I don’t suppose that a young, penniless tramp, such as you described yourself to be, can afford the luxury of dignity. As for the rest, human personality is a complex thing, nor am I a judge.

Admiral Lord Nelson was a liar, a libertine, and outstandingly undisciplined. President Abraham Lincoln was a vulgarian and nervously unstable. The list is endless. No, Jones, I am not going to pass judgment; you must do that yourself. The authorities having jurisdiction will reckon your offenses; I am concerned only with whether or not you have the qualities I need.”

Max’s emotions received another shock. He had already resigned himself to the idea that he had lost his chance. “Sir?”

“Don’t misunderstand me.” Hendrix tapped the forged record. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. But perhaps you can live down your mistake. In the meantime, I badly need another watch officer; if you measure up, I can use you. Part of it is personal, too; your uncle taught me, I shall try to teach you.”

“Uh, I’ll try, sir. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m not even feeling particularly friendly to you, at the moment. Don’t talk with anyone. I’ll ask the Captain to call a guild meeting and he and Mr. Simes and I will vote on you. We’ll make you a probationary apprentice which will permit the Captain to appoint you to the temporary rank of merchant cadet. The legalities are a bit different from those of the usual route as you no doubt know.”

Max did not know, though he was aware that officers sometimes came up “through the cargo hatch”—but another point hit him. “Mr. Simes, sir?”

“Certainly. By this procedure, all the astrogators you serve with must pass on you.” “Uh, does it have to unanimous, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Then—Well, sir, you might as well forget it. I mean, I appreciate your willingness to, uh, but… ” His voice trailed off.

Dr. Hendrix smiled mirthlessly. “Hadn’t you better let me worry about that?” “Oh. Sorry, sir.”

“When it has been logged, I’ll notify you. Or ‘when and if,’ if you prefer.”

“Yes, sir.” Max stood up. “Sir? There were, uh, a couple of other things I wondered about.” Hendrix had turned back to his desk. He answered, “Well?” somewhat impatiently.

“Would you mind telling me—just for my curiosity—how you caught me?”

“Oh, that. No doubt you’ve given yourself away to several people. I’m sure Kelly knows, from the subjects he avoided. For example, I once heard Lundy mention to you Kiefer’s Ritz on Luna. Your answer, though noncommittal, implied that you did not really know what dive he was talking about—and it is impossible for a spaceman not to know that place, its entrance faces the east lock to the space port.”

“Oh.”

“But the matter came to the top of my mind in connection with this.” He again indicated the false record. “Jones, I deal in figures and my mind can no more help manipulating them for all the information they contain than I can help breathing. This record says that you went to space a year before your uncle retired—I remember what year that was. But you told me that your uncle had trained you at home and your performance bore out that statement. Two sets of alleged facts were contradictory; need I add that I was fairly sure of the truth?”

“Oh. I guess I wasn’t very smart?’

“No, you weren’t. Figures are sharp things, Jones. Don’t juggle them, you’ll get cut. What was the other matter?”

“Well, sir, I was kind of wondering what was going to happen to me. I mean about that.”

“Oh,” Hendrix answered indifferently, “that’s up to the Stewards & Clerks. My guild won’t take action concerning a disciplinary matter of another guild. Unless, of course, they call it ‘moral turpitude’ and make it stick.”

With that faint comfort Max left, Nevertheless he felt easier than he had at any time since he had signed on. The prospect of punishment seemed less a burden than constantly worrying about getting caught.

Presently he forgot it and exulted in the opportunity—at last!—to take a crack at astrogator. He wished he could tell Sam… or Ellie.

HALCYON

The probationary appointment was logged later that same day. The Captain called him in, swore him in, then congratulated him and called him “Mister” Jones. The ceremony was simple, with no spectator but Hendrix and the Captain’s secretary.

The commonplaces attendant on the change were, for a while, more startling to Max than the promotion itself. They started at once. “You had better take the rest of the day to shake down, Mr. Jones,” the Captain said, blinking vaguely. “Okay, Doc?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Good. Bennett, will you ask Dumont to step in?”

The Chief Passengers’ Steward was unblinkingly unsurprised to find the recent steward’s mate third a ship’s officer. To the Captain’s query he said, “I was planning to put Mr. Jones in stateroom B-014, sir. Is that satisfactory?”

“No doubt, no doubt.”

“I’ll have boys take care of his luggage at once.”

“Good. You trot along with Dumont, Mr. Jones. No, wait a moment. We must find you a cap.” The Captain went to his wardrobe, fumbled around. “I had one that would do here somewhere.”

Hendrix had been standing with his hands behind him. “I fetched one, Captain. Mr. Jones and I wear the same size, I believe.”

“Good. Though perhaps his head has swelled a bit in the past few minutes. Eh?”

Hendrix grinned savagely. “If it has, I’ll shrink it.” He handed the cap to Max. The wide gold strap and sunburst the Astrogator had removed; substituted was a narrow strap with tiny sunburst surrounded by the qualifying circle of the apprentice. Max thought it must be old insignia saved for sentimental reasons by Hendrix himself. He choked up as he mumbled his thanks, then followed Dumont out of the Captain’s cabin, stumbling over his feet.

When they reached the companionway Dumont stopped. “There is no need to go down to the bunkroom, sir. If you will tell me the combination of your locker, we’ll take care of everything.”

“Oh, gee, Mr. Dumont! I’ve got just a small amount of truck. I can carry it up myself.”

Dumont’s face had the impassivity of a butler’s. “If I may make a suggestion, sir, you might like to see your stateroom while I have the matter taken care of.” It was not a question; Max interpreted it correctly to mean: “Look, dummy, I know the score and you don’t. Do what I tell you before you make a terrible break!”

Max let himself be guided. It is not easy to make the jump from crewman to officer while remaining in the same ship. Dumont knew this, Max did not. Whether his interest was fatherly, or simply a liking for correct protocol—or both—Dumont did not intend to allow the brand-new junior officer to go lower than “C” deck until he had learned to carry his new dignity with grace. So Max sought out stateroom

B-014.

The bunk had a real foam mattress and a spread. There was a tiny wash basin with running water and a mirror. There was a bookshelf over the bunk and a wardrobe for his uniforms. There was even a shelf desk that let down for his convenience. There was a telephone on the wall, a buzzer whereby he could summon the steward’s mate on watch! There was a movable chair all his own, a wastebasket, and—yes!—a little rug on the deck. And best of all, there was a door with a lock.

The fact that the entire room was about as large as a piano box bothered him not at all.

He was opening drawers and poking into things when Dumont returned. Dumont was not carrying Max’s meager possessions himself; that task was delegated to one of his upper-decks staff. The steward’s mate followed Dumont in and said, “Where shall I put this, sir?”

Max realized with sudden embarrassment that the man waiting on him had eaten opposite him for past months. “Oh! Hello, Jim. Just dump it on the bunk. Thanks a lot.”

“Yes, sir. And congratulations!”

“Uh, thanks!” They shook hands. Dumont let that proper ceremony persist for a minimum time, then said, “That’s all now, Gregory. You can go back to the pantry.” He turned to Max. “Anything else, sir?”

“Oh, no, everything is fine.”

“May I suggest that you probably won’t want to sew insignia on these uniforms yourself? Unless you are better with a needle than I am,” Dumont added with just the right chuckle.

“Well, I guess I could.”

“Mrs. Dumont is handy with a needle, taking care of the lady passengers as she does. Suppose I take this one? It can be ready and pressed in time for dinner.”

Max was happy to let him. He was suddenly appalled by a terrifying notion—he was going to have to eat in the Bifrost Lounge!

But there were further disturbances before dinner. He was completing the small task of stowing his possessions when there came a knock on the door, followed immediately by someone coming in. Max found himself nose to nose with Mr. Simes.

Simes looked at the cap on his head and laughed. “Take that thing off before you wear out your ears.” Max did not do so. He said, “You wanted me, sir?”

“Yes. Just long enough, Smart Boy, to give you a word of advice.” “Yes?”

Simes tapped himself on the chest. “Just this. There is only one assistant astrogator in this ship—and I’m it. Remember that. I’ll still be it long after you’ve been busted back to sweeping up after cows. Which is where you belong.”

Max felt a flush crawl up his neck and burn his cheeks. “Why,” he asked, “if you think that, didn’t you veto my appointment?”

Simes laughed again. “Do I look like a fool? The Captain says yes, the Astrogator says yes—should I stick my neck out? It’s easier to wait and let you stick your neck out—which you will. I just wanted to let you know that a dinky piece of gold braid doesn’t mean a thing. You’re still junior to me by plenty. Don’t forget it.”

Max clenched his jaw and did not answer. Simes went on, “Well?” “‘Well’ what?”

“I just gave you an order.”

“Oh. Aye aye, Mr. Simes. I won’t forget it. I certainly won’t.”

Simes looked at him sharply, said, “See that you don’t,” and left. Max was still facing his door, clenching his fists, when Gregory tapped on the door. “Dinner, sir. Five minutes.”

Max delayed as long as he could, wishing mightily that he could slide down to Easy deck and take his usual place in the warm, noisy, relaxed comfort of the crew’s mess. He hesitated in the lounge doorway, paralyzed with stage fright. The beautiful room was blazing with light and looked unfamiliar; he had never been in it save in early morning, to change the sandbox located down the pantry passage—at which times only standing lights were burning.

He was barely in time; some of the ladies were seated but the Captain was still standing. Max realized that he should be near his chair, ready to sit down when the Captain did—or as soon as the ladies were seated, he amended—but where should he go? He was still jittering when he heard his name shouted. “Max!”

Ellie came running up and threw her arms around his neck. “Max! I just heard. I think it’s wonderful!”

She looked at him, her eyes shining, then kissed him on both cheeks.

Max blushed to his ears. He felt as if every eye was turned on him—and he was right. To add to his embarrassment Ellie was dressed in formal evening dress of Hesperan high style, which not only made her look older and much more female, but also shocked his puritanical hillbilly standards.

She let go of him, which was well but left him in danger of collapsing at the knees. She started to babble something, Max did not know what, when Chief Steward Dumont appeared at her elbow. “The Captain is waiting, Miss,” he said firmly.

“Bother to the Captain! Oh, well—see you after dinner, Max.” She headed for the Captain’s table. Dumont touched Max’s sleeve and munnured, “This way, sir.”

His place was at the foot of the Chief Engineer’s table. Max knew Mr. Compagnon by sight but had never spoken to him. The Chief glanced up and said, “Evening, Mr. Jones. Glad to have you with us. Ladies and gentlemen, our new astrogation officer, Mr. Jones. On your right, Mr. Jones, is Mrs. Daigler. Mr. Daigler on her right, then—” and so on, around the table: Dr. and Mrs. Weberbauer and their daughter Rebecca, Mr. and Mrs. Scott, a Mr. Arthur, Senhor and Senhora Vargas.

Mrs. Daigler thought it was lovely, his being promoted. And so nice to have more young people at the table. She was much older than Max but young enough to be handsome and aware of it. She wore more jewels than Max had ever seen and her hair was lacquered into a structure a foot high and studded with pearls. She was as perfectly finished and as expensive as a precision machine and she made Max uncomfortable.

But he was not yet as uncomfortable as he could be. Mrs. Daigler produced a wisp of a handkerchief from her bosom, moistened it and said, “Hold still, Mr. Jones.” She scrubbed his cheek. “Turn your head.” Blushing, Max complied.

“There, that’s better,” Mrs. Daigler announced. “Mama fixed.” She turned away and said, “Don’t you think, Mr. Compagnon, that science, with all the wonderful things they do these days, could discover a lip paint that wouldn’t come off?”

“Stop it, Maggie,” her husband interrupted. “Pay no attention, Mr. Jones. She’s got a streak of sadism as wide as she is.”

“George, you’ll pay for that. Well, Chief?”

The Chief Engineer patted his lips with snowy linen. “I think it must already have been invented, but there

was no market. Women like to brand men, even temporarily.” “Oh, bosh!”

“It’s a woman’s world, ma’am.”

She turned to Max. “Eldreth is a dear, isn’t she? I suppose you knew her ‘dirtside’?—as Mr. Compagnon calls it.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then how? I mean, after all, there isn’t much opportunity. Or is there?” “Maggie, stop pestering him. Let the man eat his dinner.”

Mrs. Weberbauer on his other side was as easy and motherly as Mrs. Daigler was difficult. Under her soothing presence Max managed to start eating. Then he noticed that the way he grasped a fork was not the way the others did, tried to change, made a mess of it, became aware of his untidy nails, and wanted to crawl under the table. He ate about three hundred calories, mostly bread and butter.

At the end of the meal Mrs. Daigler again gave her attention to him, though she addressed the Chief Engineer. “Mr. Compagnon, isn’t it customary to toast a promotion?”

“Yes,” the Chief conceded. “But he must pay for it. That’s a requirement.”

Max found himself signing a chit presented by Dumont. The price made him blink—his first trip might be a professional success, but so far it had been financial disaster. Champagne, iced in a shiny bucket, accompanied the chit and Dumont cut the wires and drew the cork with a flourish.

The Chief Engineer stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen—I give you Astrogator Jones. May he never misplace a decimal point!”

“Cheers!”—”Bravo!”—”Speech, speech!”

Max stumbled to his feet and muttered, “Thank you.”

His first watch was at eight o’clock the next morning. He ate breakfast alone and reflected happily that as a watch stander he would usually eat either before or after the passengers. He was in the control room a good twenty minutes early.

Kelly glanced up and said, “Good morning, sir.”

Max gulped. “Er—good morning, Chief!” He caught Smythe grinning behind the computer, turned his eyes hastily away.

“Fresh coffee, Mr. Jones. Will you have a cup?” Max let Kelly pour for him; while they drank Kelly quietly went over the details—acceleration schedule, position and vector, power units in use, sights taken, no special orders, etc. Noguchi relieved Smythe, and shortly before the hour Dr. Hendrix appeared.

“Good morning, sir.” “Good morning, Doctor.”

“Morning.” Hendrix accepted coffee, turned to Max. “Have you relieved the officer of the watch?” “Uh, why no, sir.”

“Then do so. It lacks less than a minute of eight.”

Max turned to Kelly and shakily saluted. “I relieve you, sir.”

“Very well, sir.” Kelly went below at once. Dr. Hendrix sat down, took out a book and started to read. Max realized with a chilly feeling that he had been pushed in, to swim or not. He took a deep breath and went over to Noguchi. “Noggy, let’s get the plates ready for the middle o’ watch sights.”

Noguchi glanced at the chronometer. “As you say, sir.” “Well… I guess it is early. Let’s take a few dopplers.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Noguchi climbed out of the saddle where he had been loafing. Max said in a low voice, “Look, Noggy, you don’t have to say’sir’ to me.”

Noguchi answered just as quietly. “Kelly wouldn’t like it if I didn’t. Better let it ride.” “Oh.” Max frowned. “Noggy? How does the rest of the Worry gang feel about it?”

Noguchi did not pretend not to understand. He answered, “Shucks, they’re all rooting for you, if you can swing it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Certain. Just as long as you don’t try to make a big hairy thing out of yourself like—well, like some I could mention.” The computerman added, “Maybe Kovak isn’t exactly cheering. He’s been having a watch of his own, you know—for the first time.”

“He’s sore?”

“Not exactly. He couldn’t expect to keep it long anyhow, not with a transition coming up. He won’t go out of his way to give you trouble, he’ll be fair.”

Max made a mental note to see what he could do to swing Kovak over to his side. The two manned the dopplerscope, took readings on stars forward of vector, checked what they found by spectrostellograph, and compared both with standard plates from the chart safe. At first Max had to remember that he was in charge; then he got so interested in fussy details of measurements that he was no longer self-conscious. At last Noguchi touched his sleeve. “Pushing ten o’clock, sir. I’d better get set up.”

“Huh? Sure, go ahead.” He reminded himself not to help Noggy; the chartsman has his prerogatives, too. But he checked the set up just as Hendrix always did, as Simes rarely did, and as Kelly sometimes did, depending on who had made it.

After they had gotten the new data Max programmed the problem on paper (there being plenty of time), then called it off to Noguchi at the computer. He thumbed the book himself, there being no “numbers boy” available. The figures were as clear in his recollection as ever, but he obeyed Hendrix’s injunction not to depend on memory.

The result worried him. They were not “in the groove.” Not that the Asgard was far out, but the discrepancy was measurable. He checked what he had done, then had Noguchi run the problem again,

using a different programming method. The result came out the same.

Sighing, he computed the correction and started to take it to Hendrix for approval. But the Astrogator still paid no attention; he sat at the console, reading a novel from the ship’s library.

Max made up his mind. He went to the console and said, “Excuse me, sir. I need to get there for a moment.” Hendrix got up without answering and found another seat. Max sat down and called the power room. “Control officer speaking. I intend to increase boost at eleven o’clock. Stand by for time check.”

Hendrix must have heard him, he thought, but the Astrogator gave no sign. Max fed in the correction, set the control chronometer to execute his wishes at eleven plus-or-minus nothing.

Shortly before noon Simes showed up. Max had already written his own log, based on Noguchi’s log, and had signed it “M. Jones.” He had hesitated, then added “C. O. o/W.” Simes went to Dr. Hendrix, saluted, and said, “Ready to relieve you, sir.”

Hendrix spoke his first word since eight o’clock. “He’s got it.”

Simes looked non-plussed, then went to Max. “Ready to relieve you.” Max recited off the situation data while Simes read the log and the order book. Simes interrupted him while he was still listing minor ship’s data. “Okay, I relieve you. Get out of my control room, Mister.” Max got out. Dr. Hendrix had already gone down.

Noguchi had loitered at the foot of the ladder. He caught Max’s eye, made a circle with thumb and finger and nodded. Max grinned at him, started to ask a question; he wanted to know if that discrepancy was a booby trap, intentionally left in by Kelly. Then he decided that it would not be fitting; he’d ask Kelly himself, or figure it from the records. “Thanks, Noggy.”

That watch turned out to be typical only in the one respect that Dr. Hendrix continued to require Max to be officer of the watch himself. He did not again keep quiet but rode Max steadily, drilling him hour after hour, requiring him to take sights and set up problems continuously, as if the Asgard were actually close to transition. He did not permit Max to program on paper but forced him to pretend that time was too short and that data must immediately go into the computer, be acted on at once. Max sweated, with remote controls in each fist and with Hendrix himself acting as “numbers boy.” The Astrogator kept pushing him for speed, speed, and more speed—never at the sacrifice of accuracy, for any error was unforgivable. But the goal was always greater speed.

Once Max objected. “Sir, if you would let me put it right into the machine, I could cut it down a lot.”

Hendrix snapped, “When you have your own control room, you can do that, if you think it wise. Now you’ll do it my way.”

Occasionally Kelly would take over as his supervisor. The Chief Computerman was formal, using such phrases as, “May I suggest, sir—” or “I think I’d do it this way, sir.” But once he broke out with, “Confound it, Max! Don’t ever pull a dumb stunt like that!”

Then he started to amend his remarks. Max grinned. “Please, Chief. For a moment you made me feel at home. Thanks.”

Kelly looked sheepish. “I’m tired, I guess. I could do with a smoke and some java.”

While they were resting Max noted that Lundy was out of earshot and said, “Chief? You know more than I’ll ever learn. Why didn’t you buck for astrogator? Didn’t you ever get a chance?”

Kelly suddenly looked bleak. “I once did,” he said stiffly. “Now I know my limitations.” Max shut up, much embarrassed. Thereafter Kelly reverted to calling him Max whenever they were alone.

Max did not see Sam for more than a week after he moved up to Baker deck. Even then the encounter was chance; he ran across him outside the Purser’s office. “Sam!”

“Good morning, sir!” Sam drew up in a smart salute with a broad grin on his face. “Huh? ‘Good morning, sir’ my foot! How’s it going, Sam?”

“Aren’t you going to return my salute? In my official capacity I can report you, you know. The Captain is very, very fussy about ship’s etiquette.”

Max made a rude noise. “You can hold that salute until you freeze, you clown.”

Sam relaxed. “Kid, I’ve been meaning to get up and congratulate you—but every time I find you’re on watch. You must live in the Worry Hole.”

“Pretty near. Look, I’ll be off this evening until midnight. What do you say I stop down to see you?” Sam shook his head. “I’ll be busy.”

“Busy how? You expecting a jail break? Or a riot, maybe?”

Sam answered soberly, “Kid, don’t get me wrong—but you stick to your end of the ship and I’ll stick to mine. No, no, keep quiet and listen. I’m as proud as if I had invented you. But you can’t fraternize in crew’s quarters, not even with the Chief Master-at-Arms. Not yet.”

“Who’ll know? Who’s to care?”

“You know blamed well that Giordano would love to tell Kuiper that you didn’t know how to behave like an officer—and Old Lady Kuiper would pass it along to the Purser. Take my advice. Have I ever thrown you a curve?”

Max dropped the matter, though he badly wanted a chin with Sam. He needed to tell him that his faked record had been breached and to consult with him as to probable consequences.

Of course, he considered as he returned to his stateroom, there wasn’t a thing to keep him from carrying out his orginal intention of jumping ship with Sam at Nova Terra—except that it was now no longer possible to imagine it. He was an officer.

They were approaching the middle transition; the control room went on watch-and-watch. But still Dr. Hendrix did not take the watch; Simes and Jones alternated. The Astrogator stood every watch with Max but required him to do the work and carry the responsibility himself. Max sweated it out and learned that practice problems and study of theory were nothing like having it matter when he had no way and no time to check. You had to be right, every time—and there was always doubt.

When, during the last twenty-four hours, the Worry gang went on continuous watch, Max thought that Dr. Hendrix would push him aside. But he did not. Simes was pushed aside, yes, but Max took the worry seat, with Hendrix bending over him and watching everything he did, but not interfering. “Great

heavens!” Max thought. “Surely he isn’t going to let me make this transition? I’m not ready for it, not yet. I’ll never keep up.”

But data was coming too fast for further worry; he had to keep processing it, see the answers, and make decisions. It was not until twenty minutes before transition that Hendrix pushed him aside without a word and took over. Max was still recovering when they burst through into a new sky.

The last approach-and-transition before Halcyon was much like the second. There were a couple of weeks of easy watches, headed by Simes, Jones, and Kovak, with both Kelly and Hendrix getting a little rest. Max liked it, both on and off watch. On watch he continued to practice, trying to achieve the inhuman speed of Dr. Hendrix. Off watch he slept and enjoyed himself. The Bifrost Lounge no longer terrified him. He now played three-dee with Ellie there, with Chipsie on his shoulder, giving advice. Ellie had long since waved her eyes at Captain Blaine and convinced him that a pet so well behaved, so well house-broken, and in particular so well mannered (she had trained the spider puppy to say, “Good morning, Captain,” whenever it saw Blaine)—in all respects so civilized should not be forced to live in a cage.

Max had even learned to swap feeble repartee with Mrs. Daigler, thinking up remarks and waiting for a chance. Ellie was threatening to teach him to dance, although he managed to stall her until resumption of watch-and-watch before transition made it impossible.

Again he found himself shoved into the worry seat for the last part of the approach. This time Dr. Hendrix did not displace him until less than ten minutes before burst through.

On the easy drop down to Halcyon Ellie’s determination won out. Max learned to dance. He found that he liked it. He had good rhythm, did not forget her instructions, and Ellie was a fragrant, pleasant armful. “I’ve done all I can,” she announced at last. “You’re the best dancer with two left feet I’ve ever met.” She required him to dance with Rebecca Weberbauer and with Mrs. Daigler. Mrs. Daigler wasn’t so bad after all, as long as she kept her mouth shut—and Rebecca was cute. He began to look forward to the fleshpots of Halcyon, that being Ellie’s stated reason for instructing him; he was to be conscripted as her escort.

Only one thing marred the final leg; Sam was in trouble. Max did not find out about it until after the trouble broke. He got up early to go on watch and found Sam cleaning decks in the silent passages of passenger quarters. He was in dungarees and wearing no shield. “Sam!”

Sam looked up. “Oh. Hi, kid. Keep your voice down, you’ll wake people.” “But Sam, what in Ned are you doing?”

“Me? I seem to be manicuring this deck.” “But why?”

Sam leaned on his broom. “Well, kid, it’s like this. The Captain and I had a difference of opinion. He won.”

“You’ve been busted?”

“Your intuition is dazzling.” “What happened?”

“Max, the less you know about it the better. Don’t fret. Sic transit gloria mundi—Tuesday is usually worse.”

“But—See here, I’ve got to grab chow and go on watch. I’ll look you up later.” “Don’t.”

Max got the story from Noguchi. Sam, it appeared, had set up a casino in an empty storeroom. He might have gotten away with it indefinitely had it remained a cards-and-dice set up, with a rake off for the house—the “house” being the Chief Master-at-Arms. But Sam had added a roulette wheel and that had been his downfall; Giordano had come to suspect that the wheel had less of the element of chance than was customary in better-run gambling halls—and had voiced his suspicion to Chief Clerk Kuiper. From there events took an inevitable course.

“When did he put in this wheel?”

“Right after we raised from Garson’s Planet.” Max thought uncomfortably of the “tea cozies” he had helped Sam bring aboard there. Noguchi went on, “Uh, didn’t you know, sir? I thought you and him were pretty close before—you know, before you moved up decks.”

Max avoided an answer and dug into the log. He found it under the previous day, added by Bennett to Simes’ log. Sam was restricted to the ship for the rest of the trip, final disciplinary action postponed until return to Terra.

That last seemed to mean that Captain Blaine intended to give Sam a chance to show good behavior before making his recommendation to the guilds—the Captain was a sweet old guy, he certainly was. But “restricted”? Then Sam would never get his chance to run away from whatever it was he was running away from. He located Sam as soon as he was off watch, digging him out of his bunkroom and taking him out into the corridor.

Sam looked at him sourly. “I thought I told you not to look me up?”

“Never mind! Sam, I’m worried about you. This’restricted’ angle… it means you won’t have a chance to—”

“Shut up!” It was a whisper but Max shut up. “Now look here,” Sam went on, “Forget it. I got my stake and that’s the important point.”

“But…”

“Do you think they can seal this ship tight enough to keep me in when I decide to leave? Now stay away from me. You’re teacher’s pet and I want to keep it that way. I don’t want you lectured about bad companions, meaning me.”

“But I want to help, Sam. I…”

“Will you kindly get up above ‘C’ deck where you belong?”

He did not see Sam again that leg; presently he stopped worrying about it. Hendrix required him to compute the planetary approach—child’s play compared with a transition—then placed Max at the conn

when they grounded. This was a titulary responsibility since it was precomputed and done on radar-automatic. Max sat with the controls under his hands, ready to override the autopilot—and

Hendrix stood behind him, ready to override him—but there was no need; the Asgard came down by the plotted curve as easy as descending stairs. The thrust beams bit in and Max reported, “Grounded, sir, on schedule.”

“Secure.”

Max spoke into the ship’s announcers. “Secure power room. Secure all space details. Dirtside routine, second section.”

Of the four days they were there he spent the first three nominally supervising, and actually learning from, Kovak in the routine ninety-day inspection and overhaul of control room instruments. Ellie was vexed with him, as she had had different plans. But on the last day he hit dirt with her, chaperoned by Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza.

