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Can you provide a summary of the storyline in DR. KOMETEVSKY'S DAY? [SEP] <s> DR. KOMETEVSKY'S DAY By FRITZ LEIBER Illustrated by DAVID STONE [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Before science, there was superstition. After science, there will be ... what? The biggest, most staggering , most final fact of them all! But it's all predicted here! It even names this century for the nextreshuffling of the planets. Celeste Wolver looked up unwillingly at the book her friend MadgeCarnap held aloft like a torch. She made out the ill-stamped title, The Dance of the Planets . There was no mistaking the time ofits origin; only paper from the Twentieth Century aged to thatparticularly nasty shade of brown. Indeed, the book seemed to Celestea brown old witch resurrected from the Last Age of Madness to confounda world growing sane, and she couldn't help shrinking back a trifletoward her husband Theodor. He tried to come to her rescue. Only predicted in the vaguest way. AsI understand it, Kometevsky claimed, on the basis of a lot of evidencedrawn from folklore, that the planets and their moons trade positionsevery so often. As if they were playing Going to Jerusalem, or musical chairs,Celeste chimed in, but she couldn't make it sound funny. Jupiter was supposed to have started as the outermost planet, and isto end up in the orbit of Mercury, Theodor continued. Well, nothingat all like that has happened. But it's begun, Madge said with conviction. Phobos and Deimos havedisappeared. You can't argue away that stubborn little fact. That was the trouble; you couldn't. Mars' two tiny moons had simplyvanished during a period when, as was generally the case, the eyesof astronomy weren't on them. Just some hundred-odd cubic miles ofrock—the merest cosmic flyspecks—yet they had carried away with themthe security of a whole world. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>As Celeste and Theodor entered the committee room, Rosalind Wolver—aglitter of platinum against darkness—came in through the oppositedoor and softly shut it behind her. Frieda, a fair woman in blue robes,got up from the round table. Celeste turned away with outward casualness as Theodor kissed his twoother wives. She was pleased to note that Edmund seemed impatient too.A figure in close-fitting black, unrelieved except for two red arrowsat the collar, he struck her as embodying very properly the serious,fateful temper of the moment. He took two briefcases from his vest pocket and tossed them down on thetable beside one of the microfilm projectors. I suggest we get started without waiting for Ivan, he said. Frieda frowned anxiously. It's ten minutes since he phoned from theDeep Space Bar to say he was starting right away. And that's hardly atwo minutes walk. Rosalind instantly started toward the outside door. I'll check, she explained. Oh, Frieda, I've set the mike so you'llhear if Dotty calls. Edmund threw up his hands. Very well, then, he said and walked over,switched on the picture and stared out moodily. Theodor and Frieda got out their briefcases, switched on projectors,and began silently checking through their material. Celeste fiddled with the TV and got a newscast. But she found her eyesdidn't want to absorb the blocks of print that rather swiftly succeededeach other, so, after a few moments, she shrugged impatiently andswitched to audio. At the noise, the others looked around at her with surprise and someirritation, but in a few moments they were also listening. The two rocket ships sent out from Mars Base to explore the orbitalpositions of Phobos and Deimos—that is, the volume of space they'd beoccupying if their positions had remained normal—report finding massesof dust and larger debris. The two masses of fine debris are movingin the same orbits and at the same velocities as the two vanishedmoons, and occupy roughly the same volumes of space, though the massof material is hardly a hundredth that of the moons. Physicists haveventured no statements as to whether this constitutes a confirmation ofthe Disintegration Hypothesis. However, we're mighty pleased at this news here. There's a markedlessening of tension. The finding of the debris—solid, tangiblestuff—seems to lift the whole affair out of the supernatural miasma inwhich some of us have been tempted to plunge it. One-hundredth of themoons has been found. The rest will also be! Edmund had turned his back on the window. Frieda and Theodor hadswitched off their projectors. Meanwhile, Earthlings are going about their business with a minimumof commotion, meeting with considerable calm the strange threat tothe fabric of their Solar System. Many, of course, are assembled inchurches and humanist temples. Kometevskyites have staged helicopterprocessions at Washington, Peking, Pretoria, and Christiana, demandingthat instant preparations be made for—and I quote—'Earth's comingleap through space.' They have also formally challenged all astronomersto produce an explanation other than the one contained in that strangebook so recently conjured from oblivion, The Dance of the Planets . That about winds up the story for the present. There are no newreports from Interplanetary Radar, Astronomy, or the other rocket shipssearching in the extended Mars volume. Nor have any statements beenissued by the various groups working on the problem in Astrophysics,Cosmic Ecology, the Congress for the Discovery of New Purposes, and soforth. Meanwhile, however, we can take courage from the words of a poemwritten even before Dr. Kometevsky's book: This Earth is not the steadfast place We landsmen build upon; From deep to deep she varies pace, And while she comes is gone. Beneath my feet I feel Her smooth bulk heave and dip; With velvet plunge and soft upreel She swings and steadies to her keel Like a gallant, gallant ship. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in DR. KOMETEVSKY'S DAY?

The story is set in the future where Mars’ two moons Phobos and Deimos unexpectedly vanished, space travel exists, and monogamous marriages are lawful. Celeste Wolver talks to her friend Madge Carnap, who claims that the old book The Dance of The Planets predicted the moons’ disappearance. Wolver’s husband, one of the three ones she has, Theodor tries to explain that the book predicts only some events, but he and Celeste soon understand they don’t have strong arguments. Then Celeste and Theodor leave for a meeting regarding the recent events. While walking there, she shares her worries with him. Theodor says ESPs around the world have similar dreams. So, Rosalind, one of his wives, will bring their daughter Dotty to the meeting. Celeste, Rosalind, Frieda, Theodor, and Edmund were waiting only for the third husband, Ivan. Rosalind leaves to look for him, and the others start the meeting. They listen to recent news recordings: Mars’ moons disappeared; Kometevskyites - people that believe in the theory of The Dance of The Planets - demand some government's action. The news anchorman declares that Jupiter’s fourteen moons are not visible anymore. Rosalind comes back and says she only found Ivan’s briefcase covered in mud, with the phrase Going down” hastily written on it. They alert local agencies and talk about the project - Deep Shaft - Ivan was studying. The family splits up for a thirty-minute break, and Rosalind goes to where she found the briefcase. There the woman soon starts sinking into the ground. Rosalind realizes what happened to Ivan and leaves a glove pointing down as a sign; soon, her body is underground, and she keeps moving down mud and soil. Theodor, who went to the bar for the break, meets a colonel who tells him that there is a war between good and evil, and the planets are battleships controlled by divine power. The stories of these characters get interrupted by small extracts from Dotty’s dreams, where she calls herself a god, and says she and her friends have been found by their enemies and need to flee. Dotty wakes up and tells Celeste she is a god. Celeste goes back to everybody, and Edmund lists all the known facts. He says Deep Shaft found a metallic durasphere inside the Earth and proposes that other moons had it too. Ivan and Rosalind are drawn into the depth of the Earth, and in their dreams, all ESPs say they will leave in some great boats. Everybody understands that their planet is a camouflaged spaceship. Suddenly, Dotty says in an unfamiliar voice that their assumption is correct. The creature uses Dotty to tell them people were part of the camouflage they needed to hide from the enemies who don’t support mental privacy. Now they have to leave and can take only a few people. Suddenly, the creature says that their enemies changed, and now they don’t need to hide or destroy the planet. Rosalind and Ivan return.

What does the principle of mental privacy entail in DR. KOMETEVSKY'S DAY? [SEP] <s> DR. KOMETEVSKY'S DAY By FRITZ LEIBER Illustrated by DAVID STONE [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Before science, there was superstition. After science, there will be ... what? The biggest, most staggering , most final fact of them all! But it's all predicted here! It even names this century for the nextreshuffling of the planets. Celeste Wolver looked up unwillingly at the book her friend MadgeCarnap held aloft like a torch. She made out the ill-stamped title, The Dance of the Planets . There was no mistaking the time ofits origin; only paper from the Twentieth Century aged to thatparticularly nasty shade of brown. Indeed, the book seemed to Celestea brown old witch resurrected from the Last Age of Madness to confounda world growing sane, and she couldn't help shrinking back a trifletoward her husband Theodor. He tried to come to her rescue. Only predicted in the vaguest way. AsI understand it, Kometevsky claimed, on the basis of a lot of evidencedrawn from folklore, that the planets and their moons trade positionsevery so often. As if they were playing Going to Jerusalem, or musical chairs,Celeste chimed in, but she couldn't make it sound funny. Jupiter was supposed to have started as the outermost planet, and isto end up in the orbit of Mercury, Theodor continued. Well, nothingat all like that has happened. But it's begun, Madge said with conviction. Phobos and Deimos havedisappeared. You can't argue away that stubborn little fact. That was the trouble; you couldn't. Mars' two tiny moons had simplyvanished during a period when, as was generally the case, the eyesof astronomy weren't on them. Just some hundred-odd cubic miles ofrock—the merest cosmic flyspecks—yet they had carried away with themthe security of a whole world. <doc-sep>He could tell from their looks that the others did, but couldn't bringthemselves to put it into words. I suppose it's the time-scale and the value-scale that are so hard forus to accept, he said softly. Much more, even, than the size-scale.The thought that there are creatures in the Universe to whom the wholecareer of Man—in fact, the whole career of life—is no more than a fewthousand or hundred thousand years. And to whom Man is no more than aminor stage property—a trifling part of a clever job of camouflage. This time he went on, Fantasy writers have at times hinted all sortsof odd things about the Earth—that it might even be a kind of singleliving creature, or honeycombed with inhabited caverns, and so on.But I don't know that any of them have ever suggested that the Earth,together with all the planets and moons of the Solar System, mightbe.... In a whisper, Frieda finished for him, ... a camouflaged fleet ofgigantic spherical spaceships. Your guess happens to be the precise truth. At that familiar, yet dreadly unfamiliar voice, all four of them swungtoward the inner door. Dotty was standing there, a sleep-stupefiedlittle girl with a blanket caught up around her and dragging behind.Their own daughter. But in her eyes was a look from which they cringed. She said, I am a creature somewhat older than what your geologistscall the Archeozoic Era. I am speaking to you through a number oftelepathically sensitive individuals among your kind. In each case mythoughts suit themselves to your level of comprehension. I inhabit thedisguised and jetless spaceship which is your Earth. Celeste swayed a step forward. Baby.... she implored. Dotty went on, without giving her a glance, It is true that we plantedthe seeds of life on some of these planets simply as part of ourcamouflage, just as we gave them a suitable environment for each. Andit is true that now we must let most of that life be destroyed. Ourhiding place has been discovered, our pursuers are upon us, and we mustmake one last effort to escape or do battle, since we firmly believethat the principle of mental privacy to which we have devoted ourexistence is perhaps the greatest good in the whole Universe. But it is not true that we look with contempt upon you. Our whole raceis deeply devoted to life, wherever it may come into being, and it isour rule never to interfere with its development. That was one ofthe reasons we made life a part of our camouflage—it would make ourpursuers reluctant to examine these planets too closely. Yes, we have always cherished you and watched your evolution withinterest from our hidden lairs. We may even unconsciously have shapedyour development in certain ways, trying constantly to educate you awayfrom war and finally succeeding—which may have given the betrayingclue to our pursuers. Your planets must be burst asunder—this particular planet in thearea of the Pacific—so that we may have our last chance to escape.Even if we did not move, our pursuers would destroy you with us. Wecannot invite you inside our ships—not for lack of space, but becauseyou could never survive the vast accelerations to which you would besubjected. You would, you see, need very special accommodations, ofwhich we have enough only for a few. Those few we will take with us, as the seed from which a new humanrace may—if we ourselves somehow survive—be born. <doc-sep>Edmund rapped for attention. Celeste, Frieda, and Theodor glancedaround at him. He looked more frightfully strained, they realized, thaneven they felt. His expression was a study in suppressed excitement,but there were also signs of a knowledge that was almost toooverpowering for a human being to bear. His voice was clipped, rapid. I think it's about time we stoppedworrying about our own affairs and thought of those of the SolarSystem, partly because I think they have a direct bearing on thedisappearances of Ivan end Rosalind. As I told you, I've been sortingout the crucial items from the material we've been presenting. Thereare roughly four of those items, as I see it. It's rather like amystery story. I wonder if, hearing those four clues, you will come tothe same conclusion I have. The others nodded. First, there are the latest reports from Deep Shaft, which, asyou know, has been sunk to investigate deep-Earth conditions. Atapproximately twenty-nine miles below the surface, the delvers haveencountered a metallic obstruction which they have tentatively namedthe durasphere. It resists their hardest drills, their strongestcorrosives. They have extended a side-tunnel at that level for aquarter of a mile. Delicate measurements, made possible by themirror-smooth metal surface, show that the durasphere has a slightcurvature that is almost exactly equal to the curvature of the Earthitself. The suggestion is that deep borings made anywhere in the worldwould encounter the durasphere at the same depth. Second, the movements of the moons of Mars and Jupiter, andparticularly the debris left behind by the moons of Mars. GrantingPhobos and Deimos had duraspheres proportional in size to that ofEarth, then the debris would roughly equal in amount the material inthose two duraspheres' rocky envelopes. The suggestion is that thetwo duraspheres suddenly burst from their envelopes with such titanicvelocity as to leave those disrupted envelopes behind. It was deadly quiet in the committee room. Thirdly, the disappearances of Ivan and Rosalind, and especiallythe baffling hint—from Ivan's message in one case and Rosalind'sdownward-pointing glove in the other—that they were both somehow drawninto the depths of the Earth. Finally, the dreams of the ESPs, which agree overwhelmingly in thefollowing points: A group of beings separate themselves from a godlikeand telepathic race because they insist on maintaining a degree ofmental privacy. They flee in great boats or ships of some sort. Theyare pursued on such a scale that there is no hiding place for themanywhere in the universe. In some manner they successfully camouflagetheir ships. Eons pass and their still-fanatical pursuers do notpenetrate their secret. Then, suddenly, they are detected. Edmund waited. Do you see what I'm driving at? he asked hoarsely. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What does the principle of mental privacy entail in DR. KOMETEVSKY'S DAY?

The incredibly old semi-god creatures escaped the tyranny of a communal mind to which no thoughts were private. These creatures believe in the principle of mental privacy, and that’s why they escaped and planted seeds of life on planets, including the Earth, as part of their camouflage. Humanity exists as a result of these actions, and it also may shrink in numbers since the creatures have been found by their pursuers and are ready to leave again, thus destroying the planet. The belief in this principle also allowed the enemies of these creatures to rebel against the communal mind and welcome them back to the society of enlightened worlds and let humans live.

What is the story about and how does Rosalind's character develop in it? [SEP] <s>Frieda collapsed to a chair, trembling between laughter and hystericalweeping. Theodor looked as blank as Dotty had while waiting for wordsto speak. Edmund sprang to the picture window, Celeste toward the TVset. Climbing shakily out of the chair, Frieda stumbled to the picturewindow and peered out beside Edmund. She saw lights bobbing along thepaths with a wild excitement. On the TV screen, Celeste watched two brightly lit ships spinning inthe sky—whether human spaceships or Phobos and Deimos come to helpEarth rejoice, she couldn't tell. Dotty spoke again, the joy in her strange voice forcing them to turn.And you, dear children, creatures of our camouflage, we welcomeyou—whatever your future career on these planets or like ones—intothe society of enlightened worlds! You need not feel small and aloneand helpless ever again, for we shall always be with you! The outer door opened. Ivan and Rosalind reeled in, drunkenly smiling,arm in arm. Like rockets, Rosalind blurted happily. We came through thedurasphere and solid rock ... shot up right to the surface. They didn't have to take us along, Ivan added with a bleary grin.But you know that already, don't you? They're too good to let you livein fear, so they must have told you by now. Yes, we know, said Theodor. They must be almost godlike in theirgoodness. I feel ... calm. Edmund nodded soberly. Calmer than I ever felt before. It's knowing, Isuppose, that—well, we're not alone. Dotty blinked and looked around and smiled at them all with a whollylittle-girl smile. Oh, Mummy, she said, and it was impossible to tell whether she spoketo Frieda or Rosalind or Celeste, I've just had the funniest dream. No, darling, said Rosalind gently, it's we who had the dream. We'vejust awakened. <doc-sep>Rosalind and Ivan stared dumbly at each other across the egg-shapedsilver room, without apparent entrance or exit, in which they weresprawled. But their thoughts were no longer of thirty-odd milejourneys down through solid earth, or of how cool it was after theheat of the passage, or of how grotesque it was to be trapped here,the fragment of a marriage. They were both listening to the voice thatspoke inside their minds. In a few minutes your bodies will be separated into layers one atomthick, capable of being shelved or stored in such a way as to endurealmost infinite accelerations. Single cells will cover acres of space.But do not be alarmed. The process will be painless and each particlewill be catalogued for future assembly. Your consciousness will endurethroughout the process. Rosalind looked at her gold-shod toes. She was wondering, will they gofirst, or my head? Or will I be peeled like an apple? She looked at Ivan and knew he was thinking the same thing. <doc-sep>Theodor rubbed his eyes and pushed his chair back from the table. Weneed a break. Frieda agreed wearily. We've gone through everything. Good idea, Edmund said briskly. I think we've hit on several crucialpoints along the way and half disentangled them from the great mass ofinconsequential material. I'll finish up that part of the job right nowand present my case when we're all a bit fresher. Say half an hour? Theodor nodded heavily, pushing up from his chair and hitching hiscloak over a shoulder. I'm going out for a drink, he informed them. After several hesitant seconds, Rosalind quietly followed him. Friedastretched out on a couch and closed her eyes. Edmund scanned microfilmstirelessly, every now and then setting one aside. Celeste watched him for a minute, then sprang up and started toward theroom where Dotty was asleep. But midway she stopped. Not my child , she thought bitterly. Frieda's her mother, Rosalindher nurse. I'm nothing at all. Just one of the husband's girl friends.A lady of uneasy virtue in a dissolving world. But then she straightened her shoulders and went on. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the story about and how does Rosalind's character develop in it?

Rosalind is a member of the Wolves family, the wife of Theodor, Edmund, and Ivan. At the beginning of the story, she comes to the meeting of their family sub-committee. When Ivan doesn’t show up, Rosalind decides to go to the Deep Space Bar and try to find him. On her way back, she finds his briefcase half-buried in the dirt. It has a hastily written phrase “Going down” written on it. Shocked, she comes back and shows her findings to everybody. They alert the local agencies and create their family member’s description that is broadcast. They decide to take a small break, and Rosalind leaves right after Theodor. She doesn’t catch up with him and stops at the place where she found the briefcase. Suddenly, her feet get stuck, and her body starts sinking into the ground. She understands that the same thing happened to Ivan and decides to leave her glove to show what happened to her. Soon earth covers her head, and she keeps moving down through different soil levels. The temperature rises, and soon she ends up in a silver egg-shaped room where she meets Ivan. A voice inside their heads explains that their bodies will soon go through a painless process of separation into small atom-thick layers which will enable them to endure almost infinite accelerations, and their consciousness will be intact. They learn more about the Earth and its function. Soon, when the pursuers of the semi-god creatures tell them about the changes they made, Rosalind and Ivan are shot back to the surface. They walk back to their family.

What is the importance of Dotty's dream in the story of Dr. Kometevsky's Day? [SEP] <s> DR. KOMETEVSKY'S DAY By FRITZ LEIBER Illustrated by DAVID STONE [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Before science, there was superstition. After science, there will be ... what? The biggest, most staggering , most final fact of them all! But it's all predicted here! It even names this century for the nextreshuffling of the planets. Celeste Wolver looked up unwillingly at the book her friend MadgeCarnap held aloft like a torch. She made out the ill-stamped title, The Dance of the Planets . There was no mistaking the time ofits origin; only paper from the Twentieth Century aged to thatparticularly nasty shade of brown. Indeed, the book seemed to Celestea brown old witch resurrected from the Last Age of Madness to confounda world growing sane, and she couldn't help shrinking back a trifletoward her husband Theodor. He tried to come to her rescue. Only predicted in the vaguest way. AsI understand it, Kometevsky claimed, on the basis of a lot of evidencedrawn from folklore, that the planets and their moons trade positionsevery so often. As if they were playing Going to Jerusalem, or musical chairs,Celeste chimed in, but she couldn't make it sound funny. Jupiter was supposed to have started as the outermost planet, and isto end up in the orbit of Mercury, Theodor continued. Well, nothingat all like that has happened. But it's begun, Madge said with conviction. Phobos and Deimos havedisappeared. You can't argue away that stubborn little fact. That was the trouble; you couldn't. Mars' two tiny moons had simplyvanished during a period when, as was generally the case, the eyesof astronomy weren't on them. Just some hundred-odd cubic miles ofrock—the merest cosmic flyspecks—yet they had carried away with themthe security of a whole world. <doc-sep>Looking at the lovely garden landscape around her, Celeste Wolver feltthat in a moment the shrubby hills would begin to roll like waves, thecharmingly aimless paths twist like snakes and sink in the green sea,the sparsely placed skyscrapers dissolve into the misty clouds theypierced. People must have felt like this , she thought, when Aristarches firsthinted and Copernicus told them that the solid Earth under their feetwas falling dizzily through space. Only it's worse for us, because theycouldn't see that anything had changed. We can. You need something to cling to, she heard Madge say. Dr. Kometevskywas the only person who ever had an inkling that anything like thismight happen. I was never a Kometevskyite before. Hadn't even heard ofthe man. She said it almost apologetically. In fact, standing there so frank andanxious-eyed, Madge looked anything but a fanatic, which made it muchworse. Of course, there are several more convincing alternateexplanations.... Theodor began hesitantly, knowing very well thatthere weren't. If Phobos and Deimos had suddenly disintegrated,surely Mars Base would have noticed something. Of course there was theDisordered Space Hypothesis, even if it was little more than the chancephrase of a prominent physicist pounded upon by an eager journalist.And in any case, what sense of security were you left with if youadmitted that moons and planets might explode, or drop through unseenholes in space? So he ended up by taking a different tack: Besides, ifPhobos and Deimos simply shot off somewhere, surely they'd have beenpicked up by now by 'scope or radar. Two balls of rock just a few miles in diameter? Madge questioned.Aren't they smaller than many of the asteroids? I'm no astronomer, butI think' I'm right. And of course she was. She swung the book under her arm. Whew, it's heavy, she observed,adding in slightly scandalized tones, Never been microfilmed. Shesmiled nervously and looked them up and down. Going to a party? sheasked. Theodor's scarlet cloak and Celeste's green culottes and silver jacketjustified the question, but they shook their heads. Just the normally flamboyant garb of the family, Celeste said,while Theodor explained, As it happens, we're bound on businessconnected with the disappearance. We Wolvers practically constitutea sub-committee of the Congress for the Discovery of New Purposes.And since a lot of varied material comes to our attention, we'regoing to see if any of it correlates with this bit of astronomicalsleight-of-hand. Madge nodded. Give you something to do, at any rate. Well, I must beoff. The Buddhist temple has lent us their place for a meeting. Shegave them a woeful grin. See you when the Earth jumps. Theodor said to Celeste, Come on, dear. We'll be late. But Celeste didn't want to move too fast. You know, Teddy, she saiduncomfortably, all this reminds me of those old myths where too muchgood fortune is a sure sign of coming disaster. It was just too muchluck, our great-grandparents missing World III and getting the WorldGovernment started a thousand years ahead of schedule. Luck like thatcouldn't last, evidently. Maybe we've gone too fast with a lot ofthings, like space-flight and the Deep Shaft and— she hesitated abit—complex marriages. I'm a woman. I want complete security. Wheream I to find it? In me, Theodor said promptly. In you? Celeste questioned, walking slowly. But you're justone-third of my husband. Perhaps I should look for it in Edmund orIvan. You angry with me about something? Of course not. But a woman wants her source of security whole. In acrisis like this, it's disturbing to have it divided. Well, we are a whole and, I believe, indivisible family, Theodortold her warmly. You're not suggesting, are you, that we're going tobe punished for our polygamous sins by a cosmic catastrophe? Fire fromHeaven and all that? Don't be silly. I just wanted to give you a picture of my feeling.Celeste smiled. I guess none of us realized how much we've come todepend on the idea of unchanging scientific law. Knocks the props fromunder you. Theodor nodded emphatically. All the more reason to get a line onwhat's happening as quickly as possible. You know, it's fantasticallyfar-fetched, but I think the experience of persons with Extra-SensoryPerception may give us a clue. During the past three or four daysthere's been a remarkable similarity in the dreams of ESPs all over theplanet. I'm going to present the evidence at the meeting. Celeste looked up at him. So that's why Rosalind's bringing Frieda'sdaughter? Dotty is your daughter, too, and Rosalind's, Theodor reminded her. No, just Frieda's, Celeste said bitterly. Of course you may be thefather. One-third of a chance. Theodor looked at her sharply, but didn't comment. Anyway, Dotty willbe there, he said. Probably asleep by now. All the ESPs have suddenlyseemed to need more sleep. As they talked, it had been growing darker, though the luminescence ofthe path kept it from being bothersome. And now the cloud rack partedto the east, showing a single red planet low on the horizon. Did you know, Theodor said suddenly, that in Gulliver's Travels Dean Swift predicted that better telescopes would show Mars to have twomoons? He got the sizes and distances and periods damned accurately,too. One of the few really startling coincidences of reality andliterature. Stop being eerie, Celeste said sharply. But then she went on, Thosenames Phobos and Deimos—they're Greek, aren't they? What do they mean? Theodor lost a step. Fear and Terror, he said unwillingly. Nowdon't go taking that for an omen. Most of the mythological names ofmajor and minor ancient gods had been taken—the bodies in the SolarSystem are named that way, of course—and these were about all thatwere available. It was true, but it didn't comfort him much. <doc-sep> I am a God , Dotty was dreaming, and I want to be by myself andthink. I and my god-friends like to keep some of our thoughts secret,but the other gods have forbidden us to. A little smile flickered across the lips of the sleeping girl, andthe woman in gold tights and gold-spangled jacket leaned forwardthoughtfully. In her dignity and simplicity and straight-spined grace,she was rather like a circus mother watching her sick child before shewent out for the trapeze act. I and my god-friends sail off in our great round silver boats , Dottywent on dreaming. The other gods are angry and scared. They arefrightened of the thoughts we may think in secret. They follow us tohunt us down. There are many more of them than of us. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the importance of Dotty's dream in the story of Dr. Kometevsky's Day?

Throughout the entire story, the narrative gets interrupted by small parts of Dotty's dreams. She has extrasensory abilities, and the semi-god creatures use her and other ESPs to communicate with people. In her dreams, she tells the story of these creatures' life. She speaks about their belief in mental privacy and says that other gods do not want them to have private thoughts and decide to hunt them down. The creatures that value privacy of thoughts create inhabited planets and manage to hide for millions of years from the others. But now they have been found and need to flee again. Dotty’s dreams conceptually explain the origin of the planets of the Solar System and why those need to be destroyed now. Through her dreams, the creatures tell the Earth is their camouflaged spaceship, and they will soon need to live.

How does Celeste's behavior towards her family members evolve throughout the story in DR. KOMETEVSKY'S DAY? [SEP] <s> DR. KOMETEVSKY'S DAY By FRITZ LEIBER Illustrated by DAVID STONE [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Before science, there was superstition. After science, there will be ... what? The biggest, most staggering , most final fact of them all! But it's all predicted here! It even names this century for the nextreshuffling of the planets. Celeste Wolver looked up unwillingly at the book her friend MadgeCarnap held aloft like a torch. She made out the ill-stamped title, The Dance of the Planets . There was no mistaking the time ofits origin; only paper from the Twentieth Century aged to thatparticularly nasty shade of brown. Indeed, the book seemed to Celestea brown old witch resurrected from the Last Age of Madness to confounda world growing sane, and she couldn't help shrinking back a trifletoward her husband Theodor. He tried to come to her rescue. Only predicted in the vaguest way. AsI understand it, Kometevsky claimed, on the basis of a lot of evidencedrawn from folklore, that the planets and their moons trade positionsevery so often. As if they were playing Going to Jerusalem, or musical chairs,Celeste chimed in, but she couldn't make it sound funny. Jupiter was supposed to have started as the outermost planet, and isto end up in the orbit of Mercury, Theodor continued. Well, nothingat all like that has happened. But it's begun, Madge said with conviction. Phobos and Deimos havedisappeared. You can't argue away that stubborn little fact. That was the trouble; you couldn't. Mars' two tiny moons had simplyvanished during a period when, as was generally the case, the eyesof astronomy weren't on them. Just some hundred-odd cubic miles ofrock—the merest cosmic flyspecks—yet they had carried away with themthe security of a whole world. <doc-sep>Looking at the lovely garden landscape around her, Celeste Wolver feltthat in a moment the shrubby hills would begin to roll like waves, thecharmingly aimless paths twist like snakes and sink in the green sea,the sparsely placed skyscrapers dissolve into the misty clouds theypierced. People must have felt like this , she thought, when Aristarches firsthinted and Copernicus told them that the solid Earth under their feetwas falling dizzily through space. Only it's worse for us, because theycouldn't see that anything had changed. We can. You need something to cling to, she heard Madge say. Dr. Kometevskywas the only person who ever had an inkling that anything like thismight happen. I was never a Kometevskyite before. Hadn't even heard ofthe man. She said it almost apologetically. In fact, standing there so frank andanxious-eyed, Madge looked anything but a fanatic, which made it muchworse. Of course, there are several more convincing alternateexplanations.... Theodor began hesitantly, knowing very well thatthere weren't. If Phobos and Deimos had suddenly disintegrated,surely Mars Base would have noticed something. Of course there was theDisordered Space Hypothesis, even if it was little more than the chancephrase of a prominent physicist pounded upon by an eager journalist.And in any case, what sense of security were you left with if youadmitted that moons and planets might explode, or drop through unseenholes in space? So he ended up by taking a different tack: Besides, ifPhobos and Deimos simply shot off somewhere, surely they'd have beenpicked up by now by 'scope or radar. Two balls of rock just a few miles in diameter? Madge questioned.Aren't they smaller than many of the asteroids? I'm no astronomer, butI think' I'm right. And of course she was. She swung the book under her arm. Whew, it's heavy, she observed,adding in slightly scandalized tones, Never been microfilmed. Shesmiled nervously and looked them up and down. Going to a party? sheasked. Theodor's scarlet cloak and Celeste's green culottes and silver jacketjustified the question, but they shook their heads. Just the normally flamboyant garb of the family, Celeste said,while Theodor explained, As it happens, we're bound on businessconnected with the disappearance. We Wolvers practically constitutea sub-committee of the Congress for the Discovery of New Purposes.And since a lot of varied material comes to our attention, we'regoing to see if any of it correlates with this bit of astronomicalsleight-of-hand. Madge nodded. Give you something to do, at any rate. Well, I must beoff. The Buddhist temple has lent us their place for a meeting. Shegave them a woeful grin. See you when the Earth jumps. Theodor said to Celeste, Come on, dear. We'll be late. But Celeste didn't want to move too fast. You know, Teddy, she saiduncomfortably, all this reminds me of those old myths where too muchgood fortune is a sure sign of coming disaster. It was just too muchluck, our great-grandparents missing World III and getting the WorldGovernment started a thousand years ahead of schedule. Luck like thatcouldn't last, evidently. Maybe we've gone too fast with a lot ofthings, like space-flight and the Deep Shaft and— she hesitated abit—complex marriages. I'm a woman. I want complete security. Wheream I to find it? In me, Theodor said promptly. In you? Celeste questioned, walking slowly. But you're justone-third of my husband. Perhaps I should look for it in Edmund orIvan. You angry with me about something? Of course not. But a woman wants her source of security whole. In acrisis like this, it's disturbing to have it divided. Well, we are a whole and, I believe, indivisible family, Theodortold her warmly. You're not suggesting, are you, that we're going tobe punished for our polygamous sins by a cosmic catastrophe? Fire fromHeaven and all that? Don't be silly. I just wanted to give you a picture of my feeling.Celeste smiled. I guess none of us realized how much we've come todepend on the idea of unchanging scientific law. Knocks the props fromunder you. Theodor nodded emphatically. All the more reason to get a line onwhat's happening as quickly as possible. You know, it's fantasticallyfar-fetched, but I think the experience of persons with Extra-SensoryPerception may give us a clue. During the past three or four daysthere's been a remarkable similarity in the dreams of ESPs all over theplanet. I'm going to present the evidence at the meeting. Celeste looked up at him. So that's why Rosalind's bringing Frieda'sdaughter? Dotty is your daughter, too, and Rosalind's, Theodor reminded her. No, just Frieda's, Celeste said bitterly. Of course you may be thefather. One-third of a chance. Theodor looked at her sharply, but didn't comment. Anyway, Dotty willbe there, he said. Probably asleep by now. All the ESPs have suddenlyseemed to need more sleep. As they talked, it had been growing darker, though the luminescence ofthe path kept it from being bothersome. And now the cloud rack partedto the east, showing a single red planet low on the horizon. Did you know, Theodor said suddenly, that in Gulliver's Travels Dean Swift predicted that better telescopes would show Mars to have twomoons? He got the sizes and distances and periods damned accurately,too. One of the few really startling coincidences of reality andliterature. Stop being eerie, Celeste said sharply. But then she went on, Thosenames Phobos and Deimos—they're Greek, aren't they? What do they mean? Theodor lost a step. Fear and Terror, he said unwillingly. Nowdon't go taking that for an omen. Most of the mythological names ofmajor and minor ancient gods had been taken—the bodies in the SolarSystem are named that way, of course—and these were about all thatwere available. It was true, but it didn't comfort him much. <doc-sep>As Celeste and Theodor entered the committee room, Rosalind Wolver—aglitter of platinum against darkness—came in through the oppositedoor and softly shut it behind her. Frieda, a fair woman in blue robes,got up from the round table. Celeste turned away with outward casualness as Theodor kissed his twoother wives. She was pleased to note that Edmund seemed impatient too.A figure in close-fitting black, unrelieved except for two red arrowsat the collar, he struck her as embodying very properly the serious,fateful temper of the moment. He took two briefcases from his vest pocket and tossed them down on thetable beside one of the microfilm projectors. I suggest we get started without waiting for Ivan, he said. Frieda frowned anxiously. It's ten minutes since he phoned from theDeep Space Bar to say he was starting right away. And that's hardly atwo minutes walk. Rosalind instantly started toward the outside door. I'll check, she explained. Oh, Frieda, I've set the mike so you'llhear if Dotty calls. Edmund threw up his hands. Very well, then, he said and walked over,switched on the picture and stared out moodily. Theodor and Frieda got out their briefcases, switched on projectors,and began silently checking through their material. Celeste fiddled with the TV and got a newscast. But she found her eyesdidn't want to absorb the blocks of print that rather swiftly succeededeach other, so, after a few moments, she shrugged impatiently andswitched to audio. At the noise, the others looked around at her with surprise and someirritation, but in a few moments they were also listening. The two rocket ships sent out from Mars Base to explore the orbitalpositions of Phobos and Deimos—that is, the volume of space they'd beoccupying if their positions had remained normal—report finding massesof dust and larger debris. The two masses of fine debris are movingin the same orbits and at the same velocities as the two vanishedmoons, and occupy roughly the same volumes of space, though the massof material is hardly a hundredth that of the moons. Physicists haveventured no statements as to whether this constitutes a confirmation ofthe Disintegration Hypothesis. However, we're mighty pleased at this news here. There's a markedlessening of tension. The finding of the debris—solid, tangiblestuff—seems to lift the whole affair out of the supernatural miasma inwhich some of us have been tempted to plunge it. One-hundredth of themoons has been found. The rest will also be! Edmund had turned his back on the window. Frieda and Theodor hadswitched off their projectors. Meanwhile, Earthlings are going about their business with a minimumof commotion, meeting with considerable calm the strange threat tothe fabric of their Solar System. Many, of course, are assembled inchurches and humanist temples. Kometevskyites have staged helicopterprocessions at Washington, Peking, Pretoria, and Christiana, demandingthat instant preparations be made for—and I quote—'Earth's comingleap through space.' They have also formally challenged all astronomersto produce an explanation other than the one contained in that strangebook so recently conjured from oblivion, The Dance of the Planets . That about winds up the story for the present. There are no newreports from Interplanetary Radar, Astronomy, or the other rocket shipssearching in the extended Mars volume. Nor have any statements beenissued by the various groups working on the problem in Astrophysics,Cosmic Ecology, the Congress for the Discovery of New Purposes, and soforth. Meanwhile, however, we can take courage from the words of a poemwritten even before Dr. Kometevsky's book: This Earth is not the steadfast place We landsmen build upon; From deep to deep she varies pace, And while she comes is gone. Beneath my feet I feel Her smooth bulk heave and dip; With velvet plunge and soft upreel She swings and steadies to her keel Like a gallant, gallant ship. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Celeste's behavior towards her family members evolve throughout the story in DR. KOMETEVSKY'S DAY?

From the beginning, Celeste seems to struggle with her complex marriage. She finds it hard to find complete security in three men simultaneously. In a crisis, it’s disturbing for her to have her source of security divided into three. She also cannot accept that Dotty is her daughter because the girl was born from Frieda. Celeste points out that the probability of Dotty being Theodor’s daughter is only one-third. She reckons that humanity might have gone too far with some things, including monogamous marriages. While in the committee room, she tries to determine if they are a true family or just experimenting with their relationship. The family members seem both familiar and unfamiliar to her. When she wants to check up on Dotty, she thinks that she is no one to the girl but still goes on. Dotty, after a small chat, makes Celeste say that she loves her. In the end, the reader understands that, no matter what Celeste’s feelings are, Dotty loves all three women and considers them mothers.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in BREAKDOWN? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep>Jorj turned, smiling. And now, gentlemen, while we wait for Maizieto celebrate, there should be just enough time for us to watch thetakeoff of the Mars rocket. He switched on a giant television screen.The others made a quarter turn, and there before them glowed the richochres and blues of a New Mexico sunrise and, in the middle distance, asilvery mighty spindle. Like the generals, the Secretary of Space suppressed a scowl. Herewas something that ought to be spang in the center of his officialterritory, and the Thinkers had locked him completely out of it. Thatrocket there—just an ordinary Earth satellite vehicle commandeeredfrom the Army, but equipped by the Thinkers with Maizie-designednuclear motors capable of the Mars journey and more. The firstspaceship—and the Secretary of Space was not in on it! Still, he told himself, Maizie had decreed it that way. And whenhe remembered what the Thinkers had done for him in rescuing himfrom breakdown with their mental science, in rescuing the wholeAdministration from collapse he realized he had to be satisfied. Andthat was without taking into consideration the amazing additionalmental discoveries that the Thinkers were bringing down from Mars. Lord, the President said to Jorj as if voicing the Secretary'sfeeling, I wish you people could bring a couple of those wise littledevils back with you this trip. Be a good thing for the country. Jorj looked at him a bit coldly. It's quite unthinkable, he said.The telepathic abilities of the Martians make them extremelysensitive. The conflicts of ordinary Earth minds would impinge on thempsychotically, even fatally. As you know, the Thinkers were able tocontact them only because of our degree of learned mental poise anderrorless memory-chains. So for the present it must be our task aloneto glean from the Martians their astounding mental skills. Of course,some day in the future, when we have discovered how to armor the mindsof the Martians— Sure, I know, the President said hastily. Shouldn't have mentionedit, Jorj. Conversation ceased. They waited with growing tension for the greatviolet flames to bloom from the base of the silvery shaft. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in BREAKDOWN?

Harry Burr is begged by his wife Edna to go see a doctor because she believes that he is sick in the head. He refuses to believe that anything is wrong, but he does admit that there are times where he lies in fear over nothing and mixes up his memories. The story then jumps to the present, where he begins to think about a blond boy named Davie. Edna is confused because they have no children. Edna brings up seeing a doctor again, he angrily responds that it will only be Timkins who brought their son into the world. Edna tells him they had no son, and Timkins died a while ago. The scene cuts to breakfast, where Harry complains about a lack of meat. Edna explains that there is only multi-pro because of the current crisis in the country. Harry begins to go walk outside, but he experiences more strange memories that don’t add up. He picks up the delivery that Edna ordered. Edna asks if there is anything good on television this week because there is only one channel. After a late lunch, Harry goes to check on the animals again and wonders what happened to the rest of the livestock. Edna tells him that they got the same as everyone else, and he goes upstairs again. When he awakes again, Gloria and Walt have arrived. He asks about Penny and Frances. After they leave, He takes his mare Plum out for a ride, and they arrive at a barbed wire fence area up north. He gets over the wire and continues to walk north, until the earth changes to sand. Then, the sand becomes wooden flooring; there is also a loud roaring sound. When he reaches a waist-high metal railing, he runs back to Plum again. Harry has the idea to ride to town, even if the other neighbors tell him to stop and for somebody to call the police. Soon, two policemen come out to escort him to the doctor. Harry asks the doctor where his son is, and the doctor explains that he is dead like so many millions of others. The doctor tells him he has so many things to do, and he says there are a few remaining people who are still alive. Harry’s brain struggles with the impossible concept, and he thinks about how this is not Iowa. Just as Harry realizes what they are on, the switch is thrown, and he finds himself feeling better from the diathermy treatment. Before Harry leaves, the doctor tests him one last time by telling him that they are on an ark. Harry is confused, which means that the treatment works. He goes home to Edna and is happier than ever.

What are the characteristics of Doctor Hamming? [SEP] <s>Suddenly, he understood. And understanding brought not peace but thegreatest terror he'd ever known. He screamed, We're on.... but theswitch was thrown and there was no more speech. For an hour. Then hegot out of the chair and said, Sure glad I took my wife's advice andcame to see you, Doctor Hamming. I feel better already, and after onlyone.... What do you call these treatments? Diathermy, the little doctor muttered. Harry gave him a five-dollar bill. The doctor gave him two singles inchange. That's certainly reasonable enough, Harry said. The doctor nodded. There's a police officer in the hall. He'll driveyou home so there won't be any trouble with the travel regulations. Harry said, Thanks. Think we'll ever see the end of travel regulationsand rationing and all the rest of the emergency? You will, Mr. Burr. Harry walked to the door. We're on an ark, the doctor said. Harry turned around, smiling. What? A test, Mr. Burr. You passed it. Goodbye. Harry went home. He told Edna he felt just great! She said she'd beenworried when an officer found Plum wandering on the road; she thoughtmaybe Harry had gone off somewhere and broken travel regulations. Me? he exclaimed, amazed. Break travel regulations? I'd as soon killa pig! <doc-sep> BREAKDOWN By HERBERT D. KASTLE Illustrated by COWLES [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine June 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] He didn't know exactly when it had started, but it had been going onfor weeks. Edna begged him to see the doctor living in that new housetwo miles past Dugan's farm, but he refused. He point-blank refused toadmit he was sick that way—in the head! Of course, a man could grow forgetful. He had to admit there weremoments when he had all sorts of mixed-up memories and thoughts in hismind. And sometimes—like right now, lying in bed beside Edna, watchingthe first hint of light touch the windows—he began sweating with fear.A horrible, gut-wrenching fear, all the more horrible because it wasbased on nothing. The chicken-run came alive; the barn followed minutes later. There werechores to do, the same chores he'd done all his forty-one years. Exceptthat now, with the new regulations about wheat and corn, he had onlya vegetable patch to farm. Sure, he got paid for letting the fieldsremain empty. But it just didn't seem right, all that land going towaste.... Davie. Blond hair and a round, tanned face and strong arms growingstronger each day from helping out after school. He turned and shook Edna. What happened to Davie? She cleared her throat, mumbled, Huh? What happened to who? I said, what.... But then it slipped away. Davie? No, that was partof a dream he'd had last week. He and Edna had no children. He felt the fear again, and got up fast to escape it. Edna opened hereyes as soon as his weight left the bed. Like hotcakes for breakfast? Eggs, he said. Bacon. And then, seeing her face change, heremembered. Course, he muttered. Can't have bacon. Rationed. She was fully awake now. If you'd only go see Dr. Hamming, Harry. Justfor a checkup. Or let me call him so he could— You stop that! You stop that right now, and for good! I don't want tohear no more about doctors. I get laid up, I'll call one. And it won'tbe that Hamming who I ain't never seen in my life! It'll be Timkins,who took care'n us and brought our son into the world and.... She began to cry, and he realized he'd said something crazy again. Theyhad no son, never had a son. And Timkins—he'd died and they'd gone tohis funeral. Or so Edna said. He himself just couldn't remember it. He went to the bed and sat down beside her. Sorry. That was just adream I had. I'm still half asleep this morning. Couldn't fall off lastnight, not till real late. Guess I'm a little nervous, what with allthe new regulations and not working regular. I never meant we had ason. He waited then, hoping she'd say they had had a son, and he'ddied or gone away. But of course she didn't. <doc-sep>They ate in the kitchen. They talked—or rather Edna, Gloria and Waltdid. Harry nodded and said uh-huh and used his mouth for chewing. Walt and Gloria went home at ten-fifteen. They said goodbye at thedoor and Harry walked away. He heard Gloria whispering something aboutDoctor Hamming. He was sitting in the living room when Edna came in. She was crying.Harry, please see the doctor. He got up. I'm going out. I might even sleep out! But why, Harry, why? He couldn't stand to see her crying. He went to her, kissed her wetcheek, spoke more softly. It'll do me good, like when I was a kid. If you say so, Harry. He left quickly. He went outside and across the yard to the road. Helooked up it and down it, to the north and to the south. It was abright night with moon and stars, but he saw nothing, no one. The roadwas empty. It was always empty, except when Walt and Gloria walked overfrom their place a mile or so south. But once it hadn't been empty.Once there'd been cars, people.... He had to do something. Just sitting and looking at the sky wouldn'thelp him. He had to go somewhere, see someone. He went to the barn and looked for his saddle. There was no saddle. Buthe'd had one hanging right behind the door. Or had he? He threw a blanket over Plum, the big mare, and tied it with a piece ofwash line. He used another piece for a bridle, since he couldn't findthat either, and didn't bother making a bit. He mounted, and Plum movedout of the barn and onto the road. He headed north, toward town. Then he realized he couldn't go along the road this way. He'd bereported. Breaking travel regulations was a serious offense. He didn'tknow what they did to you, but it wasn't anything easy like a fine. He cut into an unfenced, unplanted field. His headache was back, worse now than it had ever been. His entirehead throbbed, and he leaned forward and put his cheek against Plum'smane. The mare whinnied uneasily, but he kicked her sides and she movedforward. He lay there, just wanting to go somewhere, just wanting toleave his headache and confusion behind. He didn't know how long it was, but Plum was moving cautiously now. Heraised his head. They were approaching a fence. He noticed a gate offto the right, and pulled the rope so Plum went that way. They reachedthe gate and he got down to open it, and saw the sign. Phineas GrottonFarm. He looked up at the sky, found the constellations, turned hishead, and nodded. He'd started north, and Plum had continued north.He'd crossed land belonging both to himself and the Franklins. Now hewas leaving the Franklin farm. North of the Franklins were the Bessers.Who was this Phineas Grotton? Had he bought out Lon Besser? Butanything like that would've gotten around. Was he forgetting again? <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the characteristics of Doctor Hamming?

Doctor Hamming is first described by Edna as someone who can treat Harry’s so-called “mental problems”. She insists for Harry to go see him multiple times, but Harry refuses every time. Finally, when Harry is escorted by the policemen does he go meet Doctor Hamming in person. In person, Doctor Hamming is a thin little man with a bald head and framed glasses. He also wears a white coat and looks about one hundred years old. He lives with his two sons, and his wife is not around anymore. His son’s names are Pete and Stan. Doctor Hamming is a very stressed person, constantly trying to manage the ark. He is also impatient as well, raising his voice when Harry asks him about his dead son. However, although the doctor is impatient, he is very knowledgeable in his field as well. He predicted that people will begin to die from a disaster and invested a lot of his money to build the ark. He has exceptional planning skills, picking out the farmers in the rural areas as people to continue living on the ark because he knows how important the farmers are. The doctor’s treatments are very successful as well, capable of completely erasing Harry Burr’s conflicting memories and making him forget that they are on an ark.