It was a wonderful holiday. Compared with Terra, Halcyon is a bleak place and Bonaparte is not much of a city. Nevertheless Halcyon is an earth-type planet with breathable air, and the party from the Asgard had not set foot outdoors since Earthport, months of time and unthinkable light-years behind. The season was postaphelion, midsummer, Nu Pegasi burned warm and bright in blue sky. Mr. Mendoza hired a carriage and they drove out into green, rolling countryside behind four snuffling little Halcyon ponies.

There they visited a native pueblo, a great beehive structure of mud, conoid on conoid, and bought souvenirs—two of which turned out to have “Made in Japan” stamped inconspicuously on them.

Their driver, Herr Eisenberg, interpreted for them. The native who sold the souvenirs kept swiveling his eyes, one after another, at Mrs. Mendoza. He twittered some remarks to the driver, who guffawed. “What does he say?” she asked.

“He was complimenting you.” “So? But how?”

“Well… he says you are for a slow fire and no need for seasoning; you’d cook up nicely. And he’d do it, too,” the colonist added, “if you stayed here after dark.”

Mrs. Mendoza gave a little scream. “You didn’t tell us they were cannibals. Josie, take me back!”

Herr Eisenberg looked horrified. “Cannibals? Oh, no, lady! They don’t eat each other, they just eat us—when they can get us, that is. But there hasn’t been an incident in twenty years.”

“But that’s worse!”

“No, it isn’t, lady. Look at it from their viewpoint. They’re civilized. This old fellow would never break one of their laws. But to them we are just so much prime beef, unfortunately hard to catch.”

“Take us back at once! Why, there are hundreds of them, and only five of us.”

“Thousands, lady. But you are safe as long as Gneeri is shining.” He gestured at Nu Pegasi. “It’s bad juju to kill meat during daylight. The spirit stays around to haunt.”

Despite his reassurances the party started back. Max noticed that Eldreth had been unfrightened. He himself had wondered what had kept the natives from tying them up until dark.

They dined at the Josephine, Bonaparte’s best (and only) hotel. But there was a real three-piece

orchestra, a dance floor, and food that was at least a welcome change from the menus of the Bifrost Lounge. Many ship’s passengers and several officers were there; it made a jolly party. Ellie made Max dance between each course. He even got up his nerve to ask Mrs. Daigler for a dance, once she came over and suggested it.

During the intermission Eldreth steered him out on the adjacent balcony. There she looked up at him. “You leave that Daigler hussy alone, hear me?”

“Huh? I didn’t do anything.”

She suddenly smiled warmly. “Of course not, you big sweet ninny. But Ellie has to take care of you.” She turned and leaned on the rail. Halcyon’s early night had fallen, her three moons were chasing each other. The sky blazed with more stars than can be seen in Terra’s lonely neighborhood. Max pointed out the strange constellations and showed her the departure direction they would take tomorrow to reach transition for Nova Terra. He had learned four new skies so far, knew them as well as he knew the one that hung over the Ozarks—and he would learn many more. He was already studying, from the charts, other skies they would be in this trip.

“Oh, Max, isn’t it lovely!”

“Sure is. Say, there’s a meteor. They’re scarce here, mighty scarce.” “Make a wish! Make a wish quick!”

“Okay.” He wished that he would get off easy when it came to the showdown. Then he decided that wasn’t right; he ought to wish old Sam out of his jam—not that he believed in it, either way.

She turned and faced him. “What did you wish?”

“Huh?” He was suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, mustn’t tell, that spoils it.” “All right. But I’ll bet you get your wish,” she added softly.

He thought for a moment that he could have kissed her, right then, if he had played his cards right. But the moment passed and they went inside. The feeling stayed with him on the ride back, made him elated. It was a good old world, even if there were some tough spots. Here he was, practically a junior astrogator on his first trip—and it hadn’t been more than weeks since he was borrowing McAllister’s mules to work the crop and going barefooted a lot to save shoes.

And yet here he was in uniform, riding beside the best-dressed girl in four planets.

He fingered the insignia on his chest. Marrying Ellie wasn’t such an impossible idea now that he was an officer—if he ever decided to marry. Maybe her old man wouldn’t consider an officer—and an astrogator at that—completely ineligible. Ellie wasn’t bad; she had spunk and she played a fair game of three-dee—most girls wouldn’t even be able to learn the rules.

He was still in a warm glow when they reached the ship and were hoisted in. Kelly met him at the lock. “Mr. Jones—the Captain wants to see you.”

“Huh? Oh. G’night, Ellie—I’ll have to run.” He hurried after Kelly. “What’s up?” “Dr. Hendrix is dead.”

TRANSITION

Max questioned Kelly as they hurried up to the Captain’s cabin.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know, Max.” Kelly seemed close to tears. “I saw him before dinner—he came into the Hole to check what you and Kovak have been doing. He seemed all right. But the Purser found him dead in his bunk, the middle of the evening.” He added worriedly, “I don’t know what is going to happen now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… if I was captain, I’d lay over and send for a relief. But I don’t know.”

For the first time Max realized that this change would make Mr. Simes the astrogator. “How long would it take to get a relief?”

“Figure it out. The Dragon is about three months behind us; she’d pick up our mail. A year about.” In the contradictions of interstellar travel the ships themselves were the fastest method of communication; a radio message (had such a silly thing been attempted) would have taken more than two centuries to reach Earth, a like time for a reply.

Max found the Captain’s cabin open and crowded with officers, all standing around, saying nothing, and looking solemn; he slipped inside without announcing himself and tried to be inconspicuous. Kelly did not go in. Captain Blaine sat at his desk with head bent. Several stragglers, members of the gay party at the Josephine, arrived after Max; First Officer Walther checked them off with his eyes, then said quietly to Blaine, “Ship’s officers all present, sir.”

Captain Blaine raised his head and Max was shocked to see how old he looked. “Gentlemen,” he said in a low voice, “you know the sad news. Dr. Hendrix was found dead in his room this evening. Heart attack. The Surgeon tells me that he passed on about two hours before he was found—and that his death was probably almost painless.”

His voice broke, then he continued. “Brother Hendrix will be placed in his last orbit two hours after we raise ship tomorrow. That is how he would have wished it, the Galaxy was his home. He gave unstintingly of himself that men should ride safely among the stars.”

He paused so long that Max thought that the old man had forgotten that others were present. But when he resumed his voice was almost brisk. “That is all, gentlemen. Astrogators will please remain.”

Max was not sure that he counted as an astrogator but the use of the plural decided him. First Officer Walther started to leave; Blaine called him back. When the four were alone, the Captain said, “Mr.

Simes, you will take over head-of-department duties at once. Mr., uh… “; his eyes rested on Max. “Jones, sir.”

“Mr. Jones will assume your routine duties, of course. This tragedy leaves you short-handed; for the rest of this trip I will stand a regular watch.”

Simes spoke up. “That isn’t necessary, Captain. We’ll make out.”

“Perhaps. But those are my wishes.” “Aye aye, sir.”

“Prepare to lift on schedule. Any questions?” “No, sir.”

“Goodnight, gentlemen. Dutch, stay a moment, please?”

Outside the door Simes started to turn away; Max stopped him. “Mr. Simes?” “Huh? Yes?”

“Any instructions for me, sir?”

Simes looked him over. “You stand your watch, Mister. I’ll handle everything else.”

The next morning Max found a crepe armband on his desk and a notice from the First Officer that mourning would continue for one week. The Asgard raised on schedule, with the Captain sitting quietly in his chair, with Simes at the control console. Max stood near the Captain, with nothing to do. Aside from the absence of Hendrix all was routine—except that Kelly was quite bad-tempered. Simes, Max admitted, handled the maneuver smartly—but it was precomputed, anyone could have done it; shucks, Ellie could have been sitting there. Or Chipsie.

Max had the first watch. Simes left him after enjoining him not to deviate from schedule without phoning him first. An hour later Kovak relieved Max temporarily and Max hurried to the passenger lock. There were five honorary pall bearers, the Captain, Mr. Walther, Simes, Max, and Kelly. Behind them, crowding the passageways, were officers and most of the crew. Max saw no passengers.

The inner door of the lock was opened; two steward’s mates carried the body in and placed it against the outer door. Max was relieved to see that it had been wrapped in a shroud covering it completely. They closed the inner door and withdrew.

The Captain stood facing the door, with Simes and the First Officer standing guard on one side of the door and, on the other side facing them, Max and Kelly. The Captain flung one word over his shoulder: “Pressure!”

Behind stood Bennett wearing a portable phone; he relayed the word to the power room. The pressure gauge over the lock door showed one atmosphere; now it started to crawl upward. The Captain took a little book from his pocket and began to read the service for the dead. Feeling that he could not stand to listen Max watched the pressure gauge. Steadily it climbed. Max reflected that the ship had already passed escape speed for the Nu Pegasi system before he had been relieved; the body would take an open orbit.

The gauge reached ten atmospheres; Captain Blaine closed his book. “Warn the passengers,” he said to Bennett.

Shortly the loudspeakers sounded: “All hands! All passengers! The ship will be in free fall for thirty seconds. Anchor yourselves and do not change position.” Max reached behind him, found one of the many hand holds always present around an airlock and pulled down so that his grip would keep his feet in contact with the deck. A warning siren howled—then suddenly he was weightless as the ship’s boost and the artificial anomalous gravity field were both cut out.

He heard the Captain say loudly and firmly, “‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’ Let the body be cast forth.”

The pressure gauge dropped suddenly to zero and Dr. Hendrix was launched into space, there to roam the stars for all eternity.

Max felt weight again as the power room brought them back to ship-normal. The pressure gauge showed gradually building pressure. People turned away and left, their voices murmuring low. Max went up and relieved the watch.

The following morning Simes moved into Dr. Hendrix’s cabin. There was trouble with First Officer Walther about it—Max heard only third-hand reports—but the Captain upheld Simes; he stayed in the Astrogator’s quarters. The Worry Hole settled into routine not much different from what had gone before, except that Simes’ personality spread through everything. There had never been a posted watch list before; Kelly had always assigned the crewmen and the Doctor had simply informed the top-watch standers orally of his wishes. Now a typed list appeared:

FIRST WATCH Randolph Simes, Astrogator SECOND WATCH Captain Blaine

(M. Jones, acting apprentice, under instruction) THIRD WATCH Kelly, Ch. Cmptrmn. (signed) Randolph Simes, Astrogator

Below was a four-watch list for crewmen, also signed by Simes.

Max looked at it and shrugged it off. It was obvious that Simes had it in for him, though he could not figure out why. It was equally obvious that Simes did not intend to let him do any astrogation and that Max’s chances of being accepted in time as a fullfledged brother had now, with the death of Dr. Hendrix, sunk to zero. Unless, of course, Captain Blaine overrode Simes and forced a favorable report, which was extremely unlikely. Max again began to think of going along with Sam at Nova Terra.

Well, in the meantime he’d stand his watches and try to stay out of trouble. That was that.

There was only one transition to be made between Halcyon and Nova Terra, a leap of ninety-seven light-years three weeks out from Halcyon at a boost of seventeen gravities—the boost always depended on the distance from the star to the gateway, since the purpose was to arrive there just under the speed of light. The Worry Hole stayed on a watch in three for the officers and one in four for crewmen for the first two weeks. Captain Blaine showed up each watch but seemed quite willing for Max to carry out the light duties of that portion of the leg. He gave little instruction—when he did, he was likely to wander off into anecdotes, amusing but not useful.

Max tried to continue his own drill, carrying out the routine middle o’ watch computation as if it were the frantic matter it would have been near transition. Captain Blaine watched him, then said mildly, “Don’t get yourself into a state, son. Always program on paper when possible—always. And take time to check.

Hurrying causes mistakes.” Max said nothing, thinking of Dr. Hendrix, but carried out the orders.

At the end of his first watch under the Captain Max signed the log as usual. When Simes came on watch four hours later, Max was dug out of bed and required to report to the control room. Simes pointed to the log. “What’s the idea, Mister?”

“Of what, sir?”

“Signing the log. You weren’t officer of the watch.”

“Well, sir, the Captain seemed to expect it. I’ve signed a lot of logs and he’s always approved them in the past.”

“Hmm—I’ll speak to the Captain. Go below.”

At the end of his next watch, having received no instructions, Max prepared the log and took it to the Captain. “Sir? Do you want to sign this? Or shall I?”

“Eh?” Blaine looked at it. “Oh, I suppose I had better. Always let a head of department do things his own way if possible. Remember that when you are a skipper, son.” He signed it.

That settled it until the Captain started a habit of not being there, first for short periods, then for longer. The time came when he was absent at the end of the watch; Max phoned Mr. Simes. “Sir, the Captain isn’t here. What do you want me to do?”

“So what? It’s his privilege to leave the control room.”

“But Kelly is ready to relieve and the log isn’t signed. Shall I sign it? Or shall I phone him?” “Phone him? Jumping jeepers, no! Are you crazy?”

“What are your orders, sir?”

Simes was silent, then answered, “Print his name, then sign under it ‘By direction’—and after this use your head.”

They changed to watch-and-watch for the last week. Max continued under the Captain; Kelly assisted Simes. Once the shift was made Blaine became meticulous about being present in the control room and, when Max started to make the first computation, gently pushed him aside. “I had better take over, lad. We’re getting closer now.”

So Max assisted him—and became horrifyingly aware that the Captain was not the man he must once have been. His knowledge of theory was sound and he knew all the short cuts—but his mind tended to wander. Twice in one computation Max had to remind him diplomatically of details. Yet the Old Man seemed unaware of it, was quite cheerful.

It went on that way. Max began to pray that the Captain would let the new Astrogator make the transition himself—much as he despised Simes. He wanted to discuss his misgivings with Kelly—there was no one else with whom it would have been possible—but Kelly was on the opposite watch with Simes. There was nothing to do but worry.

When the last day arrived he discovered that Captain Blaine neither intended to take the ship through himself nor to let Simes do it; he had a system of his own. When they were all in the Worry Hole the Captain said, “I want to show you all a wrinkle that takes the strain out of astrogating. With no reflections on our dear brother, Dr. Hendrix, while he was a great astrogator, none better—nevertheless he worked too hard. Now here is a method taught me by my own master. Kelly, if you will have the remote controls

led out, please.”

He had them seat themselves in a half circle, himself, Simes, and Max, around the saddle of the computer, with Kelly in the saddle. Each of them was armed with programming forms and Captain Blaine held the remote-control switches in his lap. “Now the idea is for us each to work a sight in succession, first me, then Mr. Simes, then Mr. Jones. That way we keep the data flowing without strain. All right, lads, start pitching. Transition stations everyone.”

They made a dry run, then the Captain stood up. “Call me, Mr. Simes, two hours before transition. I believe you and Mr. Jones will find that this method gives you enough rest in the meantime.”

“Yes, sir. But Captain—may I make a suggestion?” “Eh? Certainly, sir.”

“This is a fine system, but I suggest that Kelly be put in the astrogating group instead of Jones. Jones is not experienced. We can put Kovak in the saddle and Lundy on the book.”

Blaine shook his head. “No. Accuracy is everything, sir, so we must have our best operator at the computer. As for Mr. Jones, this is how he must get experience—if he gets rattled, you and I can always fill in for him.” He started to leave, then added, “But Kovak can alternate with Kelly until I return. Mustn’t have anyone getting tired, that way mistakes are made.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Simes said nothing more to Max. They started working sights, alternately, using written programming on printed forms. The sights were coming in on a twenty-minute schedule, giving each of them forty minutes for a problem if he cared to take it. Max began to think that the Captain’s method did have its points.

Certainly Dr. Hendrix had worked himself to death—ships did not wear out but men did.

He had plenty of time to work not only his own problems, but those of Simes. The data came out orally and there was nothing to keep Max from programming Simes’ sights in his head and checking on what went into the computer. So far as he could see Simes was doing all right—though of course there was no real strain involved, not yet.

They ate sandwiches and drank coffee where they sat, leaving their seats only for five minutes or so at a time. Captain Blaine showed up twenty minutes early. He smiled and said cheerily, “Everyone happy and relaxed? Now we really get down to it. I have just time for a cup of coffee.”

A few minutes later he sat down and took over the control switches from Simes. The sights were coming through on a ten-minute schedule now, still ample time. Max continued to work them all, his own on paper and the others in his head. He was always through in time to catch the data for the next sight, program it mentally and check translations as Lundy thumbed the book. It gave him a running picture of how closely they were in the groove, how much hunting they were having to do in approaching their invisible target. It seemed to him that Simes tended to over-correct and that the Captain was somewhat optimistically under-correcting, but neither was so far out as to endanger the ship.

Maybe he was wrong about the Captain—the Old Man seemed to steady down when it mattered. His own corrections, he was glad to see, the Captain applied without question.

After more than an hour with transition forty-five. minutes away Captain Blaine looked up and said, “All right, boys, we’re getting close. Slam them to us as fast as you can now.”

Smythe and Kovak, with Noguchi and Bennett running for them, slipped into high gear; data poured out

in a steady stream. Max continued to work every sight, programming his own in his head and calling off figures faster than he wrote them down. He noticed that Simes was sweating, sometimes erasing and starting over. But the figures Simes called out agreed with what Max thought they should be, from his own mental programming. Captain Blaine seemed relaxed, though he had not speeded up materially and sometimes was still using the computer when Max was ready to pour his sight into it.

At one point Simes spoke too rapidly, slurring his figures, Lundy promptly said, “Repeat, sir!”

“Confound it! Clean out your ears!” But Simes repeated. The Captain glanced up, then bent back to his own problem. As soon as the computer was free Captain Blaine called his own figures to Lundy. Max had already set up the Captain’s sight in his mind, was subconsciously listening while watching Simes.

An alarm bell rang in his mind. “Captain! I don’t check you!” Captain Blaine stopped. “Eh?”

“That program is wrong, sir.”

The Captain did not seem angry. He simply handed his programming board to Simes. “Check me, sir.” Simes glanced quickly at the figures. “I check you, sir!”

Blaine said, “Drop out, Jones. Mr. Simes and I will finish.” “But—”

“Drop out, Mister!”

Max got out of the circle, seething inside. Simes’ check of the Captain’s set up hadn’t meant anything, unless Simes had listened to and remembered (as Max had) the data as it came in. The Captain had transposed an eight and a three in the fifth and sixth decimal places—the set up would look okay unless one knew the correct figures. If Simes had even bothered to check it, he added bitterly.

But Max could not keep from noting and processing the data in his mind. Simes’ next sight should catch the Captain’s error; his correction should repair it. It would be a big correction, Max knew; traveling just under the speed of light the ship clipped a million miles in less than six seconds.

Max could see Simes hesitate as the lights from his next sight popped up on the computer and Lundy translated them back. Why, the man looked frightened! The correction called for would push the ship extremely close to critical speed—Simes paused, then ordered less than half the amount that Max believed was needed.

Blaine applied it and went on with his next problem. When the answer came out the error, multiplied by time and unthinkable velocity, was more glaring than ever. The Captain threw Simes a glance of astonishment, then promptly made a correction. Max could not tell what it was, since it was done without words by means of the switch in his lap.

Simes licked the dryness from his lips. “Captain?”

“Time for just one more sight,” Blaine answered. “I’ll take it myself, Mr. Simes.”

The data were passed to him, he started to lay his problem out on the form. Max saw him erase, then look up; Max followed his gaze. The pre-set on the chronometer above the computer showed the seconds trickling away. “Stand by!” Blaine announced.

Max looked up. The stars were doing the crawling together that marked the last moments before transition. Captain Blaine must have pressed the second switch, the one that would kick them over, while Max was watching, for the stars suddenly blinked out and were replaced instantaneously by another starry firmament, normal in appearance.

The Captain lounged back, looked up. “Well,” he said happily, “I see we made it again.” He got up and headed for the hatch, saying over his shoulder, “Call me when you have laid us in the groove, Mr. Simes.” He disappeared down the hatch.

Max looked up again, trying to recall from the charts he had studied just what piece of this new sky they were facing. Kelly was looking up, too. “Yes, we came through,” Max heard him mutter. “But where?”

Simes also had been looking at the sky. Now he swung around angrily. “What do you mean?” “What I said,” Kelly insisted. “That’s not any sky I ever saw before.”

“Nonsense, man! You just haven’t oriented yourself. Everybody knows that a piece of sky can look strange when you first glance at it. Get out the flat charts for this area; we’ll find our landmarks quickly enough.”

“They are out, sir. Noguchi.”

It took only minutes to convince everyone else in the control room that Kelly was right, only a little longer to convince even Simes. He finally looked up from the charts with a face greenish white. “Not a word to anybody,” he said. “That’s an order—and I’ll bust any man who slips. Kelly, take the watch.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“I’ll be in the Captain’s cabin.” He went below to tell Blaine that the Asgard had come out in unknown space—was lost.

ANYWHERE

Two hours later Max climbed wearily up into the Worry Hole. He had just had a bad half hour, telling the truth as he saw it. Captain Blaine had been disinclined to blame anyone but himself, but had seemed stunned and bewildered. Simes had been nasty. His unstated logic seemed to be that, since it could not possibly be his fault and since it was unthinkable to blame the Captain, it must be Max’s fault. Since Max had been relieved some minutes before transition, his theory seemed to be that Max had caused it by making a disturbance as they were approaching the critical instant—joggled their elbows, so to speak.

Mr. Walther had been present, a mute judge. They spoke of matters’ outside his profession; he had seemed to be studying their faces. Max had stuck doggedly to his story.

He found Kelly still on watch. Kovak and Smythe were taking spectrograms; Noguchi and Lundy were busy with papers. “Want to be relieved?” he said to Kelly.

Kelly looked troubled. “I’m sorry, but you can’t.” “Huh?”

“Mr. Simes phoned while you were on your way up. He says you are not to stand duty until further notice.”

“He did? Well, I’m not surprised.”

“He also said that you were to stay out of the control room.”

Max made a violent statement about Simes. He added, “Well, it was nice while it lasted. Be seeing you.”

He turned away but Kelly stopped him. “Don’t be in a hurry, Max. He won’t be up for a while. I want to know what happened. From the computer I can’t tell what goes on.”

Max told him, drawing on his memory for the figures. Kelly nodded at last. “That confirms what I’ve been able to dig out. The Captain flubbed with a transposition—easy to do. Then Simes didn’t have the guts to make a big correction when it came around to him. But one more thing you don’t know. Neither do they—yet.”

“Huh? What?”

“The power room recorder shows it. Guenther had the watch down there and gave it to me over the phone. No, I didn’t tell him anything was wrong. I just asked for the record; that’s not unusual. By the way, any excitement down below? Passengers blowing their tops?”

“Not when I came up.”

“Won’t be long. They can’t keep this quiet forever. Back to my story—things were already sour but the Captain had one last chance. He applied the correction and a whopping big one. But he applied it with the wrong sign, just backwards.”

Profanity was too weak. All Max could say was, “Oh, my!” “Yeah. Well, there’s the devil to pay and him out to lunch.” “Any idea where we are?”

Kelly pointed to Kovak and Smythe at the spectrostellograph. “They’re fishing, but no bites. Bright stars first, B-types and O’s. But there is nothing that matches the catalogues so far.”

Noguchi and Lundy were using a hand camera. Max asked, “What are they doing?”

“Photographing the records. All of ’em—programming sheets, the rough data from the chartsmen, the computer tape, everything.”

“What good will that do?”

“Maybe none. But sometimes records get lost. Sometimes they even get changed. But not this time. I’m going to have a set of my own.”

The unpleasant implications of Kelly’s comments were sinking into Max’s mind when Noguchi looked up. “That’s all, Boss.”

“Good.” Kelly turned to Max. “Do me a favor. Stick those films in your pocket and take them with you. I want them out of here. I’ll pick them up later.”

“Well… all right.” While Noguchi was unloading the camera Max added to Kelly, “How long do you

think it will take to figure out where we are, checking spectra?”

Kelly looked more troubled than ever. “Max, what makes you think there is anything to find?” “I don’t follow you.”

“Why should anything out there… ” He made a sweeping gesture. “… match up with any charts we’ve got here?”

“You mean,” Max said slowly, “that we might not be in our own galaxy at all? Maybe in another, like the Andromeda Nebula, say?”

“Maybe. But that’s not all. Look, Max, I’m no theoretical physicist, that’s sure, but so far as I know all that theory says is that when you pass the speed of light you have to go out of your own space, somewhere else. You’ve become irrelevant and it won’t hold you. But where you go, unless you are set just right for a Horst congruency, that’s another matter. The theory doesn’t say. Does it?”

Max’s head started to ache. “Gee, I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. But since we weren’t set to duck back into our own space at another point, we may be anywhere. And I mean anywhere. We may be in some other space-time totally unconnected with our own.” He glanced up at the strange stars.

Max went below feeling worse than ever. He passed Simes going up; the Astrogator scowled at him but did not say anything. When Max reached his stateroom he put the films in a drawer—then thought about it, removed the drawer and cached them in dead space behind the drawer.

Max stayed in his room and worried. He fretted over being kept out of the control room, wanting very badly himself to check the sky for known stars. B- and O-type stars—well, that was all right, but there were half a dozen other ways. Globular star clusters, now—they’d be easy to identify; snag four of them and you’d know where you were as clear as reading a street sign. Then it would be just a case of fining it down, because you’d know what to look for and where. After which you’d high-tail it for the nearest charted congruency, whether it took you a week or a year. The ship couldn’t really be lost.

But suppose they weren’t even in the right galaxy?

The thought dismayed him. If that were the case, they’d never get home before the end of time. It was chased out by another thought—suppose Kelly’s suspicion had been correct, that this was an entirely different universe, another system of space and time? What then? He had read enough philosophical fancies to know that there was no theoretical reason for such to be impossible; the Designer might have created an infinity of universes, perhaps all pretty much alike—or perhaps as different as cheese and Wednesday. Millions, billions of them, all side by side from a multidimensional point of view.

Another universe might have different laws, a different speed of light, different gravitational ballistics, a different time rate—why they might get back to find that ten million years had passed and Earth burnt to a cinder!

But the light over his desk burned steadily, his heart pumped as always, obeying familiar laws of hydraulics, his chair pressed up against him—if this was a different sort of space the differences weren’t obvious. And if it was a different universe, there was nothing to be done about it.

A knock came at the door, he let Kelly in and gave him the chair, himself sitting on the bed. “Any news?” “No. Golly I’m tired. Got those pix?”

Max took out the drawer, fished around behind it, gave them to Kelly. “Look, Chief, I got an idea.” “Spill it.”

“Let’s assume that we’re in the right galaxy, because—” “Because if we ain’t, there isn’t any point in trying!”

“Well, yes. All right, we’re in the Milky Way. So we look around, make quick sample star counts and estimate the distance and direction of the center. Then we try to identify spectra of stars in that direction, after deciding what ones we ought to look for and figuring apparent magnitudes for estimated distance. That would…”

“—save a lot of time,” Kelly finished wearily. “Don’t teach your grandpop how to suck eggs. What the deuce do you think I’ve been doing?”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s more than our revered boss thought of. While I been trying to work he’s been bellyachin’ around, finding fault, and trying to get me to say that he was dead right in everything—worrying about himself instead of worrying about his ship. Pfui! By the way, he grabbed the records just like I thought he would—’to show the Captain.’ He says.” Kelly stood up. “I’d better go.”