What kind of connection exists between Edna and Harry in BREAKDOWN? [SEP] <s> BREAKDOWN By HERBERT D. KASTLE Illustrated by COWLES [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine June 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] He didn't know exactly when it had started, but it had been going onfor weeks. Edna begged him to see the doctor living in that new housetwo miles past Dugan's farm, but he refused. He point-blank refused toadmit he was sick that way—in the head! Of course, a man could grow forgetful. He had to admit there weremoments when he had all sorts of mixed-up memories and thoughts in hismind. And sometimes—like right now, lying in bed beside Edna, watchingthe first hint of light touch the windows—he began sweating with fear.A horrible, gut-wrenching fear, all the more horrible because it wasbased on nothing. The chicken-run came alive; the barn followed minutes later. There werechores to do, the same chores he'd done all his forty-one years. Exceptthat now, with the new regulations about wheat and corn, he had onlya vegetable patch to farm. Sure, he got paid for letting the fieldsremain empty. But it just didn't seem right, all that land going towaste.... Davie. Blond hair and a round, tanned face and strong arms growingstronger each day from helping out after school. He turned and shook Edna. What happened to Davie? She cleared her throat, mumbled, Huh? What happened to who? I said, what.... But then it slipped away. Davie? No, that was partof a dream he'd had last week. He and Edna had no children. He felt the fear again, and got up fast to escape it. Edna opened hereyes as soon as his weight left the bed. Like hotcakes for breakfast? Eggs, he said. Bacon. And then, seeing her face change, heremembered. Course, he muttered. Can't have bacon. Rationed. She was fully awake now. If you'd only go see Dr. Hamming, Harry. Justfor a checkup. Or let me call him so he could— You stop that! You stop that right now, and for good! I don't want tohear no more about doctors. I get laid up, I'll call one. And it won'tbe that Hamming who I ain't never seen in my life! It'll be Timkins,who took care'n us and brought our son into the world and.... She began to cry, and he realized he'd said something crazy again. Theyhad no son, never had a son. And Timkins—he'd died and they'd gone tohis funeral. Or so Edna said. He himself just couldn't remember it. He went to the bed and sat down beside her. Sorry. That was just adream I had. I'm still half asleep this morning. Couldn't fall off lastnight, not till real late. Guess I'm a little nervous, what with allthe new regulations and not working regular. I never meant we had ason. He waited then, hoping she'd say they had had a son, and he'ddied or gone away. But of course she didn't. <doc-sep>Edna didn't wake him, so they had a late lunch. Then he went back tothe barn and let the four cows and four sheep and two horses into thepastures. Then he checked to see that Edna had fed the chickens right.They had only a dozen or so now. When had he sold the rest? And when had he sold his other livestock? Or had they died somehow? A rough winter? Disease? He stood in the yard, a tall, husky man with pale brown hair and a facethat had once been long, lean and strong and was now only long andlean. He blinked gray eyes and tried hard to remember, then turned andwent to the house. Edna was soaking dishes in the sink, according toregulations—one sinkful of dishwater a day. And one tub of bath watertwice a week. She was looking at him. He realized his anger and confusion must beshowing. He managed a smile. You remember how much we got for ourlivestock, Edna? Same as everyone else, she said. Government agents paid flat rates. He remembered then, or thought he did. The headache was back. He wentupstairs and slept again, but this time he had dreams, many of them,and all confused and all frightening. He was glad to get up. And he wasglad to hear Walt and Gloria talking to Edna downstairs. He washed his face, combed his hair and went down. Walt and Gloria weresitting on the sofa, Edna in the blue armchair. Walt was saying he'dgotten the new TV picture tube he'd ordered. Found it in the supplybin this morning. Spent the whole day installing it according to thebook of directions. Harry said hi and they all said hi and he sat down and they talkedabout TV and gardens and livestock. Then Harry said, How's Penny? Fine, Gloria answered. I'm starting her on the kindergarten booknext week. She's five already? Harry asked. Almost six, Walt said. Emergency Education Regulations state thatthe child should be five years nine months old before embarking onkindergarten book. And Frances? Harry asked. Your oldest? She must be startinghigh.... He stopped, because they were all staring at him, and becausehe couldn't remember Frances clearly. Just a joke, he said, laughingand rising. Let's eat. I'm starved. <doc-sep>Suddenly, he understood. And understanding brought not peace but thegreatest terror he'd ever known. He screamed, We're on.... but theswitch was thrown and there was no more speech. For an hour. Then hegot out of the chair and said, Sure glad I took my wife's advice andcame to see you, Doctor Hamming. I feel better already, and after onlyone.... What do you call these treatments? Diathermy, the little doctor muttered. Harry gave him a five-dollar bill. The doctor gave him two singles inchange. That's certainly reasonable enough, Harry said. The doctor nodded. There's a police officer in the hall. He'll driveyou home so there won't be any trouble with the travel regulations. Harry said, Thanks. Think we'll ever see the end of travel regulationsand rationing and all the rest of the emergency? You will, Mr. Burr. Harry walked to the door. We're on an ark, the doctor said. Harry turned around, smiling. What? A test, Mr. Burr. You passed it. Goodbye. Harry went home. He told Edna he felt just great! She said she'd beenworried when an officer found Plum wandering on the road; she thoughtmaybe Harry had gone off somewhere and broken travel regulations. Me? he exclaimed, amazed. Break travel regulations? I'd as soon killa pig! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What kind of connection exists between Edna and Harry in BREAKDOWN?

Harry and Edna Burr are married. Initially, Edna is very concerned about Harry because of the strange memories that he experiences. She tries to plead with him to see a doctor, but he refuses to believe it. Harry is seen getting impatient with Edna, mainly because she is confused about the questions or people that he talks about. Even though she is concerned, Edna is good at comforting Harry. When he complains about the lack of meat, she tells him that they will have some multi-pro for lunch. The two of them split their duties as well, with Edna doing a lot of the housework and Harry doing the more manual labor. She also tries to suggest activities to do, such as asking what’s on the channel for this week. Edna loves Harry very much, but she does encourage him to seek a doctor to help his mental health. At the end, when Harry returns from his treatment, she asks if he has gone out to break any regulations. He only laughs and says he would rather kill a pig than do that.

What is the backdrop of the story BREAKDOWN? [SEP] <s>Jorj turned, smiling. And now, gentlemen, while we wait for Maizieto celebrate, there should be just enough time for us to watch thetakeoff of the Mars rocket. He switched on a giant television screen.The others made a quarter turn, and there before them glowed the richochres and blues of a New Mexico sunrise and, in the middle distance, asilvery mighty spindle. Like the generals, the Secretary of Space suppressed a scowl. Herewas something that ought to be spang in the center of his officialterritory, and the Thinkers had locked him completely out of it. Thatrocket there—just an ordinary Earth satellite vehicle commandeeredfrom the Army, but equipped by the Thinkers with Maizie-designednuclear motors capable of the Mars journey and more. The firstspaceship—and the Secretary of Space was not in on it! Still, he told himself, Maizie had decreed it that way. And whenhe remembered what the Thinkers had done for him in rescuing himfrom breakdown with their mental science, in rescuing the wholeAdministration from collapse he realized he had to be satisfied. Andthat was without taking into consideration the amazing additionalmental discoveries that the Thinkers were bringing down from Mars. Lord, the President said to Jorj as if voicing the Secretary'sfeeling, I wish you people could bring a couple of those wise littledevils back with you this trip. Be a good thing for the country. Jorj looked at him a bit coldly. It's quite unthinkable, he said.The telepathic abilities of the Martians make them extremelysensitive. The conflicts of ordinary Earth minds would impinge on thempsychotically, even fatally. As you know, the Thinkers were able tocontact them only because of our degree of learned mental poise anderrorless memory-chains. So for the present it must be our task aloneto glean from the Martians their astounding mental skills. Of course,some day in the future, when we have discovered how to armor the mindsof the Martians— Sure, I know, the President said hastily. Shouldn't have mentionedit, Jorj. Conversation ceased. They waited with growing tension for the greatviolet flames to bloom from the base of the silvery shaft. <doc-sep> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep>I wished I had been born a couple of hundred years ago—before peoplestarted playing around with nuclear energy and filling the air withradiations that they were afraid would turn human beings into hideousmonsters. Instead, they developed the psi powers that had always beenlatent in the species until we developed into a race of supermen. Idon't know why I say we —in 1960 or so, I might have been consideredsuperior, but in 2102 I was just the Faradays' idiot boy. Exploring space should have been my hope. If there had been anythinguseful or interesting on any of the other planets, I might have founda niche for myself there. In totally new surroundings, the psi powersgeared to another environment might not be an advantage. But by thetime I was ten, it was discovered that the other planets were justbarren hunks of rock, with pressures and climates and atmospheresdrastically unsuited to human life. A year or so before, the hyperdrivehad been developed on Earth and ships had been sent out to explore thestars, but I had no hope left in that direction any more. I was an atavism in a world of peace and plenty. Peace, because peoplecouldn't indulge in war or even crime with so many telepaths runningaround—not because, I told myself, the capacity for primitive behaviorwasn't just as latent in everybody else as the psi talent seemed latentin me. Tim must be right, I thought—I must have some undreamed-ofpower that only the right circumstances would bring out. But what wasthat power? For years I had speculated on what my potential talent might be,explored every wild possibility I could conceive of and found noneproductive of even an ambiguous result with which I could fool myself.As I approached adulthood, I began to concede that I was probablynothing more than what I seemed to be—a simple psi-negative. Yet, fromtime to time, hope surged up again, as it had today, in spite of myknowledge that my hope was an impossibility. Who ever heard of latentpsi powers showing themselves in an individual as old as twenty-six? I was almost alone in the parks where I used to walk, because peopleliked to commune with one another those days rather than with nature.Even gardening had very little popularity. But I found myself most athome in those woodland—or, rather, pseudo-woodland—surroundings,able to identify more readily with the trees and flowers than I couldwith my own kind. A fallen tree or a broken blossom would excite moresympathy from me than the minor catastrophes that will beset anyhousehold, no matter how gifted, and I would shy away from bloodynoses or cut fingers, thus giving myself a reputation for callousnessas well as extrasensory imbecility. However, I was no more callous in steering clear of human breakdownsthan I was in not shedding tears over the household machines when theybroke down, for I felt no more closely akin to my parents and siblingsthan I did to the mechanisms that served and, sometimes, failed us. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story BREAKDOWN?

The story is set on an ark that Doctor Hamming put money into creating. Although it resembles Iowa, the residents are fooled to believe that it is indeed Iowa. Each of the residents have their own farm and land area, and they are restricted to only staying inside a certain area. For the Burrs, they cannot go beyond the Shanks’ place. Harry’s farm area has his house, an area for the livestock, and a tractor shed that was supposed to be torn off. Their area also has a supply bin that is shaped like an old-fashioned wood bin for deliveries from the government. The land they live on is also shared with the Franklins. When Harry takes Plum out for a ride, they go up north past the Franklins to where the Bessers should be. Then, they reach a small Pangborn farm. Beyond Pangborn, there lies old Wallace Elverton’s place, which is known as the biggest farm in the country. There is barbed wire in this area, and he walks past it. Slowly, the earth becomes sand and then wood. There are also colored folks living here, when there shouldn’t have been, and a place called Piney Woods exists as well. The place where Doctor Hamming lives is two miles past Dugan’s farm. It resembles a hospital, but there is nobody else inside of it.

What are the regulations enforced by the government in BREAKDOWN? [SEP] <s> BREAKDOWN By HERBERT D. KASTLE Illustrated by COWLES [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine June 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] He didn't know exactly when it had started, but it had been going onfor weeks. Edna begged him to see the doctor living in that new housetwo miles past Dugan's farm, but he refused. He point-blank refused toadmit he was sick that way—in the head! Of course, a man could grow forgetful. He had to admit there weremoments when he had all sorts of mixed-up memories and thoughts in hismind. And sometimes—like right now, lying in bed beside Edna, watchingthe first hint of light touch the windows—he began sweating with fear.A horrible, gut-wrenching fear, all the more horrible because it wasbased on nothing. The chicken-run came alive; the barn followed minutes later. There werechores to do, the same chores he'd done all his forty-one years. Exceptthat now, with the new regulations about wheat and corn, he had onlya vegetable patch to farm. Sure, he got paid for letting the fieldsremain empty. But it just didn't seem right, all that land going towaste.... Davie. Blond hair and a round, tanned face and strong arms growingstronger each day from helping out after school. He turned and shook Edna. What happened to Davie? She cleared her throat, mumbled, Huh? What happened to who? I said, what.... But then it slipped away. Davie? No, that was partof a dream he'd had last week. He and Edna had no children. He felt the fear again, and got up fast to escape it. Edna opened hereyes as soon as his weight left the bed. Like hotcakes for breakfast? Eggs, he said. Bacon. And then, seeing her face change, heremembered. Course, he muttered. Can't have bacon. Rationed. She was fully awake now. If you'd only go see Dr. Hamming, Harry. Justfor a checkup. Or let me call him so he could— You stop that! You stop that right now, and for good! I don't want tohear no more about doctors. I get laid up, I'll call one. And it won'tbe that Hamming who I ain't never seen in my life! It'll be Timkins,who took care'n us and brought our son into the world and.... She began to cry, and he realized he'd said something crazy again. Theyhad no son, never had a son. And Timkins—he'd died and they'd gone tohis funeral. Or so Edna said. He himself just couldn't remember it. He went to the bed and sat down beside her. Sorry. That was just adream I had. I'm still half asleep this morning. Couldn't fall off lastnight, not till real late. Guess I'm a little nervous, what with allthe new regulations and not working regular. I never meant we had ason. He waited then, hoping she'd say they had had a son, and he'ddied or gone away. But of course she didn't. <doc-sep>Suddenly, he understood. And understanding brought not peace but thegreatest terror he'd ever known. He screamed, We're on.... but theswitch was thrown and there was no more speech. For an hour. Then hegot out of the chair and said, Sure glad I took my wife's advice andcame to see you, Doctor Hamming. I feel better already, and after onlyone.... What do you call these treatments? Diathermy, the little doctor muttered. Harry gave him a five-dollar bill. The doctor gave him two singles inchange. That's certainly reasonable enough, Harry said. The doctor nodded. There's a police officer in the hall. He'll driveyou home so there won't be any trouble with the travel regulations. Harry said, Thanks. Think we'll ever see the end of travel regulationsand rationing and all the rest of the emergency? You will, Mr. Burr. Harry walked to the door. We're on an ark, the doctor said. Harry turned around, smiling. What? A test, Mr. Burr. You passed it. Goodbye. Harry went home. He told Edna he felt just great! She said she'd beenworried when an officer found Plum wandering on the road; she thoughtmaybe Harry had gone off somewhere and broken travel regulations. Me? he exclaimed, amazed. Break travel regulations? I'd as soon killa pig! <doc-sep>Edna didn't wake him, so they had a late lunch. Then he went back tothe barn and let the four cows and four sheep and two horses into thepastures. Then he checked to see that Edna had fed the chickens right.They had only a dozen or so now. When had he sold the rest? And when had he sold his other livestock? Or had they died somehow? A rough winter? Disease? He stood in the yard, a tall, husky man with pale brown hair and a facethat had once been long, lean and strong and was now only long andlean. He blinked gray eyes and tried hard to remember, then turned andwent to the house. Edna was soaking dishes in the sink, according toregulations—one sinkful of dishwater a day. And one tub of bath watertwice a week. She was looking at him. He realized his anger and confusion must beshowing. He managed a smile. You remember how much we got for ourlivestock, Edna? Same as everyone else, she said. Government agents paid flat rates. He remembered then, or thought he did. The headache was back. He wentupstairs and slept again, but this time he had dreams, many of them,and all confused and all frightening. He was glad to get up. And he wasglad to hear Walt and Gloria talking to Edna downstairs. He washed his face, combed his hair and went down. Walt and Gloria weresitting on the sofa, Edna in the blue armchair. Walt was saying he'dgotten the new TV picture tube he'd ordered. Found it in the supplybin this morning. Spent the whole day installing it according to thebook of directions. Harry said hi and they all said hi and he sat down and they talkedabout TV and gardens and livestock. Then Harry said, How's Penny? Fine, Gloria answered. I'm starting her on the kindergarten booknext week. She's five already? Harry asked. Almost six, Walt said. Emergency Education Regulations state thatthe child should be five years nine months old before embarking onkindergarten book. And Frances? Harry asked. Your oldest? She must be startinghigh.... He stopped, because they were all staring at him, and becausehe couldn't remember Frances clearly. Just a joke, he said, laughingand rising. Let's eat. I'm starved. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the regulations enforced by the government in BREAKDOWN?

One of the government restrictions that Edna reminds Harry about is the rationing of meat. Due to the crisis in the country, there is a shortage of meat. Instead of actual meat, most people eat multi-pro, which is similar to spam. The government also sets up boundaries for the residents to stay inside of, and they are not allowed to go past these regulations or else the police will come. The government also takes care of supplies, and most residents just have to write down what they want and pay a bill. In terms of money, the government takes care of it as well each week. Each farm receives the same number of animals because government agents paid flat rates. When Harry finds the stock of grain, he notes that the government has enough to keep going for a few years. Television is also restricted to old movies, playing only on one channel from nine to eleven at night. Later, it is revealed that these restrictions are imposed to keep the people alive on the ark long enough until they can begin to expand civilization again.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in The Girls From Fieu Dayol? [SEP] <s>A station wagon came up behind them, slowed, and matched its speedwith theirs. Someone's following us, Quidley said. Probably Jilka. Five minutes later the station wagon turned down a side street anddisappeared. She's no longer with us, Quidley said. She's got to pick someone up. She'll meet us later. At your folks'? At the ship. The city was thinning out around them now, and a few stars were visiblein the night sky. Quidley watched them thoughtfully for a while. Then:What ship? he said. The one we're going to Fieu Dayol on. Fieu Dayol? Persei 17 to you. I said I was going to take you home to meet myfolks, didn't I? In other words, you're kidnapping me. She shook her head vehemently. I most certainly am not! Neitheraccording to interstellar law or your own. When you compromised me, youmade yourself liable in the eyes of both. But why pick on me? There must be plenty of men on Fieu Dayol . Whydon't you marry one of them? For two reasons: one, you're the particular man who compromisedme. Two, there are not plenty of men on Fieu Dayol . Our race isidentical to yours in everything except population-balance between thesexes. At periodic intervals the women on Fieu Dayol so greatlyoutnumber the men that those of us who are temperamentally andemotionally unfitted to become spinsters have to look for wotnids —ormates—on other worlds. It's quite legal and quite respectable. As amatter of fact, we even have schools specializing in alien culturesto expedite our activities. Our biggest problem is the Interstellarstatute forbidding us the use of local communications services andforbidding us to appear in public places. It was devised to facilitatethe prosecution of interstellar black marketeers, but we're subject toit, too, and have to contrive communications systems of our own. But why were all the messages addressed to you? They weren't messages. They were requisitions. I'm the ship's stockgirl. <doc-sep>Her boy friend turned out to be her girl friend, and her girl friendturned out to be a tall and lissome, lovely with a Helenesque air ofher own. From the vantage point of a strategically located readingtable, where he was keeping company with his favorite little magazine, The Zeitgeist , Quidley watched her take a seemingly haphazard routeto the shelf where Taine's History reposed, take the volume down,surreptitiously slip a folded sheet of yellow paper between its pagesand return it to the shelf. After she left he wasted no time in acquainting himself with the secondmessage. It was as unintelligible as the first: asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Cai: Habewotnid ig ist ending ifedererer te. T'lide sid Fieu Dayol po jestigtoseo knwo, bijk weil en snoll doper entling—Yoolna. asdf ;lkj asdf;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Well, perhaps not quite as unintelligible. He knew, at least, who Caiwas, and he knew—from the reappearance of the words wotnid , FieuDayol and snoll doper —that the two communications were in thesame code. And certainly it was reasonable to assume that the lastword— Yoolna —was the name of the girl he had just seen, and thatshe was a different person from the Klio whose name had appended thefirst message. He refolded the paper, replaced it between the pages, returned the bookto the shelf and went back to the reading table and The Zeitgeist . Kay didn't show up till almost closing time, and he was beginningto think that perhaps she wouldn't come around for the pickup tilltomorrow when she finally walked in the door. She employed the sametactics she had employed the previous night, arriving, as though bychance, at the T-section and transferring the message with the sameundetectable legerdemain to her purse. This time, when she walked outthe door, he was not far behind her. She climbed into a sleek convertible and pulled into the street. Ittook him but a moment to gain his hardtop and start out after her.When, several blocks later, she pulled to the curb in front of anall-night coffee bar, he followed suit. After that, it was merely amatter of following her inside. He decided on Operation Spill-the-sugar. It had stood him in good steadbefore, and he was rather fond of it. The procedure was quite simple.First you took note of the position of the sugar dispensers, then yousituated yourself so that your intended victim was between you and thenearest one, then you ordered coffee without sugar in a low voice, andafter the counterman or countergirl had served you, you waited tillhe/she was out of earshot and asked your i.v. to please pass the sugar.When she did so you let the dispenser slip from your fingers in such away that some of its contents spilled on her lap— I'm terribly sorry, he said, righting it. Here, let me brush it off. <doc-sep> The Girls From Fieu Dayol By ROBERT F. YOUNG They were lovely and quick to learn—and their only faults were little ones! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Up until the moment when he first looked into Hippolyte Adolphe Taine's History of English Literature , Herbert Quidley's penchant for oldbooks had netted him nothing in the way of romance and intrigue.Not that he was a stranger to either. Far from it. But hitherto thebackground for both had been bedrooms and bars, not libraries. On page 21 of the Taine tome he happened upon a sheet of yellow copypaper folded in four. Unfolding it, he read: asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkjCai: Sities towms copeis wotnid. Gind snoll doper nckli! Wilbe FieuDayol fot ig habe mot toseo knwo—te bijk weil en snoll doper—Klio,asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Since when, Quidley wondered, refolding the paper and putting it backin the book, had high-school typing students taken to reading Taine?Thoughtfully he replaced the book on the shelf and moved deeper intothe literature section. He had just taken down Xenophon's Anabasis when he saw the girl walkin the door. Let it be said forthwith that old books were not the only item onHerbert Quidley's penchant-list. He liked old wood, too, and oldpaintings, not to mention old wine and old whiskey. But most of all heliked young girls. He especially liked them when they looked the wayHelen of Troy must have looked when Paris took one gander at her andstarted building his ladder. This one was tall, with hyacinth hair andliquid blue eyes, and she had a Grecian symmetry of shape that wouldhave made Paris' eyes pop had he been around to take notice. Pariswasn't, but Quidley's eyes, did the job. After coming in the door, the girl deposited a book on the librarian'sdesk and headed for the literature section. Quickly Quidley loweredhis eyes to the Anabasis and henceforth followed her progress out oftheir corners. When she came to the O's she paused, took down a bookand glanced through it. Then she replaced it and moved on to theP's ... the Q's ... the R's. Barely three feet from him she pausedagain and took down Taine's History of English Literature . He simply could not believe it. The odds against two persons taking aninterest in so esoteric a volume on a single night in a single librarywere ten thousand to one. And yet there was no gainsaying that thevolume was in the girl's hands, and that she was riffling through itwith the air of a seasoned browser. Presently she returned the book to the shelf, selectedanother—seemingly at random—and took it over to the librarian's desk.She waited statuesquely while the librarian processed it, then tuckedit under her arm and whisked out the door into the misty April night.As soon as she disappeared, Quidley stepped over to the T's and tookTaine down once more. Just as he had suspected. The makeshift bookmarkwas gone. He remembered how the asdf-;lkj exercise had given way to several linesof gibberish and then reappeared again. A camouflaged message? Or wasit merely what it appeared to be on the surface—the efforts of animpatient typing student to type before his time? He returned Taine to the shelf. After learning from the librarian thatthe girl's name was Kay Smith, he went out and got in his hardtop. Thename rang a bell. Halfway home he realized why. The typing exercise hadcontained the word Cai, and if you pronounced it with hard c, you gotKai—or Kay. Obviously, then, the exercise had been a message, andhad been deliberately inserted in a book no average person would dreamof borrowing. By whom—her boy friend? Quidley winced. He was allergic to the term. Not that he ever let thepresence of a boy friend deter him when he set out to conquer, butbecause the term itself brought to mind the word fiance, and the wordfiance brought to mind still another word, one which repelled himviolently. I.e., marriage. Just the same, he decided to keep Taine's History under observation for a while. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in The Girls From Fieu Dayol?

Herbert Quidley finds a yellow paper with unintelligible words folded in the book called History of English Literature by Hippolyte Adolphe Taine. After he continues to work, he sees a girl come in, browse randomly, and take Taine’s book. The girl quickly riffles through the book, puts it back on the shelf, and leaves the library. After the girl leaves, Quidley checks the book, noticing the disappearance of the yellow paper. He learns the girl’s name, Kay Smith, from the librarian and goes home. On his way home, he guesses that the paper is a kind of message transmitted through an esoteric book. He guesses the identity of the person who might do this message job with Kay, none of which pleases him as he has a liking for the girl, so he decides to observe this messaging action for a while.The following day, when Quidley waits at the library, a girl different from Kay comes to the library, puts another paper in Taine’s book, and leaves. Quidley sees the paper and finds another batch of unintelligible words, from which he finds two common words, Fieu Dayol and snoll doper. He puts back the letter and goes back to his seat. When the library is about to close, Kay comes to take the paper and leaves. Quidley follows behind her into a coffee bar. He intentionally spills the sugar on her, which allows him to start talking to her. Throughout the conversation, Quidley reveals his identity as a profiliste and accepts Kay’s request to make her a profile. They set up a time to meet next time. After they separate, Quidley goes home and writes a letter to his father for the allowance.Two days later, Quidley goes to the library again and sits at his reading-table post with his favorite magazine. He sees the third woman come in and do the same thing as the previous girls. He reads the new message and returns to his apartment waiting for Kay. He thinks about the meaning of snoll doper. When Kay comes, they do something sexually. The following day, puzzled by the secret of the snoll doper, Quidley decides to read the message before the exchange happens. Kay finds out that Quidley is reading the message. She tells him to come with her to deliver the snoll doper to Jilka and meet her folks. When Quidley waits in the car, he realizes the possible true identity of Kay and what may happen next. Quidley learns from the conversation with Kay that they are heading to the ship to Fieu Dayol. He also learns that Kay is the ship’s stock girl, and all the messages are actually requisitions for the snoll dopers. He realizes that he is kidnapped to another planet, Fieu Dayol, where women outnumber men. He sees a man with Jilka ascend the ship and disappear. Kay forces Quidley to go into the ship by pointing him with a shotgun, which is called snoll doper in Kay’s language.

What are the defining traits of Kay Smith, and who is she in relation to The Girls From Fieu Dayol? [SEP] <s> The Girls From Fieu Dayol By ROBERT F. YOUNG They were lovely and quick to learn—and their only faults were little ones! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Up until the moment when he first looked into Hippolyte Adolphe Taine's History of English Literature , Herbert Quidley's penchant for oldbooks had netted him nothing in the way of romance and intrigue.Not that he was a stranger to either. Far from it. But hitherto thebackground for both had been bedrooms and bars, not libraries. On page 21 of the Taine tome he happened upon a sheet of yellow copypaper folded in four. Unfolding it, he read: asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkjCai: Sities towms copeis wotnid. Gind snoll doper nckli! Wilbe FieuDayol fot ig habe mot toseo knwo—te bijk weil en snoll doper—Klio,asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Since when, Quidley wondered, refolding the paper and putting it backin the book, had high-school typing students taken to reading Taine?Thoughtfully he replaced the book on the shelf and moved deeper intothe literature section. He had just taken down Xenophon's Anabasis when he saw the girl walkin the door. Let it be said forthwith that old books were not the only item onHerbert Quidley's penchant-list. He liked old wood, too, and oldpaintings, not to mention old wine and old whiskey. But most of all heliked young girls. He especially liked them when they looked the wayHelen of Troy must have looked when Paris took one gander at her andstarted building his ladder. This one was tall, with hyacinth hair andliquid blue eyes, and she had a Grecian symmetry of shape that wouldhave made Paris' eyes pop had he been around to take notice. Pariswasn't, but Quidley's eyes, did the job. After coming in the door, the girl deposited a book on the librarian'sdesk and headed for the literature section. Quickly Quidley loweredhis eyes to the Anabasis and henceforth followed her progress out oftheir corners. When she came to the O's she paused, took down a bookand glanced through it. Then she replaced it and moved on to theP's ... the Q's ... the R's. Barely three feet from him she pausedagain and took down Taine's History of English Literature . He simply could not believe it. The odds against two persons taking aninterest in so esoteric a volume on a single night in a single librarywere ten thousand to one. And yet there was no gainsaying that thevolume was in the girl's hands, and that she was riffling through itwith the air of a seasoned browser. Presently she returned the book to the shelf, selectedanother—seemingly at random—and took it over to the librarian's desk.She waited statuesquely while the librarian processed it, then tuckedit under her arm and whisked out the door into the misty April night.As soon as she disappeared, Quidley stepped over to the T's and tookTaine down once more. Just as he had suspected. The makeshift bookmarkwas gone. He remembered how the asdf-;lkj exercise had given way to several linesof gibberish and then reappeared again. A camouflaged message? Or wasit merely what it appeared to be on the surface—the efforts of animpatient typing student to type before his time? He returned Taine to the shelf. After learning from the librarian thatthe girl's name was Kay Smith, he went out and got in his hardtop. Thename rang a bell. Halfway home he realized why. The typing exercise hadcontained the word Cai, and if you pronounced it with hard c, you gotKai—or Kay. Obviously, then, the exercise had been a message, andhad been deliberately inserted in a book no average person would dreamof borrowing. By whom—her boy friend? Quidley winced. He was allergic to the term. Not that he ever let thepresence of a boy friend deter him when he set out to conquer, butbecause the term itself brought to mind the word fiance, and the wordfiance brought to mind still another word, one which repelled himviolently. I.e., marriage. Just the same, he decided to keep Taine's History under observation for a while. <doc-sep>A station wagon came up behind them, slowed, and matched its speedwith theirs. Someone's following us, Quidley said. Probably Jilka. Five minutes later the station wagon turned down a side street anddisappeared. She's no longer with us, Quidley said. She's got to pick someone up. She'll meet us later. At your folks'? At the ship. The city was thinning out around them now, and a few stars were visiblein the night sky. Quidley watched them thoughtfully for a while. Then:What ship? he said. The one we're going to Fieu Dayol on. Fieu Dayol? Persei 17 to you. I said I was going to take you home to meet myfolks, didn't I? In other words, you're kidnapping me. She shook her head vehemently. I most certainly am not! Neitheraccording to interstellar law or your own. When you compromised me, youmade yourself liable in the eyes of both. But why pick on me? There must be plenty of men on Fieu Dayol . Whydon't you marry one of them? For two reasons: one, you're the particular man who compromisedme. Two, there are not plenty of men on Fieu Dayol . Our race isidentical to yours in everything except population-balance between thesexes. At periodic intervals the women on Fieu Dayol so greatlyoutnumber the men that those of us who are temperamentally andemotionally unfitted to become spinsters have to look for wotnids —ormates—on other worlds. It's quite legal and quite respectable. As amatter of fact, we even have schools specializing in alien culturesto expedite our activities. Our biggest problem is the Interstellarstatute forbidding us the use of local communications services andforbidding us to appear in public places. It was devised to facilitatethe prosecution of interstellar black marketeers, but we're subject toit, too, and have to contrive communications systems of our own. But why were all the messages addressed to you? They weren't messages. They were requisitions. I'm the ship's stockgirl. <doc-sep>Her boy friend turned out to be her girl friend, and her girl friendturned out to be a tall and lissome, lovely with a Helenesque air ofher own. From the vantage point of a strategically located readingtable, where he was keeping company with his favorite little magazine, The Zeitgeist , Quidley watched her take a seemingly haphazard routeto the shelf where Taine's History reposed, take the volume down,surreptitiously slip a folded sheet of yellow paper between its pagesand return it to the shelf. After she left he wasted no time in acquainting himself with the secondmessage. It was as unintelligible as the first: asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Cai: Habewotnid ig ist ending ifedererer te. T'lide sid Fieu Dayol po jestigtoseo knwo, bijk weil en snoll doper entling—Yoolna. asdf ;lkj asdf;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Well, perhaps not quite as unintelligible. He knew, at least, who Caiwas, and he knew—from the reappearance of the words wotnid , FieuDayol and snoll doper —that the two communications were in thesame code. And certainly it was reasonable to assume that the lastword— Yoolna —was the name of the girl he had just seen, and thatshe was a different person from the Klio whose name had appended thefirst message. He refolded the paper, replaced it between the pages, returned the bookto the shelf and went back to the reading table and The Zeitgeist . Kay didn't show up till almost closing time, and he was beginningto think that perhaps she wouldn't come around for the pickup tilltomorrow when she finally walked in the door. She employed the sametactics she had employed the previous night, arriving, as though bychance, at the T-section and transferring the message with the sameundetectable legerdemain to her purse. This time, when she walked outthe door, he was not far behind her. She climbed into a sleek convertible and pulled into the street. Ittook him but a moment to gain his hardtop and start out after her.When, several blocks later, she pulled to the curb in front of anall-night coffee bar, he followed suit. After that, it was merely amatter of following her inside. He decided on Operation Spill-the-sugar. It had stood him in good steadbefore, and he was rather fond of it. The procedure was quite simple.First you took note of the position of the sugar dispensers, then yousituated yourself so that your intended victim was between you and thenearest one, then you ordered coffee without sugar in a low voice, andafter the counterman or countergirl had served you, you waited tillhe/she was out of earshot and asked your i.v. to please pass the sugar.When she did so you let the dispenser slip from your fingers in such away that some of its contents spilled on her lap— I'm terribly sorry, he said, righting it. Here, let me brush it off. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the defining traits of Kay Smith, and who is she in relation to The Girls From Fieu Dayol?

She is tall with hyacinth long hair and blue eyes. Her skin is glowingly white. Her body shape is Grecian symmetric. She fascinates Herbert Quidley, a man who finds out the secret letter in Taine’s book, when she walks in the library. She is the receiver of secret messages in the book, and she goes to the library almost every day to pick up the letter in the book. She wears a pleated skirt when Herbert Quidley spills the sugar on her thighs. She speaks with a slight accent that she pronounces “interesting” with “anteresting.” She walks demurely. She wears a dress that exposes a lot of her skin when she goes to Quidley’s apartment, which indicates her intention to have sexual behaviors with him. She owns a convertible, and her purse hides a gun. She is the stock girl on the ship to Fieu Dayol, and her job is to deliver guns to her members, which is why she goes to the library to pick up the secret letters, the requisitions for the guns. It is revealed at the end that she comes to the Earth to bring men to her planet.

What are the defining traits of Herbert Quidley, and can you tell me more about him? [SEP] <s>The following evening found Quidley on tenter-hooks. The snoll-doper mystery had acquired a new tang. He could hardly wait till the nextmessage transfer took place. He decided to spend the evening plotting the epic novel which heintended to write someday. He set to work immediately. He plottedmentally, of course—notes were for the hacks and the other commercialnon-geniuses who infested the modern literary world. Closing his eyes,he saw the whole vivid panorama of epic action and grand adventureflowing like a mighty and majestic river before his literary vision:the authentic and awe-inspiring background; the hordes of colorfulcharacters; the handsome virile hero, the compelling Helenesqueheroine.... God, it was going to be great! The best thing he'd everdone! See, already there was a crowd of book lovers in front of thebookstore, staring into the window where the new Herbert Quidley wason display, trying to force its way into the jammed interior.... Cutto interior. FIRST EAGER CUSTOMER: Tell me quickly, are there anymore copies of the new Herbert Quidley left? BOOK CLERK: A few. Youdon't know how lucky you are to get here before the first printing ranout. FIRST EAGER CUSTOMER: Give me a dozen. I want to make sure thatmy children and my children's children have a plentiful supply. BOOKCLERK: Sorry. Only one to a customer. Next? SECOND EAGER CUSTOMER: Tellme quickly, are ... there ... any ... more ... copies ... of— ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.... Message no. 4, except for a slight variation in camouflage, ran true toform: a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj Cai: Habe te snoll dopers ensing?Wotnid ne Fieu Dayol ist ifederereret, hid jestig snoll doper. Ginded, olro—Jilka. a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj Quidley sighed. What, he asked himself, standing in the library aisleand staring at the indecipherable words, was a normal girl like Kaydoing in such a childish secret society? From the way she and hercorrespondents carried on you'd almost think they were Martian girlscouts on an interplanetary camping trip, trying for their merit badgesin communications! You could hardly call Kay a girl scout, though. Nevertheless, she was the key figure in the snoll-doper enigma. Thefact annoyed him, especially when he considered that a snoll doper ,for all he knew, could be anything from a Chinese fortune cooky to anH-bomb. He remembered Kay's odd accent. Was that the way a person would speakEnglish if her own language ran something like ist ifedereret, hidjestig snoll doper adwo ? He remembered the way she had looked at him in the coffee bar. He remembered the material of her dress. He remembered how she had come to his room. I didn't know you had a taste for Taine. <doc-sep> The Girls From Fieu Dayol By ROBERT F. YOUNG They were lovely and quick to learn—and their only faults were little ones! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Up until the moment when he first looked into Hippolyte Adolphe Taine's History of English Literature , Herbert Quidley's penchant for oldbooks had netted him nothing in the way of romance and intrigue.Not that he was a stranger to either. Far from it. But hitherto thebackground for both had been bedrooms and bars, not libraries. On page 21 of the Taine tome he happened upon a sheet of yellow copypaper folded in four. Unfolding it, he read: asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkjCai: Sities towms copeis wotnid. Gind snoll doper nckli! Wilbe FieuDayol fot ig habe mot toseo knwo—te bijk weil en snoll doper—Klio,asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Since when, Quidley wondered, refolding the paper and putting it backin the book, had high-school typing students taken to reading Taine?Thoughtfully he replaced the book on the shelf and moved deeper intothe literature section. He had just taken down Xenophon's Anabasis when he saw the girl walkin the door. Let it be said forthwith that old books were not the only item onHerbert Quidley's penchant-list. He liked old wood, too, and oldpaintings, not to mention old wine and old whiskey. But most of all heliked young girls. He especially liked them when they looked the wayHelen of Troy must have looked when Paris took one gander at her andstarted building his ladder. This one was tall, with hyacinth hair andliquid blue eyes, and she had a Grecian symmetry of shape that wouldhave made Paris' eyes pop had he been around to take notice. Pariswasn't, but Quidley's eyes, did the job. After coming in the door, the girl deposited a book on the librarian'sdesk and headed for the literature section. Quickly Quidley loweredhis eyes to the Anabasis and henceforth followed her progress out oftheir corners. When she came to the O's she paused, took down a bookand glanced through it. Then she replaced it and moved on to theP's ... the Q's ... the R's. Barely three feet from him she pausedagain and took down Taine's History of English Literature . He simply could not believe it. The odds against two persons taking aninterest in so esoteric a volume on a single night in a single librarywere ten thousand to one. And yet there was no gainsaying that thevolume was in the girl's hands, and that she was riffling through itwith the air of a seasoned browser. Presently she returned the book to the shelf, selectedanother—seemingly at random—and took it over to the librarian's desk.She waited statuesquely while the librarian processed it, then tuckedit under her arm and whisked out the door into the misty April night.As soon as she disappeared, Quidley stepped over to the T's and tookTaine down once more. Just as he had suspected. The makeshift bookmarkwas gone. He remembered how the asdf-;lkj exercise had given way to several linesof gibberish and then reappeared again. A camouflaged message? Or wasit merely what it appeared to be on the surface—the efforts of animpatient typing student to type before his time? He returned Taine to the shelf. After learning from the librarian thatthe girl's name was Kay Smith, he went out and got in his hardtop. Thename rang a bell. Halfway home he realized why. The typing exercise hadcontained the word Cai, and if you pronounced it with hard c, you gotKai—or Kay. Obviously, then, the exercise had been a message, andhad been deliberately inserted in a book no average person would dreamof borrowing. By whom—her boy friend? Quidley winced. He was allergic to the term. Not that he ever let thepresence of a boy friend deter him when he set out to conquer, butbecause the term itself brought to mind the word fiance, and the wordfiance brought to mind still another word, one which repelled himviolently. I.e., marriage. Just the same, he decided to keep Taine's History under observation for a while. <doc-sep>It's all right, it's only sugar, she said, laughing. I'm hopelessly clumsy, he continued smoothly, brushing the gleamingcrystals from her pleated skirt, noting the clean sweep of her thighs.I beseech you to forgive me. You're forgiven, she said, and he noticed then that she spoke with aslight accent. If you like, you can send it to the cleaners and have them send thebill to me. My address is 61 Park Place. He pulled out his wallet,chose an appropriate card, and handed it to her— Herbert Quidley: Profiliste Her forehead crinkled. Profiliste? I paint profiles with words, he said. You may have run across someof my pieces in the Better Magazines. I employ a variety of pseudonyms,of course. How interesting. She pronounced it anteresting. Not famous profiles, you understand. Just profiles that strike myfancy. He paused. She had raised her cup to her lips and was taking adainty sip. You have a rather striking profile yourself, Miss— Smith. Kay Smith. She set the cup back on the counter and turned andfaced him. For a second her eyes seemed to expand till they preoccupiedhis entire vision, till he could see nothing but their disturbinglyclear—and suddenly cold—blueness. Panic touched him, then vanishedwhen she said, Would you really consider word-painting my profile,Mr. Quidley? Would he! When can I call? She hesitated for a moment. Then: I think it will be better if I callon you. There are quite a number of people living in our—our house.I'm afraid the quarters would be much too cramped for an artist likeyourself to concentrate. Quidley glowed. Usually it required two or three days, and sometimes aweek, to reach the apartment phase. Fine, he said. When can I expectyou? She stood up and he got to his feet beside her. She was even tallerthan he had thought. In fact, if he hadn't been wearing Cuban heels,she'd have been taller than he was. I'll be in town night after next,she said. Will nine o'clock be convenient for you? Perfectly. Good-by for now then, Mr. Quidley. He was so elated that when he arrived at his apartment he actuallydid try to write a profile. His own, of course. He sat down at hiscustom-built chrome-trimmed desk, inserted a blank sheet of paper inhis custom-built typewriter and tried to arrange his thoughts. But asusual his mind raced ahead of the moment, and he saw the title, SelfProfile , nestling noticeably on the contents page of one of the BetterMagazines, and presently he saw the piece itself in all its splendidarray of colorful rhetoric, sparkling imagery and scintillating wit,occupying a two-page spread. It was some time before he returned to reality, and when he did thefirst thing that met his eyes was the uncompromisingly blank sheet ofpaper. Hurriedly he typed out a letter to his father, requesting anadvance on his allowance, then, after a tall glass of vintage wine, hewent to bed. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the defining traits of Herbert Quidley, and can you tell me more about him?

Herbert Quidley is a profiliste who often stays in the library. He has a variety of pseudonyms for his career, each of which has its own card in his wallet. He owns a hardtop. He lives at 61 Park Place. He often wears Cuban heels. His favorite little magazine is The Zeitgeist. He likes everything old, such as old books, old wines, old woods, and old paintings. But most of all, he likes young girls, which is why he starts his observations on Kay’s behavior, a girl who exchanges letters through the book in the library. Quidley is a very thoughtful and careful person because whenever he reads the mysterious letters in the book, he always puts the letters back in the book and replaces the book on the shelf. He always sits at the reading table to observe the girls. He knows very well about romantic stuff and how to have sexual relationships with girls as he has his own skill called Operation Spill-the-sugar to start a conversation with a stranger woman. However, Quidley has little moral on sexual relationships because whether the targeted girl has a boyfriend would not deter his intention to conquer her.

"In The Girls From Fieu Dayol, how does the snoll doper contribute to the plot?" [SEP] <s>Her boy friend turned out to be her girl friend, and her girl friendturned out to be a tall and lissome, lovely with a Helenesque air ofher own. From the vantage point of a strategically located readingtable, where he was keeping company with his favorite little magazine, The Zeitgeist , Quidley watched her take a seemingly haphazard routeto the shelf where Taine's History reposed, take the volume down,surreptitiously slip a folded sheet of yellow paper between its pagesand return it to the shelf. After she left he wasted no time in acquainting himself with the secondmessage. It was as unintelligible as the first: asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Cai: Habewotnid ig ist ending ifedererer te. T'lide sid Fieu Dayol po jestigtoseo knwo, bijk weil en snoll doper entling—Yoolna. asdf ;lkj asdf;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Well, perhaps not quite as unintelligible. He knew, at least, who Caiwas, and he knew—from the reappearance of the words wotnid , FieuDayol and snoll doper —that the two communications were in thesame code. And certainly it was reasonable to assume that the lastword— Yoolna —was the name of the girl he had just seen, and thatshe was a different person from the Klio whose name had appended thefirst message. He refolded the paper, replaced it between the pages, returned the bookto the shelf and went back to the reading table and The Zeitgeist . Kay didn't show up till almost closing time, and he was beginningto think that perhaps she wouldn't come around for the pickup tilltomorrow when she finally walked in the door. She employed the sametactics she had employed the previous night, arriving, as though bychance, at the T-section and transferring the message with the sameundetectable legerdemain to her purse. This time, when she walked outthe door, he was not far behind her. She climbed into a sleek convertible and pulled into the street. Ittook him but a moment to gain his hardtop and start out after her.When, several blocks later, she pulled to the curb in front of anall-night coffee bar, he followed suit. After that, it was merely amatter of following her inside. He decided on Operation Spill-the-sugar. It had stood him in good steadbefore, and he was rather fond of it. The procedure was quite simple.First you took note of the position of the sugar dispensers, then yousituated yourself so that your intended victim was between you and thenearest one, then you ordered coffee without sugar in a low voice, andafter the counterman or countergirl had served you, you waited tillhe/she was out of earshot and asked your i.v. to please pass the sugar.When she did so you let the dispenser slip from your fingers in such away that some of its contents spilled on her lap— I'm terribly sorry, he said, righting it. Here, let me brush it off. <doc-sep>The following evening found Quidley on tenter-hooks. The snoll-doper mystery had acquired a new tang. He could hardly wait till the nextmessage transfer took place. He decided to spend the evening plotting the epic novel which heintended to write someday. He set to work immediately. He plottedmentally, of course—notes were for the hacks and the other commercialnon-geniuses who infested the modern literary world. Closing his eyes,he saw the whole vivid panorama of epic action and grand adventureflowing like a mighty and majestic river before his literary vision:the authentic and awe-inspiring background; the hordes of colorfulcharacters; the handsome virile hero, the compelling Helenesqueheroine.... God, it was going to be great! The best thing he'd everdone! See, already there was a crowd of book lovers in front of thebookstore, staring into the window where the new Herbert Quidley wason display, trying to force its way into the jammed interior.... Cutto interior. FIRST EAGER CUSTOMER: Tell me quickly, are there anymore copies of the new Herbert Quidley left? BOOK CLERK: A few. Youdon't know how lucky you are to get here before the first printing ranout. FIRST EAGER CUSTOMER: Give me a dozen. I want to make sure thatmy children and my children's children have a plentiful supply. BOOKCLERK: Sorry. Only one to a customer. Next? SECOND EAGER CUSTOMER: Tellme quickly, are ... there ... any ... more ... copies ... of— ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.... Message no. 4, except for a slight variation in camouflage, ran true toform: a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj Cai: Habe te snoll dopers ensing?Wotnid ne Fieu Dayol ist ifederereret, hid jestig snoll doper. Ginded, olro—Jilka. a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj a;sldkfj Quidley sighed. What, he asked himself, standing in the library aisleand staring at the indecipherable words, was a normal girl like Kaydoing in such a childish secret society? From the way she and hercorrespondents carried on you'd almost think they were Martian girlscouts on an interplanetary camping trip, trying for their merit badgesin communications! You could hardly call Kay a girl scout, though. Nevertheless, she was the key figure in the snoll-doper enigma. Thefact annoyed him, especially when he considered that a snoll doper ,for all he knew, could be anything from a Chinese fortune cooky to anH-bomb. He remembered Kay's odd accent. Was that the way a person would speakEnglish if her own language ran something like ist ifedereret, hidjestig snoll doper adwo ? He remembered the way she had looked at him in the coffee bar. He remembered the material of her dress. He remembered how she had come to his room. I didn't know you had a taste for Taine. <doc-sep>In telling him that she would be in town two nights hence, Kay hadunwittingly apprised him that there would be no exchange of messagesuntil that time, so the next evening he skipped his vigil at thelibrary. The following evening, however, after readying his apartmentfor the forthcoming assignation, he hied himself to his reading-tablepost and took up The Zeitgeist once again. He had not thought it possible that there could be a third such woman. And yet there she was, walking in the door, tall and blue-eyed andgraceful; dark of hair and noble of mien; browsing in the philosophysection now, now the fiction section, now moving leisurely into theliterature aisle and toward the T's.... The camouflage had varied, but the message was typical enough: fdsa jkl; fdsa jkl; fdsa jkl; fdsa jkl; fdsa jkl; fdsa jkl; Cai: Ginden snoll doper nckli! Wotnid antwaterer Fieu Dayol hid jestig snolldoper ifedererer te. Dep gogensplo snoll dopers ensing!—Gorka. fdsajkl; fdsa jkl; fdsa jkl; fdsa jkl; Judging from the repeated use of the words, snoll dopers were thetopic of the day. Annoyed, Quidley replaced the message and put thebook back on the shelf. Then he returned to his apartment to await Kay. He wondered what her reaction would be if he asked her point-blank whata snoll doper was; whether she would reveal the nature of the amateursecret society to which she and Klio and Yoolna and Gorka belonged.It virtually had to be an amateur secret society. Unless, of course,they were foreigners. But what on earth foreign organization would bequixotic enough to employ Taine's History of English Literature as acommunications medium when there was a telephone in every drugstore anda mailbox on every corner? Somehow the words what on earth foreign organization got turnedaround in his mind and became what foreign organization on earth andbefore he could summon his common sense to succor him, he experienceda rather bad moment. By the time the door chimes sounded he was hisnormal self again. He straightened his tie with nervous fingers, checked to see if hisshirt cuffs protruded the proper length from his coat sleeves, andlooked around the room to see if everything was in place. Everythingwas—the typewriter uncovered and centered on the chrome-trimmed desk,with the sheaf of crinkly first-sheets beside it; the reference booksstacked imposingly nearby; Harper's , The Atlantic and The SaturdayReview showing conspicuously in the magazine rack; the newly openedbottle of bourbon and the two snifter glasses on the sideboard; thesmall table set cozily for two— <doc-sep></s> [SEP] "In The Girls From Fieu Dayol, how does the snoll doper contribute to the plot?"