“Don’t rush. I’ll ring for coffee.”

“Running out of my ears now.” Kelly took the films from his pocket and looked at them dutifully. “I had Noggy make two shots of everything; this is a double set. That’s a good hidey-hole you’ve got. What say we stick one set in there and let it cool? Never can tell.”

“Kelly, you aren’t really expecting trouble over those records? Seems to me we’ve got trouble enough with the ship being lost.”

“Huh? Max, you’re going to make a good officer some day. But you’re innocent. Now I’m a suspenders and belt man. I like to take as few chances as possible. Doc Hendrix—rest his soul!—was the same way.” Kelly waited until Max had returned the spare set to the space back of the drawer, then started to leave. He paused.

“One thing I forgot to tell you, Max. We happened to come out pretty close to a star and a G-type at that.”

“Oh.” Max considered it. “Not one we know?”

“Of course not, or I would have said so. Haven’t sized it yet, but figuring normal range in the G’s we could reach it in not less than four weeks, not more than a year, at high boost. Thought you’d like to know.”

“Well, yes. Thanks. But I can’t see that it makes much difference.”

“No? Doesn’t it seem like a good idea to have a Sol-type star, with maybe Earth-type planets around it, not far off?”

“Well…”

“It does to me. The Adam-and-Eve business is rugged at best—and we might be in for a long stay.” With that he left.

No steward’s mate came to tell Max it was time for dinner; when he noticed that it was past time, he went to the lounge. Most of the passengers were already seated, although some were standing around talking. It was impossible to miss the feeling of unrest in the room. Max saw that the Captain was not at his table, nor was Mr. Walther at his. As he headed for his own table a Mr. Hornsby tried to grab his arm. Max shook him off. “Sorry, sir. I’m in a hurry.”

“Wait a minute! I want to ask you…”

“Sorry.” He hurried on and sat down. Chief Engineer Compagnon was not at the table, but the usual passengers were present. Max said, “Good evening,” and reached for his soup spoon, just to keep busy.

There was no soup to be toyed with, nor were there rolls and butter on the table, although it was ten minutes past the hour. Such things simply did not happen in Chief Steward Dumont’s jurisdiction. Come to think about it, Dumont was not in sight.

Mrs. Daigler put a hand on his arm. “Max? Tell me, dear—what is this silly rumor going around?” Max tried to maintain a poker face. “What rumor, ma’am?”

“You must have heard it! After all, you’re in astrogation. They say that the Captain turned the wrong corner or something and that we’re falling into a star.”

Max tried to give a convincing chuckle. “Who told you that? Whoever it was probably couldn’t tell a star from his elbow.”

“You wouldn’t fool your Aunt Maggie?”

“I can assure you positively that the Asgard is not falling into a star. Not even a small star.” He turned in his chair. “But it does look like something’s fallen into the galley. Dinner is awfully late.”

He remained turned, trying to avoid further questions. It did not work. Mr. Arthur called out sharply, “Mr. Jones!”

He turned back. “Yes?”

“Why stall us? I have been informed authoritatively that the ship is lost.” Max tried to look puzzled. “I don’t follow you. We seem to be in it.”

Mr. Arthur snorted. “You know what I mean! Something went wrong with that whatyoumucallit—transition. We’re lost.”

Max put on a school-teacherish manner, ticking off points on his fingers. “Mr. Arthur, I assure you that the ship is in absolutely no danger. As for being lost, I assure you just as firmly that if we are, the Captain neglected to tell me so. I was in the control room at transition and he seemed quite satisfied with it.

Would you mind telling me who has been spreading this story? It’s a serious thing, starting such rumors. People have been known to panic.”

“Well… it was one of the crew. I don’t know his name.”

Max nodded. “I thought so. Now in my experience in space… ” He went on, quoting from his uncle. “… I have learned that the only thing faster than light is the speed with which a story can spread through a ship. It doesn’t have to have any foundation, it spreads just the same.” He looked around again. “I wonder what has happened to dinner? I’d hate to go on watch hungry.”

Mrs. Weberbauer said nervously, “Then we are all right, Maxie?” “We’re all right, ma’am.”

Mrs. Daigler leaned toward him again and whispered, “Then why are you sweating, Max?”

He was saved by a steward’s mate rushing up to the table and starting to deal out plates of soup. Max stopped him when he came around and said quietly, “Jim, where’s Dumont?”

Out of the corner of his mouth the waiter said, “Cooking.” “Huh? Where’s the chef?”

The steward’s mate leaned down and whispered, “Frenchy is boiled as a judge. I guess he couldn’t take it. You know.”

Max let him go. Mr. Arthur said sharply, “What did he tell you?”

“I was trying to find out what went wrong in the galley,” Max answered. “Seems the cook incapacitated himself.” He spooned up a mouthful of the soup. “From the taste I’d say he had burned his thumb in this so-called chowder. Pretty bad, isn’t it?”

Max was saved from further evasions by the arrival of the First Officer. Mr. Walther went to the Captain’s table and banged on a glass with a spoon. “Your attention, please!”

He waited for quiet, then took a paper from his pocket. “I have an announcement to make on behalf of the Captain. Those of you who are familiar with the theory of astrogation are aware that space is changing constantly, due to the motions of the stars, and that consequently no two trips are exactly alike. Sometimes it is necessary, for this reason, to make certain changes in a ship’s routing. Such a circumstance has arisen in this present trip and the Asgard will be somewhat delayed in reaching her next destination. We regret this, but we can’t change the laws of nature. We hope that you will treat it as a minor inconvenience—or even as additional vacation, in the friendly and comfortable atmosphere of our ship. Please remember, too, that the insurance policy accompanying your ticket covers you completely against loss or damage you may be cost through the ship being behind schedule.”

He put away the paper; Max had the impression that he had not actually been reading from it. “That is all that the Captain had to say, but I want to add something myself. It has come to my attention that someone has been spreading silly rumors about this minor change in schedule. I am sorry if any of you have been alarmed thereby and I assure you that I will take very strict measures if the originator can be identified.” He risked a dignified smile. “But you know how difficult it is to trace down a bit of gossip. In any case, I want to assure you all that the Asgard is in no danger of any sort. The old girl was plying space long before any of us were born, she’ll still be going strong after we all die of old age—bless her sturdy bones!” He turned and left at once.

Max had listened in open-mouthed admiration. He came from country where the “whopper” was a respected literary art and it seemed to him that he had never heard a lie told with more grace, never seen one interwoven with truth with such skill, in his life. Piece by piece, it was impossible to say that anything

the First Officer had said was untrue; taken as a whole it was a flat statement that the Asgard was not lost—a lie if he ever heard one. He turned back toward his table mates. “Will someone pass the butter, please?”

Mr. Arthur caught his eye. “And you told us,” he said sharply, “that nothing was wrong!” Mr. Daigler growled, “Lay off him, Arthur. Max did pretty well, under the circumstances.” Mrs. Weberbauer looked bewildered. “But Mr. Walther said that everything was all right?”

Daigler looked at her with compassion. “We’re in trouble, Mama Weberbauer. That’s obvious. But all we can do is keep calm and trust the ship’s officers. Right, Max?”

“I guess that’s right, sir.”

“THIS ISN’T A PICNIC”

Max kept to his room that evening and the next day, wishing neither to be questioned by passengers nor to answer questions about why he had been relieved of duty. In consequence he missed the riot, having slept through it. He first heard of it when the steward’s mate who tended his room showed up with a black eye. “Who gave you the shiner, Garcia?”

“I’m not sure, sir. It happened in the ruckus last night.” “Ruckus? What ruckus?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it. What happened?”

Garcia Lopez stared at the overhead. “Well—I wouldn’t want to say too much. You know how it is—nobody wants to testify against a mate. No?”

“Who asked you to peach on a mate? You don’t have to mention names—but what happened?”

“Well, sir. Some of those chicos, they ain’t got much sense.” Slowly Max learned that the unrest among the crew had been greater than that among the passengers, possibly because they understand more clearly the predicament. Some of them had consulted with Giordano’s poor-man’s vodka, then had decided to call on the Captain in a body and demand straight talk. The violence had taken place when the master-at-arms had attempted to turn them back at the companionway to “C” deck.

“Anybody hurt?”

“Not what you’d call hurt. Cut up a little. I picked this up… ” He touched his eye tenderly. “… from being too anxious to see what was going on. Slats Kovak busted an ankle.”

“Kovak! Why would he be in it?” It did not make sense that a member of the Worry gang should take part in anything so unreasonable.

“He was coming down, coming off watch, I guess. Maybe he was backing up the constable. Or maybe

he just got caught in the swinging doors. Your friend Sam Anderson was sure in the thick of it.” Sam! Max felt sick at heart—Sam in trouble again! “You’re sure?”

“I was there.”

“Uh, he wasn’t leading it, was he?”

“Oh, you got me wrong, M—Mr. Jones. He settled it. I never see a man who could use his hands like that. He’d grab two of ’em… clop! their heads would come together. Then he would grab two more.”

Max decided to come out of hiding and do two things; look up Kovak, find out how he was and what he might need or want, and second, look up Sam. But before he could leave Smythe arrived with a watch list to initial. He found that he was assigned watch-and-watch with Simes—and that he himself was due on watch immediately. He went up, wondering what had caused Simes to relent.

Kelly was in the control room; Max looked around, did not see Simes. “You got it, Chief?” “Until you relieve me. This is my last watch.”

“How’s that? Are you his pet peeve now?”

“You could say so. But not the way you think, Max. He drew up a watch list with him and me

heel-and-toe. I politely pointed out the guild rules, that I wasn’t being paid to take the responsibility of top watch.”

“Oh, brother! What did he say?”

“What could he say? He could order me in writing and I could accept in writing, with my objection to the orders entered in the log—and his neck is out a yard. Which left him his choice of putting you back on the list, asking the Captain to split it with him, or turning his cap around and relieving himself for the next few weeks. With Kovak laid up it didn’t leave him much choice. You heard about Kovak?”

“Yes. Say, what was that?” Max glanced over where Noguchi was loafing at the computer and lowered his voice. “Mutiny?”

Kelly’s eyes grew round. “Why, as I understand it, sir, Kovak slipped and fell down a companionway.” “Oh. Like that, huh?”

“That’s what it says in the log.”

“Hmm… well, I guess I had better relieve you. What’s the dope?”

They were in orbit under power for the nearby G-type star; the orders were entered in the Captain’s order book… in Simes’ handwriting but with Captain Blaine’s signature underneath. To Max it looked shaky, as if the Old Man had signed it under emotional stress. Kelly had already placed them in the groove. “Have we given up trying to find out where we are?” Max asked.

“Oh, no. Orders are to spend as much time as routine permits on it. But I’ll lay you seven to two you don’t find anything. Max, this is somewhere else entirely.”

“Don’t give up. How do you know?” “I feel it.”

Nevertheless Max spent the watch “fishing.” But with no luck. Spectrograms, properly taken and measured, are to stars what fingerprints are to men; they can be classified and comparisons made with those on file which are most nearly similar. While he found many which matched fairly closely with catalogued spectra, there was always the difference that makes one identical twin not quite like his brother.

Fifteen minutes before the end of the watch he stopped, and made sure that he was ready to be relieved. While waiting he thought about the shenanigan Kelly had pulled to get him back on duty. Good old Kelly! He knew Kelly well enough to know that he must not thank him; to do so would be to attribute to the Chief Computerman a motive which was “improper”—just wink the other eye and remember it.

Simes stomped in five minutes past the hour. He said nothing but looked over the log and records of observations Max had made. Max waited several minutes while growing more and more annoyed. At last he said, “Are you ready to relieve me, sir?”

“All in good time. I want to see first what you’ve loused up this time.” Max kept his mouth shut. Simes pointed at the log where Max had signed it followed by “C.O. o/W.” “That’s wrong, to start with. Add ‘under instruction.'”

Max breathed deeply. “Whose instruction, sir?” “Mine.”

Max hesitated only momentarily before answering, “No, sir. Not unless you are present during my watch to supervise me.”

“Are you defying me?”

“No, sir. But I’ll take written orders on that point… entered in the log.”

Simes closed the log book and looked him slowly up and down. “Mister, if we weren’t short-handed you wouldn’t be on watch. You aren’t ready for a top watch—and it’s my opinion that you won’t ever be.”

“If that’s the way you feel, sir, I’d just as lief go back to chartsman. Or steward’s mate.”

“That’s where you belong!” Simes’ voice was almost a scream. Noguchi had hung around after Lundy had relieved him; they both looked up, then turned their heads away.

Max made no effort to keep his answer private. “Very good, sir. Will you relieve me? I’ll go tell the First Officer that I am surrendering my temporary appointment and reverting to my permanent billet.”

Max expected a blast. But Simes made a visible effort to control himself and said almost quietly, “See here, Jones, you don’t have the right attitude.”

Max thought to himself, “What have I got to lose?” Aloud he said, “You’re the one who doesn’t have the right attitude, sir.”

“Eh? What’s that?”

“You’ve been riding me ever since I came to work in the Hole. You’ve never bothered to give me any instruction and you’ve found fault with everything I did. Since my probationary appointment it’s been four times worse. You came to my room and told me that you were opposed to my appointment, that you didn’t want me…”

“You can’t prove that!”

“I don’t have to. Now you tell me that I’m not fit to stand the watch you’ve just required me to stand. You’ve made it plain that you will never recommend me for permanent appointment, so obviously I’m wasting my time. I’ll go back to the Purser’s gang and do what I can there. Now, will you relieve me, sir?”

“You’re insubordinate.”

“No, sir, I am not. I have spoken respectfully, stating facts. I have requested that I be relieved—my watch was over a good half hour ago—in order that I may see the First Officer and revert to my permanent billet. As allowed by the rules of both guilds,” Max added.

“I won’t let you.”

“It’s my option, sir. You have no choice.”

Simes’ face showed that he indeed had no choice. He remained silent for some time, then said more quietly, “Forget it. You’re relieved. Be back up here at eight o’clock.”

“Not so fast, sir. You have stated publicly that I am not competent to take the watch. Therefore I can’t accept the responsibility.”

“Confound it! What are you trying to do? Blackmail me?

Max agreed in his mind that such was about it, but he answered, “I wouldn’t say so, sir. You can’t have it both ways.”

“Well—I suppose you are competent to stand this sort of watch. There isn’t anything to do, actually.” “Very good, sir. Will you kindly log the fact?”

“Huh?”

“In view of the circumstances, sir, I insist on the letter of the rules and ask you to log it.”

Simes swore under his breath, then grabbed the stylus and wrote quickly. He swung the log book around. There!”

Max read: “M. Jones is considered qualified to stand a top watch in space, not involving anomaly. (s) R. Simes, Astrogator.”

Max noted the reservation, the exception that would allow Simes to keep him from ever reaching permanent status. But Simes had stayed within the law. Besides, he admitted to himself, he didn’t want to leave the Worry gang. He comforted himself with the thought that since they were all lost together it might never matter what Simes recommended.

“Quite satisfactory, sir.”

Simes grabbed the book. “Now get out. See that you’re back here on time.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Max could not refrain from having the last word, standing up to Simes had gone to his head. “Which reminds me, sir: will you please relieve me on time after this?”

“What?”

“Under the law a man can’t be worked more than four hours out of eight, except for a logged emergency.”

“Go below!”

Max went below, feeling both exultant and sick. He had no taste for fights, never had; they left him with a twisted lump inside. He burst into his room, and almost fell over Sam.

“Sam!”

“The same. What’s eating you, boy? You look like the goblins had been chasing you.”

Max flopped on his bunk and sighed. “I feel that way, too.” He told Sam about the row with Simes.

Sam nodded approval. “That’s the way to deal with a jerk like that—insult him until he apologizes. Give him lumps enough times and he’ll eat out of your hand.”

Max shook his head dolefully. “Today was fun, but he’ll find some way to take it out on me. Oh, well!” “Not so, my lad. Keep your nose clean and wait for the breaks. If a man is stupid and

bad-tempered—which he is, I sized him up long ago—if you are smart and keep your temper, eventually

he leaves himself wide open. That’s a law of nature.”

“Maybe.” Max swung around and sat up. “Sam—you’re wearing your shield again.”

Sam stuck his thumb under the badge of office of Chief Master-at-Arms. “Didn’t you notice?” “I guess I was spinning too fast. Tell me about it—did the First decide to forgive and forget?” “Not precisely. You know about that little excitement last night?”

“Well, yes. But I understand that officially nothing happened?” “Correct. Mr. Walther knows when to pull his punches.” “What did happen? I heard you cracked some skulls together.”

“Nothing much. And not very hard. I’ve seen ships where it would have been regarded as healthy exercise to settle your dinner. Some of the lads got scared and that made them lap up happy water. Then a couple with big mouths and no forehead got the inspiration that it was their right to talk to the Captain about it. Being sheep, they had to go in a flock. If they had run into an officer, he could have sent them back to bed with no trouble. But my unfortunate predecessor happened to run into them and told them to disperse. Which they didn’t. He’s not the diplomatic type, I’m afraid. So he hollered, ‘Hey, Rube!’ in his quaint idiom and the fun began.”

“But where do you figure? You came to help him?”

“Hardly. I was standing at a safe distance, enjoying the festivities, when I noticed Mr. Walther’s bedroom slippers coming down the ladder. Whereupon I waded in and was prominent in the ending. The way to win a medal, Max, is to make sure the general is watching, then act.”

Max grinned. “Somehow I hadn’t figured you for the hero type.”

“Heaven forbid! But it worked out. Mr. Walther sent for me, ate me out, told me that I was a scoundrel and a thief and a nogoodnick—then offered me my shield back if I could keep order below decks. I

looked him in the eye, a sincere type look, and told him I would do my best. So here I am.” “I’m mighty pleased, Sam.”

“Thanks. Then he looked me in the eye and told me that he had reason to suspect—as if he didn’t know!—that there might be a still somewhere in the ship. He ordered me to find it, and then destroy any liquor I found.”

“So? How did Mr. Gee take that?”

“Why, Fats and I disassembled his still and took the pieces back to stores, then we locked up his stock in trade. I pleaded with him not to touch it until the ship was out of its mess. I explained that I would break both his arms if he did.”

Max chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you’re back in good graces. And it was nice of you to come tell me about it.” He yawned. “Sorry. I’m dead for sleep.”

“I’ll vamoose. But I didn’t come to tell you, I came to ask a question.” “Huh? What?”

“Have you seen the Skipper lately?”

Max thought back. “Not since transition. Why?”

“Nor has anyone else. I thought he might be spending his time in the Worry Hole.”

“No. Come to think, he hasn’t been at his table either—at least when I’ve been in the lounge.”

“He’s been eating in his cabin.” Sam stood up. “Very, very interesting. Mmm… I wouldn’t talk about it, Max.”

Simes was monosyllabic when Max relieved him. Thereafter they had no more words; Simes acted as if Max did not exist except for the brief formalities in relieving. The Captain did not show up in the control room. Several times Max was on the point of asking Kelly about it, but each time decided not to. But there were rumors around the ship—the Captain was sick, the Captain was in a coma, Walther and the Surgeon had relieved him of duty, the Captain was constantly at his desk, working out a new and remarkable way to get the ship back to where it belonged.

By now it was accepted that the ship was lost, but the time for hysteria had passed; passengers and crew were calm and there seemed to be general consent that the decision to put down around the solar-type star toward which they were headed was the only reasonable decision. They were close enough now that it had been determined that the star did have planets—no G-class star had ever been found to be without planets, but to pick them up on a stereoplate was consoling.

It came to a choice between planet #3 and planet #4. Bolometric readings showed the star to have a surface temperature slightly over 6000° Kelvin, consistent with its spectrum; it was not much larger than Father Sol; calculated surface temperatures for the third and fourth planets gave a probability that the third might be uncomfortably hot whereas number four might be frigid. Both had atmospheres.

A fast hyperboloid swing past both settled the matter. The bolometer showed number three to be too hot and even number four to be tropical. Number four had a moon which the third did not—another

advantage for four, for it permitted, by examining the satellite’s period, an easy calculation of its mass; from that and its visible diameter its surface gravity was a matter of substitution in classic Newtonian formula… ninety-three percent of Earth-normal, comfortable and rather low in view of its over

ten-thousand-mile diameter. Absorption spectra showed oxygen and several inert gases.

Simes assisted by Kelly placed the Asgard in a pole-to-pole orbit to permit easy examination—Max, as usual, was left to chew his nails.

The Captain did not come to the control room even to watch this maneuver.

They hung in parking orbit while their possible future home was examined from the control room and stared at endlessly from the lounge. It was in the lounge that Ellie tracked Max down. He had hardly seen her during the approach, being too busy and too tired with a continuous heel-and-toe watch and in the second place with much on his mind that he did not want to have wormed out of him. But, once the orbit was established and power was off, under standard doctrine Simes could permit the watch to be taken by crewmen—which he did and again told Max to stay out of the control room.

Max could not resist the fascination of staring at the strange planet; he crowded into the lounge along with the rest. He was standing back and gazing over heads when he felt his arm grabbed. “Where have you been?”

“Working.” He reached out and caressed Chipsie; the spider puppy leaped to his shoulders and started searching him.

“Hmmmph! You don’t work all the time. Do you know that I sent nine notes to your room this past week?”

Max knew. He had saved them but had not answered. “Sorry.”

“Sorry he says. Never mind—Max, tell me all about it.” She turned and looked out. “What have they named it? Is there anybody on it? Where are we going to land? When are we going to land? Max, aren’t you excited?”

“Whew! They haven’t named it yet—we just call it’the planet’ or ‘number four.’ Kelly wants to name it ‘Hendrix.’ Simes is hedging; I think he wants to name it after himself. The Captain hasn’t made any decision that I know of.”

“They ought to name it ‘Truth’ or ‘Hope’ or something like that. Where is the Captain, Max? I haven’t seen the old dear for days.”

“He’s working. This is a busy time for him, of course.” Max reflected that his evasion might be true. “About your other questions, we haven’t seen any signs of cities or towns or anything that looks like civilization.”

“What do you mean by ‘civilization’? Not a lot of dirty old cities surely?”

Max scratched his head and grinned. “You’ve got me. But I don’t see how you could have it, whatever it is, without cities.”

“Why not? Bees have cities, ants have cities, challawabs have cities. None of them is civilized. I can think of a lovely civilization that would just sit around in trees and sing and think beautiful thoughts.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No, it would bore me to death. But I can think about it, can’t I? You didn’t say when we were going to land?”

“I don’t know. When they decide it’s safe.”

“I wish they would hurry. Isn’t it thrilling? Just like Robinson Crusoe, or Swiss Family Robinson—I can’t keep those two straight. Or the first men on Venus.”

“They died.”

“So they did. But we won’t, not on—” She waved her hand at the lovely green and blue and cloudy-white globe. “—not on, uh, I’m going to call it ‘Charity’ because that’s what it looks like.”

Max said soberly, “Ellie, don’t you realize this is serious?” He kept his voice low in order not to alarm others. “This isn’t a picnic. If this place doesn’t work out, it might be pretty awful.”

“Why?”

“Look, don’t quote me and don’t talk about it. But I don’t think any of us will ever get home again.”

She sobered momentarily, then shrugged and smiled. “You can’t frighten me. Sure, I’d like to go home—but if I can’t, well, Charity is going to be good to us. I know it.”

Max shut up.

“—OVER A HUNDRED YEARS—”

The Asgard landed on Charity the following day. Eldreth affixed her choice by the statistical process of referring to the planet by that name, assuming that it was official, and repeating it frequently.

When word was passed that landing would commence at noon, ship’s time, Max went to the control room and simply assumed that it was his right to be present. Simes looked at him sourly but said nothing—for an evident reason: Captain Blaine was present.

Max was shocked at his appearance. The Captain seemed to have aged ten to fifteen years since the bad transition. In place of his habitual cheerful expression was one that Max had trouble tagging—until he recalled that he had seen it on horses, on horses too old to work but still working—head bent, eyes dull, mute and resigned against a fate both inescapable and unbearable. The old man’s skin hung loose, as if he had not eaten for days or weeks. He seemed hardly interested in what was going on around him.

He spoke only once during the maneuver. Just before the chronometer showed noon Simes straightened up from the console and looked at his skipper. Blaine lifted his head and said in a hoarse whisper, “Take her down, Mister.”

An Imperial military ship in landing on a strange spot would normally guide a radar-beacon robot down first, then home in on the beacon. But the Asgard was a merchant liner; she expected to land nowhere but at ports equipped with beams and beacons and other aids. Consequently the landing was made blind by precomputed radar-automatic and was planned for an open valley selected by photograph. The planet was densely wooded in most areas, choice was limited.

Simes presented a picture of the alert pilot, hands poised at the controls, eyes on the radar screen portraying the view below them, while racked in front of him were comparison photographs, radar and visual. The let down was without incident; starry black sky gave way to deep purple, then to blue. There was not even a jar as the ship touched, for its private gravity inside its Horstian field kept them from feeling impressed acceleration. Max knew they were down when he saw Simes cut in the thrust beams to cradle the ship upright.

Simes said to the microphone, “Power room, start auxiliaries and secure. All hands, dirtside routine, first section.” He turned to Blaine. “Grounded, Captain.”

Blaine’s lips shaped the words, “Very good, sir.” He got up and shuffled toward the hatch. When he had gone Simes ordered, “Lundy, take stand-by watch. The rest of you clear the control room.”

Max went down with Kelly. When they reached “A” deck Max said grudgingly, “It was a smart landing I’ll have to admit.”

“Thanks,” said Kelly.

Max glanced at him. “So you calculated it?” “I didn’t say that. I just said, ‘Thanks.'”

“So? Well, you’re welcome.” Max felt his weight pulse and suddenly he was a trifle lighter. “They cut the field. Now we’re really down.”

He was about to invite Kelly into his room for the inevitable coffee when the ship’s speakers sounded: “All hands! All passengers! Report to Bifrost Lounge for an important announcement. Those on watch are ordered to listen in by phone.”

“What’s up?” asked Max. “Why wonder? We’ll go see.”

The lounge was crowded with passengers and crew. First Officer Walther stood near the Captain’s table, counting the crowd with his eyes. Max saw him speak to Bennett, who nodded and hurried away. The large view port was across the lounge from Max; he stretched on his toes and tried to see out. All he could see was hilltops and blue sky.

There was a lessening of the murmur of voices; Max looked around to see Bennett preceding Captain Blaine through the crowd. The Captain went to his table and sat down; the First Officer glanced at him, then cleared his throat loudly. “Quiet, please.”

He went on, “I’ve called you together because Captain Blaine has something he wants to say to you.” He stopped and stepped back respectfully.

Captain Blaine slowly stood up, looked uncertainly around. Max saw him square his thin shoulders and lift his head. “Men,” he said, his voice suddenly firm and strong. “My guests and friends—” he went on, his voice sinking. There was a hush in the lounge, Max could hear the Captain’s labored breathing. He again asserted control of himself and continued, “I have brought you… I have brought you as far as I can… ” His voice trailed off. He looked at them for a long moment, his mouth trembling. It seemed impossible for him to continue. The crowd started to stir.