Snoll doper appears in every letter that is hidden in History of English Literature by Hippolyte Adolphe Taine, a book favored by Hebert Quidley, from which he finds these letters and starts his observation. Quidley finds these words several times when he secretly reads the letters in the book whenever a girl comes to put a new letter in the book. He is fascinated by the first girl called Kay Smith who takes the first letter after he notices it. From then on, he has been guessing the meaning of snoll doper. At first, Quidley thinks that snoll doper means a person who has close relationships with Kay, like a boyfriend or a husband. He is annoyed by this possibility after having sexual behaviors with Kay, which causes him to secretly read the fourth letter before Kay comes to pick it up. When Kay finds out that Quidley has been reading her letter, she tells him to come with her to deliver the snoll doper to Jilka, where Quidley is relieved because he realizes that snoll doper is the name of an object, not an identity. On their way to Jilka’s place, Quidley keeps asking Kay what the meaning of snoll doper is, but Kay doesn’t tell him. At the end of the story, snoll doper turns out to be the name of a shotgun, which is what the letters are for, a requisition for the shotgun. Those letters are sent toward Kay because she is the ship’s stock girl who delivers the guns. In conclusion, snoll doper is a word that puzzles Quidley throughout the whole story and causes him to be caught by Kay, the purpose of those secret letters transmitted between Kay and other girls through the book, and an object that forces Quidley to go into the ship.

Can you tell me where The Girls From Fieu Dayol takes place? [SEP] <s>A station wagon came up behind them, slowed, and matched its speedwith theirs. Someone's following us, Quidley said. Probably Jilka. Five minutes later the station wagon turned down a side street anddisappeared. She's no longer with us, Quidley said. She's got to pick someone up. She'll meet us later. At your folks'? At the ship. The city was thinning out around them now, and a few stars were visiblein the night sky. Quidley watched them thoughtfully for a while. Then:What ship? he said. The one we're going to Fieu Dayol on. Fieu Dayol? Persei 17 to you. I said I was going to take you home to meet myfolks, didn't I? In other words, you're kidnapping me. She shook her head vehemently. I most certainly am not! Neitheraccording to interstellar law or your own. When you compromised me, youmade yourself liable in the eyes of both. But why pick on me? There must be plenty of men on Fieu Dayol . Whydon't you marry one of them? For two reasons: one, you're the particular man who compromisedme. Two, there are not plenty of men on Fieu Dayol . Our race isidentical to yours in everything except population-balance between thesexes. At periodic intervals the women on Fieu Dayol so greatlyoutnumber the men that those of us who are temperamentally andemotionally unfitted to become spinsters have to look for wotnids —ormates—on other worlds. It's quite legal and quite respectable. As amatter of fact, we even have schools specializing in alien culturesto expedite our activities. Our biggest problem is the Interstellarstatute forbidding us the use of local communications services andforbidding us to appear in public places. It was devised to facilitatethe prosecution of interstellar black marketeers, but we're subject toit, too, and have to contrive communications systems of our own. But why were all the messages addressed to you? They weren't messages. They were requisitions. I'm the ship's stockgirl. <doc-sep>Her boy friend turned out to be her girl friend, and her girl friendturned out to be a tall and lissome, lovely with a Helenesque air ofher own. From the vantage point of a strategically located readingtable, where he was keeping company with his favorite little magazine, The Zeitgeist , Quidley watched her take a seemingly haphazard routeto the shelf where Taine's History reposed, take the volume down,surreptitiously slip a folded sheet of yellow paper between its pagesand return it to the shelf. After she left he wasted no time in acquainting himself with the secondmessage. It was as unintelligible as the first: asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Cai: Habewotnid ig ist ending ifedererer te. T'lide sid Fieu Dayol po jestigtoseo knwo, bijk weil en snoll doper entling—Yoolna. asdf ;lkj asdf;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Well, perhaps not quite as unintelligible. He knew, at least, who Caiwas, and he knew—from the reappearance of the words wotnid , FieuDayol and snoll doper —that the two communications were in thesame code. And certainly it was reasonable to assume that the lastword— Yoolna —was the name of the girl he had just seen, and thatshe was a different person from the Klio whose name had appended thefirst message. He refolded the paper, replaced it between the pages, returned the bookto the shelf and went back to the reading table and The Zeitgeist . Kay didn't show up till almost closing time, and he was beginningto think that perhaps she wouldn't come around for the pickup tilltomorrow when she finally walked in the door. She employed the sametactics she had employed the previous night, arriving, as though bychance, at the T-section and transferring the message with the sameundetectable legerdemain to her purse. This time, when she walked outthe door, he was not far behind her. She climbed into a sleek convertible and pulled into the street. Ittook him but a moment to gain his hardtop and start out after her.When, several blocks later, she pulled to the curb in front of anall-night coffee bar, he followed suit. After that, it was merely amatter of following her inside. He decided on Operation Spill-the-sugar. It had stood him in good steadbefore, and he was rather fond of it. The procedure was quite simple.First you took note of the position of the sugar dispensers, then yousituated yourself so that your intended victim was between you and thenearest one, then you ordered coffee without sugar in a low voice, andafter the counterman or countergirl had served you, you waited tillhe/she was out of earshot and asked your i.v. to please pass the sugar.When she did so you let the dispenser slip from your fingers in such away that some of its contents spilled on her lap— I'm terribly sorry, he said, righting it. Here, let me brush it off. <doc-sep> The Girls From Fieu Dayol By ROBERT F. YOUNG They were lovely and quick to learn—and their only faults were little ones! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Up until the moment when he first looked into Hippolyte Adolphe Taine's History of English Literature , Herbert Quidley's penchant for oldbooks had netted him nothing in the way of romance and intrigue.Not that he was a stranger to either. Far from it. But hitherto thebackground for both had been bedrooms and bars, not libraries. On page 21 of the Taine tome he happened upon a sheet of yellow copypaper folded in four. Unfolding it, he read: asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkjCai: Sities towms copeis wotnid. Gind snoll doper nckli! Wilbe FieuDayol fot ig habe mot toseo knwo—te bijk weil en snoll doper—Klio,asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj asdf ;lkj Since when, Quidley wondered, refolding the paper and putting it backin the book, had high-school typing students taken to reading Taine?Thoughtfully he replaced the book on the shelf and moved deeper intothe literature section. He had just taken down Xenophon's Anabasis when he saw the girl walkin the door. Let it be said forthwith that old books were not the only item onHerbert Quidley's penchant-list. He liked old wood, too, and oldpaintings, not to mention old wine and old whiskey. But most of all heliked young girls. He especially liked them when they looked the wayHelen of Troy must have looked when Paris took one gander at her andstarted building his ladder. This one was tall, with hyacinth hair andliquid blue eyes, and she had a Grecian symmetry of shape that wouldhave made Paris' eyes pop had he been around to take notice. Pariswasn't, but Quidley's eyes, did the job. After coming in the door, the girl deposited a book on the librarian'sdesk and headed for the literature section. Quickly Quidley loweredhis eyes to the Anabasis and henceforth followed her progress out oftheir corners. When she came to the O's she paused, took down a bookand glanced through it. Then she replaced it and moved on to theP's ... the Q's ... the R's. Barely three feet from him she pausedagain and took down Taine's History of English Literature . He simply could not believe it. The odds against two persons taking aninterest in so esoteric a volume on a single night in a single librarywere ten thousand to one. And yet there was no gainsaying that thevolume was in the girl's hands, and that she was riffling through itwith the air of a seasoned browser. Presently she returned the book to the shelf, selectedanother—seemingly at random—and took it over to the librarian's desk.She waited statuesquely while the librarian processed it, then tuckedit under her arm and whisked out the door into the misty April night.As soon as she disappeared, Quidley stepped over to the T's and tookTaine down once more. Just as he had suspected. The makeshift bookmarkwas gone. He remembered how the asdf-;lkj exercise had given way to several linesof gibberish and then reappeared again. A camouflaged message? Or wasit merely what it appeared to be on the surface—the efforts of animpatient typing student to type before his time? He returned Taine to the shelf. After learning from the librarian thatthe girl's name was Kay Smith, he went out and got in his hardtop. Thename rang a bell. Halfway home he realized why. The typing exercise hadcontained the word Cai, and if you pronounced it with hard c, you gotKai—or Kay. Obviously, then, the exercise had been a message, andhad been deliberately inserted in a book no average person would dreamof borrowing. By whom—her boy friend? Quidley winced. He was allergic to the term. Not that he ever let thepresence of a boy friend deter him when he set out to conquer, butbecause the term itself brought to mind the word fiance, and the wordfiance brought to mind still another word, one which repelled himviolently. I.e., marriage. Just the same, he decided to keep Taine's History under observation for a while. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you tell me where The Girls From Fieu Dayol takes place?

The first scene is in the library. Hippolyte Adolphe Taine’s History of English Literature is in the literature section. The books are categorized in alphabetical order. Taine’s book is in the T-section. The secret letters are always hidden in Taine’s book in the T section, where the girls from Fieu Dayol always stop and take the book. A librarian sits at the front desk to handle administrative stuff. There are reading tables. The second scene is in an all-night coffee bar where Herbert Quidley conducts his Spill-the-sugar operation to start the conversation with the girl next to him. There is a sugar dispenser on the counter. The third scene is in Quidley’s apartment. There is a custom-built chrome-trimmed desk, a typewriter inserted with a blank sheet of paper, and the reference books stacked nearby. The magazine rack has Better Magazines, Harper’s, The Atlantic, and The Saturday Review. There is also a small table and a sideboard with a bottle of bourbon and two snifter glasses on top. The fourth scene is on the highway where Quidley is stuck in the car. The rutted road with trees points towards a ship. A ship with its lock open is hiding in the trees. It is dark.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in CAPTAIN MIDAS? [SEP] <s>On Callisto I was relieved of my command. The Admiralty Court acquittedme of the charges of negligence, but the Foundation refused me anothership. It was my ... illness. It spread from my hands, as you can see.Slowly, very slowly. So what remains for me? A hospital cot and aspaceman's pension. Those tons of gold in the sky are cursed, like mostgreat treasures. Somewhere, out in the deeps between the stars, thedust of my crew guards that golden derelict. It belongs to them now ...all of it. But the price we pay for treasure is this. Look at me. I look eighty!I'm thirty two. And the bitterest part of the story is that peoplelaugh at me when I tell what happened. They laugh and call me mynickname. Have you heard it? It's ... Captain Midas. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> CAPTAIN MIDAS By ALFRED COPPEL, JR. The captain of the Martian Maid stared avidly at the torn derelict floating against the velvet void. Here was treasure beyond his wildest dreams! How could he know his dreams should have been nightmares? [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Gold! A magic word, even today, isn't it? Lust and gold ... they gohand in hand. Like the horsemen of the Apocalypse. And, of course,there's another word needed to make up the trilogy. You don't getany thing for nothing. So add this: Cost. Or you might call it pain,sorrow, agony. Call it what you like. It's what you pay for greattreasure.... These things were true when fabled Jason sailed the Argo beyond Colchisseeking the Fleece. They were true when men sailed the southern oceansin wooden ships. And the conquest of space hasn't changed us a bit.We're still a greedy lot.... I'm a queer one to be saying these things, but then, who has moreright? Look at me. My hair is gray and my face ... my face is a mask.The flesh hangs on my bones like a yellow cloth on a rickety frame. Iam old, old. And I wait here on my hospital cot—wait for the weight ofyears I never lived to drag me under and let me forget the awful thingsmy eyes have seen. I'm poor, too, or else I wouldn't be here in this place of dying forold spacemen. I haven't a dime except for the pittance the HolcombFoundation calls a spaceman's pension. Yet I had millions in my hands.Treasure beyond your wildest dreams! Cursed treasure.... You smile. You are thinking that I'm just an old man, beachedearthside, spinning tall tales to impress the youngsters. Maybe,thinking about the kind of spacemen my generation produced, you havethe idea that if ever we'd so much as laid a hand on anything of valueout in space we'd not let go until Hell froze over! Well, you'reright about that. We didn't seek the spaceways for the advancement ofcivilization or any of that Foundation bushwah, you can be certain ofthat. We did it for us ... for Number One. That's the kind of men wewere, and we were proud of it. We hung onto what we found because therisks were high and we were entitled to keep what we could out there.But there are strange things in the sky. Things that don't respond toall of our neat little Laws and Theories. There are things that are nopart of the world of men, thick with danger—and horror. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in CAPTAIN MIDAS?

This story follows the Martian Maid’s journey and features its crew members: a captain nicknamed ‘Captain Midas’, Mister Spinelli the Third Officer, and various other shipmates. It is revealed that many of the crew members have a lust for making money, and an apt opportunity to do so is discovered when Mister Spinelli spots a derelict ship amongst the asteroids that could be claimed by them. After a first exploration, Midas ends up with a mystery metal collected from the starship. In his further investigation, he finds that this mystery metal transforms into a heavier metal with a yellow tinge - gold. At the same time, he finds that holding the metal evokes fatigue in him, particularly in his arms. This initial investigation was interrupted by Spinelli barging into Midas’ quarters and spotting the gold. Fearful of the other shipmates knowing and hence collecting it for themselves, Midas threatens Spinelli’s silence. Midas continues the acquisition of this derelict ship by sending a crew, led by Cohn, to further investigate and take control of the ship. With Midas and Spinelli left behind, they watch their shipmates enter the alien ship. While waiting to hear back from the crew, Midas notices that Spinelli has arranged the Maid’s gun to point at the derelict ship and their crew mates. Initially enraged, Midas soon calms down as he begins to suspect that the rest of the crew knows about the gold and may be hatching an alternate plan. Two days past the check-in time, the pair receives a garbled message from the crew. Midas orders them to disembark and depart, but the starship begins to divert its course. In arguing between something being wrong and Spinelli telling the crew about the gold, Spinelli begins to inch towards the firing panel for the gun and a tussle emerges between the two with Midas killing him. After re-catching the derelict ship, Midas boards the ship to look for the rest of his crew mates. He finds the walls to turn into yellow metal and the decks to have a yellowish cast as well. Inside the ship, he sees skeletal and rusty versions of his crew, and comes to the horrifying realization that the transformation of the metal into gold comes at the expense of him and his crew member’s youth and strength. Running from the ship, Midas reboards the Maid and quickly throws the alien ship back into space. Back on Callisto, the Foundation relieves him of his command as the illness spreads to the rest of his body.

What are the defining traits of Captain Midas and who is he? [SEP] <s>On Callisto I was relieved of my command. The Admiralty Court acquittedme of the charges of negligence, but the Foundation refused me anothership. It was my ... illness. It spread from my hands, as you can see.Slowly, very slowly. So what remains for me? A hospital cot and aspaceman's pension. Those tons of gold in the sky are cursed, like mostgreat treasures. Somewhere, out in the deeps between the stars, thedust of my crew guards that golden derelict. It belongs to them now ...all of it. But the price we pay for treasure is this. Look at me. I look eighty!I'm thirty two. And the bitterest part of the story is that peoplelaugh at me when I tell what happened. They laugh and call me mynickname. Have you heard it? It's ... Captain Midas. <doc-sep> CAPTAIN MIDAS By ALFRED COPPEL, JR. The captain of the Martian Maid stared avidly at the torn derelict floating against the velvet void. Here was treasure beyond his wildest dreams! How could he know his dreams should have been nightmares? [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Gold! A magic word, even today, isn't it? Lust and gold ... they gohand in hand. Like the horsemen of the Apocalypse. And, of course,there's another word needed to make up the trilogy. You don't getany thing for nothing. So add this: Cost. Or you might call it pain,sorrow, agony. Call it what you like. It's what you pay for greattreasure.... These things were true when fabled Jason sailed the Argo beyond Colchisseeking the Fleece. They were true when men sailed the southern oceansin wooden ships. And the conquest of space hasn't changed us a bit.We're still a greedy lot.... I'm a queer one to be saying these things, but then, who has moreright? Look at me. My hair is gray and my face ... my face is a mask.The flesh hangs on my bones like a yellow cloth on a rickety frame. Iam old, old. And I wait here on my hospital cot—wait for the weight ofyears I never lived to drag me under and let me forget the awful thingsmy eyes have seen. I'm poor, too, or else I wouldn't be here in this place of dying forold spacemen. I haven't a dime except for the pittance the HolcombFoundation calls a spaceman's pension. Yet I had millions in my hands.Treasure beyond your wildest dreams! Cursed treasure.... You smile. You are thinking that I'm just an old man, beachedearthside, spinning tall tales to impress the youngsters. Maybe,thinking about the kind of spacemen my generation produced, you havethe idea that if ever we'd so much as laid a hand on anything of valueout in space we'd not let go until Hell froze over! Well, you'reright about that. We didn't seek the spaceways for the advancement ofcivilization or any of that Foundation bushwah, you can be certain ofthat. We did it for us ... for Number One. That's the kind of men wewere, and we were proud of it. We hung onto what we found because therisks were high and we were entitled to keep what we could out there.But there are strange things in the sky. Things that don't respond toall of our neat little Laws and Theories. There are things that are nopart of the world of men, thick with danger—and horror. <doc-sep>For more than a century, robotocists have been trying to build Asimov'sfamous Three Laws of Robotics into a robot brain. First Law: A robot shall not, either through action or inaction, allowharm to come to a human being. Second Law: A robot shall obey the orders of a human being, exceptwhen such orders conflict with the First Law . [15] Third Law: A robot shall strive to protect its own existence, exceptwhen this conflicts with the First or Second Law. Nobody has succeeded yet, because nobody has yet succeeded in definingthe term human being in such a way that the logical mind of a robotcan encompass the concept. A traffic robot is useful only because the definition has been rigidlynarrowed down. As far as a traffic robot is concerned, human beingsare the automobiles on its highways. Woe betide any poor sap who tries,illegally, to cross a robot-controlled highway on foot. The robot'sonly concern would be with the safety of the automobiles, and if theonly way to avoid destruction of an automobile were to be by nudgingthe pedestrian aside with a fender, that's what would happen. And, since its orders only come from one place, I suppose that atraffic robot thinks that the guy who uses that typer is an automobile. With the first six models of the McGuire ships, the robotocistsattempted to build in the Three Laws exactly as stated. And the firstsix went insane. If one human being says jump left, and another says jump right,the robot is unable to evaluate which human being has given the morevalid order. Feed enough confusing and conflicting data into a robotbrain, and it can begin behaving in ways that, in a human being, wouldbe called paranoia or schizophrenia or catatonia or what-have-you,depending [16] on the symptoms. And an insane robot is fully as dangerousas an insane human being controlling the same mechanical equipment, ifnot more so. So the seventh model had been modified. The present McGuire's brain wasimpressed with slight modifications of the First and Second Laws. If it is difficult to define a human being, it is much more difficultto define a responsible human being. One, in other words, who canbe relied upon to give wise and proper orders to a robot, who can berelied upon not to drive the robot insane. The robotocists at Viking Spacecraft had decided to take anothertack. Very well, they'd said, if we can't define all the membersof a group, we can certainly define an individual. We'll pick oneresponsible person and build McGuire so that he will take orders onlyfrom that person. As it turned out, I was that person. Just substitute Daniel Oakfor human being in the First and Second Laws, and you'll see howimportant I was to a certain spaceship named McGuire. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the defining traits of Captain Midas and who is he?

Captain Midas is the captain of the spaceship Martian Maid, who unknowingly takes the spaceship on its last flight in this story. He is described to be relatively young at 32 years old, but after interacting with the metal and at the end of the story, has the physical appearance of an eighty year old man with wrinkles and veiny hands. He is a greedy man. In the beginning of the story, he honestly admits that he would do quite a few things for a few solar dollars, which we see throughout the story. In addition to his greed, he is a selfish man, as in discovering the gold he threatens Spinelli to secrecy in order to keep the highest gains for himself. It is also this greed that allows Spinelli to get away with initially aiming the gun at the derelict ship and their fellow shipmates on board in case those shipmates try to escape with the gold. There are brief moments where he is shown to be an honorable man. For one, he fights Spinelli over blasting their fellow shipmates, and ends up killing Spinelli instead by accident. At the end of the story, he becomes terrified of the derelict ship and its devil metal, and yet still chooses to go aboard it to seek out his shipmates.

What is the backdrop of the story CAPTAIN MIDAS? [SEP] <s>On Callisto I was relieved of my command. The Admiralty Court acquittedme of the charges of negligence, but the Foundation refused me anothership. It was my ... illness. It spread from my hands, as you can see.Slowly, very slowly. So what remains for me? A hospital cot and aspaceman's pension. Those tons of gold in the sky are cursed, like mostgreat treasures. Somewhere, out in the deeps between the stars, thedust of my crew guards that golden derelict. It belongs to them now ...all of it. But the price we pay for treasure is this. Look at me. I look eighty!I'm thirty two. And the bitterest part of the story is that peoplelaugh at me when I tell what happened. They laugh and call me mynickname. Have you heard it? It's ... Captain Midas. <doc-sep> CAPTAIN MIDAS By ALFRED COPPEL, JR. The captain of the Martian Maid stared avidly at the torn derelict floating against the velvet void. Here was treasure beyond his wildest dreams! How could he know his dreams should have been nightmares? [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Gold! A magic word, even today, isn't it? Lust and gold ... they gohand in hand. Like the horsemen of the Apocalypse. And, of course,there's another word needed to make up the trilogy. You don't getany thing for nothing. So add this: Cost. Or you might call it pain,sorrow, agony. Call it what you like. It's what you pay for greattreasure.... These things were true when fabled Jason sailed the Argo beyond Colchisseeking the Fleece. They were true when men sailed the southern oceansin wooden ships. And the conquest of space hasn't changed us a bit.We're still a greedy lot.... I'm a queer one to be saying these things, but then, who has moreright? Look at me. My hair is gray and my face ... my face is a mask.The flesh hangs on my bones like a yellow cloth on a rickety frame. Iam old, old. And I wait here on my hospital cot—wait for the weight ofyears I never lived to drag me under and let me forget the awful thingsmy eyes have seen. I'm poor, too, or else I wouldn't be here in this place of dying forold spacemen. I haven't a dime except for the pittance the HolcombFoundation calls a spaceman's pension. Yet I had millions in my hands.Treasure beyond your wildest dreams! Cursed treasure.... You smile. You are thinking that I'm just an old man, beachedearthside, spinning tall tales to impress the youngsters. Maybe,thinking about the kind of spacemen my generation produced, you havethe idea that if ever we'd so much as laid a hand on anything of valueout in space we'd not let go until Hell froze over! Well, you'reright about that. We didn't seek the spaceways for the advancement ofcivilization or any of that Foundation bushwah, you can be certain ofthat. We did it for us ... for Number One. That's the kind of men wewere, and we were proud of it. We hung onto what we found because therisks were high and we were entitled to keep what we could out there.But there are strange things in the sky. Things that don't respond toall of our neat little Laws and Theories. There are things that are nopart of the world of men, thick with danger—and horror. <doc-sep> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story CAPTAIN MIDAS?

This story takes place in the Holcomb Foundation aboard Martian Maid. The Martian Maid is a grand ship that took off from Solis Lacus on its last flight; the ship spanned 200 feet in its length and despite its sleek exterior, was an armed ship as well. The Maid was on an orbit in a region strewn with asteroids between the outer systems and the EMV triangle. Aboard the spaceship, interactions between the characters in the story largely took place in the Control room. It also takes place in Captain Midas’ quarters, where he investigates the mystery metal. The setting also changes to include the derelict ship the crewmates had found, which presented itself as a shell of a vessel with torn interiors and yellow-tinged walls.

What is the connection between Mister Spinelli and Captain Midas? [SEP] <s>I didn't realize it was a derelict when Spinelli first reportedit from the forward scope position. I assumed it was a Foundationship. The Holcomb Foundation was founded for the purpose ofdeveloping spaceflight, and as the years went by it took on the wholeresponsibility for the building and dispatching of space ships. Neverin history had there been any real evidence of extra-terrestrialintelligent life, and when the EMV Triangle proved barren, we all justassumed that the Universe was man's own particular oyster. That kind ofunreasoning arrogance is as hard to explain as it is to correct. There were plenty of ships being lost in space, and immediately thatSpinelli's report from up forward got noised about the Maid every oneof us started mentally counting up his share of the salvage money. Allthis before we were within ten thousand miles of the hulk! All spaceships look pretty much alike, but as I sat at the telescopeI saw that there was something different about this one. At such adistance I couldn't get too much detail in our small three inch glass,but I could see that the hulk was big—bigger than any ship I'd everseen before. I had the radar fixed on her and then I retired with myslide rule to Control. It wasn't long before I discovered that thederelict ship was on a near collision course, but there was somethingabout its orbit that was strange. I called Cohn, the Metering Officer,and showed him my figures. Mister Cohn, I said, chart in hand, do these figures look right toyou? Cohn's dark eyes lit up as they always did when he worked with figures.It didn't take him long to check me. The math is quite correct,Captain, he said. I could see that he hadn't missed the inference ofthose figures on the chart. Assemble the ship's company, Mister Cohn, I ordered. The assembly horn sounded throughout the Maid and I could feel the tugof the automatics taking over as the crew left their stations. Soonthey were assembled in Control. You have all heard about Mister Spinelli's find, I said, I havecomputed the orbit and inspected the object through the glass. It seemsto be a spacer ... either abandoned or in distress.... Reaching intothe book rack above my desk I took down a copy of the Foundation's Space Regulations and opened it to the section concerning salvage. Sections XVIII, Paragraph 8 of the Code Regulating InterplanetaryAstrogation and Commerce, I read, Any vessel or part of vessel foundin an abandoned or totally disabled condition in any region of spacenot subject to the sovereignty of any planet of the Earth-Venus-MarsTriangle shall be considered to be the property of the crew of thevessel locating said abandoned or disabled vessel except in such casesas the ownership of said abandoned or disabled vessel may be readilyascertained.... I looked up and closed the book. Simply stated, thatmeans that if that thing ahead of us is a derelict we are entitled toclaim it as salvage. Unless it already belongs to someone? asked Spinelli. That's correct Mister Spinelli, but I don't think there is much dangerof that, I replied quietly. My figures show that hulk out there camein from the direction of Coma Berenices.... There was a long silence before Zaleski shifted his two hundred poundsuneasily and gave a form to the muted fear inside me. You think ...you think it came from the stars , Captain? Maybe even from beyond the stars, Cohn said in a low voice. Looking at that circle of faces I saw the beginnings of greed. Thefirst impact of the Metering Officer's words wore off quickly and soonevery man of my crew was thinking that anything from the stars would beworth money ... lots of money. Spinelli said, Do we look her over, Captain? They all looked at me, waiting for my answer. I knew it would be worthplenty, and money hunger was like a fever inside me. Certainly we look it over, Mister Spinelli, I said sharply.Certainly! <doc-sep>A slight sound behind me made me spin around in my chair. Framed in thedoorway was the heavy figure of my Third Officer, Spinelli. His blackeyes were fastened hungrily on the lump of yellow metal on the table.He needed no explanation to tell him what it was, and it seemed to methat his very soul reached out for the stuff, so sharp and clear wasthe meaning of the expression on his heavy face. Mister Spinelli! I snapped, In the future knock before entering myquarters! Reluctantly his eyes left the lump of gold and met mine. From thederelict, Captain? There was an imperceptible pause between the lasttwo words. I ignored his question and made a mental note to keep a close hand onthe rein with him. Spinelli was big and dangerous. Speak your piece, Mister, I ordered sharply. Mister Cohn reports the derelict ready to take aboard the prizecrew ... sir, he said slowly. I'd like to volunteer for that detail. I might have let him go under ordinary circumstances, for he was afirst class spaceman and the handling of a jury-rigged hulk wouldneed good men. But the gold-hunger I had seen in his eyes warned meto beware. I shook my head. You will stay on board the Maid with me,Spinelli. Cohn and Zaleski will handle the starship. Stark suspicion leaped into his eyes. I could see the wheels turningslowly in his mind. Somehow, he was thinking, I was planning to cheathim of his rightful share of the derelict treasure ship. We will say nothing to the rest of the crew about the gold, MisterSpinelli, I said deliberately, Or you'll go to Callisto in irons. Isthat clear? Aye, sir, murmured Spinelli. The black expression had left his faceand there was a faintly scornful smile playing about his mouth as heturned away. I began wondering then what he had in mind. It wasn't likehim to let it go at that. Suddenly I became conscious of being very tired. My mind wasn'tfunctioning quite clearly. And my arm and hand ached painfully. Irubbed the fingers to get some life back into them, still wonderingabout Spinelli. Spinelli talked. I saw him murmuring something to big Zaleski, andafter that there was tension in the air. Distrust. For a few moments I pondered the advisability of making good my threatto clap Spinelli into irons, but I decided against it. In the firstplace I couldn't prove he had told Zaleski about the gold and in thesecond place I needed Spinelli to help run the Maid. I felt that the Third Officer and Zaleski were planning something, andI was just as sure that Spinelli was watching Zaleski to see to it thatthere was no double-cross. I figured that I could handle the Third Officer alone so I assigned therest, Marvin and Chelly, to accompany Cohn and Zaleski onto the hulk.That way Zaleski would be outnumbered if he tried to skip with thetreasure ship. But, of course, I couldn't risk telling them that theywere to be handling a vessel practically made of gold. I was in agony. I didn't want to let anyone get out of my sight withthat starship, and at the same time I couldn't leave the Maid. FinallyI had to let Cohn take command of the prize crew, but not before I hadset the radar finder on the Maid's prow squarely on the derelict. <doc-sep>Together, Spinelli and I watched the Maid's crew vanish into the mawof the alien ship and get her under way. There was a flicker of bluishfire from her jury-rigged tubes astern, and then she was vanishing in agreat arc toward the bright gleam of Jupiter, far below us. The Maidfollowed under a steady one G of acceleration with most of her controlson automatic. Boats of the Martian Maid's class, you may remember, carried a sixinch supersonic projector abaft the astrogation turret. These werenasty weapons for use against organic life only. They would reduce aman to jelly at fifty thousand yards. Let it be said to my credit thatit wasn't I who thought of hooking the gun into the radar finder andkeeping it aimed dead at the derelict. That was Spinelli's insuranceagainst Zaleski. When I discovered it I felt the rage mount in me. He was willing toblast every one of his shipmates into pulp should the hulk vary fromthe orbit we'd laid out for her. He wasn't letting anything comebetween him and that mountain of gold. Then I began thinking about it. Suppose now, just suppose, that Zaleskitold the rest of the crew about the gold. It wouldn't be too hardfor the derelict to break away from the Maid, and there were plentyof places in the EMV Triangle where a renegade crew with a thousandtons of gold would be welcomed with open arms and no questions asked.Suspicion began to eat at me. Could Zaleski and Cohn have dreamed upa little switch to keep the treasure ship for themselves? It hadn'tseemed likely before, but now— The gun-pointer remained as it was. As the days passed and we reached turn-over with the hulk still wellwithin visual range, I noticed a definite decrease in the number ofmessages from Cohn. The Aldis Lamps no longer blinked back at the Maideight or ten times a day, and I began to really regret not having takenthe time to equip the starship with UHF radio communicators. Each night I slept with a hunk of yellow gold under my bunk, andridiculously I fondled the stuff and dreamed of all the things I wouldhave when the starship was cut up and sold. My weariness grew. It became almost chronic, and I soon wondered ifI hadn't picked up a touch of space-radiation fever. The flesh of myhands seemed paler than it had been. My arms felt heavy. I determinedto report myself to the Foundation medics on Callisto. There's notelling what can happen to a man in space.... Two days past turn-over the messages from the derelict came throughgarbled. Spinelli cursed and said that he couldn't read their signal.Taking the Aldis from him I tried to raise them and failed. Two hourslater I was still failing and Spinelli's black eyes glittered with ananimal suspicion. They're faking! Like hell they are! I snapped irritably, Something's gone wrong.... Zaleski's gone wrong, that's what! I turned to face him, fury snapping inside of me. Then you did disobeymy orders. You told him about the gold! Sure I did, he sneered. Did you expect me to shut up and let youland the ship yourself and claim Captain's share? I found her, andshe's mine! I fought to control my temper and said: Let's see what's going on inher before deciding who gets what, Mister Spinelli. Spinelli bit his thick lips and did not reply. His eyes were fixed onthe image of the starship on the viewplate. A light blinked erratically within the dark cut of its wounded side. Get this down, Spinelli! The habit of taking orders was still in him, and he muttered: Aye ...sir. The light was winking out a message, but feebly, as though the handthat held the lamp were shaking and the mind conceiving the words werefailing. CONTROL ... LOST ... CAN'T ... NO ... STRENGTH ... LEFT ... SHIP ...WALLS ... ALL ... ALL GOLD ... GOLD ... SOMETHING ... HAPPENING ...CAN'T ... UNDERSTAND ... WHA.... The light stopped flashing, abruptly,in mid-word. What the hell? demanded Spinelli thickly. Order them to heave to, Mister, I ordered. He clicked the Aldis at them. The only response was a wild swerve inthe star-ship's course. She left the orbit we had set for her as thoughthe hands that guided her had fallen away from the control. Spinelli dropped the Aldis and rushed to the control panel to make thecorrections in the Maid's course that were needed to keep the hulk insight. Those skunks! Double crossing rats! he breathed furiously. Theywon't shake loose that easy! His hands started down for the firingconsole of the supersonic rifle. I caught the movement from the corner of my eye. Spinelli! My shout hung in the still air of the control room as I knocked himaway from the panel. Get to your quarters! I cracked. He didn't say a thing, but his big shoulders hunched angrily andhe moved across the deck toward me, his hands opening and closingspasmodically. His eyes were wild with rage and avarice. You'll hang for mutiny, Spinelli! I said. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the connection between Mister Spinelli and Captain Midas?

Mister Spinelli is Third Officer under the command of Captain Midas and was the first to report the derelict ship and observe its potential to be claimed by the Maid. Spinelli is the first and only crew member to identify the metal from the abandoned ship as gold when he saw Captain Midas with it. The tension between Midas and Spinelli escalates and their relationship becomes antagonistic as both of them desire to benefit the most from this valuable gold and with Midas constantly pulling his authority over Spinelli. After Midas barrs him from being a part of the investigative crew, suspicion arises between the two as Spinelli suspects Midas wishes to keep the pot of gold for himself and Midas thinks that Spinelli may be telling others. This tension further escalates as Midas sees Spinelli nearly hit the trigger of the gun and in rage, the two end up fighting each other before Midas aimed a kick at his temple and killed him.

What does the mystery metal found on the starship signify in Captain Midas? [SEP] <s>The first thing about the derelict that struck us as we drew near washer size. No ship ever built in the Foundation Yards had ever attainedsuch gargantuan proportions. She must have stretched a full thousandfeet from bow to stern, a sleek torpedo shape of somehow unspeakablealienness. Against the backdrop of the Milky Way, she gleamed fitfullyin the light of the faraway sun, the metal of her flanks grained withsomething like tiny, glittering whorls. It was as though the stuffwere somehow unstable ... seeking balance ... maybe even alive in somestrange and alien way. It was readily apparent to all of us that she had never been built forinter-planetary flight. She was a starship. Origin unknown. An aura ofmystery surrounded her like a shroud, protecting the world that gaveher birth mutely but effectively. The distance she must have come wasunthinkable. And the time it had taken...? Aeons. Millennia. For shewas drifting, dead in space, slowly spinning end over end as she swungabout Sol in a hyperbolic orbit that would soon take her out and awayagain into the inter-stellar deeps. Something had wounded her ... perhaps ten million years ago ... perhapsyesterday. She was gashed deeply from stem to stern with a jagged ripthat bared her mangled innards. A wandering asteroid? A meteor? Wewould never know. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling of things beyondthe ken of men as I looked at her through the port. I would never knowwhat killed her, or where she was going, or whence she came. Yet shewas mine. It made me feel like an upstart. And it made me afraid ...but of what? We should have reported her to the nearest EMV base, but that wouldhave meant that we'd lose her. Scientists would be sent out. Men betterequipped than we to investigate the first extrasolar artifact found bymen. But I didn't report her. She was ours. She was money in the bank.Let the scientists take over after we'd put a prize crew aboard andbrought her into Callisto for salvage.... That's the way I had thingsfigured. The Maid hove to about a hundred yards from her and hung there, dwarfedby the mighty glistening ship. I called for volunteers and we prepareda boarding party. I was thinking that her drives alone would be worthmillions. Cohn took charge and he and three of the men suited up andcrossed to her. In an hour they were back, disappointment largely written on theirfaces. There's nothing left of her, Captain, Cohn reported, Whatever hither tore up the innards so badly we couldn't even find the drives.She's a mess inside. Nothing left but the hull and a few storagecompartments that are still unbroken. She was never built to carry humanoids he told us, and there wasnothing that could give us a hint of where she had come from. The hullalone was left. He dropped two chunks of metal on my desk. I brought back some samplesof her pressure hull, he said, The whole thing is made of thisstuff.... We'll still take her in, I said, hiding my disappointment. Thecarcass will be worth money in Callisto. Have Mister Marvin andZaleski assemble a spare pulse-jet. We'll jury-rig her and bring herdown under her own power. You take charge of provisioning her. Checkthose compartments you found and install oxy-generators aboard. Whenit's done report to me in my quarters. I picked up the two samples of gleaming metal and called for ametallurgical testing kit. I'm going to try and find out if this stuffis worth anything.... The metal was heavy—too heavy, it seemed to me, for spaceshipconstruction. But then, who was to say what conditions existed on thatdistant world where this metal was made? Under the bright fluorescent over my work-table, the chunks of metaltorn from a random bulkhead of the starship gleamed like pale silver;those strange little whorls that I had noticed on the outer hull werethere too, like tiny magnetic lines of force, making the surface ofthe metal seem to dance. I held the stuff in my bare hand. It had ayellowish tinge, and it was heavier .... Even as I watched, the metal grew yellower, and the hand that heldit grew bone weary, little tongues of fatigue licking up my forearm.Suddenly terrified, I dropped the chunk as though it were white hot. Itstruck the table with a dull thud and lay there, a rich yellow lump ofmetallic lustre. For a long while I just sat and stared. Then I began testing, tryingall the while to quiet the trembling of my hands. I weighed it on abalance. I tested it with acids. It had changed unquestionably. Itwas no longer the same as when I had carried it into my quarters. Thewhorls of force were gone. It was no longer alive with a questingvibrancy ... it was inert, stable. From somewhere, somehow, it haddrawn the energy necessary for transmutation. The unknown metal—thestuff of which that whole mammoth spaceship from the stars wasbuilt—was now.... Gold! I scarcely dared believe it, but there it was staring at me from mytable-top. Gold! I searched my mind for an explanation. Contra-terrene matter, perhaps,from some distant island universe where matter reacted differently ...drawing energy from somewhere, the energy it needed to find stabilityin its new environment. Stability as a terrene element—wonderfully,miraculously gold! And outside, in the void beyond the Maid's ports there were tons ofthis metal that could be turned into treasure. My laughter must havebeen a wild sound in those moments of discovery.... <doc-sep>On Callisto I was relieved of my command. The Admiralty Court acquittedme of the charges of negligence, but the Foundation refused me anothership. It was my ... illness. It spread from my hands, as you can see.Slowly, very slowly. So what remains for me? A hospital cot and aspaceman's pension. Those tons of gold in the sky are cursed, like mostgreat treasures. Somewhere, out in the deeps between the stars, thedust of my crew guards that golden derelict. It belongs to them now ...all of it. But the price we pay for treasure is this. Look at me. I look eighty!I'm thirty two. And the bitterest part of the story is that peoplelaugh at me when I tell what happened. They laugh and call me mynickname. Have you heard it? It's ... Captain Midas. <doc-sep> CAPTAIN MIDAS By ALFRED COPPEL, JR. The captain of the Martian Maid stared avidly at the torn derelict floating against the velvet void. Here was treasure beyond his wildest dreams! How could he know his dreams should have been nightmares? [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Gold! A magic word, even today, isn't it? Lust and gold ... they gohand in hand. Like the horsemen of the Apocalypse. And, of course,there's another word needed to make up the trilogy. You don't getany thing for nothing. So add this: Cost. Or you might call it pain,sorrow, agony. Call it what you like. It's what you pay for greattreasure.... These things were true when fabled Jason sailed the Argo beyond Colchisseeking the Fleece. They were true when men sailed the southern oceansin wooden ships. And the conquest of space hasn't changed us a bit.We're still a greedy lot.... I'm a queer one to be saying these things, but then, who has moreright? Look at me. My hair is gray and my face ... my face is a mask.The flesh hangs on my bones like a yellow cloth on a rickety frame. Iam old, old. And I wait here on my hospital cot—wait for the weight ofyears I never lived to drag me under and let me forget the awful thingsmy eyes have seen. I'm poor, too, or else I wouldn't be here in this place of dying forold spacemen. I haven't a dime except for the pittance the HolcombFoundation calls a spaceman's pension. Yet I had millions in my hands.Treasure beyond your wildest dreams! Cursed treasure.... You smile. You are thinking that I'm just an old man, beachedearthside, spinning tall tales to impress the youngsters. Maybe,thinking about the kind of spacemen my generation produced, you havethe idea that if ever we'd so much as laid a hand on anything of valueout in space we'd not let go until Hell froze over! Well, you'reright about that. We didn't seek the spaceways for the advancement ofcivilization or any of that Foundation bushwah, you can be certain ofthat. We did it for us ... for Number One. That's the kind of men wewere, and we were proud of it. We hung onto what we found because therisks were high and we were entitled to keep what we could out there.But there are strange things in the sky. Things that don't respond toall of our neat little Laws and Theories. There are things that are nopart of the world of men, thick with danger—and horror. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What does the mystery metal found on the starship signify in Captain Midas?

The mystery metal is significant because it initially attracted the crew’s interest due to their greed - they had hoped to tear about the derelict starship and sell its pieces for millions. When the Captain tested out the mysterious metal and saw that it turned out to be gold, his greed increased so much that he became suspicious of his crew members that were sent out to investigate the ship. Although the Captain and his crew thought they could take advantage of this metal and benefit from it, it turns out that the opposite is true. Instead, it is this mystery metal that gains its yellow-tint and subsequent gold composition through drawing its energy from them and draining the crew of their youth and strength. The latter named ‘devil-metal’ demonstrates the hastiness of the greed of man, and how it led them to be so enraptured in greed that it blinded them of the wariness of strange objects in space, and hence led to their ultimate demise.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Jinx Ship To The Rescue? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> Jinx Ship To The Rescue By ALFRED COPPEL, JR. Stand by for T.R.S. Aphrodite , butt of the Space Navy. She's got something terrific in her guts and only her ice-cold lady engineer can coax it out of her! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1948. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Strykalski III of theTellurian Wing, Combined Solarian Navies, stood ankle deep in theviscous mud of Venusport Base and surveyed his new command with ajaundiced eye. The hot, slimy, greenish rain that drenched Venusportfor two-thirds of the 720-hour day had stopped at last, but now amiasmic fog was rising from the surrounding swampland, rolling acrossthe mushy landing ramp toward the grounded spaceship. Visibility wasdropping fast, and soon porto-sonar sets would have to be used to findthe way about the surface Base. It was an ordinary day on Venus. Strike cursed Space Admiral Gorman and all his ancestors with a wealthof feeling. Then he motioned wearily to his companion, and togetherthey sloshed through the mud toward the ancient monitor. The scaly bulk of the Tellurian Rocket Ship Aphrodite loomedunhappily into the thick air above the two men as they reached theventral valve. Strike raised reluctant eyes to the sloping flank of thefat spaceship. It looks, he commented bitterly, like a pregnant carp. Senior Lieutenant Coburn Whitley—Cob to his friends—nodded inagreement. That's our Lover-Girl ... old Aphrodisiac herself. The shipwith the poison personality. Cob was the Aphrodite's Executive,and he had been with her a full year ... which was a record for Execson the Aphrodite . She generally sent them Earthside with nervousbreakdowns in half that time. Tell me, Captain, continued Cob curiously, how does it happenthat you of all people happened to draw this tub for a command? Ithought.... You know Gorman? queried Strykalski. Cob nodded. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Old Brass-bottom Gorman? The same. Well, Cob ran a hand over his chin speculatively, I know Gorman'sa prize stinker ... but you were in command of the Ganymede . And,after all, you come from an old service family and all that. How comethis? He indicated the monitor expressively. Strike sighed. Well, now, Cob, I'll tell you. You'll be spacing withme and I guess you've a right to know the worst ... not that youwouldn't find it out anyway. I come from a long line of very sharpoperators. Seven generations of officers and gentlemen. Lousy withtradition. The first David Farragut Strykalski, son of a sea-loving Polishimmigrant, emerged from World War II a four-striper and CongressionalMedal winner. Then came David Farragut Strykalski, Jr., and, in theabortive Atomic War that terrified the world in 1961, he won a UnitedNations Peace Citation. And then came David Farragut Strykalski III ...me. From such humble beginnings do great traditions grow. But somethinghappened when I came into the picture. I don't fit with the rest ofthem. Call it luck or temperament or what have you. In the first place I seem to have an uncanny talent for saying thewrong thing to the wrong person. Gorman for example. And I take toomuch on my own initiative. Gorman doesn't like that. I lost the Ganymede because I left my station where I was supposed to be runningsection-lines to take on a bunch of colonists I thought were indanger.... The Procyon A people? asked Cob. So you've heard about it. Strike shook his head sadly. My tacticalastrophysicist warned me that Procyon A might go nova. I left myroutine post and loaded up on colonists. He shrugged. Wrong guess. Nonova. I made an ass of myself and lost the Ganymede . Gorman gave itto his former aide. I got this. Cob coughed slightly. I heard something about Ley City, too. Me again. The Ganymede's whole crew ended up in the Luna Base brig.We celebrated a bit too freely. Cob Whitley looked admiringly at his new Commander. That was the nightafter the Ganymede broke the record for the Centaurus B-Earth run,wasn't it? And then wasn't there something about.... Canalopolis? Whitley nodded. That time I called the Martian Ambassador a spy. It was at a TellurianEmbassy Ball. I begin to see what you mean, Captain. Strike's the name, Cob. Whitley's smile was expansive. Strike, I think you're going to likeour old tin pot here. He patted the Aphrodite's nether bellyaffectionately. She's old ... but she's loose. And we're not likely tomeet any Ambassadors or Admirals with her, either. Strykalski sighed, still thinking of his sleek Ganymede . She'llcarry the mail, I suppose. And that's about all that's expected of her. Cob shrugged philosophically. Better than tanking that stinking rocketfuel, anyway. Deep space? Strike shook his head. Venus-Mars. Cob scratched his chin speculatively. Perihelion run. Hot work. Strike was again looking at the spaceship's unprepossessing exterior.A surge-circuit monitor, so help me. Cob nodded agreement. The last of her class. <doc-sep>A week in space had convinced Strike that he commanded a jinx ship.Jetting sunward from Venus, the cantankerous Aphrodite had burned asteering tube through, and it had been necessary to go into free-fallwhile Jenkins, the Assistant E/O, and a damage control party effectedrepairs. When the power was again applied, Old Aphrodisiac was runningten hours behind schedule, and Strike and Evans, the AstrogationOfficer, were sweating out the unforeseen changes introduced into theorbital calculations by the time spent in free-fall. The Aphrodite rumbled on toward the orbit of Mercury.... For all the tension between the occupants of the flying-bridge, Strikeand Ivy Hendricks worked well together. And after a second week inspace, a reluctant admiration was replacing the resentment betweenthem. Ivy spent whatever time she could spare tinkering with herfather's pet surge-circuit and Strike began to realize that there waslittle she did not know about spaceship engineering. Then, too, Ivyspent a lot of time at the controls, and Strike was forced to admitthat he had never seen a finer job of piloting done by man or woman. And finally, Ivy hated old Brass-bottom Gorman even more than Strikedid. She felt that Gorman had ruined her father's career, and she wasdedicating her life to proving her father right and Brass-bottom wrong.There's nothing in the cosmos to nurture friendship like a common enemy. At 30,000,000 miles from the sun, the Aphrodite's refrigerationunits could no longer keep the interior of the ship at a comfortabletemperature. The thermometer stood at 102°F, the very metal ofthe ship's fittings hot to the touch. Uniforms were discarded,insignia of rank vanished. The men dressed in fiberglass shorts andspaceboots, sweat making their naked bodies gleam like copper under thesodium-vapor lights. The women in the crew added only light blouses totheir shorts ... and suffered from extra clothing. Strike was in the observation blister forward, when Ensign Grahamcalled to say that she had picked up a radar contact sunward. TheIFF showed the pips to be the Lachesis and the Atropos . The twodreadnaughts were engaged in coronary research patrol ... a purelyroutine business. But the thing that made Strike curse under his breathwas Celia Graham's notation that the Atropos carried none other thanSpace Admiral Horatio Gorman, Cominch Inplan. Strike thought it a pity that old Brass-bottom couldn't fall intoHell's hottest pit ... and he told Ivy so. And she agreed. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Jinx Ship To The Rescue?

Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Stryakalski III, AKA Strike, is charged with commanding a run-down and faulty vessel, the Aphrodite. Aphrodite was the brain-child of Harlan Hendricks, an engineer who ushered in new technology ten years back. All three of his creations failed spectacularly, resulting in death and a failed career. The Aphrodite was the only ship to survive, and she is now used for hauling mail back and forth between Venus and Mars.Strike and Cob, the Aphrodite’s only executive to last more than six months, recount Strike’s great failures and how he ended up here. He used to fly the Ganymede, but was removed after he left his position to rescue colonists who didn’t need rescuing. Strike was no longer trustworthy in Admiral Gorman’s eyes, so he banished him to the Aphrodite. The circuit that caused the initial demise of Aphrodite was sealed off. After meeting some members of his crew, Strike orders a conference for all personnel and calls in an Engineering Officer, one I.V. Hendricks. After Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks arrives--not I.V.--Strike immediately insults her by degrading the ship’s designer, Harlan Hendricks. As it turns out, Hendricks is his daughter, and she vows to prove him wrong and all those who doubted her father. Despite their initial conflict, Strike and Hendricks’ relationship soon evolves from resentment to respect. During this time, Strike’s confidence in the Aphrodite plummets as she suffers from mechanical issues. The Aphrodite starts to heat up as they get closer to the sun. The refrigeration units could not handle the heat, causing discomfort among the crew. As they get closer, a radar contact reveals that two dreadnaughts, the Lachesis and the Atropos, are doing routine patrolling. Nothing to worry about, except the Atropos had Admiral Gorman on board, hated by Strike and Hendricks.Strike and Hendricks make a joke about Gorman falling into the sun. As the temperature steadily climbs, the crew members overheat and begin fighting, resulting in a black eye. A distress signal came through from the Lachesis: the Atropos, with Gorman on board, was tumbling into the sun. The Lachesis was attempting to rescue them with an unbreakable cord, but they too were being pulled in. Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat, the one her father designed, and claimed it could help them rescue the ships. After some tension, Strike agrees and they race down to the sun to pick up the drifting dreadnaughts. Strike puts Hendricks in charge, but soon the heat overtakes her, and she is unable to continue. Strike takes over, attaches the Aphrodite to the Lachesis with a cord, and turns on the surge-circuit. They blast themselves out of there, rescuing the two ships and Admiral Gorman at the same time. Cob and Strike are awarded Spatial Cross awards, while Hendricks is promoted to an engineering position at the Bureau of Ships. The story ends with Cob and Strike flipping through the pages of an address book until they land on Canalopolis, Mars.

What is the role of Ivy Hendricks in the story Jinx Ship To The Rescue and how does her character develop? [SEP] <s>A week in space had convinced Strike that he commanded a jinx ship.Jetting sunward from Venus, the cantankerous Aphrodite had burned asteering tube through, and it had been necessary to go into free-fallwhile Jenkins, the Assistant E/O, and a damage control party effectedrepairs. When the power was again applied, Old Aphrodisiac was runningten hours behind schedule, and Strike and Evans, the AstrogationOfficer, were sweating out the unforeseen changes introduced into theorbital calculations by the time spent in free-fall. The Aphrodite rumbled on toward the orbit of Mercury.... For all the tension between the occupants of the flying-bridge, Strikeand Ivy Hendricks worked well together. And after a second week inspace, a reluctant admiration was replacing the resentment betweenthem. Ivy spent whatever time she could spare tinkering with herfather's pet surge-circuit and Strike began to realize that there waslittle she did not know about spaceship engineering. Then, too, Ivyspent a lot of time at the controls, and Strike was forced to admitthat he had never seen a finer job of piloting done by man or woman. And finally, Ivy hated old Brass-bottom Gorman even more than Strikedid. She felt that Gorman had ruined her father's career, and she wasdedicating her life to proving her father right and Brass-bottom wrong.There's nothing in the cosmos to nurture friendship like a common enemy. At 30,000,000 miles from the sun, the Aphrodite's refrigerationunits could no longer keep the interior of the ship at a comfortabletemperature. The thermometer stood at 102°F, the very metal ofthe ship's fittings hot to the touch. Uniforms were discarded,insignia of rank vanished. The men dressed in fiberglass shorts andspaceboots, sweat making their naked bodies gleam like copper under thesodium-vapor lights. The women in the crew added only light blouses totheir shorts ... and suffered from extra clothing. Strike was in the observation blister forward, when Ensign Grahamcalled to say that she had picked up a radar contact sunward. TheIFF showed the pips to be the Lachesis and the Atropos . The twodreadnaughts were engaged in coronary research patrol ... a purelyroutine business. But the thing that made Strike curse under his breathwas Celia Graham's notation that the Atropos carried none other thanSpace Admiral Horatio Gorman, Cominch Inplan. Strike thought it a pity that old Brass-bottom couldn't fall intoHell's hottest pit ... and he told Ivy so. And she agreed. <doc-sep>Old Aphrodisiac had reached perihelion when it happened. Thethermometer stood at 135° and tempers were snapping. Cob and CeliaGraham had tangled about some minor point concerning Lover-Girl'sweight and balance. Ivy went about her work on the bridge withoutspeaking, and Strike made no attempt to brighten her sudden depression.Lieutenant Evans had punched Bayne, the Tactical Astrophysicist,in the eye for some disparaging remark about Southern Californiawomanhood. The ratings were grumbling about the food.... And then it happened. Cob was in the radio room when Sparks pulled the flimsy from thescrambler. It was a distress signal from the Lachesis . The Atropos had burst a fission chamber and was falling into the sun.Radiation made a transfer of personnel impossible, and the Atropos skeeterboats didn't have the power to pull away from the looming star.The Lachesis had a line on the sister dreadnaught and was valiantlytrying to pull the heavy vessel to safety, but even the thunderingpower of the Lachesis' mighty drive wasn't enough to break Sol'sdeathgrip on the battleship. A fleet of souped-up space-tugs was on its way from Luna and Venusport,but they could not possibly arrive on time. And it was doubtful thateven the tugs had the necessary power to drag the crippled Atropos away from a fiery end. Cob snatched the flimsy from Sparks' hands and galloped for theflying-bridge. He burst in and waved the message excitedly in front ofStrykalski's face. Have a look at this! Ye gods and little catfish! Read it! Well, dammit, hold it still so I can! snapped Strike. He read themessage and passed it to Ivy Hendricks with a shake of his head. She read it through and looked up exultantly. This is it ! This isthe chance I've been praying for, Strike! He returned her gaze sourly. For Gorman to fall into the sun? I recallI said something of the sort myself, but there are other men on thoseships. And, if I know Captain Varni on the Lachesis , he won't let gothat line even if he fries himself. Ivy's eyes snapped angrily. That's not what I meant, and you know it!I mean this! She touched the red-sealed surge-circuit rheostat. That's very nice, Lieutenant, commented Cob drily. And I know thatyou've been very busy adjusting that gismo. But I seem to recall thatthe last time that circuit was uncorked everyone aboard became part ofthe woodwork ... very messily, too. Let me understand you, Ivy, said Strike in a flat voice. What youare suggesting is that I risk my ship and the lives of all of us tryingto pull old Gorman's fat out of the fire with a drive that's blownskyhigh three times out of three. Very neat. There were tears bright in Ivy Hendricks' eyes and she soundeddesperate. But we can save those ships! We can, I know we can! Myfather designed this ship! I know every rivet of her! Those idiots offCallisto didn't know what they were doing. These ships needed speciallytrained men. Father told them that! And I'm trained! I can take her inand save those ships! Her expression turned to one of disgust. Or areyou afraid? Frankly, Ivy, I haven't enough sense to be afraid. But are you socertain that we can pull this off? If I make a mistake this time ...it'll be the last. For all of us. We can do it, said Ivy Hendricks simply. Strike turned to Cob. What do you say, Cob? Shall we make it hotter inhere? Whitley shrugged. If you say so, Strike. It's good enough for me. Celia Graham left the bridge shaking her head. We'll all be dead soon.And me so young and pretty. Strike turned to the squawk-box. Evans! Evans here, came the reply. Have Sparks get a DF fix on the Atropos and hold it. We'll home ontheir carrier wave. They're in trouble and we're going after them. Plotthe course. Yes, Captain. Strike turned to Cob. Have the gun-crews stand by to relieve theblack-gang in the tube rooms. It's going to get hotter than the hingesof hell down there and we'll have to shorten shifts. Yes, sir! Cob saluted and was gone. Strike returned to the squawk-box. Radar! Graham here, replied Celia from her station. Get a radar fix on the Lachesis and hold it. Send your dope up toEvans and tell him to send us a range estimate. Yes, Captain, the girl replied crisply. Gun deck! Gun deck here, sir, came a feminine voice. Have number two starboard torpedo tube loaded with a fish and a spoolof cable. Be ready to let fly on short notice ... any range. Yes, sir! The girl switched off. And now you, Miss Hendricks. Yes, Captain? Her voice was low. Take over Control ... and Ivy.... Yes? Don't kill us off. He smiled down at her. She nodded silently and took her place at the control panel. Smoothlyshe turned old Aphrodisiac's nose sunward.... <doc-sep>The other officers of the T.R.S. Aphrodite were in conference withthe Captain when Cob and the girl at his side reached the flyingbridge. She was tall and dark-haired with regular features and paleblue eyes. She wore a service jumper with two silver stripes on theshoulder-straps, and even the shapeless garment could not hide theobvious trimness of her figure. Strike's back was toward the bulkhead, and he was addressing the others. ... and that's about the story. We are to jet within 28,000,000 milesof Sol. Orbit is trans-Mercurian hyperbolic. With Mars in opposition,we have to make a perihelion run and it won't be pleasant. But I'mcertain this old boiler can take it. I understand the old boy whodesigned her wasn't as incompetent as they say. But Space Regs arespecific about mail runs. This is important to you, Evans. Yourastrogation has to be accurate to within twenty-five miles plus orminus the shortest route. And there'll be no breaking orbit. Now becertain that the refrigeration units are checked, Mister Wilkins,especially in the hydroponic cells. Pure air is going to be important. That's about all there is to tell you. As soon as our ratherleisurely E/O gets here, we can jet with Aunt Nelly's postcard. Henodded. That's the story. Lift ship in.... He glanced at his wristchronograph, ... in an hour and five. The officers filed out and Cob Whitley stuck his head into the room.Captain? Come in, Cob. Strike's dark brows knit at the sight of the uniformedgirl in the doorway. Cob's face was sober, but hidden amusement was kindling behind hiseyes. Captain, may I present Lieutenant Hendricks? Lieutenant I-vy Hendricks? Strike looked blankly at the girl. Our new E/O, Captain, prompted Whitley. Uh ... welcome aboard, Miss Hendricks, was all the Captain could findto say. The girl's eyes were cold and unfriendly. Thank you, Captain. Hervoice was like cracked ice tinkling in a glass. If I may have yourpermission to inspect the drives, Captain, I may be able toconvince you that the designer of this vessel was not ... as you seemto think ... a senile incompetent. Strike was perplexed, and he showed it. Why, certainly ... uh ...Miss ... but why should you be so.... The girl's voice was even colder than before as she said, HarlanHendricks, Captain, is my father. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the role of Ivy Hendricks in the story Jinx Ship To The Rescue and how does her character develop?

Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks is the daughter of Harlan Hendricks, a formerly respected engineer. He created the surge-circuit, an innovation in interstellar astrogation, and he was awarded a Legion of Merit. He designed three famous ships: the Artemis, the Andromeda, and the Aphrodite, the prototype. Despite being hailed as the latest and greatest in technology, all three ships either exploded or failed. According to Lieutenant Ivy Hendricks, their failures were due to the lack of education on board. She claimed that her father asked for the crew members to be trained in surge-circuit technology, so they could use it properly and correctly. That wish was not granted and after all three ships failed, his reputation and career were doomed. Admiral Gorman pulled the plug on his career and therefore became the target of all Lieutenant Hendricks’ hate. With a bone to pick, Lieutenant Hendricks, a knowledgeable engineer herself, comes aboard the Aphrodite to serve as her engineer and occasional pilot. She wants to prove to the world that her father’s creation was genius and deserving of praise. Although they started off on the wrong foot, Lieutenant Hendricks and Strike, her commander, develop a friendship and appreciation for each other. They bond over their deep hatred of Admiral Gorman and the joy of piloting a ship. She soon proves herself to Strike, and he begins to trust her. Their relationship walks the fine line between friendship and romance. As the Aphrodite is attempting to rescue the fallen dreadnaughts, Lieutenant Hendricks comes up with the solution. Due to her constant tinkering on the ship, she had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat and made it ready to use. Initially, no one trusts her, seeing as the last time it was used people died. But Strike’s trust in her is strong and true, so he approves the use of the surge-circuit. Hendricks pilots the ship, but soon becomes too overheated and comes close to fainting. Strike takes over piloting and eventually activates the surge-circuit. It works and they are able to rescue the two ships, one of which had Admiral Gorman, her sworn enemy, onboard. Lieutenant Hendricks receives a major promotion; she is now an engineer at the Bureau of Ships. She proved them wrong, and restored her father’s legacy and good name. The story ends with their romance left in the air, but Hendricks has much to be proud of.

What is the connection between Strike and Aphrodite in Jinx Ship To The Rescue? [SEP] <s>A week in space had convinced Strike that he commanded a jinx ship.Jetting sunward from Venus, the cantankerous Aphrodite had burned asteering tube through, and it had been necessary to go into free-fallwhile Jenkins, the Assistant E/O, and a damage control party effectedrepairs. When the power was again applied, Old Aphrodisiac was runningten hours behind schedule, and Strike and Evans, the AstrogationOfficer, were sweating out the unforeseen changes introduced into theorbital calculations by the time spent in free-fall. The Aphrodite rumbled on toward the orbit of Mercury.... For all the tension between the occupants of the flying-bridge, Strikeand Ivy Hendricks worked well together. And after a second week inspace, a reluctant admiration was replacing the resentment betweenthem. Ivy spent whatever time she could spare tinkering with herfather's pet surge-circuit and Strike began to realize that there waslittle she did not know about spaceship engineering. Then, too, Ivyspent a lot of time at the controls, and Strike was forced to admitthat he had never seen a finer job of piloting done by man or woman. And finally, Ivy hated old Brass-bottom Gorman even more than Strikedid. She felt that Gorman had ruined her father's career, and she wasdedicating her life to proving her father right and Brass-bottom wrong.There's nothing in the cosmos to nurture friendship like a common enemy. At 30,000,000 miles from the sun, the Aphrodite's refrigerationunits could no longer keep the interior of the ship at a comfortabletemperature. The thermometer stood at 102°F, the very metal ofthe ship's fittings hot to the touch. Uniforms were discarded,insignia of rank vanished. The men dressed in fiberglass shorts andspaceboots, sweat making their naked bodies gleam like copper under thesodium-vapor lights. The women in the crew added only light blouses totheir shorts ... and suffered from extra clothing. Strike was in the observation blister forward, when Ensign Grahamcalled to say that she had picked up a radar contact sunward. TheIFF showed the pips to be the Lachesis and the Atropos . The twodreadnaughts were engaged in coronary research patrol ... a purelyroutine business. But the thing that made Strike curse under his breathwas Celia Graham's notation that the Atropos carried none other thanSpace Admiral Horatio Gorman, Cominch Inplan. Strike thought it a pity that old Brass-bottom couldn't fall intoHell's hottest pit ... and he told Ivy so. And she agreed. <doc-sep> Jinx Ship To The Rescue By ALFRED COPPEL, JR. Stand by for T.R.S. Aphrodite , butt of the Space Navy. She's got something terrific in her guts and only her ice-cold lady engineer can coax it out of her! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1948. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Strykalski III of theTellurian Wing, Combined Solarian Navies, stood ankle deep in theviscous mud of Venusport Base and surveyed his new command with ajaundiced eye. The hot, slimy, greenish rain that drenched Venusportfor two-thirds of the 720-hour day had stopped at last, but now amiasmic fog was rising from the surrounding swampland, rolling acrossthe mushy landing ramp toward the grounded spaceship. Visibility wasdropping fast, and soon porto-sonar sets would have to be used to findthe way about the surface Base. It was an ordinary day on Venus. Strike cursed Space Admiral Gorman and all his ancestors with a wealthof feeling. Then he motioned wearily to his companion, and togetherthey sloshed through the mud toward the ancient monitor. The scaly bulk of the Tellurian Rocket Ship Aphrodite loomedunhappily into the thick air above the two men as they reached theventral valve. Strike raised reluctant eyes to the sloping flank of thefat spaceship. It looks, he commented bitterly, like a pregnant carp. Senior Lieutenant Coburn Whitley—Cob to his friends—nodded inagreement. That's our Lover-Girl ... old Aphrodisiac herself. The shipwith the poison personality. Cob was the Aphrodite's Executive,and he had been with her a full year ... which was a record for Execson the Aphrodite . She generally sent them Earthside with nervousbreakdowns in half that time. Tell me, Captain, continued Cob curiously, how does it happenthat you of all people happened to draw this tub for a command? Ithought.... You know Gorman? queried Strykalski. Cob nodded. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Old Brass-bottom Gorman? The same. Well, Cob ran a hand over his chin speculatively, I know Gorman'sa prize stinker ... but you were in command of the Ganymede . And,after all, you come from an old service family and all that. How comethis? He indicated the monitor expressively. Strike sighed. Well, now, Cob, I'll tell you. You'll be spacing withme and I guess you've a right to know the worst ... not that youwouldn't find it out anyway. I come from a long line of very sharpoperators. Seven generations of officers and gentlemen. Lousy withtradition. The first David Farragut Strykalski, son of a sea-loving Polishimmigrant, emerged from World War II a four-striper and CongressionalMedal winner. Then came David Farragut Strykalski, Jr., and, in theabortive Atomic War that terrified the world in 1961, he won a UnitedNations Peace Citation. And then came David Farragut Strykalski III ...me. From such humble beginnings do great traditions grow. But somethinghappened when I came into the picture. I don't fit with the rest ofthem. Call it luck or temperament or what have you. In the first place I seem to have an uncanny talent for saying thewrong thing to the wrong person. Gorman for example. And I take toomuch on my own initiative. Gorman doesn't like that. I lost the Ganymede because I left my station where I was supposed to be runningsection-lines to take on a bunch of colonists I thought were indanger.... The Procyon A people? asked Cob. So you've heard about it. Strike shook his head sadly. My tacticalastrophysicist warned me that Procyon A might go nova. I left myroutine post and loaded up on colonists. He shrugged. Wrong guess. Nonova. I made an ass of myself and lost the Ganymede . Gorman gave itto his former aide. I got this. Cob coughed slightly. I heard something about Ley City, too. Me again. The Ganymede's whole crew ended up in the Luna Base brig.We celebrated a bit too freely. Cob Whitley looked admiringly at his new Commander. That was the nightafter the Ganymede broke the record for the Centaurus B-Earth run,wasn't it? And then wasn't there something about.... Canalopolis? Whitley nodded. That time I called the Martian Ambassador a spy. It was at a TellurianEmbassy Ball. I begin to see what you mean, Captain. Strike's the name, Cob. Whitley's smile was expansive. Strike, I think you're going to likeour old tin pot here. He patted the Aphrodite's nether bellyaffectionately. She's old ... but she's loose. And we're not likely tomeet any Ambassadors or Admirals with her, either. Strykalski sighed, still thinking of his sleek Ganymede . She'llcarry the mail, I suppose. And that's about all that's expected of her. Cob shrugged philosophically. Better than tanking that stinking rocketfuel, anyway. Deep space? Strike shook his head. Venus-Mars. Cob scratched his chin speculatively. Perihelion run. Hot work. Strike was again looking at the spaceship's unprepossessing exterior.A surge-circuit monitor, so help me. Cob nodded agreement. The last of her class. <doc-sep>And she was not an inspiring sight. The fantastically misnamed Aphrodite was a surge-circuit monitor of twenty guns built some tenyears back in the period immediately preceding the Ionian SubjugationIncident. She had been designed primarily for atomics, with asurge-circuit set-up for interstellar flight. At least that was theplanner's view. In those days, interstellar astrogation was in itsformative stage, and at the time of the Aphrodite's launching thesurge-circuit was hailed as the very latest in space drives. Her designer, Harlan Hendricks, had been awarded a Legion of Meritfor her, and every silver-braided admiral in the Fleet had dreamedof hoisting his flag on one of her class. There had been three. The Artemis , the Andromeda , and the prototype ... old Aphrodisiac. Thethree vessels had gone into action off Callisto after the Phobos Raidhad set off hostilities between the Ionians and the Solarian Combine. All three were miserable failures. The eager officers commanding the three monitors had found the circuittoo appealing to their hot little hands. They used it ... in some way,wrongly. The Artemis exploded. The Andromeda vanished in the generaldirection of Coma Berenices glowing white hot from the heat of aruptured fission chamber and spewing gamma rays in all directions.And the Aphrodite's starboard tubes blew, causing her to spend herstore of vicious energy spinning like a Fourth of July pinwheel under20 gravities until all her interior fittings ... including crew were atangled, pulpy mess within her pressure hull. The Aphrodite was refitted for space. And because it was an integralpart of her design, the circuit was rebuilt ... and sealed. She becamea workhorse, growing more cantankerous with each passing year. Shecarried personnel.... She trucked ores. She ferried skeeterboats andtanked rocket fuel. Now, she would carry the mail. She would lift fromVenusport and jet to Canalopolis, Mars, without delay or variation.Regulations, tradition and Admiral Gorman of the Inner Planet Fleetrequired it. And it was now up to David Farragut Strykalski III to seeto it that she did.... The Officer of the Deck, a trim blonde girl in spotless greys salutedsmartly as Strike and Cob stepped through the valve. Strike felt vaguely uncomfortable. He knew, of course, that at least athird of the personnel on board non-combat vessels of the Inner PlanetFleet was female, but he had never actually had women on board a shipof his own, and he felt quite certain that he preferred them elsewhere. Cob sensed his discomfort. That was Celia Graham, Strike. Ensign.Radar Officer. She's good, too. Strike shook his head. Don't like women in space. They make meuncomfortable. Cob shrugged. Celia's the only officer. But about a quarter of ourratings are women. He grinned maliciously. Equal rights, you know. No doubt, commented the other sourly. Is that why they namedthis ... ship 'Aphrodite'? Whitley saw fit to consider the question rhetorical and remained silent. Strike lowered his head to clear the arch of the flying-bridgebulkhead. Cob followed. He trailed his Captain through a jungleof chrome piping to the main control panels. Strike sank into anacceleration chair in front of the red DANGER seal on the surge-circuitrheostat. Looks like a drug-store fountain, doesn't it? commented Cob. Strykalski nodded sadly, thinking of the padded smoothness of the Ganymede's flying-bridge. But she's home to us, anyway. The thick Venusian fog had closed in around the top levels of the ship,hugging the ports and cutting off all view of the field outside. Strikereached for the squawk-box control. Now hear this. All officer personnel will assemble in the flyingbridge at 600 hours for Captain's briefing. Officer of the Deck willrecall any enlisted personnel now on liberty.... Whitley was on his feet, all the slackness gone from his manner.Orders, Captain? We can't do anything until the new Engineering Officer gets here.They're sending someone down from the Antigone , and I expect him by600 hours. In the meantime you'll take over his part of the work. Seeto it that we are fueled and ready to lift ship by 602. Base will startloading the mail at 599:30. That's about all. Yes, sir. Whitley saluted and turned to go. At the bulkhead, hepaused. Captain, he asked, Who is the new E/O to be? Strike stretched his long legs out on the steel deck. A LieutenantHendricks, I. V. Hendricks, is what the orders say. Cob thought hard for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. I. V.Hendricks. He shook his head. Don't know him. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the connection between Strike and Aphrodite in Jinx Ship To The Rescue?

Strike is a member of a famous, well-behaved, and well-trained service family. His father and grandfather served in World War II and the Atomic War, respectively. Both earned medals for their heroic service. Strike, however, did not follow in his family’s footsteps. With a tendency to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, Strike often offended those around him and garnered a negative reputation. After being put in charge of the Ganymede, he soon lost his position after abandoning his station to rescue colonists who were not in danger. As well, he accused a Martian Ambassador of being a spy at a respectable ball. Admiral Gorman soon demoted him, and he became the commander of the Aphrodite. At first, Strike was not a fan. He sees her as ugly, fat, and cantankerous. He misses the Ganymede, a shiny and new rocketship, and views the Aphrodite as less-than. Within the first week of flying her, the Aphrodite had a burned steering tube, which made it necessary to go into free-fall as the damage control party made repairs. Strike’s faith in Lover-Girl continued to plummet. However, after Lieutenant Hendricks, the resident engineer, got her hands on the Aphrodite, Strike’s opinion started to change. Her knowledge of the ship, engineering, and piloting helped him gain confidence in both her abilities and those of Aphrodite.Near the end of the story, the Aphrodite is tasked with rescuing two ships that are falling into the sun. Previously Lieutenant Hendricks had fixed up the surge-circuit rheostat, and so she offered it up as the only solution. Strike agrees to try it, which shows his faith and trust in the Aphrodite. Luckily, all things go to plan, and the Aphrodite, with Strike piloting, is able to save the two ships and Admiral Gorman. After Strike won a medal himself, finally following in the family footsteps, he is offered his old position back on the Ganymede. He refuses, and instead returns to old Lover-Girl. He has grown fond of her over the course of their adventure, and they develop a partnership.