But he did continue and they immediately quieted. “I have something else to say,” he began, then paused. This pause was longer, when he broke it his voice was a whisper. “I’m sorry. God keep you all.” He

turned and started for the door.

Bennett slipped quickly in front of him. Max could hear him saying quietly and firmly: “Gangway, please. Way for the Captain.” No one said anything until he was gone, but a woman passenger at Max’s elbow was sobbing softly.

Mr. Walther’s sharp, clear voice rang out. “Don’t go away, anyone! I have additional announcements to make.” His manner ignored what they had all just seen. “The time has come to sum up our present situation. As you can see, this planet is much like our Mother Earth. Tests must be made to be sure that the atmosphere is breathable, and so forth; the Surgeon and the Chief Engineer are making them now. But it seems likely that this new planet will prove to be eminently suitable for human beings, probably even more friendly than Earth.

“So far, we have seen no indications of civilized life. On the whole, that seems a good thing. Now as to our resources—The Asgard carries a variety of domestic animals, they will be useful and should be conserved as breeding stock. We have an even wider variety of useful plants, both in the ship’s hydroponic gardens and carried as seeds. We have a limited but adequate supply of tools. Most important of all the ship’s library contains a fair cross-section of our culture. Equally important, we ourselves have our skills and traditions…”

“Mr. Walther!”

“Yes, Mr. Hornsby?”

“Are you trying to tell us that you are dumping us here?”

Walther looked at him coldly. “No. Nobody is being’dumped’ as you put it. You can stay in the ship and you will be treated as a guest as long as the Asgard—or you yourself—is alive. Or until the ship reaches the destination on your ticket. If it does. No, I have been trying to discuss reasonably an open secret; this ship is lost.”

A voiceless sigh went through the room. All of them knew it, but up till now it had not been admitted officially. The flat announcement from a responsible officer echoed like the sentence of a court.

“Let me state the legal position,” Mr. Walther went on. “While this ship was in space you passengers were subject to the authority of the Captain, as defined by law, and through him you were subject to me and the other ship’s officers. Now we have landed. You may go freely… or you may stay. Legally this is an unscheduled stopover; if the ship ever leaves here you may return to it and continue as passengers.

That is my responsibility to you and it will be carried out. But I tell you plainly that at present I have no hope to offer that we will ever leave here—which is why I spoke of colonizing. We are lost.”

In the rear of the room a woman began to scream hysterically, with incoherent sounds of, “… home! I want to go home! Take me…”

Walther’s voice cut through the hubbub. “Dumont! Flannigan! Remove her. Take her to the Surgeon.”

He continued as if nothing had happened. “The ship and the ship’s crew will give every assistance possible, consistent with my legal responsibility to keep the ship in commission, to aid any of you who wish to colonize. Personally I think…”

A surly voice cut in, “Why talk about ‘law’? There is no law here!”

Walther did not even raise his voice. “But there is. As long as this ship is in commission, there is law, no matter how many light-years she may be from her home port. Furthermore, while I have no authority

over any who choose to leave the ship, I strongly advise you to make it your first act dirtside to hold a town meeting, elect officers, and found a constitutional government. I doubt that you can survive otherwise.”

“Mr. Walther.” “Yes, Mr. Daigler?”

“This is obviously no time for recriminations…” “Obviously!”

Daigler grinned wryly. “So I won’t indulge, though I could think of some. But it happens that I know something professionally about the economics of colonizing.”

“Good! We’ll use your knowledge.”

“Will you let me finish? A prime principle in maintaining a colony out of touch with its supply base is to make it large enough. It’s a statistical matter, too small a colony can be overwhelmed by a minor setback. It’s like going into a dice game with too little money: three bad rolls and you’re sunk. Looking around me, it’s evident that we have much less than optimal minimum. In fact—”

“It’s what we have, Mr. Daigler.”

“I see that. I’m not a wishful thinker. What I want to know is, can we count on the crew as well?”

Mr. Walther shook his head. “This ship will not be decommissioned as long as there are men capable of manning it. There is always hope, no matter how small, that we may find a way home. It is even possible that an Imperial survey ship might discover us. I’m sorry—no.”

“That isn’t quite what I asked. I was two jumps ahead of you, I figured you wouldn’t let the crew colonize. But can we count on their help? We seem to have about six females, give or take one, who will probably help to carry on the race. That means that the next generation of our new nation is going to be much smaller. Such a colony would flicker and die, by statistical probability—unless every man jack of us works ten hours a day for the rest of his life, just to give our children a better chance of making it. That’s all right with me, if we all make an all-out try. But it will take all the manpower we have to make sure that some young people who aren’t even born yet get by thirty years from now. Will the crew help?”

Mr. Walther said quietly, “I think you can count on it.” “Good enough.”

A small, red-faced man whose name Max had never learned interrupted. “Good enough, my eye! I’m going to sue the company, I’m going to sue the ship’s officers individually. I’m going to shout it from the… ” Max saw Sam slipping through the crowd to the man’s side, the disturbance stopped abruptly.

“Take him to the Surgeon,” Mr. Walther said wearily. “He can sue us tomorrow. The meeting is adjourned.”

Max started for his room. Eldreth caught up with him. “Max! I want to talk with you.” “All right.” He started back toward the lounge.

“No, I want to talk privately. Let’s go to your room.”

“Huh? Mrs. Dumont would blow her top, then she’d tell Mr. Walther.”

“Bother with all that! Those silly rules are dead. Didn’t you listen at the meeting?” “You’re the one who didn’t listen.”

He took her firmly by the arm, turned her toward the public room. They ran into Mr. and Mrs. Daigler coming the other way. Daigler said, “Max? Are you busy?”

“Yes,” answered Eldreth. “No,” said Max.

“Hmm… you two had better take a vote. I’d like to ask Max some questions. I’ve no objection to your being with us, Eldreth, if you will forgive the intrusion.

She shrugged. “Oh, well, maybe you can handle him. I can’t.”

They went to the Daiglers’ stateroom, larger and more luxurious than Max’s and possessing two chairs. The two women perched on the bed, the men took the chairs. Daigler began, “Max, you impress me as a man who prefers to give a straight answer. There are things I want to know that I didn’t care to ask out there. Maybe you can tell me.”

“I will if I can.”

“Good. I’ve tried to ask Mr. Simes, all I get is a snottily polite brush off. I haven’t been able to get in to see the Captain—after today I see that there wouldn’t have been any point anyhow. Now, can you tell me, with the mathematics left out, what chance we have to get home? Is it one in three, or one in a thousand—or what?”

“Uh, I couldn’t answer it that way.” “Answer it your own way.”

“Well, put it this way. While we don’t know where we are, we know positively where we aren’t. We aren’t within, oh, say a hundred light-years of any explored part of the Galaxy.”

“How do you know? It seems to me that’s a pretty big space to be explored in the weeks since we got off the track.”

“It sure is. It’s a globe twelve hundred trillion miles thick. But we didn’t have to explore it, not exactly.” “Then how?”

“Well, sir, we examined the spectra of all first magnitude stars in sight—and a lot more. None of them is in our catalogues. Some are giants that would be first magnitude anywhere within a hundred light-years of them—they’d be certain to be in the catalogues if a survey ship had ever been that close to them. So we are absolutely certain that we are a long, long way from anywhere that men have ever been before.

Matter of fact, I spoke too conservatively. Make it a globe twice as thick, eight times as big, and you’d still be way over on the conservative side. We’re really lost.”

“Mmm… I’m glad I didn’t ask those questions in the lounge. Is there any possibility that we will ever know where we are?”

“Oh, sure! There are thousands of stars left to examine. Chief Kelly is probably shooting one this minute.”

“Well, then, what are the chances that we will eventually find ourselves?”

“Oh, I’d say they were excellent—in a year or two at the outside. If not from single stars, then from globular star clusters. You realize that the Galaxy is a hundred thousand light-years across, more or less, and we can see only stars that are fairly close. But the globular clusters make good landmarks, too.” Max added the mental reservation, if we aren’t in the wrong galaxy. There seemed no point in burdening them with that dismaying possibility.

Daigler relaxed and took out a cigar. “This is the last of my own brand, but I’ll risk smoking it now. Well, Maggie, I guess you won’t have to learn how to make soap out of wood ashes and hog drippings after all. Whether it’s one year or five, we can sweat it out and go home.”

“I’m glad.” She patted her ornate coiffure with soft, beautifully manicured hands. “I’m hardly the type for it.”

“But you don’t understand!” “Eh? What’s that, Max?”

“I didn’t say we could get back. I just said I thought it was fairly certain we would find out where we are.”

“What’s the difference? We find out, then we go home.”

“No, because we can’t be less than a hundred light-years from explored space.”

“I don’t see the hitch. This ship can do a hundred light-years in a split second. What was the longest leap we made this cruise? Nearly five hundred light-years, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but—” Max turned to Eldreth. “You understand? Don’t you?” “Well, maybe. That folded-scarf thing you showed me?”

“Yes, yes. Mr. Daigler, sure the Asgard can transit five hundred light-years in no time—or any other distance. But only at calculated and surveyed congruencies. We don’t know of any within a hundred light-years, at least… and we won’t know of any even if we find out where we are because we know where we aren’t. Follow me? That means that the ship would have to travel at top speed for something over a hundred years and maybe much longer, just for the first leg of the trip.”

Mr. Daigler stared thoughtfully at his cigar ash, then took out a pen knife and cut off the burning end. “I’ll save the rest. Well, Maggie, better study up on that homemake soap deal. Thanks, Max. My father was a farmer, I can learn.”

Max said impulsively, “I’ll help you, sir.”

“Oh yes, you did tell us that you used to be a farmer, didn’t you? You should make out all right.” His eyes swung to Eldreth. “You know what I would do, if I were you kids? I’d get the Captain to marry you right away. Then you’d be all set to tackle colonial life right.”

Max blushed to his collar and did not look at Ellie. “I’m afraid I can’t. I’m a crew member, I’m not eligible to colonize.”

Mr. Daigler looked at him curiously. “Such devotion to duty. Well, no doubt Ellie can take her pick among the single men passengers.”

Eldreth smoothed her skirt demurely. “No doubt.” “Come, Maggie. Coming, Eldreth?”

CHARITY

“Charityville” was a going concern within a week. It had a mayor, Mr. Daigler, a main street, Hendrix Avenue, even its first wedding, performed by the mayor in the presence of the villagers—Mr. Arthur and little Becky Weberbauer. The first cottage, now building, was reserved for the newlyweds. It was a log cabin and a very sloppy job, for, while there were those among them who had seen pictures or had even seen log cabins, there was no one who had ever built one before.

There was an air of hope, of common courage, even of gaiety in the new community. The place was fragrant with new starts, forward-looking thoughts. They still slept in the ship and breakfasted there, then carried their lunches and labored mightily, men and women alike, through the short day—Charity spun on her axis in twenty-one-plus hours. They returned at nightfall, dined in the ship, and some found energy to dance a bit before going to bed.

Charity seemed to be all that her name implied. The days were balmy, the nights were mild—and beautiful beyond anything yet found in the Galaxy. Its star (they simply called it “the Sun”) was accompanied by more comets than had yet been seen around any star. A giant with a wide tail stretched from zenith to western horizon, diving at their Sun. Another, not yet so grand but awesome enough to have caused watchers for the end of the world on Earthly hilltops, approached from the north, and two more decorated the southern sky with lace of icy fire.

Concomitant with comets was, necessarily, an equal abundance of meteors. Every night was a shower of falling stars, every day ended like Solar Union Day with a display of fireworks.

They had seen no dangerous animals. Some of the settlers reported seeing centaurlike creatures about the size of Shetland ponies, but they seemed timid and had scurried away when discovered. The prevalent life form appeared to be marsupial mammals in various sizes and shapes. There were no birds, but there was another sort of flying life not found elsewhere—jellyfishlike creatures four or five feet high with dangling tendrils, animated balloons. They appeared to have muscular control over their swollen bladders for they could rise and fall, and could even, by some not evident means, go upwind against a gentle breeze—in higher winds they anchored to treetops, or floated free and let the wind carry them.

They seemed curious about Charityville and would hang over a work site, turning slowly around as if to see everything. But they never got within reach. Some of the settlers wanted to shoot one down and examine it; Mayor Daigler forbade it.

There was another animal too—or might be. They were called “peekers” because all that anyone had seen was something that ducked quickly behind a rock or tree when anyone tried to look. Between the possibly mythical peeker and the ubiquitous balloons the colonists felt that their new neighbors took a deep but not unfriendly interest in what they were doing.

Maggie Daigler—she was “Maggie” to everyone now—had put away her jewels, drawn dungarees from ship’s stores, and chopped off her hair. Her nails were short and usually black with grime. But she looked years younger and quite happy.

In fact, everyone seemed happy but Max.

Ellie was avoiding him. He cursed himself and his big mouth thrice daily and four times at night. Sure, Daigler had spoken out of turn—but was that any reason for him to open his mouth and put his foot in it? Of course, he had never figured on marrying Ellie—but shucks, maybe they were stuck here forever. “Probably,” not “maybe,” he corrected. The ban on joining the colony would be let up in time—in which case, what was the sense in getting in bad with the only eligible girl around?

An astrogator ought to be a bachelor but a farmer needed a wife. Mighty nice to have some one cooking the turnip greens and jointing a chicken while a man was out in the fields. He ought to know—Maw had let it slide often enough. Ellie wouldn’t be like Maw. She was strong and practical and with just a little teaching would do all right.

Besides she was about the prettiest thing he ever saw, if you looked at her right.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dumont, by special dispensation, joined the colony it caused him to act. Since the steward and stewardess would have no duties in a ship without passengers no one could reasonably object—but it gave Max an approach. He went to see the First Officer.

“Probationary Apprentice Jones, sir.”

Walther glanced up. “I think I’d say ‘Assistant Astrogator Jones’ if I were you. Closer to the facts. Come in.”

“Uh, that’s what I wanted to speak with you about, sir.” “So? How?”

“I want to revert to my billet.”

“Eh? Why would you rather be a chartsman than an astrogator? And what difference does it make—now?”

“No, sir. I’m electing to resume my permanent appointment, steward’s mate third.” Walther looked amazed. “There must be more to this. Explain yourself.”

With much stammering Max explained his trouble with Simes. He tried to be fair and finished with the dismal feeling that he had sounded childish. Walther said, “You’re sure about this? Mr. Simes has said nothing to me about you.”

“He wouldn’t, sir. But it’s true. You can ask Kelly.”

Walther thought for a while. “Mr. Jones, I wouldn’t attach too much importance to this. At your age these conflicts of personality often seem more serious than they are. My advice is to forget it and do your work. I’ll speak to Mr. Simes about his keeping you out of the control room. That isn’t proper and I am surprised to hear it.”

“No, sir.”

“‘No, sir’ what?”

“I want to return to steward’s mate.” “Eh? I don’t understand you.”

“Because, sir, I want to join the colony. Like Chief Steward Dumont.”

“Oh… A light begins to dawn.” Walther slapped the desk emphatically. “Absolutely no! Under no circumstances.”

“Sir?”

“Please understand me. This is not discrimination. If you were a steward’s mate and nothing else, I would consider your request—under the special circumstances which I believe pertain. But you are an astrogator. You know our situation. Dr. Hendrix is dead. Captain Blaine—well, you have seen him. He may recover, I cannot plan on it. Mr. Jones, as long as there is any faint hope that this ship will ever lift again, as long as we have crew to work her, no astrogator, no chartsman, no computerman will be relieved from duty for any reason whatsoever. You see that, don’t you?”

“I guess so, sir. Uh, aye aye, sir.”

“Good. By the way, keep this to yourself, but as soon as the colony can get along without us temporarily, I want the ship placed in a parking orbit so that you specialists can maintain a search. You can’t work very well through this atmosphere, can you?”

“No, sir. Our instruments were designed for open space.”

“So we must see that you get it.” The First Officer sat silent, then added, “Mr. Jones—Max, isn’t it? May I speak to you man to man?”

“Uh? Certainly, sir.”

“Mmm… Max, this is none of my business, but treat it as fatherly advice. If you have an opportunity to marry—and want to—you don’t have to join the colony to do it. If we stay, it won’t matter in the long run whether you are crew or a charter member of the village. If we leave, your wife goes with you.”

Max’s ears burned. He could think of nothing to say.

“Hypothetical question, of course. But that’s the proper solution.” Walther stood up. “Why don’t you take the day off? Go take a walk or something. Fresh air will do you good. I’ll speak to Mr. Simes.”

Instead, Max went looking for Sam, did not find him in the ship, discovered that he had gone dirtside. He followed him down and walked the half mile to Charityville.

Before he reached the building that was being worked on he saw a figure separate itself from the gang. He soon saw that it was Eldreth. She stopped in front of him, a sturdy little figure in dirty dungarees. She planted her feet and set fists on her hips.

“Uh, howdy, Ellie.”

“Up to your old tricks! Avoiding me. Explain yourself.”

The injustice of it left him stuttering. “But… Now see here, Ellie, it’s not that way at all. You’ve been…”

“A likely story. You sound like Chipsie caught with her hand in a candy dish. I just wanted to tell you, you reluctant Don Juan, that you have nothing to worry about. I’m not marrying anyone this season. So you can resume the uneven tenor of your ways.”

“But, Ellie… ” he started desperately.

“Want me to put it in writing? Put up a bond?” She looked fiercely at him, then began to laugh, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, Max, you large lout, you arouse the eternal maternal in me. When you are upset your face gets as long as a mule’s. Look, forget it.”

“But, Ellie… Well, all right.” “Pals?”

“Pals.”

She sighed. “I feel better. I don’t know why, but I don’t like to be on the outs with you. Where were you going?”

“Uh, nowhere. Taking a walk.”

“Fine. I’ll go too. Half a sec while I gather in Chipsie.” She turned and called, “Mister Chips! Chipsie!” “I don’t see her.”

“I’ll get her.” She ran off, to return quickly with the spider puppy on her shoulder and a package in her hand. “I picked up my lunch. We can split it.”

“Oh, we won’t be gone that long. Hi, Chipsie baby.” “Hi, Max. Candy?”

He dug into a pocket, found a sugar cube that he had saved several days ago for the purpose; the spider puppy accepted it gravely and said, “Thank you.”

“Yes, we will,” Ellie disagreed, “because some of the men saw a herd of those centaur ponies the other side of that ridge. It’s quite a hike.”

“I don’t think we ought to go that far,” he said doubtfully. “Won’t they miss you?”

“I’ve been doing my share. See my callouses?” She stuck out a grimy paw. “I told Mr. Hornsby that I was suddenly come down with never-get-overs and he would have to find somebody else to hold while he hammered.”

He was pleased to give in. They went up rising ground and into an arroyo and soon were in a grove of primitive conifers. Mr. Chips jumped down from Ellie’s shoulders and scurried up a tree. Max stopped. “Hadn’t we better catch her?”

“You worry too much. Chipsie wouldn’t run away. She’d be scared to death. Chipsie! Here, honey!”

The spider puppy hustled through branches, got directly above them, dropped a cone on Max. Then she laughed, a high giggle. “See? She just wants to play.”

The ridge was high and Max found that his hillbilly’s wind had been lost somewhere among the stars. The arroyo meandered slowly upwards. He was still woodsman enough to keep a sharp eye out for landmarks and directions. At weary last they topped the crest. Ellie paused. “I guess they’re gone,” she said disappointedly, staring out over flatter country below them. “No! Look over there. See them! About two dozen little black dots.”

“Uh huh. Yeah.”

“Let’s go closer. I want a good look.”

“I wonder if that’s smart? We’re a far piece from the ship and I’m not armed.” “Oh, they’re harmless.”

“I was thinking of what else might be in these woods.”

“But we’re already in the woods, and all we’ve seen are the hobgoblins.” She referred to the balloonlike creatures, two of which had trailed them up the arroyo. The humans had grown so used to their presence that they no longer paid them any attention.

“Ellie, it’s time we went back.” “No.”

“Yes. I’m responsible for you. You’ve seen your centaurs.”

“Max Jones, I’m a free citizen. You may be starting back; I’m going to have a close look at those underslung cow ponies.” She started down.

“Well—Wait a moment. I want to get my bearings.” He took a full look around, fixed the scene forever in his mind, and followed her. He was not anxious to thwart her anyhow; he had been mulling over the notion that this was a good time to explain why he had said what he had said to Mr. Daigler—and perhaps lead around to the general subject of the future. He wouldn’t go so far as to talk about marriage—though he might bring it up in the abstract if he could figure out an approach.

How did you approach such a subject? You didn’t just say, “There go the hobgoblins, let’s you and me get married!”

Ellie paused. “There go the hobgloblins. Looks as if they were heading right for the herd.” Max frowned. “Could be. Maybe they talk to them?”

She laughed. “Those things?” She looked him over carefully. “Maxie, I’ve just figured out why I bother with you.”

Huh? Maybe she was going to lead up to it for him. “Why?”

“Because you remind me of Putzie. You get the same puzzled look he does.” “‘Putzie?’ Who is Putzie?”

“Putzie is the man my father shipped me off to Earth to get me away from—and the reason I crushed out of three schools to get back to Hespera. Only Daddy will probably have shipped him off, too. Daddy is tricky. Come here, Chipsie. Don’t go so far.”

She continued, “You’ll love Putzie. He’s nice. Stop it, Chipsie.”

Max despised the man already. “I don’t like to fret you,” he said, “but it’s a long way to Hespera.”

“I know. Let’s not borrow trouble.” She looked him over again. “I might keep you in reserve, if you weren’t so jumpy.”

Before he could think of the right answer she had started down.

The centaurs—it seemed the best name, though the underparts were not much like horses and the parts that stuck up were only vaguely humanoid—clustered near the foot of the hill, not far out from the trees. They weren’t grazing, it was hard to tell what they were doing. The two hobgoblins were over the group, hovering as if in interest just as they did with humans. Ellie insisted on going to the edge of the clearing to see them better.

They reminded Max of clowns made up to look like horses. They had silly, simple expressions and apparently no room for a brain case. They appeared to be marsupials, with pouches almost like bibs. Either they were all females or with this species the male had a pouch too. Several little centaurs were cavorting around, in and out the legs of their elders.

One of the babies spied them, came trotting toward them, sniffling and bleating. Behind it the largest adult pulled out of the herd to watch the young one. The colt scampered up and stopped about twenty feet away.

“Oh, the darling!” Ellie said and ran out a few feet, dropped to one knee. “Come here, pet. Come to mama.”

Max started for her. “Ellie! Come back here!”

The large centaur reached into its pouch, hauled out something, swung it around its head like a gaucho’s throwing rope. “Ellie!”

He reached her just as it let go. The thing struck them, wound around and held them. Ellie screamed and Max struggled to tear it loose—but they were held like Laocoön.

Another line came flying through the air, clung to them. And another.

Mr. Chips had followed Ellie. Now she skittered away, crying. She stopped at the edge of the clearing and shrilled, “Max! Ellie! Come back. Please back!”

CIVILIZATION

Ellie did not faint nor grow hysterical. After that involuntary scream, her next remark was simply, “Max, I’m sorry. My fault.”

The words were almost in his ear, so tightly were they tied together by the clinging ropes. He answered, “I’ll get us loose!” and continued to strain at their bonds.

“Don’t struggle,” she said quietly, “It just makes them tighter. We’ll have to talk our way out of this.”

What she said was true; the harder he strained the tighter the pythonlike bonds held them. “Don’t,” Ellie pleaded. “You’re making it worse. It’s hurting me.” Max desisted.

The largest centaur ambled up and looked them over. Its broad simple face was still more ludicrous close up and its large brown eyes held a look of gentle astonishment. The colt approached from the other side and sniffed curiously, bleated in a high voice. The adult bugled like an elk; the colt shied sideways, then rejoined the herd on a dead run.

“Take it easy,” Ellie whispered. “I think they were scared that we would hurt the baby. Maybe they’ll just look us over and let us go.”

“Maybe. But I wish I could get at my knife.” “I’m glad you can’t. This calls for diplomacy.”

The rest of the herd came up, milled around and looked them over, while exchanging calls that combined bugling, whinnying, and something between a cough and a snort. Max listened. “That’s language,” he decided.

“Of course. And how I wish I had studied it at Miss Mimsey’s.”

The largest centaur leaned over them, smoothed at their bonds; they became looser but still held them. Max said sharply, “I think they are going to untie us. Get ready to run.”

“Yes, boss.”

Another centaur reached into its built-in pouch, took out another of the ropelike things. It dropped to its fore knees, flipped the end so that it curled around Max’s left ankle. The end seemed to weld into a loop, hobbling Max as effectively as a bowline knot; Ellie was treated the same way. The biggest centaur then patted their bonds, which fell off and writhed gently on the ground. It picked them up and stuffed them into its pouch.

The centaur which had hobbled them wrapped the ends of their tethers around its upright trunk, they merged into a belt. After an exchange of sour bugle calls with the leader, it patted the leashes… which then stretched like taffy, becoming quite twenty feet long and much more slender. Max pressed his knife on Ellie and said, “Try to cut yourself loose. If you can, then run for it. I’ll keep them busy.”

“No, Max.”

“Yes! Dawggone it, quit being a brat! You’ve made enough trouble.”

“Yes, Max.” She took the knife and tried to saw through the strange rope near her ankle. The centaurs made no attempt to stop her, but watched with the same air of gentle astonishment. It was as if they had never seen a knife, had no notion of what one was. Presently she gave up. “No good, Max. It’s like trying to slice duraplastic.”

“Why, I keep that knife like a razor. Let me try.”

He had no better luck. He was forced to stop by the herd moving out—walk or be dragged. He managed to close the knife while hopping on one foot to save his balance. The group proceeded at a slow walk for a few steps, then the leader bugled and the centaurs broke into a trot, exactly like ancient cavalry.

Ellie stumbled at once and was dragged. Max sat down, managed to grab his hobble and hang on while shouting, “Hey! Stop!”

Their captor stopped and looked around almost apologetically. Max said, “Look, stupid. We can’t keep up. We’re not horses,” while helping Ellie to her feet. “Are you hurt, kid?”

“I guess not.” She blinked back tears. “If I could lay hands on that hay-burning oaf, he’d be hurt—plenty!”

“You skinned your hand.”

“It won’t kill me. Just tell him to slow down, will you?”

Seeing them on their feet the monster immediately started to trot again. Down they went again, with Max trying to drag them to a halt. This time the leader trotted back from the main herd and consulted their custodian. Max took part, making up in vehemence what he lacked in semantic efficiency.

Perhaps he was effective; their keeper slowed to a fast walk, letting the others go ahead. Another centaur dropped back and became a rear guard. One of the animated balloons, which had continued to hover over the herd, now drifted back and remained over Max and Ellie.

The pace was just bearable, between a fast walk and a dogtrot. The route led across the open, flat floor of the valley and through knee-high grass. The grass saved them somewhat, as the centaur leading them seemed to feel that a fall or two every few hundred yards represented optimum efficiency. He never seemed impatient and would stop and let them get up, but always started off again at a clip brisk for humans. Max and Ellie ceased trying to talk, their throats being burned dry by their panting efforts to keep up. A tiny stream meandered through the bottom of the valley; the centaur jumped easily across it. It was necessary for the humans to wade. Ellie paused in midstream, leaned down and started to drink. Max objected, “Ellie! Don’t drink that—you don’t know that it’s safe.”

“I hope it poisons me so I can lie down and die. Max, I can’t go much farther.”

“Chin up, kid. We’ll get out of this. I’ve been keeping track of where we’ve gone.” He hesitated, then drank also, being terribly thirsty. The centaur let them, then tugged them on.

It was as far again to the rising ground and forest on the other side. They had thought that they were as tired as they could be before they started up hill; they were mistaken. The centaur was agile as a goat and seemed surprised that they found it difficult. Finally Ellie collapsed and would not get up; the centaur came back and stirred her roughly with a three-toed hoof.

Max struck him with both fists. The centaur made no move to retaliate but looked at him with that same stupid astonishment. Their rear guard came up and conversed with it, after which they waited for perhaps ten minutes. Max sat down beside Ellie and said anxiously, “Feeling any better?”

“Don’t talk.”

Presently the guard edged between them and drove Max back by stepping on him, whereupon the other centaur tugged on Ellie’s leash. It contracted and she was forced to scramble to her feet. The centaurs let them rest twice after that. After an endless time, when the local sun was dropping low in the west, they came out on flat table land, still heavily wooded. They continued through trees for a distance which Max’s count of paces told him was under a mile but seemed like ten, then stopped.

They were in a semi-clearing, a space carpeted with fallen needles. Their guard came up to the other centaur and took from him the end of Max’s leash, flipped it around the base of a tree, to which it clung. The other centaur did the same with Ellie’s leash to another tree about forty feet away. Having done so, they roughly urged the two together, while stopping to stroke their bonds until they were stretched out very thin. It allowed Max and Ellie enough slack that they might have passed each other.

This did not seem to please the centaurs. One of them shifted Max’s leash farther back into the surrounding bushes, dragging him with it. This time at the extreme limit allowed by their bonds they were

about six feet apart. “What are they doing?” asked Ellie. “Looks like they don’t want us to combine forces.”

Finished, the centaurs trotted away. Ellie looked after them, began to sob, then cried openly, tears running down her dirty face and leaving tracks. “Stow it,” Max said harshly. “Sniffling will get us nowhere.”

“I can’t help it,” she bawled. “I’ve been brave all day—at least I’ve tried to be. I… ” She collapsed face down and let herself go.

By getting down prone and stretching Max could just reach her head. He patted her tangled hair. “Take it easy, kid,” he said softly. “Cry it out, if you’ll feel better.”

“Oh, Maxie! Tied up… like a dog.”

“We’ll see about that.” He sat up and examined his tether.

Whatever the ropelike leash was, it was not rope. It had a smooth shiny surface which reminded him more of a snake, though the part that wound around his ankle showed no features; it simply flowed around his ankle and merged back into itself.

He lifted the bight and detected a faint throbbing. He stroked it as he had seen the centaurs do and it responded with flowing pulsations, but it neither shrank nor grew longer, nor did it loosen its grip. “Ellie,” he announced, “This thing is alive.”

She lifted a woebegone face. “What thing?” “This rope.”

“Oh, that! Of course.”

“At least,” he went on, “if it isn’t, it’s not really dead.” He tried his knife again, there was no effect. “I’ll bet if I had a match I could make it cry ‘Uncle.’ Got an Everlite, Ellie?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Neither do I. Well, maybe I can make a fire some other way. Rubbing two sticks together, or something.”

“Do you know how?”

“No.” He continued stroking and patting the living rope, but, though he always got a response in pulsations, he did not seem to have the right touch; the bond stayed as before. He was continuing this fruitless attempt when he heard his name called. “Max! Ellie!”

Ellie sat up with a jerk. “Chipsie! Oh, Max, she followed us. Come here, darling!”

The spider puppy was high above them in a tree. She looked carefully around, then scurried down, making the last ten feet a flying leap into Ellie’s arms. They cuddled and made soft noises, then Ellie straightened up, her eyes shining. “Max, I feel so much better.”

“So do I.” He added, “Though I don’t know why.”

The spider puppy announced gravely, “Chipsie follow.”

Max reached across and petted her. “Yes, Chipsie did. Good girl!”

Ellie hugged the spider puppy. “I don’t feel deserted now, Max. Maybe everything will come out all right.”

“Look, Ellie, we’re not in too bad a spot. Maybe I’ll find the combination to tickle these ropes or snakes or whatever so they’ll give up. If I do, we’ll sneak back tonight.”

“How would we find our way?”

“Don’t worry. I watched every foot of the way, every change of direction, every landmark.” “Even in the dark?”

“Easier in the dark. I know these stars—I sure ought to. But suppose we don’t get loose; we still aren’t licked.”

“Huh? I don’t relish spending my life tied to a tree.”

“You won’t. Look—I think these things are just curious about us. They won’t eat us, that’s sure—they probably live on grass. Maybe they’ll get bored and turn us loose. But if they don’t, it’ll be rough on them.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because of Mr. Walther and George Daigler—and Sam, Sam Anderson; that’s why. They’re probably beating the bushes for us right now. We are less than ten miles from the ship—five by a straight line.

They’ll find us. Then if these silly-looking centaurs want to get tough, they’ll learn about modern weapons. They and their fool throwing ropes!”

“It might take a long time to find us. Nobody knows where we went.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “If I had a pocket radio. Or some way to signal. Or even a way to build a fire. But I don’t.”

“I never thought. It just seemed like going for a stroll in the park.”

Max thought darkly that he had tried to warn her. Why, even the hills around home weren’t safe if a body didn’t keep his eyes peeled… you could run into a mean old bobcat, or even a bear. Person like Ellie never ‘ud had enough hard knocks to knock sense into her, that was her trouble.

Presently he admitted that he himself hadn’t looked for grief from anything as apparently

chuckled-headed and harmless as these centaur things. Anyhow, as Sam would say, no use cryin’ over spilt milk when the horse was already stolen.

“Ellie.”

“Huh?”

“Do you suppose Chipsie could find her way back?” “Why, I don’t know.”

“If she could, we could send a message.”

Chipsie looked up. “Back?” she inquired. “Please back. Go home.”

Ellie frowned. “I’m afraid Chipsie doesn’t talk that well. She’d probably just hiccup and get incoherent.” “I don’t mean that. I know Chipsie is no mental giant. I…”

“Chipsie is smart!”

“Sure. But I want to send a written message and a map.” He fumbled in a pocket, pulled out a stylus. “Do you have any paper?”

“I’ll see.” She found a folded paper in a dungaree pocket. “Oh, dear! I was supposed to take this to Mr. Giordano. Mr. Hornsby will be so vexed with me.”

“What is it?”

“A requisition for number-ten wire.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” He took the paper, scratched out the memorandum, turned it over and began to draw, stopping to consult the pictures filed in his mind for distances, which way the local sun lay, contours, and other details.

“Max?”

“Quiet, can’t you?” He continued to sketch, then added: “URGENT—to First Officer Walther: Eldreth Coburn and self captured by centaurs. Be careful and watch out for their throwing ropes. Respectfully,

M. Jones.” He handed it to Ellie. “That ought to do it. Is there any way to fasten it to her? I sure don’t want her to drop it.”

“Mmm… let me see. Turn your back, Max.” “Why?”

“Don’t be difficult. Turn your back.”

He did so, shortly she said, “All right now.” He faced her and she handed him a ribbon. “How’s this?”

“Swell!” They managed to tie the ribbon, with the note folded and firmly attached, around Mr. Chips’ waist, anchoring it to a middle limb… not too easy as the spider puppy seemed to think it was a game and was ticklish as well.

“There! Stop squirming, Chipsie, and listen. Ellie wants you to go home.” “Home?”

“Yes, home. Go back to the ship.” “Ellie go home?”

“Ellie can’t go home.” “No.”

“Honey, you’ve got to.” “No.”

“Look, Chipsie. You find Maggie and tell her Ellie said to give you some candy. You give Maggie this.” She tugged at the tied note.

“Candy?”

“Go home. Find Maggie. Maggie will give you candy.” “Ellie go home.”

“Please, Chipsie.”

“Ellie,” Max said urgently, “something is coming.”

Eldreth looked up, saw a centaur coming through the trees. She pointed. “Look, Chipsie! They’re coming! They’ll catch Chipsie! Go home! Run!”

The spider puppy squealed in terror and scurried for the trees. Once on a branch she looked back and whimpered. “Go home!” screamed Ellie. “Find Maggie!”

Mr. Chips shot a glance at the centaur, then disappeared. They had no time to worry further, the centaur was almost up to them. He glanced at them and went on by; it was what followed the centaur that grabbed their attention. Ellie suppressed a shriek. “Max! They’ve caught everybody.”

“No,” he corrected grimly. “Look again.” The gathering gloom had caused him to make the same mistake; it seemed that the entire ship’s company trotted after the centaur in single file, ankle leashed to ankle by living ropes. But only the first glance gave such an impression. These creatures were more than humanoid—but such degraded creatures had never sailed between the stars.

They shuffled quickly along like well-trained animals. One or two looked at Ellie and Max in passing, but their stares were bovine, incurious. Small children not on leash trotted with their mothers, and once Max was startled to see a wrinkled little head peeping out of a pouch—these man-creatures were marsupials, too.

Max controlled a desire to retch and as they passed out of sight he turned to Ellie. “Gosh!” “Max,” Eldreth said hoarsely, “do you suppose we’ve died and gone to our punishment?” “Huh? Don’t be silly. Things are bad enough.”

“I mean it. That was something right out of Dante’s Inferno.”

Max was swallowing uneasily and not feeling good-tempered. “Look, you can pretend you’re dead if you want to. Me, I’m alive and I mean to stay so. Those things weren’t men. Don’t let it throw you.”

“But they were men. Men and women and children.”

“No, they weren’t. Being shaped like us doesn’t make them men. Being a man is something else entirely.” He scowled. “Maybe the centaurs are ‘men.'”

“Oh, no—”

“Don’t be too sure. They seem to run things in this country.”

The discussion was cut short by another arrival. It was almost dark and they did not see the centaur until he entered their clearing. He was followed by three of the—Max decided to call them ‘men’ though he

resented the necessity—followed by three men. They were not on leashes. All three were bearing burdens. The centaur spoke to them; they distributed what they carried.

One of them set down a large clay bowl filled with water in the space separating Max and Ellie. It was the first artifact that any human had seen on Charity and did not indicate a high level of mechanical culture, being crudely modeled and clearly not thrown on a potter’s wheel; it held water, no more could be said for it. A second porter dumped a double armful of small fruits beside the bowl. Two of them splashed into the bowl, he did not bother to fish them out.

Max had to look twice to see what the third slave was carrying. It looked as if he had three large ovoid balls slung by ropes in each of his hands; second inspection showed them to be animals about the size of opossums which he carried by their tails. He went around the clearing, stopping every few feet and lifting one of his burdens to a lower branch. When he had finished they were surrounded by six small creatures, each hanging by its tail. The centaur followed the slave, Max saw him stroke each animal and press a spot on its neck. In each case the entire body of the little animal lit up, began to shine like a firefly with soft silvery light.

The clearing was softly illuminated thereby—well enough, Max thought, to read large print. One of the hobgoblins balloons came sailing silently between trees and anchored to a point thirty feet above them; it seemed to settle down for the night.

The centaur came over to Max and prodded him with a hoof, snorting inquiringly. Max listened carefully, then repeated the sound. The centaur answered and again Max mimicked. This useless exchange continued for a few phrases, then the centaur gave up and left, his train trotting after him.

Ellie shivered. “Phew!” she exclaimed, “I’m glad they’re gone. I can stand the centaurs, a little, but those men… ugh!”

He shared her disgust; they looked less human close up, having hair lines that started where their eyebrows should have been. They were so flat-headed that their ears stuck up above their skulls. But it was not this that had impressed Max. When the centaur had spoken to him Max had gotten his first good look into a centaur’s mouth. Those teeth were never meant for munching grain, they were more like the teeth of a tiger—or a shark.

He decided not to mention this. “Say, wasn’t that the same one that was leading the herd that caught us?” “How would I know? They all look alike.”

“But they don’t, any more than two horses look alike.” “Horses all look alike.”

“But… ” He stopped, baffled by a city viewpoint at which communication failed. “I think it was the same one.”

“I can’t see that it matters.”

“It might. I’m trying to learn their language.”

“I heard you swallowing your tonsils. How did you do that?”

“Oh, you just remember what a sound sounds like, then do it.” He threw his head back and made a very plaintive sound.

“What was that?”

“A shote stuck in a fence. Little shote by the name of Abner I had once.” “It sounds tragic.”

“It was, until I helped him loose. Ellie, I think they’ve bedded us down for the night.” He gestured at the bowl and the fruit beside it. “Like feeding the hogs.”

“Don’t put it that way. Room service. Room service and maid service and lights. Food and drink.” She picked up one of the fruits. It was about the size and shape of a cucumber. “Do you suppose this is fit to eat?”

“I don’t think you ought to try it. Ellie, it would be smart not to eat or drink anything until we are rescued.”

“Well, maybe we could go hungry but we certainly can’t go without water. You die of thirst in a day or two.”

“But we may be rescued before morning.”

“Maybe.” She peeled the fruit. “It smells good. Something like a banana.” He peeled one and sniffed it. “More like a pawpaw.”

“Well?”

“Mmm—Look here, I’ll eat one. If it hasn’t made me sick in a half hour, then you can try one.” “Yes, sir, boss man.” She bit into the one she held. “Mind the seeds.”

“Ellie, you’re a juvenile delinquent.”

She wrinkled her nose and smiled. “You say the sweetest things! I try to be.”

Max bit into his. Not bad—not as much flavor as a pawpaw, but not bad. Some minutes later he was saying, “Maybe we should leave some for breakfast?”

“All right. I’m full anyway.” Ellie leaned over and drank. Without words they had each concluded that the cloying meal required them to risk the water. “There, I feel better. At least we’ll die comfortably. Max? Do you think we dare sleep? I’m dead.”

“I think they are through with us for the night. You sleep, I’ll sit up.”

“No, that’s not fair. Honest, what good would it do to keep watch? We can’t get away.” “Well… here, take my knife. You can sleep with it in your hand.”

“All right.” She reached across the bowl and accepted it. “Good night, Max. I’m going to count sheep.”

“Good night.” He stretched out, shifted and got a tree cone out of his ribs, then tried to relax. Fatigue and a full stomach helped, the knowledge of their plight hindered—and that hobgoblin hanging up there.

Maybe it was keeping watch—but not for their benefit. “Max? Are you asleep?”

“No, Ellie.”

“Hold my hand? I’m scared.” “I can’t reach it.”

“Yes, you can. Swing around the other way.”

He did so, and found that he could reach over his head past the water bowl and clasp her hand. “Thanks, Max. Good night some more.”

He lay on his back and stared up through the trees. Despite the half light given by the luminiferous animals he could see stars and the numerous meteor trails crisscrossing the sky. To avoid thinking he started counting them. Presently they started exploding in his head and he was asleep.

The light of the local sun through the trees awakened him. He raised his head. “I wondered how long you would sleep,” Eldreth announced. “Look who’s here.”

He sat up, wincing with every move, and turned around. Mr. Chips was sitting on Ellie’s middle and peeling one of the papaya-like fruits. “Lo, Maxie.”

“Hello, Chipsie.” He saw that the note was still tied to her. “Bad girl!”

Mr. Chips turned to Ellie for comfort. Tears started to leak out. “No, no,” corrected Ellie. “Good girl. She’s promised to go find Maggie as soon as she finishes breakfast. Haven’t you, dear?”

“Go find Maggie,” the spider puppy agreed.

“Don’t blame her, Max. Spider puppies aren’t nocturnal back home. She just waited until we were quiet, then came back. She couldn’t help it. I found her sleeping in my arm.”

The spider puppy finished eating, then drank daintily from the bowl. Max decided that it didn’t matter, considering who had probably used it before they had. This thought he suppressed quickly. “Find Maggie,” Mr. Chips announced.

“Yes, dear. Go straight back to the ship as fast as you can and find Maggie. Hurry.”

“Find Maggie. Hurry fast. ‘Bye, Maxie.” The spider puppy took to the trees and scampered away in the right direction.

“Do you think she’ll get there?” asked Max.

“I think so. After all, her ancestors found their way through forests and such for a lot of generations. She knows it’s important; we had a long talk.”

“Do you really think she understands that much?”

“She understands about pleasing me and that’s enough. Max, do you suppose they can possibly reach us today? I don’t want to spend another night here.”

“Neither do I. If Chipsie can move faster than we can…” “Oh, she can.”

“Then maybe—if they start quickly.”

“I hope so. Ready for breakfast?” “Did Chipsie leave anything?” “Three apiece. I’ve had mine. Here.”

“Sure you’re lying? There were only five when we went to sleep.” She looked sheepish and allowed him to split the odd one. While they were eating he noticed a change. “Hey, what became of the over-sized lightning bugs?”

“Oh. One of those awful creatures came at dawn and carried them away. I was set to scream but he didn’t come close to me, so I let you sleep.”

“Thanks. I see our chaperone is with us.” The hobgoblin still hung in the tree tops. “Yes, and there have been peekers around all morning, too.”

“Did you get a look at one?”

“Of course not.” She stood up, stretched and winced. “Now to see what beautiful surprises this lovely day brings forth.” She made a sour face. “The program I would pick is to sit right here and never lay eyes on anything until George Daigler shows up with about a dozen armed men. I’d kiss him. I’d kiss all of them.”

“So would I.”

Until well past noon Eldreth’s chosen schedule prevailed, nothing happened. They heard from time to time the bugling and snorting of centaurs but saw none. They talked in desultory fashion, having already disposed of both hopes and fears, and were dozing in the sunshine, when they suddenly came alert to the fact that a centaur was entering the clearing.

Max felt sure that it was the leader of the herd, or at least that it was the one who had fed and watered them. The creature wasted no time, making it clear with kicks and prods that they were to allow themselves to be leashed for travel.

Never once were they free of the living ropes. Max thought of attacking the centaur, perhaps leaping on his back and cutting his throat. But it seemed most unlikely that he could do it quietly enough; one snort might bring the herd down on them. Besides which he knew no way to get free of their bonds even if he killed the centaur. Better wait—especially with a messenger gone for help.

They were led, falling and being dragged occasionally, along the route taken by the party of slaves. It became apparent that they were entering a large centaur settlement. The path opened out into a winding, well-tended road with centaurs going both directions and branching off onto side roads. There were no buildings, none of the outward marks of a civilized race—but there was an air of organization, of custom, of stability. Little centaurs scampered about, got in the way, and were ordered aside. There was activity of various sorts on both sides of the road and grotesque human slaves were almost as numerous as centaurs, carrying burdens, working in unexplained fashions—some with living-rope bonds, some allowed to run free. They could not see much because of the uncomfortable pace they were forced to maintain.

Once Max noted an activity on his side of the road that he wished to see better. He did not mention it to Ellie, not only because talking was difficult but because he did not wish to worry her—but it had looked like an outdoor butcher shop to him. The hanging carcasses were not centaurs.

They stopped at last in a very large clearing, well filled with centaurs. Their master patted the lines that bound them and thereby caused them to shorten until they were fetched close to his sides. He then took his place in a centaur queue.

A large, grizzled, and presumably elderly centaur was holding court on one side of the “square.” He stood with quiet dignity as single centaurs or groups came in succession before him. Max watched with interest so great that he almost lost his fear. Each case would be the cause of much discussion, then the centaur chieftain would make a single remark and the case would be over. The contestants would leave quietly.

The conclusion was inescapable that law or custom was being administered, with the large centaur as arbiter.

There was none of the travesties of men in the clearing but there were underfoot odd animals that looked like flattened-out hogs. Their legs were so short that they seemed more like tractor treads. They were mostly mouth and teeth and snuffling snouts, and whatever they came to, if it was not a centaur’s hoof, they devoured. Max understood from watching them how the area, although thickly inhabited, was kept so clean; these scavengers were animated street cleaners.

Their master gradually worked up toward the head of the line. The last case before theirs concerned the only centaur they had seen which did not seem in vibrant health. He was old and skinny, his coat was dull and his bones stuck pitifully through his hide. One eye was blind, a blank white; the other was inflamed and weeping a thick ichor.

The judge, mayor, or top herd leader discussed his case with two younger healthy centaurs who seemed to be attending him almost as nurses. Then the boss centaur moved from his position of honor and walked around the sick one, inspecting him from all sides. Then he spoke to him.

The old sick one responded feebly, a single snorted word. The chief centaur spoke again, got what seemed to Max the same answer. The chief backed into his former position, set up a curious whinnying cry.

From all sides the squatty scavengers converged on the spot. They formed a ring around the sick one and his attendants, dozens of them, snuffling and grunting. The chief bugled once; one attendant reached into its pouch and hauled forth a creature curled into a knot, the centaur stroked it and it unwound. To Max it looked unpleasantly like an eel.

The attendant extended it toward the sick centaur. It made no move to stop him, but waited, watching with his one good eye. The head of the slender thing was suddenly touched to the neck of the sick centaur; he jerked in the characteristic convulsion of electric shock and collapsed.

The chief centaur snorted once—and the scavengers waddled forward with surprising speed, swarming over the body and concealing it. When they backed away, still snuffling, there were not even bones.

Max called out softly, “Steady, Ellie! Get a grip on yourself, kid.” She answered faintly, “I’m all right.”

A FRIEND IN NEED

For the first time they were turned loose. Their master tickled their bonds, which dropped from their ankles. Max said softly to Ellie, “If you want to run for it, I’ll keep them busy.”

Ellie shook her head. “No good. They’d have me before I went fifty feet. Besides—I can’t find my way back.”

Max shut up, knowing that she was right but having felt obliged to offer. The chief centaur inspected them with the characteristic expression of gentle surprise, exchanged bugling comments with their captor. They were under discussion for some time, there appeared to be some matter to be decided. Max got out his knife. He had no plan, other than a determination that no centaur would approach either one of them with that electric-shock creature, or any other menace, without a fight.

The crisis faded away. Their captor flicked their leashes about their ankles and dragged them off. Fifteen minutes later they were again staked out in the clearing they had occupied. Ellie looked around her after the centaur had gone and sighed. “‘Be it ever so humble… ‘ Max, it actually feels good to get back here.”

“I know.”

The monotony that followed was varied by one thing only: fading hope and mounting despair. They were not treated unkindly; they were simply domestic animals—fed and watered and largely ignored. Once a day they were given water and plenty of the native papayas. After the first night they no longer had the luxury of “artificial” light, nor did the hobgoblin hang over their clearing. But there was no way of escape, short of gnawing off a leg and crawling away.

For two or three days they discussed the possibility of rescue with mounting anxiety, then, having beaten the subject to death they dropped it; it simply added to their distress. Ellie rarely smiled now and she had quit her frivolous back talk; it seemed that it had finally gotten through her armor that this could happen to Eldreth Coburn, only daughter of the rich and almost all-powerful Mr. Commissioner Coburn—a chattel, a barnyard animal of monsters themselves suitable only for zoos.

Max took it a little more philosophically. Never having had much, he did not expect much—not that he enjoyed it. He kept his worst fear secret. Ellie referred to their status as “animals in a zoo” because most of their visitors were small centaurs who came sniffling and bleating around with a curiosity that their elders seemed to lack. He let her description stand because he believed their status worse than that—he thought that they were being fattened for the table.

One week after their capture Eldreth declined to eat breakfast and stayed silent all morning. All that Max could think of to say evoked only monosyllables. In desperation he said, “I’ll beat you at three-dee and spot you two starships.”

That roused her. “You and who else?” she said scornfully. “And with what?” “Well, we could play it in our heads. You know—blindfold.”

She shook her head. “No good. You’d claim your memory was better than mine and I wouldn’t be able to prove you were cheating.”

“Nasty little brat.”

She smiled suddenly. “That’s better. You’ve been too gentle with me lately—it depresses me. Max, we could make a set.”

“How?”

“With these.” She picked up one of many tree cones that littered the clearing. “A big one is a flagship. We can pick various sizes and break the thingamajigs off and such.”

They both got interested. The water bowl was moved aside so that it no longer occupied the center of the space marked by the limits of their tethers and the no-man’s-land between them was brushed free of needles and marked with scratches as boards. The boards had to be side by side; they must stack them in their minds, but that was a common expedient for players with good visualization when using an unpowered set—it saved time between moves.

Pebbles became robots; torn bits of cloth tied to cones distinguished sides and helped to designate pieces. By midafternoon they were ready. They were still playing their first game when darkness forced them to stop. As they lay down to sleep Max said, “I’d better not take your hand. I’d knock over men in the dark.”

“I won’t sleep if you don’t—I won’t feel safe. Besides, that gorilla messed up one board changing the water.”

“That’s all right. I remember where they were.”

“Then you can just remember where they all are, Stretch out your arm.” He groped in the darkness, found her fingers. “Night, Max. Sleep tight.” “Good night, Ellie.”

Thereafter they played from sunup to sundown. Their owner came once, watched them for an hour, went away without a snort. Once when Ellie had fought him to a draw Max said, “You know, Ellie, you play this game awfully well—for a girl.”

“Thank you too much.”

“No, I mean it. I suppose girls are probably as intelligent as men, but most of them don’t act like it. I think it’s because they don’t have to. If a girl is pretty, she doesn’t have to think. Of course, if she can’t get by on her looks, then—well, take you for example. If you…”

“Oh! So I’m ugly, Mr. Jones!”

“Wait a minute. I didn’t say that. Let’s suppose that you were the most beautiful woman since Helen of Troy. In that case, you would… ” He found that he was talking to her back. She had swung round, grabbed her knees, and was ignoring him.

He stretched himself to the limit of his tether, bound leg straight out behind him, and managed to touch her shoulder. “Ellie?”

She shook off his hand. “Keep your distance! You smell like an old goat.”

“Well,” he said reasonably, “you’re no lily yourself. You haven’t had a bath lately either.”

“I know it!” she snapped, and started to sob. “And I hate it. I just… h- h- hate it. I look awful.” “No, you don’t. Not to. me.”

She turned a tear-wet and very dirty face. “Liar.” “Nothing wrong that some soap and water won’t fix.”

“Oh, if only I had some.” She looked at him. “You aren’t at your best yourself, Mr. Jones. You need a haircut and the way your beard grows in patches is ghastly.”

He fingered the untidy stubble on his chin. “I can’t help it.” “Neither can I.” She sighed. “Set up the boards again.”

Thereafter she beat him three straight games, one with a disgraceful idiot’s mate. He looked at the boards sadly when it was over. “And you are the girl who flunked improper fractions?”

“Mr. Jones, has it ever occurred to you, the world being what it is, that women sometimes prefer not to appear too bright?” He was digesting this when she added, “I learned this game at my father’s knee, before I learned to read. I was junior champion of Hespera before I got shanghaied. Stop by sometime and I’ll show you my cup.”

“Is that true? Really?”

“I’d rather play than eat—when I can find competition. But you’re learning. Someday you’ll be able to give me a good game.”

“I guess I don’t understand women.” “That’s an understatement.”

Max was a long time getting to sleep that night. Long after Eldreth was gently snoring he was still staring at the shining tail of the big comet, watching the shooting star trails, and thinking. None of his thoughts was pleasant.

Their position was hopeless, he admitted. Even though Chipsie had failed (he had never pinned much hope on her), searching parties should have found them by now. There was no longer any reason to think that they would be rescued.

And now Ellie was openly contemptuous of him. He had managed to hurt her pride again—again with his big, loose, flapping jaw! Why, he should have told her that she was the prettiest thing this side of paradise, if it would make her feel good—she had mighty little to feel good about these days!

Being captive had been tolerable because of her, he admitted—now he had nothing to look forward to but day after day of losing at three-dee while Ellie grimly proved that girls were as good as men and better. At the end of it they would wind up as an item in the diet of a thing that should never have been born.

If only Dr. Hendrix hadn’t died!

If only he had been firm with Ellie when it mattered.

To top it off, and at the moment almost the worst of all, he felt that if he ate just one more of those blasted pawpaws it would gag him.

He was awakened by a hand on his shoulder and a whisper in his ear. “Max!” “What the—?”

“Quiet! Not a sound.”

It was Sam crouching over him—Sam!

As he sat up, sleep jarred out of him by adrenalin shock, he saw Sam move noiselessly to where Ellie slept. He squatted over her but did not touch her. “Miss Eldreth,” he said softly.

Ellie’s eyes opened and stared. She opened her mouth, Max was terrified that she might cry out. Sam hastily signed for silence; she looked at him and nodded. Sam knelt over her, seemed to study something in the shadow-laced moonlight, then took out a hand gun. There was the briefest of low-energy discharges, entirely silent, and Ellie stood up—free. Sam returned to Max. “Hold still,” he whispered. “I don’t want to burn you.” He knelt over Max’s bound ankle.

When the gun flared Max felt an almost paralyzing constriction around his ankle, then the thing fell off. The amputated major part contracted and jerked away into the shadows. Max stood up. “How—”

“Not a word. Follow me.” Sam led off into the bushes with Ellie behind him and Max following closely. They had gone only twenty yards when there was a whimpering cry of “Ellie!” and the spider puppy landed in Eldreth’s arms. Sam turned suddenly.

“Keep her quiet,” he whispered, “for your life.”

Ellie nodded and started petting the little creature, crooning to it voicelessly. When Chipsie tried to talk, she silenced it, then stuffed it inside her shirt. Sam waited these few moments, now started on without speaking.

They proceeded for several hundred yards as near silently as three people who believe their lives hang on it can manage. Finally Sam stopped. “This is as far as we dare go,” he said in a low voice. “Any farther in the dark and I’d be lost. But I’m pretty sure we are outside their sleeping grounds. We’ll start again at the first light.”

“How did you get here in the dark, then?”

“I didn’t. Chips and I have been hiding in thick bushes since midafternoon, not fifty feet from you.” “Oh.” Max looked around, looked up at the stars. “I can take us back in the dark.”

“You can? It ‘ud be a darn good thing. These babies don’t stir out at night—I think.” “Let me get in the lead. You get behind Ellie.”

It took more than an hour to get to the edge of the tableland. The darkness, the undergrowth, the need for absolute silence, and the fact that Max had to take it slowly to keep his bearings despite his photographic memory all slowed them down. The trip downhill into the valley was even slower.

When they reached the edge of the trees with comparatively flat grassland in front Sam halted them and surveyed the valley by dim moonlight. “Mustn’t get caught in the open,” he whispered. “They can’t throw those snakes too well among trees, but out in the open—oh, brother!”

“You know about the throwing ropes?” “Sure.”

“Sam,” whispered Ellie. “Mr. Anderson, why did…”

“Sssh!” he cautioned. “Explanations later. Straight across, at a dogtrot. Miss Eldreth, you set the pace. Max, pick your bearings and guide us. We’ll run side by side. All set?”

“Just a minute.” Max took the spider puppy from Eldreth, zipping it inside his shirt as she had done. Mr. Chips did not even wake up, but moaned softly like a disturbed baby. “Okay.”

They ran and walked and ran again for a half hour or more, wasting no breath on words, putting everything into gaining distance from the centaur community. Knee-high grass and semi-darkness made the going hard. They were almost to the bottom of the valley and Max was straining to spot the stream when Sam called out, “Down! Down flat!”

Max hit dirt, taking it on his elbows to protect Chips; Ellie flopped beside him. Max turned his head cautiously and whispered, “Centaurs?”

“No. Shut up.”

A hobgoblin balloon, moving at night to Max’s surprise, was drifting across the valley at an altitude of about a hundred feet. Its course would take it past them, missing them by perhaps a hundred yards. Then it veered and came toward them.

It lost altitude and hovered almost over them. Max saw Sam aim carefully, steadying his pistol with both bands. There was momentarily a faint violet pencil from gun to hobgoblin; the creature burst and fell so close by that Max could smell burned meat. Sam returned his weapon and got to his feet. “One less spy,” he said with satisfaction. “Let’s get going, kids.”

“You think those things spy?”

“‘Think’? We know. Those polo ponies have this place organized. Pipe down and make miles.”

Ellie found the stream by falling into it. They hauled her out and waded across, stopping only to drink. On the other bank Sam said, “Where’s your left shoe, Miss Eldreth?”

“It came off in the brook.”

Sam stopped to search but it was useless; the water looked like ink in the faint light. “No good,” he decided. “We could waste the whole night. You’re due for sore feet—sorry. Better throw away your other shoe.”

It did not slow them until they reached the far ridge beyond which lay Charityville and the ship. Soon after they started up Ellie cut her right foot on a rock. She did her best, setting her jaw and not complaining, but it handicapped them. There was a hint of dawn in the air by the time they reached the top. Max started to lead them down the arroyo that he and Ellie had come up so many year-long days ago. Sam stopped him. “Let me get this straight. This isn’t the draw that faces the ship, is it?”

“No, that one is just north of this.” Max reconstructed in his mind how it had looked from the ship and compared it with his memory of the photomap taken as the ship landed. “Actually a shoulder just beyond the next draw faces the ship.”

“I thought so. This is the one Chips led me up, but I want us to stay in the trees as long as possible. It’ll be light by the time we’d be down to the flat.”

“Does it matter? There have never been any centaurs seen in the valley the ship is in.”

“You mean you never saw any. You’ve been away, old son. We’re in danger now—and in worse danger

the closer we get to the ship. Keep your voice down—and lead us to that shoulder that sticks out toward the ship. If you can.”

Max could, though it meant going over strange terrain and keeping his bearings from his memory of a small-scale map. It involved “crossing the furrows,” too, instead of following a dry water course—which led to impasses such as thirty-foot drops that had to be gone painfully around. Sam grew edgy as the light increased and urged them to greater speed and greater silence even as Ellie’s increasingly crippled condition made his demands harder to meet.

“I really am sorry,” he whispered after she had to slide and scramble down a rock slope, checking herself with bare and bloody feet. “But it’s better to get there on stumps than to let them catch you.”

“I know.” Her face contorted but she made no sound. It was daylight by the time Max led them out on the shoulder. Silently he indicated the ship, a half mile away. They were about level with its top.

“Down this way, I think,” he said quietly to Sam. “No.”

“Huh?”

“Chilluns, it’s Uncle Sam’s opinion that we had better lie doggo in those bushes, holding still and letting the beggar flies bite us, until after sundown.”

Max eyed the thousand yard gap. “We could run for it.”

“And four legs run faster than two legs. We’ve learned that lately.”

The bushes selected by Sam grew out to the edge of the shoulder. He crawled through them until he reached a place where he could spy the valley below while still hidden. Ellie and Max wriggled after him. The ground dropped off sharply just beyond them. The ship faced them, to their left and nearer was Charityville.

“Get comfortable,” Sam ordered, “and we’ll take turns keeping guard. Sleep if you can, this will be a long watch.”

Max tried to shift Mr. Chips around so that he might lie flat. A little head poked out of his collar. “Good morning,” the spider puppy said gravely. “Breakfast?”

“No breakfast, hon,” Ellie told her. “Sam, is it all right to let her out?”

“I guess so. But keep her quiet.” Sam was studying the plain below. Max did the same. “Sam? Why don’t we head for the village? It’s closer.”

“Nobody there. Abandoned.”

“What? Look, Sam, can’t you tell us now what’s happened?”

Sam did not take his eyes off the plain. “Okay. But hold it down to whispers. What do you want to know?”

That was a hard one—Max wanted to know everything. “What happened to the village?” “Gave it up. Too dangerous.”

“Huh? Anybody caught?”

“Not permanently. Daigler had a gun. But then the fun began. We thought that all they had were those throwing snakes and that we had scared them off. But they’ve got lots more than that. Things that burrow underground, for example. That’s why the village had to be abandoned.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“Well… the newlyweds were already in residence. Becky Weberbauer is a widow.”

Ellie gasped and Sam whispered sharply to be quiet. Max mulled it over before saying, “Sam, I don’t see why, after they got my message, they didn’t…”

“What message?”

Max explained. Sam shook his head. “The pooch got back all right. By then we knew you were missing and were searching for you—armed, fortunately. But there was no message.”

“Huh? How did you find us?”

“Chips led me, I told you. But that was all. Somebody stuffed her into her old cage and that’s where I found her yesterday. I stopped to pet her, knowing you were gone, Miss Eldreth—and found the poor little thing nearly out of her mind. I finally got it through my head that she knew where you two were.

So… ” He shrugged.

“Oh. But I can’t see,” Max whispered, “why you risked it alone. You already knew they were dangerous; you should have had every man in the ship with you, armed.”

Sam shook his head. “And we would have lost every man. A sneak was possible; the other wasn’t. And we had to get you back.”

“Thanks. I don’t know how to say it, Sam. Anyhow, thanks.”

“Yes,” added Ellie, “and stop calling me ‘Miss Eldreth.’ I’m Ellie to my friends.” “Okay, Ellie. How are the feet?”

“I’ll live.”

“Good.” He turned his head to Max. “But I didn’t say we wanted to get you back, I said we had to. You, Max. No offense, Ellie.”

“Huh? Why me?”

“Well… ” Sam seemed reluctant. “You’ll get the details when you get back. But it looks like you’ll be needed if they take the ship off. You’re the only astrogator left.”

“Huh? What happened to Simes?” “Quiet! He’s dead.”

“For Pete’s sake.” Max decided that, little as he liked Simes, death at the hands of the centaurs he would not have wished on any human; he said so.

“Oh, no, it wasn’t that way. You see, when Captain Blaine died…”

“The Captain, too?” “Yes.”

“I knew he was sick, I didn’t know he was that sick.”

“Well, call it a broken heart. Or honorable hara-kiri. Or an accident. I found an empty box for sleeping pills when I helped pack his things. Maybe he took them, or maybe your pal Simes slipped them in his tea. The Surgeon certified ‘natural causes’ and that’s how it was logged. What is a natural cause when a man can’t bear to live any longer?”

Ellie said softly, “He was a good man.” “Yes,” agreed Sam. “Too good, maybe.” “But how about Simes?”

“Well, now, that was another matter. Simes seemed to feel that he was crown prince, but the First wouldn’t stand for it. Something about some films the Chief Computerman had. Anyhow, he tried to get tough with Walther and I sort of broke his neck. There wasn’t time to be gentle,” Sam added hastily. “Simes pulled a gun.”

“Sam! You aren’t in trouble?”

“None, except here and now. If we—quiet, kids!” He peered more sharply through the bushes. “Not a sound, not a movement,” he whispered. “It may miss us.”

A hobgoblln was drifting down from north, paralleling the ridge above and out from it, as if it were scouting the high land. Max said in Sam’s ear, “Hadn’t we better scrunch back?”

“Too late. Just hold still.”

The balloon drifted abreast of them, stopped, then moved slowly toward them. Max saw that Sam had his gun out. He held his fire until the hobgoblin hovered above them. The shot burned needles and branches but it brought down the thing.

“Sam! There’s another one!”

“Where?” Sam looked where Max pointed. The second hobgoblin apparently had been covering the first, higher and farther out. Even as they watched it veered away and gained altitude.

“Get it, Sam!”

Sam stood up. “Too late. Too far and too late. Well, kids, away we go. No need to keep quiet. Sit down and slide, Ellie; it’ll save your feet some.”

Down they went, scattering rocks and tearing their clothes, with Mr. Chips on her own and enjoying it. At the bottom Sam said, “Max, how fast can you do a half mile?”

“I don’t know. Three minutes.”

“Make it less. Get going. I’ll help Ellie.” “No.”

“You get there! You’re needed.” “No!”

Sam sighed. “Always some confounded hero. Take her other arm.”

They made a couple of hundred yards half carrying Eldreth, when she shook them off. “I can go faster alone,” she panted.

“Okay, let’s go!” Sam rasped.

She proved herself right. Ignoring her injured feet she pumped her short legs in a fashion which did not require Max’s best speed to keep up, but nevertheless kept him panting. The ship grew larger ahead of them. Max saw that the cage was up and wondered how long it would take to attract attention and get it lowered.

They were half way when Sam shouted, “Here comes the cavalry! Speed it up!”

Max glanced over his shoulder. A herd of centaurs—a dozen, two dozen, perhaps more—was sweeping toward them from the hills on a diagonal plainly intended to cut them off. Ellie saw them too and did speed up, with a burst that momentarily outdistanced Max.

They had cut the distance to a few hundred yards when the cage swung free of the lock and sank lazily toward the ground. Max started to shout that they were going to make it when he heard the drum of hooves close behind. Sam yelled, “Beat it, kids! Into the ship.” He stopped.

Max stopped too, while shouting, “Run, Ellie!

Sam snarled, “Run for it, I said! What can you do? Without a gun?”

Max hesitated, torn by an unbearable decision. He saw that Ellie had stopped. Sam glanced back, then backhanded Max across the mouth. “Get moving! Get her inside!”

Max moved, gathering Ellie in one arm and urging her on. Behind them Sam Anderson turned to face his death… dropping to one knee and steadying his pistol over his left forearm in precisely the form approved by the manual.

“—A SHIP IS NOT JUST STEEL—”

The cage hit the ground, four men swarmed out as Max stumbled inside and dumped Ellie on the floor. The door clanged shut behind them, but not too quickly for Mr. Chips. The spider puppy ran to Ellie, clutched her arm and wailed. Eldreth tried to sit up.

“You all right?” Max demanded.

“Uh, sure. But… ” She shut up as Max whirled around and tried to open the cage door.

It would not open. It was not until then that he realized that the lift was off the ground and rising slowly. He punched the “stop” control.

Nothing happened, the car continued upward. About ten feet off the ground it stopped. Max looked up through the grille roof and shouted, “Hey! In the lock, there! Lower away!”

He was ignored. He tried the door again—uselessly, as its safety catch prevented it being opened when the cage was in the air. Frustrated and helpless, he grabbed the bars and looked out. He could see nothing of Sam. The centaurs were milling around in the middle distance. He saw one stumble and go down and then another. Then he saw the four men who had passed him. They were on their bellies in fair skirmish line not far from the cage, each with a shoulder gun and each firing carefully. The range was not great, about three hundred yards; they were taking steady toll. Each silent, almost invisible bolt picked off a centaur.

Max counted seven more centaur casualties—then the monsters broke and ran, scattering toward the hills. The firing continued and several more dropped before distance made firing uncertain.

Somebody shouted, “Hold your fire!” and one of the men stumbled to his feet and ran toward the center of the battle. The others got up and followed him.

When they came back they were carrying something that looked like a bundle of clothing. The cage lowered to the ground, they came inside and laid it gently on the floor. One of them glanced at Eldreth, then quickly removed his jacket and laid it over Sam’s face. Not until then did Max see that it was Mr. Walther.

The other three were Mr. Daigler, a power man whom Max knew only by sight, and Chief Steward Giordano. The fat man was crying openly. “The filthy vermin!” he sobbed. “He never had a chance. They just rode him down and trompled him.” He choked, then added, “But he got at least five of ’em.” His eyes rested on Max without recognition. “He made ’em pay.”

Eldreth said gently, “Is he dead?”

“Huh? Of course. Don’t talk silly.” The steward turned his face away.

The car bumped to a stop. Walther looked in through the lock and said angrily, “Get those bystanders out of the way. What is this? A circus?” He turned back. “Let’s get him in, men.”

As he was bending to help, Max saw Eldreth being led away by Mrs. Dumont. Tenderly they carried Sam in and deposited him on the deck where the Surgeon was waiting. Walther straightened up and seemed to notice Max for the first time. “Mr. Jones? Will you see me in my stateroom as quickly as possible, please?”

“Aye aye, sir. But… ” Max looked down at his friend. “I’d like to…”

Walther cut him short. “There’s nothing you can do. Come away.” He added more gently, “Make it fifteen minutes. That will give you time for a wash and a change.”

Max presented himself on time, showered, his face hastily scraped, and in clean clothes—although lacking a cap. His one cap was somewhere in the far valley, lost on capture. He found Chief Engineer Compagnon and Mr. Samuels, the Purser, with the First Officer. They were seated around a table, having coffee. “Come in, Mr. Jones,” Walther invited. “Sit down. Coffee?”

“Uh, yes, sir.” Max discovered that he was terribly hungry. He loaded the brew with cream and sugar.

They sat for a few minutes, talking of unimportant matters, while Max drank his coffee and steadied down. Presently Walther said, “What shape are you in, Mr. Jones?”

“Why, all right, I guess, sir. Tired, maybe.”

“I imagine so. I’m sorry to have to disturb you. Do you know the situation now?” “Partly, sir. Sam told me… Sam Anderson… ” His voice broke.

“We’re sorry about Anderson,” Mr. Walther said soberly. “In many ways he was one of the best men I ever served with. But go on.”

Max recounted what Sam had had time to tell him, but shortened the statements about Simes and Captain Blaine to the simple fact that they were dead. Walther nodded. “Then you know what we want of you?”

“I think so, sir. You want to raise the ship, so you want me to astrogate.” He hesitated. “I suppose I can.” “Mmm… yes. But that’s not all.”

“Sir?”

“You must be Captain.”

All three had their eyes fixed on him. Max felt lightheaded and for a moment wondered what was wrong. Their faces seemed to swell and then recede. He realized vaguely that he had had little to eat and almost no sleep for many hours and had been running on nerve—yes, that must be what was wrong with him.

From a long distance away he heard Walther’s voice: “… utterly necessary to leave this planet without delay. Now our legal position is clear. In space, only an astrogation officer may command. You are being asked to assume command responsibility while very young but you are the only qualified person—therefore you must do it.”

Max pulled himself together, the wavering figures came into focus. “Mr. Walther?” “Yes?”

“But I’m not an astrogator. I’m just a probationary apprentice.

Chief Engineer Compagnon answered him. “Kelly says you’re an astrogator,” he growled. “Kelly is more of an astrogator than I am!”

Compagnon shook his head. “You can’t pass judgment on yourself.” Samuels nodded agreement.

“Let’s dispose of that,” Walther added. “There is no question of the Chief Computerman becoming captain. Nor does your rank in your guild matter. Line of command, underway, necessarily is limited to astrogators. You are senior in that line, no matter how junior you feel. At this moment, I hold command—until I pass it on. But I can’t take a ship into space. If you refuse… well, I don’t know what we will have to do. I don’t know.”

Max gulped and said, “Look, sir, I’m not refusing duty. I’ll astrogate—shucks, I suppose it’s all right to call me the astrogator, under the circumstances. But there is no reason to pretend that I’m captain. You stay in command while I conn the ship. That’s best, sir—I wouldn’t know how to act like a captain.”

Walther shook his head. “Not legally possible.”

Compagnon added, “I don’t care about the legalities. But I know that responsibility can’t be divided. Frankly, young fellow, I’d rather have Dutch as skipper than you—but he can’t astrogate. I’d be delighted to have Doc Hendrix—but he’s gone. I’d rather hold the sack myself than load it on you—but I’m a physicist and I know just enough of the math of astrogation to know that I couldn’t in a lifetime acquire the speed that an astrogator has to have. Not my temperament. Kelly says you’ve got it already. I’ve shipped with Kelly a good many years, I trust him. So it’s your pidgin, son; you’ve got to take it—and the authority that goes with it. Dutch will help—we’ll all help—but you can’t duck out and hand him the sack.”

Mr. Samuels said quietly, “I don’t agree with the Chief Engineer about the unimportance of legal aspects; most of these laws have wise reasons behind them. But I agree with what else he says. Mr. Jones, a ship is not just steel, it is a delicate political entity. Its laws and customs cannot be disregarded without inviting disaster. It will be far easier to maintain morale and discipline in this ship with a young captain—with all his officers behind him—than it would be to let passengers and crew suspect that the man who must make the crucial decisions, those life-and-death matters involving the handling of the ship, that this

all-powerful man nevertheless can’t be trusted to command the ship. No, sir, such a situation would frighten me; that is how mutinies are born.”

Max felt his heart pounding, his head was aching steadily. Walther looked at him grimly and said, “Well?” “I’ll take it.” He added, “I don’t see what else I can do.”

Walther stood up. “What are your orders, Captain?”

Max sat still and tried to slow his heart. He pressed his fingers to throbbing temples and looked frightened. “Uh, continue with routine. Make preparations to raise ship.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Walther paused, then added, “May I ask when the Captain plans to raise ship?”

He was having trouble focusing again. “When? Not before tomorrow—tomorrow at noon. I’ve got to have a night’s sleep.” He thought to himself that Kelly and he could throw it into a parking orbit, which would get them away from the centaurs—then stop to figure out his next move.

“I think that’s wise, sir. We need the time.”

Compagnon stood up. “If the Captain will excuse me, sir, I’ll get my department started.”

Samuels joined him. “Your cabin is ready, sir—I’ll have your personal effects moved in in a few minutes.”

Max stared at him. He had not yet assimilated the side implications of his new office. Use Captain Blaine’s holy of holies? Sleep in his bed? “Uh, I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m comfortable where I am.”

Samuels glanced at the First Officer, then said, “If you please, Captain, this is one of the things I was talking about when I said that a ship is a delicate political entity.”

“Eh?” Max thought about it, then suddenly felt both the burden descend on him and the strength to meet it. “Very well,” he answered, his voice deepening. “Do it.”

“Yes, sir.” Samuels looked at him. “Also, Captain—if you wish it—I’ll have Lopez stop in and trim your hair.”

Max pushed locks back of his ear. “It is shaggy, isn’t it? Very well.”

The Purser and the Chief Engineer left. Max stood for a moment uncertainly, not sure what his next cue was in this new role. Walther said, “Captain? Can you spare me a few more minutes?”

“Oh, certainly.” They sat down and Walther poured more coffee. Max said, “Mr. Walther? Do you suppose we could ring the pantry and get some toast? I haven’t eaten today.”

“Why, surely! Sorry, sir.” Instead of ringing, the First Officer phoned and ordered a high tea. Then he turned to Max. “Captain, I didn’t give you all the story—nor did I wish to until we were alone.”

“So?”

“Don’t misunderstand me. My turning over command to you did not depend on these other matters—nor is it necessary for your officers to know everything that the Captain knows… even your department heads.”

“Uh, I suppose not.”

Walther stared at his coffee. “Have you heard how Mr. Simes happened to die?”

Max told him what little he had learned from Sam. Walther nodded. “That is essentially correct. Mmmm… It is not good to speak ill of the dead, but Simes was an unstable character. When Captain Blaine passed on, he took it for granted that he was immediately captain of this ship.”

“Well—I suppose it looked that way to him, from the legal standpoint.”

“Not at all! Sorry to correct you, Captain, but that is one hundred percent wrong.”

Max frowned. “I guess I’m dumb—but I thought that was the argument that was used on me?”

“No, sir. The ship being on the ground, command devolved on me, the senior. I am not required to turn command over to an astrogator until—and unless—the ship goes into space. Even then it is not automatically a matter of turning it over to the senior astrogating officer. I have a clearly defined responsibility, with numerous adjudicated cases in point: I must turn command over only to a man I believe can handle it.

“Now I have long had doubts about Mr. Simes, his temperament, I mean. Nevertheless, in this emergency, I would have found it terribly hard not to turn command over to him, once it was decided to raise ship. But before we lost the Captain I had had occasion to dig into Mr. Simes’ ability as an astrogator—partly as a result of a conversation with you. I talked with Kelly—as you have gathered, Kelly is very well thought of. I believe I know now how that last transition went sour; Kelly took pains to show me. That and the fact that Kelly told me bluntly that there wasn’t a member of the Worry gang willing to go into space under Mr. Simes made me decide that, if it ever came up, I’d let this ship sit here forever before I would let Simes be captain. That was just thinking ahead; the Captain was sick and prudence forced me to consider possibilities.

“Then the Captain did die—and Simes announced that he was captain. The fool even moved into the cabin and sent for me. I told him he was not in command and never would be. Then I left, got witnesses and took my chief of police along to eject him. You know what happened. Your life isn’t the only one that Anderson saved; I owe him mine, too.”

Walther abruptly changed the subject. “That phenomenal trick of memory you do—computing without tables or reference books. Can you do it all the time?”

“Uh? Why, yes.”

“Do you know all the tables? Or just some of them?”

“I know all the standard tables and manuals that are what an astrogator calls his ‘working tools.'” Max started to tell about his uncle, Walther interrupted gently.

“If you please, sir. I’m glad to hear it. I’m very glad to hear it. Because the only such books in this ship are the ones in your head.”

Kelly had missed the books, of course—not Walther. When he disclosed his suspicions to Walther the two conducted a search. When that failed, it was announced that one (but only one) set was missing; Walther had offered a reward, and the ship had been combed from stern to astrodome—no manuals.

“I suppose he ditched them dirtside,” Walther finished. You know where that leaves us—we’re in a state of seige. And we’d find them only by accident if we weren’t. So I’m very glad you have the same confidence in your memory that Kelly has.”

Max was beginning to have misgivings—it is one thing to do something as a stunt, quite another to do it of necessity. “It isn’t that bad,” he answered. “Perhaps Kelly never thought of it, but logarithms and binary translation tables can probably be borrowed from engineering—with those we could fudge up methods for any straight hop. The others are needed mostly for anomalous transitions.”

“Kelly thought of that, too. Tell me, Captain, how does a survey ship go back after it penetrates a newly located congruency?”

“Huh? So that is what you want me to do with the ship?”

“It is not for me,” Walther said formally, “to tell the Captain where to take his ship.”

Max said slowly, “I’ve thought about it. I’ve had a lot of time to think lately.” He did not add that he had dwelt on it nights in captivity to save his reason. “Of course, we don’t have the instruments that survey ships carry, nor does applied astrogation go much into the theory of calculating congruencies. And even some survey ships don’t come back.”

“But… ” They were interrupted by a knock on the door. A steward’s mate came in and loaded the table with food. Max felt himself starting to drool.

He spread a slice of toast with butter and jam, and took a big bite. “My, this is good!”

“I should have realized. Have a banana, sir? They look quite good—I believe hydroponics has had to thin them out lately.”

Max shuddered. “I don’t think I’ll ever eat bananas again. Or pawpaws.” “Allergic, Captain?”

“Not exactly. Well… yes.”

He finished the toast and said, “About that possibility. I’ll let you know later.” “Very well, Captain.”

Shortly before the dinner hour Max stood in front of the long mirror in the Captain’s bedroom and looked at himself. His hair was short again and two hours sleep had killed some of his fatigue. He settled a cap on his head at the proper angle—the name in the sweat band was “Hendrix”; he had found it laid out with one of his own uniforms to which captain’s insignia had been added. The sunburst on his chest bothered him—that he was indeed captain he conceded, even though it seemed like a wild dream, but he had felt that he was not entitled to anything but the smaller sunburst and circle, despite his four stripes.

Walther and Samuels had been respectful but firm, with Samuels citing precedents that Max could not check on. Max had given in.

He looked at himself, braced his shoulders, and sighed. He might as well go face them. As he walked down the companionway to the lounge he heard the speakers repeating, “All hands! All passengers! Report to Bifrost Lounge!”

The crowd made way for him silently. He went to the Captain’s table—his table!—and sat down at its head. Walther was standing by the chair. “Good evening, Captain.”

“Evening, Mr. Walther.”

Ellie was seated across from him. She caught his eye and smiled. “Hello, Ellie.” He felt himself blushing.

“Good evening, Captain,” she said firmly. She was dressed in the same high style she had worn the first time he had ever seen her in the lounge; it did not seem possible that this lady could be the same girl whose dirty face had looked at him over three-dee boards scratched in dirt.

“Uh, how are your feet?”

“Bandages and bedroom slippers. But the Surgeon did a fine job. I’ll be dancing tomorrow.” “Don’t rush it.”

She looked at his stripes and his chest. “You should talk.”

Before he could answer the unanswerable Walther leaned over and said quietly, “We’re ready, Captain.” “Oh. Go ahead.” Walther tapped on a water glass.

The First Officer explained the situation in calm tones that made it seem reasonable, inevitable. He concluded by saying, “… and so, in accordance with law and the custom of space, I have relinquished my temporary command to your new captain. Captain Jones!”

Max stood up. He looked around, swallowed, tried to speak, and couldn’t. Then, as effectively as if it had been a dramatic pause and not desperation, he picked up his water tumbler and took a sip. “Guests and fellow crewmen,” he said, “we can’t stay here. You know that. I have been told that our Surgeon calls the system we are up against here’symbiotic enslavement’—like dog to man, only more so, and apparently covering the whole animal kingdom on this planet. Well, men aren’t meant for slavery, symbiotic or any sort. But we are too few to win out now, so we must leave.”

He stopped for another sip and Ellie caught his eye, encouraging him. “Perhaps someday other men will come back—better prepared. As for us, I am going to try to take the Asgard back through the… uh, ‘hole’ you might call it, where we came out. It’s a chancy thing. No one is forced to come along—but it is the only possible way to get home. Anyone who’s afraid to chance it will be landed on the north pole of planet number three—the evening star we have been calling ‘Aphrodite.’ You may be able to survive there, although it is pretty hot even at the poles. If you prefer that alternative, turn your names in this

evening to the Purser. The rest of us will try to get home.” He stopped, then said suddenly, “That’s all,” and sat down.

There was no applause and he felt glumly that he had muffed his first appearance. Conversation started up around the room, crewmen left, and steward’s mates quickly started serving. Ellie looked at him and nodded quietly. Mrs. Mendoza was on his left; she said, “Ma—I mean ‘Captain’—is it really so dangerous? I hardly like the thought of trying anything risky. Isn’t there something else we can do?”

“No.”

“But surely there must be?”

“No. I’d rather not discuss it at the table.”

“But… ” He went on firmly spooning soup, trying not to tremble. When he looked up he was caught by a glittering eye across the table, a Mrs. Montefiore, who preferred to be called “Principessa”—a dubious title. “Dolores, don’t bother him. We want to hear about his adventures—don’t we, Captain?”

“No.”

“Come now! I hear that it was terribly romantic.” She drawled the word and gave Ellie a sly, sidelong look. She looked back at Max with the eye of a predatory bird and showed her teeth. She seemed to have more teeth than was possible. “Tell us all about it!”

“No.”

“But you simply can’t refuse!”

Eldreth smiled at her and said, “Princess darling—your mouth is showing.” Mrs. Montefiore shut up.

After dinner Max caught Walther alone. “Mr. Walther?” “Oh—yes, Captain?”

“Am I correct in thinking that it is my privilege to pick the persons who sit at my table?” “Yes, sir.”

“In that case—that Montefiore female. Will you have her moved, please? Before breakfast?” Walther smiled faintly. “Aye aye, sir.”

THE CAPTAIN OF THE ASGARD

They took Sam down and buried him where he had fallen. Max limited it to himself and Walther and Giordano, sending word to Ellie not to come. There was a guard of honor but it was armed to kill and remained spread out around the grave, eyes on the hills. Max read the service in a voice almost too low to be heard—the best he could manage.

Engineering had hurriedly prepared the marker, a pointed slab of stainless metal. Max looked at it before he placed it and thought about the inscription. “Greater love hath no man”?—no, he had decided that Sam wouldn’t like that, with his cynical contempt of all sentimentality. He had considered, “He played the cards he was dealt”—but that didn’t fit Sam either; if Sam didn’t like the cards, he sometimes slipped in a whole new deck. No, this was more Sam’s style; he shoved it into the ground and read it:

IN MEMORY OF

SERGEANT SAM ANDERSON LATE OF THE

IMPERIAL MARINES

“He ate what was set before him.”

Walther saw the marker for the first time. “So that’s how it was? Somehow I thought so.” “Yes. I never did know his right name. Richards. Or maybe Roberts.”

“Oh.” Walther thought over the implication. “We could get him reinstated, sir, posthumously. His prints will identify him.”

“I think Sam would like that.”

“I’ll see to it, sir, when we get back.” “If we get back.”

“If you please, Captain—when we get back.”

Max went straight to the control room. He had been up the evening before and had gotten the first shock of being treated as captain in the Worry Hole over with. When Kelly greeted him with, “Good morning, Captain,” he was able to be almost casual.

“Morning, Chief. Morning, Lundy.” “Coffee, sir?”

“Thanks. About that parking orbit—is it set up?” “Not yet, sir.”

“Then forget it. I’ve decided to head straight back. We can plan it as we go. Got the films?”

“I picked them up earlier.” They referred to the films cached in Max’s stateroom. Simes had managed to do away with the first set at the time of Captain Blaine’s death; the reserve set was the only record of when and where the Asgard had emerged into this space, including records of routine sights taken immediately after transition.

“Okay. Let’s get busy. Kovak can punch for me.”

The others were drifting in, well ahead of time, as was customary in Kelly’s gang. “If you wish, sir. I’d be

glad to compute for the Captain.”

“Kovak can do it. You might help Noguchi and Lundy with the films.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Data flowed to him presently. He had awakened twice in the night in cold fright that he had lost his unique memory. But when the data started coming, he programmed without effort, appropriate pages opening in his mind. The problem was a short departure to rid themselves of the planet’s influence, an adjustment of position to leave the local sun “behind” for simpler treatment of its field, then a long, straight boost for the neighborhood in which they had first appeared in this space. It need not be precise, for transition would not be attempted on the first pass; they must explore the area, taking many more photographic sights and computing from them, to establish a survey that had never been made.

Departure was computed and impressed on tape for the autopilot and the tape placed in the console long before noon. The ship had been keeping house on local time, about fifty-five standard minutes to the hour; now the ship would return to Greenwich, the time always kept in the control room—dinner would be late and some of the “beasts” would as usual reset their watches the wrong way and blame it on the government.

They synchronized with the power room, the tape started running, there remained nothing to do but press the button a few seconds before preset time and thereby allow the autopilot to raise ship. The phone rang, Smythe took it and looked at Max. “For you, Captain. The Purser.”

“Captain?” Samuels sounded worried. “I dislike to disturb you in the control room.” “No matter. What is it?”

“Mrs. Montefiore. She wants to be landed on Aphrodite.” Max thought a moment. “Anybody else change his mind?” “No, sir.”

“They were all notified to turn in their names last night.”

“I pointed that out to her, sir. Her answers were not entirely logical.”

“Nothing would please me more than to dump her there. But after all, we are responsible for her. Tell her no.

“Aye aye, sir. May I have a little leeway in how I express it?” “Certainly. Just keep her out of my hair.”

Max flipped off the phone, found Kelly at his elbow. “Getting close, sir. Perhaps you will take the console now and check the set up? Before you raise?”

“Eh? No, you take her up, Chief. You’ll have the first watch.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Kelly sat down at the console, Max took the Captain’s seat, feeling self-conscious. He wished that he had learned to smoke a pipe—it looked right to have the Captain sit back, relaxed and smoking his pipe, while the ship maneuvered.

He felt a slight pulsation and was pressed more firmly into the chair cushions; the Asgard was again on her own private gravity, independent of true accelerations. Moments later the ship raised, but with

nothing to show it but the change out the astrodome from blue sky to star-studded ebony of space.

Max got up and found that he was still holding an imaginary pipe, he hastily dropped it. “I’m going below, Chief. Call me when the departure sights are ready to compute. By the way, what rotation of watches do you plan on?”

Kelly locked the board, got up and joined him. “Well, Captain. I had figured on Kovak and me heel-and-toe, with the boys on one in three. We’ll double up later.”

Max shook his head. “No. You and me and Kovak. And we’ll stay on one in three as long as possible. No telling how long we’ll fiddle around out there before we take a stab at it.”

Kelly lowered his voice. “Captain, may I express an opinion?”

“Kelly, any time you stop being frank with me, I won’t have a chance of swinging this. You know that.”

“Thank you, sir. The Captain should not wear himself out. You have to do all the computing as it is.” Kelly added quietly, “The safety of your ship is more important than—well, perhaps ‘pride’ is the word.”

Max took a long time to reply. He was learning, without the benefit of indoctrination, that a commanding officer is not permitted foibles commonplace in any other role; he himself is ruled more strongly by the powers vested in him than is anyone else. The Captain’s privileges—such as chucking a tiresome female from his table—were minor, while the penalties of the inhuman job had unexpected ramifications.

“Chief,” he said slowly, “is there room to move the coffee mess over behind the computer?” Kelly measured the space with his eye. “Yes, sir. Why?”

“I was thinking that would leave room over here to install a cot.” “You intend to sleep up here, sir?”

“Sometimes. But I was thinking of all of us—you shave up here half the time, as it is. The watches for the next few weeks do not actually require the O.W. to be awake most of the time, so we’ll all doss off when we can. What do you think?”

“It’s against regulations, sir. A bad precedent… and a bad example.” He glanced over at Noguchi and Smythe.

“You would write it up formal and proper, for my signature, citing the regulation and suspending it on an emergency basis ‘for the safety of the ship.'”

“If you say so, sir.”

“You don’t sound convinced, so maybe I’m wrong. Think it over and let me know.”

The cot appeared and the order was posted, but Max never saw either Kelly or Kovak stretched out on the cot. As for himself, had he not used it, he would have had little sleep.

He usually ate in the control room as well. Although there was little to do on their way out to rendezvous with nothingness but take sights to determine the relations of that nothingness with surrounding sky, Max found that when he was not computing he was worrying, or discussing his worries with Kelly.

How did a survey ship find its way back through a newly calculated congruency? And what had gone wrong with those that failed to come back? Perhaps Dr. Hendrix could have figured the other side of an

uncharted congruency using only standard ship’s equipment—or perhaps not. Max decided that Dr. Hendrix could have done it; the man had been a fanatic about his profession, with a wide knowledge of the theoretical physics behind the routine numerical computations—much wider, Max was sure, than most astrogators.

Max knew that survey ships calculated congruencies from both sides, applying to gravitational field theory data gathered on the previously unknown side. He made attempts to rough out such a calculation, then gave up, having no confidence in his results—he was sure of his mathematical operations but unsure of theory and acutely aware of the roughness of his data. There was simply no way to measure accurately the masses of stars light-years away with the instruments in the Asgard.

Kelly seemed relieved at his decision. After that they both gave all their time to an attempt to lay out a “groove” to the unmarked point in the heavens where their photosights said that they had come out—in order that they might eventually scoot down that groove, arriving at the locus just below the speed of light, then kick her over and hope.

A similar maneuver on a planet’s surface would be easy—but there is no true parallel with the situation in the sky. The “fixed” stars move at high speeds and there are no other landmarks; to decide what piece of featureless space corresponds with where one was at another time requires a complicated series of calculations having no “elegant” theoretical solutions. For each charted congruency an astrogator has handed to him a table of precalculated solutions—the “Critical Tables for Charted Anomalies.” Max and Kelly had to fudge up their own.

Max spent so much time in the control room that the First Officer finally suggested that passenger morale would be better if he could show himself in the lounge occasionally. Walther did not add that Max should wear a smile and a look of quiet confidence, but he implied it. Thereafter Max endeavored to dine with his officers and passengers.

He had of course seen very little of Eldreth. When he saw her at the first dinner after Walther’s gentle suggestion she seemed friendly but distant. He decided that she was treating him with respect, which made him wonder if she were ill. He recalled that she had originally come aboard in a stretcher, perhaps she was not as rugged as she pretended to be. He made a mental note to ask the Surgeon—indirectly, of course!

They were dawdling over coffee and Max was beginning to fidget with a desire to get back to the Worry Hole. He reminded himself sharply that Walther expected him not to show anxiety—then looked around and said loudly, “This place is like a morgue. Doesn’t anyone dance here these days? Dumont!”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Let’s have some dance music. Mrs. Mendoza, would you honor me?”

Mrs. Mendoza tittered and accepted. She turned out to be a disgrace to Argentina, no sense of rhythm. But he piloted her around with only minor collisions and got her back to her chair, so timed that he could bow out gracefully. He then exercised the privilege of rank by cutting in on Mrs. Daigler. Maggie’s hair was still short but her splendor otherwise restored.

“We’ve missed you, Captain.”

“I’ve been working. Short-handed, you know.”

“I suppose so. Er… Captain, is it pretty soon now?’

“Before we transit? Not long. It has taken this long because we have had to do an enormous number of fiddlin’ calculations—to be safe, you know.”

“Are we really going home?”

He gave what he hoped was a confident smile. “Absolutely. Don’t start any long book from the ship’s library; the Purser won’t let you take it dirtside.”

She sighed. “I feel better.”

He thanked her for the waltz, looked around, saw Mrs. Montefiore and decided that his obligation to maintain morale did not extend that far. Eldreth was seated, so he went to her. “Feet still bothering you, Ellie?”

“No, Captain. Thank you for asking.” “Then will you dance with me?”

She opened her eyes wide. “You mean the Captain has time for po’ li’l ole me?”

He leaned closer. “One more crack like that, dirty face, and you’ll be tossed into irons.” She giggled and wrinkled her nose. “Aye aye, Captain, sir.”

For a while they danced without talking, with Max a little overpowered by her nearness and wondering why he had not done this sooner. Finally she said, “Max? Have you given up three-dee permanently?”

“Huh? Not at all. After we make this transit I’ll have time to play—if you’ll spot me two starships.”

“I’m sorry I ever told you about that. But I do wish you would say hello to Chipsie sometimes. She was asking this morning, ‘Where Maxie?'”

“Oh, I am sorry. I’d take her up to the control room with me occasionally, except that she might push a button and lose us a month’s work. Go fetch her.”

“The crowd would make her nervous. We’ll go see her.” He shook his head. “Not to your room.”

“Huh? Don’t be silly. I’ve got no reputation left anyhow, and a captain can do as he pleases.”

“That shows you’ve never been a captain. See that vulture watching us?” He indicated Mrs. Montefiore with his eyes. “Now go get Chipsie and no more of your back talk.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

He scratched Chipsie’s chin, fed her sugar cubes, and assured her that she was the finest spider puppy in that part of the sky. He then excused himself.

He was feeling exhilarated and oddly reassured. Seeing Mr. Walther disappearing into his room, he paused at the companionway and on impulse followed him. A matter had been worrying him, this was as good a time as any.

“Dutch? Are you busy?”

The First Officer turned. “Oh. No, Captain. Come in.”

Max waited during the ceremonial coffee, then broached it. “Something on my mind, Mr. Walther—a personal matter.”

“Anything I can do?”

“I don’t think so. But you’re a lot more experienced than I am; I’d like to tell you about it.” “If the Captain wishes.”

“Look, Dutch, this is a ‘Max’ matter, not a ‘Captain’ matter.”

Walther smiled. “All right. But don’t ask me to change my form of address. I might pick up a bad habit.”

“Okay, okay.” Max had intended to sound out Walther about his phony record: had Dr. Hendrix reported it? Or hadn’t he?

But he found it impossible to follow that line; being a captain had forced him into a different mold. “I want to tell you how I got into this ship.” He told it all, not suppressing Sam’s part now that it no longer could hurt Sam. Walther listened gravely.

“I’ve been waiting for you to mention this, Captain,” he said at last. “Dr. Hendrix reported it to me, in less detail, when he put you up for apprentice astrogator. We agreed that it was a matter that need not be raised inside the ship.”

“It’s what happens after we get back that frets me. If we get back.” “When we get back. Are you asking for advice? Or help? Or what?” “I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you.”

“Mmmm… there are two alternatives. One we could handle here, by altering a not very important report. In which…”

“No, Dutch. I won’t have phony reports going out of the Asgard.”

“I was fairly certain you would say that. I feel the same way, except that I would feel obligated for—well, various reasons—to cover up for you if you asked it.”

“I once intended to arrange a phony on it. I even felt justified. But I can’t do it now.”

“I understand. The remaining alternative is to report it and face the music. In which case I’ll see it through with you—and so will the Chief Engineer and the Purser, I feel sure.”

Max sat back, feeling warm and happy. “Thanks, Dutch. I don’t care what they do to me… just as long as it doesn’t keep me out of space.”

“I don’t think they’ll try to do that, not if you bring this ship in. But if they do—well, they’ll know they’ve been in a fight. Meantime try to forget it.”

“I’ll try.” Max frowned. “Dutch? Tell me the truth, what do you think about the stunt I pulled?” “That’s a hard question, Captain. More important is, how do you feel about it?”

“Me? I don’t know. I know how I used to feel—I felt belligerent.” “Eh?”

“I was always explaining—in my mind of course—why I did it, justifying myself, pointing out that the system was at fault, not me. Now I don’t want to justify myself. Not that I regret it, not when I think what I would have missed. But I don’t want to duck out of paying for it, either.”

Walther nodded. “That sounds like a healthy attitude. Captain, no code is perfect. A man must conform with judgment and commonsense, not with blind obedience. I’ve broken rules; some violations I paid for, some I didn’t. This mistake you made could have turned you into a moralistic prig, a ‘Regulation Charlie’ determined to walk the straight and narrow and to see that everyone else obeyed the letter of the law. Or it could have made you a permanent infant who thinks rules are for everyone but him. It doesn’t seem to have had either effect; I think it has matured you.”

Max grinned. “Well, thanks, Dutch.” He stood up. “I’ll get back up to the Hole and mess up a few figures.”

“Captain? Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Me? Oh, sure, I get a nap almost every watch.”

“Minus four hours, Captain.” Max sat up on the cot in the control room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. The Asgard was in the groove, had been boosting along it for days, working up to that final burst that would squeeze them out of this space and into another—one they knew or some other, depending on how well their “fudging” had conformed to the true structure of the universe.

Max blinked at Kelly. “How long have you been up here?” “Not long, Captain.”

“Did you get any sleep?” “Well, now, Captain…”

“Forget it, you’re incorrigible. Got one ready?” “Yes, sir.”

“Shoot.” Max sat on the cot while they passed data to him, eyes closed while he programmed the problem and translated it into the binary numbers the computer understood. He had not been out of the Hole more than a few minutes at a time for days. He would doze between sights, wake up and process one, then lie down again.

He had kept Kelly and Kovak on watch-and-watch as long as possible—although it was hard to get Kelly to rest. Lundy, Smythe, and Noguchi had continued to rotate, overlapping when the going got faster in order to help each other with plate changing and readings. For Max there could be no relief; he must process each sight, supplying from his card-file memory the information in the missing manuals.

All the Worry gang were there but Lundy. He came up as Max finished and ordered the correction. “Compliments of cookie,” he announced, setting down a gallon of ice cream.

“What flavor?” asked Max. “Chocolate chip, sir.”

“My favorite. Just remember when you are dishing it that efficiency marks will be coming up one of these days.”

“Now, Captain, that’s not fair. The Chief has a lot more mass to feed than you have.” “And I have a very high metabolic rate,” announced Noguchi. “I need more.”

“Noggy, you have a built-in space warp in each leg. We’ll let Kelly dish it and hope that pride will restrain him.” Max turned to Kelly. “What schedule are we on?”

“Twenty minutes, Captain.” “Think we need that so soon?” “Just to be safe, sir.”

“Okay.” They ran another sight and ate the ice cream, after which Max shifted them to transition stations. Kelly did not take the computer. A key punched by Kovak gave the same answer as one punched by Kelly, and Max wanted Kelly on the vernier stereograph where his long experience could make the best of poor data. Lundy assisted Kelly, with Smythe and Noguchi shooting and running.

At minus two hours Max called Compagnon, told him that they were narrowing down; the Chief Engineer assured him that he would nurse boost and vector himself from there on. “Good hunting, Captain.”

On a ten minute schedule Max still found it easy, though he had to admit he wasn’t as fresh as a still-warm egg. But he was kept comfortably busy and the corrections were pleasantly

small—Compagnon must be doing a real job down there. When the preset on the computer said less than one hour to zero, he stood up and stretched. “Everybody all set. Somebody wake up Noggy.

Everybody got a pepper pill in him? And who’s got one for me?”

Kovak leaned back and handed him one, Max popped it into his mouth and downed it with a swig of coffee. “Grab a last sandwich if you’re going to. All right, gang—let’s hit it!”

The data flowed in a steady stream. After a while Max began to tire. He would no more than pick one correction off the lights on the computer and feed it to the power room than Kelly would have more data ready. A correction showed up that seemed off the curve, as if they were “hunting” excessively. He glanced back at the lights before applying it—then realized that a new set of data was being offered.

“Repeat!” he called out.

Kelly repeated. Max ran the figures over in his mind and found that they meant nothing to him. What had that last correction implied? Had he used a legitimate method in surveying this anomaly? Could you even call it surveying? Was this what a survey ship did to get out? How could they expect a man to…

“Captain!” Kelly said sharply.

He shook his head and sat up. “Sorry. Hold the next one.” With a feeling of panic he reviewed the data in his mind and tried to program. He knew at last how it felt to have the deadline bearing down fast as light—and to lose confidence.

He told himself that he must abort—slide past under the speed of light, spend weeks swinging back, and try again. But he knew that if he did, his nerve would never sustain him for a second try.

At that bad moment a feeling came over him that someone was standing behind his chair, resting hands

on his shoulders—quieting him, soothing him. He began clearly and sharply to call off figures to Kovak.

He was still calling them out with the precision of an automaton twenty minutes later. He accepted one more sight, digested it, sent it on to Kovak with his eyes on the preset. He applied the correction, a tiny one, and called out, “Stand by!” He pressed the button that allowed the chronometer to kick it over on the microsecond. Only then did he look around, but there was no one behind him.

“There’s the Jeep!” he heard Kelly say exultantly. “And there’s the Ugly Duckling!” Max looked up. They were back in the familiar sky of Nu Pegasi and Halcyon.

Five minutes later Kelly and Max were drinking cold coffee and cleaning up the remains of a plate of sandwiches while Noguchi and Smythe completed the post-transition sights. Kovak and Lundy had gone below for a few minutes relief before taking the first watch. Max glanced again at the astrodome. “So we made it. I never thought we would.”

“Really, Captain? There was never any doubt in my mind after you took command.” “Hmmm! I’m glad you didn’t know how I felt.”

Kelly ignored this. “You know, sir, when you are programming your voice sounds amazingly like the Doctor’s.”

Max looked at him sharply. “I had a bad time there once,” he said slowly. “Shortly before zip.” “Yes, sir. I know.”

“Then—Look, this was just a feeling, you see? I don’t go for ghosts. But I had the notion that Doc was standing over me, the way he used to, checking what I did. Then everything was all right.”

Kelly nodded. “Yes. He was here. I was sure he would be.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Kelly would not explain. He turned instead to inspect post-transition plates, comparing them happily with standard plates from the chart safe—the first such opportunity since the ship was lost.

“I suppose,” said Max when Kelly was through, “that we had better rough out an orbit for Nu Pegasi before we sack in.” He yawned. “Brother, am I dead!”

Kelly said, “For Nu Pegasi, sir?”

“Well, we can’t shoot for Halcyon itself at this distance. What did you have in mind?” “Nothing, sir.”

“Spill it.”

“Well, sir, I guess I had assumed that we would reposition for transit to Nova Terra. But if that is what the Captain wants—”

Max drummed on the chart safe. It had never occurred to him that anyone would expect him to do anything, after accomplishing the impossible, but to shape course for the easy, target-in-sight destination they had left from, there to wait for competent relief.

“You expected me to take her on through? With no tables and no help?” “I did not intend to presume, Captain. It was an unconscious assumption.”

Max straightened up. “Tell Kovak to hold her as she goes. Phone Mr. Walther to see me at once in my cabin.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

The First Officer met him outside his cabin. “Hello, Dutch. Come in.” They entered and Max threw his cap on his desk. “Well, we made it.”

“Yes, sir. I was watching from the lounge.” “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Should I be, Captain?”

Max sprawled in his easy chair, stretching his weary back muscles. “You should be. Yes, sir, you should be.”

“All right. I’m surprised.”

Max looked up and scowled. “Dutch, where is this ship going now?” Walther answered, “The Captain has not yet told me.”

“Confound it! You know what I mean. Our schedule calls for Nova Terra. But there is Halcyon sitting right over there—a blind man could find it with a cane. What destination did you have in mind when you boosted me into command? Tell me what you expected then? Before you tagged me.”

“I had in mind,” Walther answered, “getting a captain for the Asgard.”

“That’s no answer. See here, the passengers have a stake in this. Sure, I had to take this risk for them, no choice. But now there is a choice. Shouldn’t we tell them and let them vote on it?”

Walther shook his head emphatically. “You don’t ask passengers anything, sir. Not in a ship underway. It is not fair to them to ask them. You tell them.”

Max jumped up and strode the length of the cabin. “‘Fair,’ you say. Fair! It’s not fair to me.” He swung and faced Walther. “Well? You’re not a passenger. You’re my First Officer. What do you think we should do?”

Walther stared him in the eye. “I can’t decide that for the Captain. That is why you are Captain.”

Max stood still and closed his eyes. The figures stood out clearly, in neat columns. He went to his phone and savagely punched the call for the control room. “Captain speaking. Is Kelly still there? Oh—good, Chief. We reposition for Nova Terra. Start work—I’ll be up in a minute.”

THE TOMAHAWK

Max liked this time of day, this time of year. He was lying in the grass on the little rise west of the barn, with his head propped up so that he could see to the northwest. If he kept his eyes there, on the exit ring of the C.S.&E. Ring Road, he would be able, any instant now, to see the Tomahawk plunge out and shoot across the gap in free trajectory. At the moment he was not reading, no work was pushing him, he was just being lazy and enjoying the summer evening.

A squirrel sat up near by, stared at him, decided he was harmless and went about its business. A bird swooped past.

There was a breathless hush, then suddenly a silver projectile burst out of the exit ring, plunged across the draw and entered the ring on the far side—just as the sound hit him.

“Boy, oh boy!” he said softly. “It never looks like they’d make it.”

It was all that he had climbed the rise to see, but he did not get up at once. Instead he pulled a letter from his pocket and reread the ending: “… I guess Daddy was glad to get me back in one piece because he finally relented. Putzie and I were married a week ago—and oh Max, I’m so happy! You must visit us the next time you hit dirt at Hespera.” She had added, “P.S. Mr. Chips sends her love—and so do I.”

Quite a gal, Ellie. She usually got her own way, one way or another. He felt a bit sorry for Putzie. Now if they had all stayed on Charity…

Never mind—an astrogator ought not to get married. Fondly he fingered the sunburst on his chest. Too bad he had not been able to stay with the Asgard—but of course they were right; he could not ship as assistant in a ship where he had once been skipper. And assistant astrogator of the Elizabeth Regina was a good billet, too; everybody said the Lizzie was a taut ship.

Besides that, not every young A.A. had a new congruency to his credit, even now being surveyed. He had nothing to kick about. He didn’t even mind the whopping big fine the Council of the Guilds had slapped on him, nor the official admonition that had been entered in his record. They had let him stay in space, which was the important thing, and the admonition appeared right along with the official credit for the “Hendrix” congruency.

And, while he didn’t argue the justice of the punishment—he’d been in the wrong and he knew it—nevertheless the guilds were set up wrong; the rules ought to give everybody a chance. Some day he’d be senior enough to do a little politicking on that point.

In the meantime, if he didn’t get moving, he’d have to buy that taxi. Max got up and started down the slope. The helicab was parked in front of the house and the driver was standing near it, looking out over the great raw gash of the Missouri-Arkansas Power Project. The fields Max once had worked were gone, the cut reached clear into the barn yard. The house was still standing but the door hung by one hinge and some kid had broken all the windows. Max looked at the house and wondered where Maw and the man she had married were now?—not that he really cared and no one around Clyde’s Corners seemed to know. They had told him at the courthouse that Maw had collected her half of the government-condemnation money and the pair of them had left town.

Probably their money was gone by now—Max’s half of the money was gone completely, it hadn’t quite paid his fine. If they were broke, maybe Montgomery was having to do some honest work, for Maw wasn’t the woman to let a man loaf when she was needing. The thought pleased Max; he felt he had a score to settle with Montgomery, but Maw was probably settling it for him.

The driver turned toward him. “Be a big thing when they get this finished. You ready to go, sir?”

Max took a last glance around. “Yes. I’m all through here.” They climbed into the cabin. “Where to? Back to the Corners?”

Max thought about it. He really ought to save money—but shucks, he would save plenty this next trip. “No, fly me over to Springfield and drop me at the southbound ring road station. I’d like to make it in time to catch the Javelin.”

That would put him in Earthport before morning.

The End

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Mad scientist
Gorilla Cage in the basement
The two family types and how they work.
Link
Pleasures
Work in the 1960's
School in the 1970s
Cat Heaven
Corporate life
Corporate life - part 2
Build up your life
Grow and play - 1
Grow and play - 2
Asshole
Baby's got back
Link
A womanly vanity
SJW
Army and Navy Store
Playground Comparisons
Excuses that we use that keep us enslaved.

Posts about the Changes in America

America is going through a period of change. Change is good… that is, after it occurs. Often however, there are large periods of discomfort as the period of adjustment takes place. Here are some posts that discuss this issue.

Parable about America
What is planned for American Conservatives - Part 2
What is going to happen to conservatives - Part 3.
What is planned for conservatives - part 4
What is in store for Conservatives - part 5
What is in store for conservatives - part 6
Civil War
The Warning Signs
r/K selection theory
Line in the sand
A second passport
Link
Make America Great Again.
What would the founders think?

More Posts about Life

I have broken apart some other posts. They can best be classified about ones actions as they contribute to happiness and life. They are a little different, in subtle ways.

Being older
Things I wish I knew.
Link
Travel
PT-141
Bronco Billy
How they get away with it
Paper Airplanes
Snopes
Taxiation without representation.
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
1960's and 1970's link
Democracy Lessons
A polarized world.
The Rule of Eight
Types of American conservatives.

Stories that Inspired Me

Here are reprints in full text of stories that inspired me, but that are nearly impossible to find in China. I place them here as sort of a personal library that I can use for inspiration. The reader is welcome to come and enjoy a read or two as well.

Link
Space Cadet (Full Text) by Robert Heinlein
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
The Last Night
The Flying Machine
A story of escape.
All Summer in a day.
The Smile by Ray Bradbury
The menace from Earth
Delilah and the Space Rigger
Life-Line
The Tax-payer
The Pedestrian
Time for the stars.
Glory Road by Robert Heinlein

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.

  • 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.
  • 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.

October 2026: The Million-Year Picnic (Full Text) by Ray Bradbury

This story was written by Ray Bradbury, and presented here under Article 22 of China’s Copyright Law. This is from the Martian Chronicles. Which is a great collection of stores about Mars.

Ray Bradbury is one of my personal heroes and his writings greatly influenced me in ways that I am only just now beginning to understand.

Here is a story that discusses new starts when the world is Hell-bent on self-destruction. Indeed, it seems quite appropriate today. When I read the crazy American “main-stream” news, I am often reminded of this story. It offers me solace. I think that it is beautifully written and very “delicious”.

I love the way that Ray Bradbury brings advanced concepts to the masses though his very (seemingly) simplistic stories.

Introduction

“There was this fence where we pressed our faces and felt the wind turn warm and held to the fence and forgot who we were or where we came from but dreamed of who we might be and where we might go…” 
-R is for Rocket Ray Bradbury

For years I had amassed a well worn, and dusty collection of Ray Bradbury paperbacks that I would pick up and read for pleasure and inspiration.  Later, when I left the United States, and moved to China, I had to leave my treasured books behind. Sigh.

Ray Bradberry book colleciton
A small collection of well worn, well read and well appreciated Ray Bradbury books. My collection looked a little something like this, only I think the books were a little more worn, and a little yellower.

It is very difficult to come across Ray Bradbury books in China. When ever I find one, I certainly snatch it up. Cost is no object when it comes to these masterpieces. At one time, I must have had five books containing this story.

I have found this version of the story on the Ray Bradbury library portal in Russia, and I have copied it here exactly as found. Credit to the wonderful people at the Ray Bradbury Library for posting it where a smuck like myself can read it within China. (Рэй Брэдбери .RU found athttp://www.raybradbury.ru ) And, of course, credit to the great master; Ray Bradbury for providing this work of art for our inspiration and pleasure.

Martian ruins.
The book “The Martian Chronicles” discusses the planet Mars and the humans that try to visit it. It takes place around a fictional world where Mars has inhabitants and large cities and canals.

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October 2026:  THE MILLION-YEAR PICNIC

By Ray Bradbury

Somehow the idea was brought up by Mom that perhaps the whole family would enjoy a fishing trip. But they weren’t Mom’s words; Timothy knew that. They were Dad’s words, and Mom used them for him somehow.

Dad shuffled his feet in a clutter of Martian pebbles and agreed. So immediately there was a tumult and a shouting, and very quickly the camp was tucked into capsules and containers, Mom slipped into traveling jumpers and blouse,

Dad stuffed his pipe full with trembling hands, his eyes on the Martian sky,  and the three boys piled yelling into the motorboat, none of them really keeping an eye on Mom and Dad, except Timothy.

Mars as viewed by a Science Fiction writer.
In the book “The Martian Chronicles”, Mars was portrayed as a beautiful place with ruins, free flowing water and blue skies.

Dad pushed a stud. The water boat sent a humming sound up into the sky. The water shook back and the boat nosed ahead, and the family cried, “Hurrah!”

Timothy sat in the back of the boat with Dad, his small fingers atop Dad’s hairy ones, watching the canal twist, leaving the crumbled place behind where they had landed in their small family rocket all the way from Earth. He remembered the night before they left Earth, the hustling and hurrying the rocket that Dad had found somewhere, somehow, and the talk of a vacation on Mars. A long way to go for a vacation, but Timothy said nothing because of his younger brothers.

They came to Mars and now, first thing, or so they said, they were  going fishing.

Dad had a funny look in his eyes as the boat went up-canal. A look that Timothy couldn’t figure. It was made of strong light and maybe a sort of relief. It made the deep wrinkles laugh instead of worry or cry.

So there went the cooling rocket, around a bend, gone. “How far are we going?” Robert splashed his hand. Itlooked like a small crab jumping in the violet water.

Dad exhaled. “A million years.” “Gee,” said Robert.

“Look, kids.” Mother pointed one soft long arm. “There’s a dead city.”

The ruins of Mars.
In the book “The Martian Chronicles”, Mars is portrayed as a dusty barren place with blue skies and water filled canals. Maybe something a little bit like this.

They looked with fervent anticipation, and the dead city lay dead for them alone, drowsing in a hot silence of summer made on Mars by a Martian weatherman.

And Dad looked as if he was pleased that it was dead.

It was a futile spread of pink rocks sleeping on a riseof sand, a few tumbled pillars, one lonely shrine, and then the sweep of sand again. Nothing else for miles. A white desert around the canal and a blue desert over it.

Just then a bird flew up. Like a stone thrown across a blue pond, hitting, falling deep, and vanishing.

Dad got a frightened look when he saw it. “I thought it was a rocket.”

Timothy looked at the deep ocean sky, trying to see Earth and the war and the ruined cities and the men killing each other since the day he was born. But he saw nothing. The war was as removed and far off as two flies battling to the deathin the arch of a great high and silent cathedral. And just as senseless.

William Thomas wiped his forehead and felt the touch ofhis son’s hand on his arm, like a young tarantula, thrilled. He beamed at his son. “How goes it, Timmy?”

“Fine, Dad.”

Timothy hadn’t quite figured out what was ticking inside

the vast adult mechanism beside him. The man with the immense hawk nose, sunburnt, peeling–and the hot blue eyes like agate marbles you play with after school in summer back on Earth, and the long thick columnar legs in the loose riding breeches.

“What are you looking at so hard, Dad?”

“I was looking for Earthian logic, common sense, good government, peace, and responsibility.”

“All that up there?”

“No. I didn’t find it. It’s not there any more. Maybe it’ll never be there again. Maybe we fooled ourselves that it was ever there.”

“Huh?”

“See the fish,” said Dad, pointing.

There rose a soprano clamor from all three boys as they rocked the boat in arching their tender necks to see. They oohed and ahed. A silver ring fish floated by them, undulating, and closing like an iris, instantly, around food partides, to assimilate them.

Dad looked at it. His voice was deep and quiet.

“Just like war. War swims along, sees food, contracts. A moment later–Earth is gone.”

“William,” said Mom. “Sorry,” said Dad.

They sat still and felt the canal water rush cool, swift,and glassy. The only sound was the motor hum, the glide of water, the sun expanding the air.

“When do we see the Martians?” cried Michael. “Quite soon, perhaps,” said Father. “Maybe tonight.”

“Oh, but the Martians are a dead race now,” said Mom. “No, they’re not. I’ll show you some Martians, all right,”

Dad said presently.

Timothy scowled at that but said nothing. Everything was odd now. Vacations and fishing and looks between people.

The other boys were already engaged making shelves of their small hands and peering under them toward the seven-foot stone banks of the canal, watching for Martians.

“What do they look like?” demanded Michael.

“You’ll know them when you see them.” Dad sort of laughed, and Timothy saw a pulse beating time in his cheek.

Mars like America.
In the book “The Martian Chronicles”, Mars looked a little like the wilds of the American South West. Maybe something a little like this.

Mother was   slender and soft, with a woven plait of spungold hair over her head in a tiara, and eyes the color of the deep cool canal water where it ran in shadow, almost purple, with flecks of amber caught in it. You could see  her thoughts swimming around in her eyes, like fish–some bright, some dark, some fast, quick, some slow and easy and sometimes, like when she looked up where Earth was, being nothing but color and nothing else. She sat in the boat’s prow,  one hand resting on the side lip, the other on the lap of her dark blue breeches, and a line of sunburnt soft neck showing where her blouse opened like a white flower.

She kept looking ahead to see what was there, and, not being able to see it clearly enough, she looked backward toward her husband, and through his eyes, reflected then, she saw what was ahead;   and  since he added part of himself to this reflection, a determined firmness, her face relaxed and she accepted it and she turned back, knowing suddenly what to look for.

Timothy looked too. But all he saw was a straight pencil line of canal going violet through a wide shallow valley penned by low, eroded hills, and on until it fell over the sky’s edge.  And this canal went on and on, through cities that would have rattled like beetles in a dry skull if you shook them. Ahundred or two hundred cities dreaming hot summer-day dreams and cool summer-night dreams . . .

They had come millions of miles for this outing–to fish.  But there had been a gun on the rocket. This was a vacation.

But why all the food, more than enough to last them years and years, left hidden back there near the rocket? Vacation. Just behind the veil of the vacation was not a soft face of laughter, but something hard and bony and perhaps terrifying. Timothy could not lift the veil, and the two other boys were busy being ten and eight years old, respectively.

“No Martians yet. Nuts.” Robert put his V-shaped chin onhis hands and glared at the canal.

Dad had brought an atomic radio along, strapped to his wrist. It functioned on an old-fashioned principle: you held it against the bones near your ear and it vibrated singing or talking to you. Dad listened to it now. His face looked like one of those fallen Martian cities, caved in, sucked. dry, almost dead.

Then he gave it to Mom to listen. Her lips dropped open. “What–” Timothy started to question, but never finishedwhat he wished to say.

For at that moment there were two titanic, marrow-jolting explosions that grew upon themselves, followed by a half dozen minor concussions.

Explosion on Mars
In the book “The Martian Chronicles”, Mars has a breathable atmosphere and blue skies. Never the less, I think that an explosion on Mars might look a little like this.

Jerking his head up,   Dad notched the boat speed higher immediately. The boat leaped and jounced and spanked. This shook Robert out of his funk and elicited yelps of frightened but ecstatic joy from Michael, who clung to Mom’s legs and watched the water pour by his nose in a wet torrent.

Dad swerved the boat, cut speed, and ducked the craft into a little branch canal and under an ancient, crumbling stone wharf that smelled of crab flesh. The boat rammed the wharf hard enough to throw them all forward, but no one was hurt, and Dad was already twisted to see if the ripples on the canal were enough to map their route into hiding. Water lines went across, lapped the stones, and rippled back to meet each other, settling, to be dappled by the sun. It all went away.

Dad listened. So did everybody.

Dad’s breathing echoed like fists beating against the coldwet wharf stones. In the shadow, Mom’s cat eyes just watched Father for some clue to what next.

Dad relaxed and blew out a breath, laughing at himself. “The rocket, of course. I’m getting jumpy. The rocket.” Michael said, “What happened, Dad, what happened?” “Oh, we just blew up our rocket, is all,” said Timothy, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “I’ve heard rockets blown up before. Ours just blew.”

“Why did we blow up our rocket?” asked Michael. “Huh, Dad?”

“It’s part of the game, silly!” said Timothy.

“A game!” Michael and Robert loved the word.

“Dad fixed it so it would blow up and no one’d know where we landed or went! In case they ever came looking, see?”

“Oh boy, a secret!”

“Scared by my own rocket,” admitted Dad to Mom. “I am nervous. It’s silly to think there’ll ever be any more rockets.

Except one, perhaps, if Edwards and his wife get through with their ship.”

He put his tiny radio to his ear again. After two minutes he dropped his hand as you would drop a rag.

“It’s over at last,” he said to Mom. “The radio just went off the atomic beam. Every other world station’s gone. They dwindled down to a couple in the last few years. Now the air’s completely silent. It’ll probably remain silent.”

“For how long?” asked Robert.

“Maybe–your great-grandchildren will hear it again,” said Dad. He just sat there, and the children were caught in the center of his awe and defeat and resignation and acceptance.

Finally he put the boat out into the canal again, and they continued in the direction in which they had originally started.

It was getting late. Already the sun was down the sky, and a series of dead cities lay ahead of them.

Dad talked very quietly and gently to his sons. Many times  in the past he had been brisk, distant, removed from them, but now he patted them on the head with just a word and they felt it.

“Mike, pick a city.” “What, Dad?”

“Pick a city, Son. Any one of these cities we pass.” “All right,” said Michael. “How do I pick?”

“Pick the one you like the most. You, too, Robert and Tim.

Pick the city you like best.”

“I want a city with Martians in it,” said Michael.

“You’ll have that,” said Dad. “I promise.” His lips were for the children, but his eyes were for Mom.

They passed six cities in twenty minutes. Dad didn’t say anything   more   about   the explosions; he seemed much more interested in having fun with his sons, keeping them happy, than anything else.

Michael liked the first city they passed, but this was vetoed because everyone doubted quick first judgments. The second city nobody liked. It was an Earth Man’s settlement, built of wood and already rotting into sawdust. Timothy liked the third city because it was large.

Martian Ruins.
In the story and the book “The Martian Chronicles”, Mars is portrayed as a dying planet. It has fresh water in canals and a blue sky and wondrous ruins. Maybe something along these lines.

The fourth and fifth were  too small and the sixth brought acclaim from everyone, including Mother, who joined in the Gees, Goshes, and Look-at-thats!

There were fifty or sixty huge structures still standing, streets were dusty but paved, and you could see one or two old centrifugal fountains still pulsing wetly in the plazas.

That was the only life–water leaping in the late sunlight. “This is the city,” said everybody.

Steering the boat to a wharf, Dad jumped out.

“Here we are. This is ours. This is where we live from now on!”

“From now on?” Michael was incredulous. He stood up, looking, and then turned to blink back at where the rocket used to be. “What about the rocket? What about Minnesota?”

“Here,” said Dad.

He touched   the small radio to Michael’s blond head. “Listen.”

Michael listened. “Nothing,” he said.

“That’s right.   Nothing. Nothing at all any more. No more Minneapolis, no more rockets, no more Earth.”

Michael considered the lethal revelation and began to sob little dry sobs.

“Wait a moment,” said Dad the next instant. “I’m giving you a lot more in exchange, Mike!”

“What?” Michael held off the tears, curious, but quite ready to continue in case Dad’s further revelation was as disconcerting as the original.

“I’m giving you this city, Mike. It’s yours.” “Mine?”

“For you and Robert and Timothy, all three of you, to own for yourselves.”

Martian ruined city.
In the Ray Bradbury stories, such as what is found in “The Martian Chronicles”, Mars is a dry desolate place. With blue skies and water filled canals. I think that many people envisioned Mars to be like the American South West. Maybe something like this.

Timothy bounded from the boat “Look, guys, all for us! All of that!” He was playing the game with Dad, playing it large and playing it well. Later, after it was all over and things had settled, he could go off by himself and cry for ten minutes. But now it was still a game, still a family outing, and the other kids must be kept playing.

Mike jumped out with Robert. They helped Mom.

“Be careful of your sister,” said Dad, and nobody knew what he meant until later.

They hurried into the great pink-stoned city, whispering among themselves, because dead cities have a way of making you want to whisper, to watch the sun go down.

“In about five days,” said Dad quietly, “I’ll go back down to where our rocket was and collect the food hidden in the ruins there and bring it here; and I’ll hunt for Bert Edwards and his wife and daughters there.”

“Daughters?” asked Timothy. “How many?”

“Four.”

“I can see that’ll cause trouble later.” Mom nodded slowly.

“Girls.” Michael made a face like an ancient Martian stone image. “Girls.”

“Are they coming in a rocket too?”

“Yes. If they make it. Family rockets are made for travel to the Moon, not Mars. We were lucky we got through.”

“Where did you get the rocket?” whispered Timothy, for the other boys were running ahead.

“I saved it. I saved it for twenty years, Tim. I had it hidden away, hoping I’d never have to use it. I suppose I should have given it to the government for the war, but I kept thinking about Mars. . . .”

“And a picnic!”

“Right. This is between you and me. When I saw everything was finishing on Earth, after I’d waited until the last moment,

I packed us up. Bert Edwards had a ship hidden, too, but we decided it would be safer to take off separately, in case anyone tried to shoot us down.”

“Why’d you blow up the rocket, Dad?”

“So we can’t go back, ever. And so if any of those evil men ever come to Mars they won’t know we’re here.”

“Is that why you look up all the time?”

“Yes, it’s silly. They won’t follow us, ever. They haven’t anything to follow with. I’m being too careful, is all.”

Michael came running back. “Is this really our city, Dad?”

“The whole darn planet belongs to us, kids. The whole darn planet.”

They stood there, King of the Hill, Top of the Heap, Ruler of All They Surveyed, Unimpeachable Monarchs and Presidents, trying to understand what it meant to own a world and how big a world really was.

Martian water.
In the stories of Ray Bradbury, the planet Mars was a barren, but beautiful place. Water ran and flowed freely and the sky was pristine blue, though the air was a little thin.

Night came quickly in the thin atmosphere, and Dad left them in the square by the pulsing fountain, went down to the boat, and came walking back carrying a stack of paper in his big hands.

He laid the papers in a clutter in an old courtyard and set them afire. To keep warm, they crouched around the blaze and laughed, and Timothy saw the little letters leap like frightened animals when the flames touched and engulfed them. The papers crinkled like an old man’s skin, and the cremation surrounded innumerable words:

“GOVERNMENT   BONDS;   Business   Graph,  1999; Religious Prejudice: An Essay; The Science of Logistics; Problems of the Pan-American Unity; Stock Report for July 3, 1998; The War Digest . . .”

Dad had insisted on bringing these papers for this purpose. He sat there and fed them into the fire, one by one, with satisfaction, and told his children what it all meant.

“It’s time I told you a few things. I don’t suppose it was fair, keeping so much from you. I don’t know if you’ll understand, but I have to talk, even if only part of it gets over to you.”

He dropped a leaf in the fire.

“I’m burning a way of life, just like that way of life is being burned clean of Earth right now. Forgive me if I talk like a politician. I am, after all, a former state governor, and I was honest and they hated me for it. Life on Earth never settled down to doing anything very good. Science ran too far ahead of us too quickly, and the people got lost in a mechanical wilderness, like children making over pretty things, gadgets, helicopters, rockets; emphasizing the wrong items, emphasizing machines instead of how to run the machines. Wars got bigger and bigger and finally killed Earth. That’s what the silent radio means. That’s what we ran away from.

“We were lucky. There aren’t any more rockets left. It’s time you knew this isn’t a fishing trip at all. I put off telling you. Earth is gone. Interplanetary travel won’t be back for centuries, maybe never. But that way of life proved itself wrong and strangled itself with its own hands. You’re young. I’ll tell you this again every day until it sinks in.”

He paused to feed more papers to the fire.

“Now we’re alone. We and a handful of others who’ll land  in a few days. Enough to start over. Enough to turn away from all that back on Earth and strike out on a new line–“

The fire leaped up to emphasize his talking. And then all the papers were gone except one. All the laws and beliefs of Earth were burnt into small hot ashes which soon would be carried off in a wind.

Timothy looked at the last thing that Dad tossed in the fire. It was a map of the World, and it wrinkled and distorted itself hotly     and went–flimpf–and was gone like a warm, black butterfly. Timothy turned away.

There comes a time in your life when you just need to be away… far, far away from everyone else and everything else that is trying to influence you. You see, our world, most especially for Americans, is one in which everyone tries to take from you. It has become profitable, legalized, and encoded through government regulation. Enough is enough. Americans need to stop, get away, and find their own peace in a place far, far away from others.

“Now I’m going to show you the Martians,” said Dad. “Come on, all of you. Here, Alice.” He took her hand.

Michael was crying loudly, and Dad picked him up and carried him, and they walked down through the ruins toward the canal.

The canal. Where tomorrow or the next day their future wives would come up in a boat, small laughing girls now, with their father and mother.

The night came down around them, and there were stars. But Timothy couldn’t find Earth. It had already set. That was something to think about.

A night bird called among the ruins as they walked. Dad said, “Your mother and I will try to teach you. Perhaps we’ll fail. I hope not. We’ve had a good lot to see and learn from. We planned this trip years ago, before you were born. Even if there hadn’t been a war we would have come to Mars, I think, to live and form our own standard of living. It would have been another century   before Mars would have been really poisoned by the Earth civilization. Now, of course–“

They reached the canal. It was long and straight and cool and wet and reflective in the night.

Perhaps the water might look like this.
Once they reach the edge of the blue water canal, pershaps it would look something like this. Perhaps the blue sky would be like this and they would be free to start their life all over again.

“I’ve always wanted to see a Martian,” said Michael. “Where are they, Dad? You promised.”

“There they are,” said Dad, and he shifted Michael on his shoulder and pointed straight down.

The Martians were there. Timothy began to shiver.

The Martians were there–in the canal–reflected in the water. Timothy and Michael and Robert and Mom and Dad.

The Martians stared back up at them for a long, long silent time from the rippling water. . . .

Conclusion

Today, the news is such that perhaps it would be best to hop on a rocket and fly far away from here.

I’ve had enough! It’s time to get off this “crazy train”.

The world is filled with wonderful and peaceful places that are not tarnished by the nonsense from the wealthy magnates out of Washington DC, or Silicon Valley, or from the wealthy enclaves on the Eastern seaboard. You need to go these and divorce yourself from all those crazies that expect things of you.

Posts Regarding Life and Contentment

Here are some other similar posts on this venue. If you enjoyed this post, you might like these posts as well. These posts tend to discuss growing up in America. Often, I like to compare my life in America with the society within communist China. As there are some really stark differences between the two.

Link
Link
Link
Tomatos
Link
Mad scientist
Gorilla Cage in the basement
Link
Pleasures
Work in the 1960's
School in the 1970s
Cat Heaven
Corporate life
Corporate life - part 2
Build up your life
Grow and play - 1
Grow and play - 2
Asshole
Baby's got back
Link
A womanly vanity
The Warning Signs
SJW
Army and Navy Store
Playground Comparisons
Excuses that we use that keep us enslaved.

More Posts about Life

I have broken apart some other posts. They can best be classified about ones actions as they contribute to happiness and life. They are a little different, in subtle ways.

Being older
Things I wish I knew.
Link
Civil War
Travel
PT-141
Bronco Billy
r/K selection theory
How they get away with it
Line in the sand
A second passport
Paper Airplanes
Snopes
Taxiation without representation.
Link
Link
Link
Make America Great Again.
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
1960's and 1970's link
Democracy Lessons
A polarized world.

Stories that Inspired Me

Here are reprints in full text of stories that inspired me, but that are nearly impossible to find in China. I place them here as sort of a personal library that I can use for inspiration. The reader is welcome to come and enjoy a read or two as well.

Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
Link
The Last Night
The Flying Machine

Articles & Links

  • 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.
  • 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.