What is the backdrop of the story Jinx Ship To The Rescue? [SEP] <s> Jinx Ship To The Rescue By ALFRED COPPEL, JR. Stand by for T.R.S. Aphrodite , butt of the Space Navy. She's got something terrific in her guts and only her ice-cold lady engineer can coax it out of her! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1948. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Strykalski III of theTellurian Wing, Combined Solarian Navies, stood ankle deep in theviscous mud of Venusport Base and surveyed his new command with ajaundiced eye. The hot, slimy, greenish rain that drenched Venusportfor two-thirds of the 720-hour day had stopped at last, but now amiasmic fog was rising from the surrounding swampland, rolling acrossthe mushy landing ramp toward the grounded spaceship. Visibility wasdropping fast, and soon porto-sonar sets would have to be used to findthe way about the surface Base. It was an ordinary day on Venus. Strike cursed Space Admiral Gorman and all his ancestors with a wealthof feeling. Then he motioned wearily to his companion, and togetherthey sloshed through the mud toward the ancient monitor. The scaly bulk of the Tellurian Rocket Ship Aphrodite loomedunhappily into the thick air above the two men as they reached theventral valve. Strike raised reluctant eyes to the sloping flank of thefat spaceship. It looks, he commented bitterly, like a pregnant carp. Senior Lieutenant Coburn Whitley—Cob to his friends—nodded inagreement. That's our Lover-Girl ... old Aphrodisiac herself. The shipwith the poison personality. Cob was the Aphrodite's Executive,and he had been with her a full year ... which was a record for Execson the Aphrodite . She generally sent them Earthside with nervousbreakdowns in half that time. Tell me, Captain, continued Cob curiously, how does it happenthat you of all people happened to draw this tub for a command? Ithought.... You know Gorman? queried Strykalski. Cob nodded. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Old Brass-bottom Gorman? The same. Well, Cob ran a hand over his chin speculatively, I know Gorman'sa prize stinker ... but you were in command of the Ganymede . And,after all, you come from an old service family and all that. How comethis? He indicated the monitor expressively. Strike sighed. Well, now, Cob, I'll tell you. You'll be spacing withme and I guess you've a right to know the worst ... not that youwouldn't find it out anyway. I come from a long line of very sharpoperators. Seven generations of officers and gentlemen. Lousy withtradition. The first David Farragut Strykalski, son of a sea-loving Polishimmigrant, emerged from World War II a four-striper and CongressionalMedal winner. Then came David Farragut Strykalski, Jr., and, in theabortive Atomic War that terrified the world in 1961, he won a UnitedNations Peace Citation. And then came David Farragut Strykalski III ...me. From such humble beginnings do great traditions grow. But somethinghappened when I came into the picture. I don't fit with the rest ofthem. Call it luck or temperament or what have you. In the first place I seem to have an uncanny talent for saying thewrong thing to the wrong person. Gorman for example. And I take toomuch on my own initiative. Gorman doesn't like that. I lost the Ganymede because I left my station where I was supposed to be runningsection-lines to take on a bunch of colonists I thought were indanger.... The Procyon A people? asked Cob. So you've heard about it. Strike shook his head sadly. My tacticalastrophysicist warned me that Procyon A might go nova. I left myroutine post and loaded up on colonists. He shrugged. Wrong guess. Nonova. I made an ass of myself and lost the Ganymede . Gorman gave itto his former aide. I got this. Cob coughed slightly. I heard something about Ley City, too. Me again. The Ganymede's whole crew ended up in the Luna Base brig.We celebrated a bit too freely. Cob Whitley looked admiringly at his new Commander. That was the nightafter the Ganymede broke the record for the Centaurus B-Earth run,wasn't it? And then wasn't there something about.... Canalopolis? Whitley nodded. That time I called the Martian Ambassador a spy. It was at a TellurianEmbassy Ball. I begin to see what you mean, Captain. Strike's the name, Cob. Whitley's smile was expansive. Strike, I think you're going to likeour old tin pot here. He patted the Aphrodite's nether bellyaffectionately. She's old ... but she's loose. And we're not likely tomeet any Ambassadors or Admirals with her, either. Strykalski sighed, still thinking of his sleek Ganymede . She'llcarry the mail, I suppose. And that's about all that's expected of her. Cob shrugged philosophically. Better than tanking that stinking rocketfuel, anyway. Deep space? Strike shook his head. Venus-Mars. Cob scratched his chin speculatively. Perihelion run. Hot work. Strike was again looking at the spaceship's unprepossessing exterior.A surge-circuit monitor, so help me. Cob nodded agreement. The last of her class. <doc-sep>A week in space had convinced Strike that he commanded a jinx ship.Jetting sunward from Venus, the cantankerous Aphrodite had burned asteering tube through, and it had been necessary to go into free-fallwhile Jenkins, the Assistant E/O, and a damage control party effectedrepairs. When the power was again applied, Old Aphrodisiac was runningten hours behind schedule, and Strike and Evans, the AstrogationOfficer, were sweating out the unforeseen changes introduced into theorbital calculations by the time spent in free-fall. The Aphrodite rumbled on toward the orbit of Mercury.... For all the tension between the occupants of the flying-bridge, Strikeand Ivy Hendricks worked well together. And after a second week inspace, a reluctant admiration was replacing the resentment betweenthem. Ivy spent whatever time she could spare tinkering with herfather's pet surge-circuit and Strike began to realize that there waslittle she did not know about spaceship engineering. Then, too, Ivyspent a lot of time at the controls, and Strike was forced to admitthat he had never seen a finer job of piloting done by man or woman. And finally, Ivy hated old Brass-bottom Gorman even more than Strikedid. She felt that Gorman had ruined her father's career, and she wasdedicating her life to proving her father right and Brass-bottom wrong.There's nothing in the cosmos to nurture friendship like a common enemy. At 30,000,000 miles from the sun, the Aphrodite's refrigerationunits could no longer keep the interior of the ship at a comfortabletemperature. The thermometer stood at 102°F, the very metal ofthe ship's fittings hot to the touch. Uniforms were discarded,insignia of rank vanished. The men dressed in fiberglass shorts andspaceboots, sweat making their naked bodies gleam like copper under thesodium-vapor lights. The women in the crew added only light blouses totheir shorts ... and suffered from extra clothing. Strike was in the observation blister forward, when Ensign Grahamcalled to say that she had picked up a radar contact sunward. TheIFF showed the pips to be the Lachesis and the Atropos . The twodreadnaughts were engaged in coronary research patrol ... a purelyroutine business. But the thing that made Strike curse under his breathwas Celia Graham's notation that the Atropos carried none other thanSpace Admiral Horatio Gorman, Cominch Inplan. Strike thought it a pity that old Brass-bottom couldn't fall intoHell's hottest pit ... and he told Ivy so. And she agreed. <doc-sep> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story Jinx Ship To The Rescue?

Jinx Ship to the Rescue by Alfred Coppel, Jr. takes place in space, but more specifically in the Aphrodite. It starts in the muddy Venusport Base on Venus. Venusport is famous for its warm, slimy, and green rain that falls for 480 hours of every day. A fog rolls in and degrades visibility. Despite starting on Venusport Base, the characters actually spend most of their time onboard the Aphrodite, a Tellurian Rocket Ship. The Aphrodite had a surge-circuit monitor of twenty guns built into her frame. She was bulky, fat, and ugly, and occasionally had some technical and mechanical struggles as well. Although her frame may not be appealing, she soon becomes victorious as she gains the trust of Strike and other members of his crew and saves two fallen dreadnaughts. With her surge-circuit rheostat rebuilt, the Aphrodite is finally able to accomplish what she was always meant to.

What is the story of Jinx Ship To The Rescue and how does it involve Strike? [SEP] <s>A week in space had convinced Strike that he commanded a jinx ship.Jetting sunward from Venus, the cantankerous Aphrodite had burned asteering tube through, and it had been necessary to go into free-fallwhile Jenkins, the Assistant E/O, and a damage control party effectedrepairs. When the power was again applied, Old Aphrodisiac was runningten hours behind schedule, and Strike and Evans, the AstrogationOfficer, were sweating out the unforeseen changes introduced into theorbital calculations by the time spent in free-fall. The Aphrodite rumbled on toward the orbit of Mercury.... For all the tension between the occupants of the flying-bridge, Strikeand Ivy Hendricks worked well together. And after a second week inspace, a reluctant admiration was replacing the resentment betweenthem. Ivy spent whatever time she could spare tinkering with herfather's pet surge-circuit and Strike began to realize that there waslittle she did not know about spaceship engineering. Then, too, Ivyspent a lot of time at the controls, and Strike was forced to admitthat he had never seen a finer job of piloting done by man or woman. And finally, Ivy hated old Brass-bottom Gorman even more than Strikedid. She felt that Gorman had ruined her father's career, and she wasdedicating her life to proving her father right and Brass-bottom wrong.There's nothing in the cosmos to nurture friendship like a common enemy. At 30,000,000 miles from the sun, the Aphrodite's refrigerationunits could no longer keep the interior of the ship at a comfortabletemperature. The thermometer stood at 102°F, the very metal ofthe ship's fittings hot to the touch. Uniforms were discarded,insignia of rank vanished. The men dressed in fiberglass shorts andspaceboots, sweat making their naked bodies gleam like copper under thesodium-vapor lights. The women in the crew added only light blouses totheir shorts ... and suffered from extra clothing. Strike was in the observation blister forward, when Ensign Grahamcalled to say that she had picked up a radar contact sunward. TheIFF showed the pips to be the Lachesis and the Atropos . The twodreadnaughts were engaged in coronary research patrol ... a purelyroutine business. But the thing that made Strike curse under his breathwas Celia Graham's notation that the Atropos carried none other thanSpace Admiral Horatio Gorman, Cominch Inplan. Strike thought it a pity that old Brass-bottom couldn't fall intoHell's hottest pit ... and he told Ivy so. And she agreed. <doc-sep> Jinx Ship To The Rescue By ALFRED COPPEL, JR. Stand by for T.R.S. Aphrodite , butt of the Space Navy. She's got something terrific in her guts and only her ice-cold lady engineer can coax it out of her! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1948. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Strykalski III of theTellurian Wing, Combined Solarian Navies, stood ankle deep in theviscous mud of Venusport Base and surveyed his new command with ajaundiced eye. The hot, slimy, greenish rain that drenched Venusportfor two-thirds of the 720-hour day had stopped at last, but now amiasmic fog was rising from the surrounding swampland, rolling acrossthe mushy landing ramp toward the grounded spaceship. Visibility wasdropping fast, and soon porto-sonar sets would have to be used to findthe way about the surface Base. It was an ordinary day on Venus. Strike cursed Space Admiral Gorman and all his ancestors with a wealthof feeling. Then he motioned wearily to his companion, and togetherthey sloshed through the mud toward the ancient monitor. The scaly bulk of the Tellurian Rocket Ship Aphrodite loomedunhappily into the thick air above the two men as they reached theventral valve. Strike raised reluctant eyes to the sloping flank of thefat spaceship. It looks, he commented bitterly, like a pregnant carp. Senior Lieutenant Coburn Whitley—Cob to his friends—nodded inagreement. That's our Lover-Girl ... old Aphrodisiac herself. The shipwith the poison personality. Cob was the Aphrodite's Executive,and he had been with her a full year ... which was a record for Execson the Aphrodite . She generally sent them Earthside with nervousbreakdowns in half that time. Tell me, Captain, continued Cob curiously, how does it happenthat you of all people happened to draw this tub for a command? Ithought.... You know Gorman? queried Strykalski. Cob nodded. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Old Brass-bottom Gorman? The same. Well, Cob ran a hand over his chin speculatively, I know Gorman'sa prize stinker ... but you were in command of the Ganymede . And,after all, you come from an old service family and all that. How comethis? He indicated the monitor expressively. Strike sighed. Well, now, Cob, I'll tell you. You'll be spacing withme and I guess you've a right to know the worst ... not that youwouldn't find it out anyway. I come from a long line of very sharpoperators. Seven generations of officers and gentlemen. Lousy withtradition. The first David Farragut Strykalski, son of a sea-loving Polishimmigrant, emerged from World War II a four-striper and CongressionalMedal winner. Then came David Farragut Strykalski, Jr., and, in theabortive Atomic War that terrified the world in 1961, he won a UnitedNations Peace Citation. And then came David Farragut Strykalski III ...me. From such humble beginnings do great traditions grow. But somethinghappened when I came into the picture. I don't fit with the rest ofthem. Call it luck or temperament or what have you. In the first place I seem to have an uncanny talent for saying thewrong thing to the wrong person. Gorman for example. And I take toomuch on my own initiative. Gorman doesn't like that. I lost the Ganymede because I left my station where I was supposed to be runningsection-lines to take on a bunch of colonists I thought were indanger.... The Procyon A people? asked Cob. So you've heard about it. Strike shook his head sadly. My tacticalastrophysicist warned me that Procyon A might go nova. I left myroutine post and loaded up on colonists. He shrugged. Wrong guess. Nonova. I made an ass of myself and lost the Ganymede . Gorman gave itto his former aide. I got this. Cob coughed slightly. I heard something about Ley City, too. Me again. The Ganymede's whole crew ended up in the Luna Base brig.We celebrated a bit too freely. Cob Whitley looked admiringly at his new Commander. That was the nightafter the Ganymede broke the record for the Centaurus B-Earth run,wasn't it? And then wasn't there something about.... Canalopolis? Whitley nodded. That time I called the Martian Ambassador a spy. It was at a TellurianEmbassy Ball. I begin to see what you mean, Captain. Strike's the name, Cob. Whitley's smile was expansive. Strike, I think you're going to likeour old tin pot here. He patted the Aphrodite's nether bellyaffectionately. She's old ... but she's loose. And we're not likely tomeet any Ambassadors or Admirals with her, either. Strykalski sighed, still thinking of his sleek Ganymede . She'llcarry the mail, I suppose. And that's about all that's expected of her. Cob shrugged philosophically. Better than tanking that stinking rocketfuel, anyway. Deep space? Strike shook his head. Venus-Mars. Cob scratched his chin speculatively. Perihelion run. Hot work. Strike was again looking at the spaceship's unprepossessing exterior.A surge-circuit monitor, so help me. Cob nodded agreement. The last of her class. <doc-sep>Lashed together with a length of unbreakable beryllium steel cable,the Lachesis and the Atropos fell helplessly toward the sun. Thefrantic flame that lashed out from the Lachesis' tube was fading, herfission chambers fusing under the terrific heat of splitting atoms.Still she tried. She could not desert her sister ship, nor could shesave her. Already the two ships had fallen to within 18,000,000 milesof the sun's terrifying atmosphere of glowing gases. The prominencesthat spouted spaceward seemed like great fiery tentacles reaching forthe trapped men on board the warships. The atmospheric guiding fins,the gun-turrets and other protuberances on both ships were beginningto melt under the fierce radiance. Only the huge refrigeration plantson the vessels made life within them possible. And, even so, men weredying. Swiftly, the fat, ungainly shape of old Aphrodisiac drew near. In herflying-bridge, Strike and Ivy Hendricks watched the stricken ships inthe darkened viewport. The temperature stood at 140° and the air was bitter with the smellof hot metal. Ivy's blouse clung to her body, soaked through withperspiration. Sweat ran from her hair into her eyes and she gaspedfor breath in the oven hot compartment. Strike watched her withapprehension. Carefully, Ivy circled the two warships. From the starboard tube onthe gun-deck, a homing rocket leapt toward the Atropos . It plungedstraight and true, spilling cable as it flew. It slammed up againstthe hull, and stuck there, fast to the battleship's flank. Quickly,a robocrane drew it within the ship and the cable was made secure.Like cosmic replicas of the ancient South American bolas, the threespacecraft whirled in space ... and all three began that sunward plungetogether. They were diving into the sun. The heat in the Aphrodite's bridge was unbearable. The thermometershowed 145° and it seemed to Strike that Hell must be cool bycomparison. Ivy fought her reeling senses and the bucking ship as the slack cameout of the cable. Blackness was flickering at the edges of her fieldof vision. She could scarcely lift her hand to the red-sealed circuitrheostat. Shudderingly, she made the effort ... and failed. Conscious,but too spent to move, she collapsed over the blistering hot instrumentpanel. Ivy! Strike was beside her, cradling her head in his arm. I ... I ... can't make it ... Strike. You'll ... have to run ... theshow ... after ... all. Strike laid her gently in an acceleration chair and turned toward thecontrol panel. His head was throbbing painfully as he broke the seal onthe surge-circuit. Slowly he turned the rheostat. Relays chattered. From deep withinold Lover-Girl's vitals came a low whine. He fed more power into thecircuit. Cadmium rods slipped into lead sheaths decks below in thetube-rooms. The whining rose in pitch. The spinning of the ships inspace slowed. Stopped. With painful deliberation, they swung into line. More power. The whine changed to a shriek. A banshee wail. Cob's voice came through the squawk-box, soberly. Strike, Celia'sfainted down here. We can't take much more of this heat. We're trying, Cob! shouted Strike over the whine of the circuit. Thegauges showed the accumulators full. Now! He spun the rheostat tothe stops, and black space burst over his brain.... The last thing he remembered was a voice. It sounded like Bayne's. Andit was shouting. We're moving 'em! We're pulling away! We're.... Andthat was all. The space-tug Scylla found them. The three ships ... Atropos , Lachesis , and old Aphrodisiac ...lashed together and drifting in space. Every man and woman aboard outcold from the acceleration, and Aphrodite's tanks bone dry. But theywere a safe 80,000,000 miles from Sol.... <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the story of Jinx Ship To The Rescue and how does it involve Strike?

Strike is a member of an esteemed service family on Venus; seven generations of well-behaved and well-trained operators. Unfortunately, Strike struggles to carry on the family tradition, and is known for misspeaking and offending those around him. By trusting his gut, he wound up failing his higher-ups and crew several times. All this culminated in an eventual mistrust of Strike, which led to him being charged with the Aphrodite. His deep hatred of Space Admiral Gordon is passionate, but not without reason. Gordon is the one who demoted him to the Aphrodite. At the start, Strike is checking out his new vessel and notes how ugly the ship is. After examining the ship and it’s crew, it is revealed that Strike is uncomfortable around women and believes they don’t belong on a spaceship. In order to start flying, he calls in an expert engineer to come aboard and travel with them. Thinking I.V. Hendricks is a man, he is excited to have them onboard. But when Ivy Hendricks shows up, a female engineer and the daughter of the Aphrodite’s creator, his world is soon turned upside down. His initial negative reaction to her is soon displaced by begrudging appreciation and eventually trust and friendship. Hendricks proves his previous theories about women wrong, and Strike is forced to accept that perhaps women do belong on a spaceship. She especially impresses him with her total knowledge of spaceship engineering and the Aphrodite in general. And it helped that she hated Admiral Gorman just as much as Strike, if not more. While flying by the sun to deliver mail, the Aphrodite receives a distress call from two ships: the Lachesis and the Atropos, the latter of which carried Admiral Gorman onboard. After the Aphrodite reached orbit, the Lachesis reached out and reported the Atropos was falling into the sun, due to a burst chamber. They couldn’t move those onboard over thanks to all the radiation, so the Lachesis was attempting to pull the Atropos back using an unbreakable cord. But it wasn’t enough. Since Ivy Hendricks had fixed the surge-circuit rheostat--the feature that crashed the original Aphrodite--, they were able to save the Lachesis and the Atropos and regain some of their dignity and former glory. Strike is awarded the Spatial Cross, as well as Cob, his friend and longtime executive of the Aphrodite. Strike was asked to return to the Ganymede, a beautiful sleek ship, but allegedly said the wrong thing to Gorman, and was instead sent back to the Aphrodite. Cob believes he did it on purpose, as Strike had grown quite fond of Lover-Girl. Ivy has gone to the Bureau of Ships to engineer vessels, a great upgrade from her previous job. Cob pressures Strike to reach out to her, but he refuses. However, it ends on a hopeful note, with the potential for romance between Strike and Hendricks, and even more adventures on the clunky Aphrodite.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Doorway to Kal-Jmar? [SEP] <s>He stood then in the middle of the room, arms akimbo, his head swimmingwith glory—and remembered suddenly that he was hungry. He felt in thecontainer of his helmet, extracted a couple of food tablets, and poppedthem into his mouth. They would take care of his needs, but they didn't satisfy his hunger.No food tablets for him after this! Steaks, wines, souffles.... Hismouth began to water at the very thought. And then the robot rolled on soundless wheels into the room. Symewhirled and saw it only when it was almost upon him. The thing wasremarkably lifelike, and for a moment he was startled. But it was not alive. It was only a Martian feeding-machine, kept inrepair all these millennia by other robots. It was not intelligent,and so it did not know that its masters would never return. It did notknow, either, that Syme was not a Martian, or that he wanted a steak,and not the distilled liquor of the xopa fungus, which still grew inthe subterranean gardens of Kal-Jmar. It was capable only of receivingthe mental impulse of hunger, and of responding to that impulse. And so when Syme saw it and opened his mouth in startlement, therobot acted as it had done with its degenerate, slothful masters. Itsflexible feeding tube darted out and half down the man's gullet beforehe could move to avoid it. And down Syme Rector's throat poured a floodof xopa -juice, nectar to Martians, but swift, terrible death to humanbeings.... Outside, the last doorway to Kal-Jmar closed forever, across from thecold body of Tate. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>Kal-Jmar was the riddle of the Solar System. It was the only remainingcity of the ancient Martian race—the race that, legends said, hadrisen to greater heights than any other Solar culture. The machines,the artifacts, the records of the Martians were all there, perfectlypreserved inside the city's bubble-like dome, after God knew how manythousands of years. But they couldn't be reached. For Kal-Jmar's dome was not the thing of steelite that protectedLillis: it was a tenuous, globular field of force that defied analysisas it defied explosives and diamond drills. The field extended bothabove and below the ground, and tunneling was of no avail. No one knewwhat had happened to the Martians, whether they were the ancestors ofthe present decadent Martian race, or a different species. No one knewanything about them or about Kal-Jmar. In the early days, when the conquest of Mars was just beginning, Earthscientists had been wild to get into the city. They had observed itfrom every angle, taken photographs of its architecture and the robotsthat still patrolled its fantastically winding streets, and then theyhad tried everything they knew to pierce the wall. Later, however, when every unsuccessful attempt had precipitated abloody uprising of the present-day Martians—resulting in a rapiddwindling of the number of Martians—the Mars Protectorate had steppedin and forbidden any further experiments; forbidden, in fact, anyEarthman to go near the place. Thus matter had stood for over a hundred years, until Harold Tate.Tate, a physicist, had stumbled on a field that seemed to be identicalin properties to the Kal-Jmar dome; and what is more, he had found aforce that would break it down. And so he had made his first trip to Mars, and within twenty-fourhours, by the blindest of chances, blurted out his secret to SymeRector, the scourge of the spaceways, the man with a thousand creditson his sleek, tigerish head. Syme's smile was not tigerish now; it was carefully, studiedly mild.For Tate was no longer drunk, and it was important that it should notoccur to him that he had been indiscreet. This is native territory we're coming to, Harold, he said. Betterstrap on your gun. Why. Are they really dangerous? They're unpredictable, Syme told him. They're built differently, andthey think differently. They breathe like us, down in their cavernswhere there's air, but they also eat sand, and get their oxygen thatway. Yes, I've heard about that, Tate said. Iron oxide—very interestingmetabolism. He got his energy pistol out of the compartment andstrapped it on absently. Syme turned the little sand car up a gentle rise towards the tortuoushill country in the distance. Not only that, he continued. Theyeat the damndest stuff. Lichens and fungi and tumble-grass off thedeserts—all full of deadly poisons, from arsenic up the line toxopite. They seem intelligent enough—in their own way—but they nevercome near our cities and they either can't or won't learn Terrestrial.When the first colonists came here, they had to learn their crazylanguage. Every word of it can mean any one of a dozen differentthings, depending on the inflection you give it. I can speak it some,but not much. Nobody can. We don't think the same. So you think they might attack us? Tate asked again, nervously. They might do anything, Syme said curtly. Don't worry about it. The hills were much closer than they had seemed, because of Mars'deceptively low horizon. In half an hour they were in the midst of awilderness of fantastically eroded dunes and channels, laboring onsliding treads up the sides of steep hills only to slither down againon the other side. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Doorway to Kal-Jmar?

Syme Rector is the most-wanted raider in the Triplanet Patrol system and wants access to the ancient Martian city of Kal-Jmar so that he can steal the priceless objects located there. The city has been abandoned for thousands of years, but no human has been able to enter it. Rector crashed his ship in the Mare Cimmerium and left a false trail for authorities to divert them from following him to Lillis, where he plans to obtain a spaceman’s identity card. This card will enable him to ship out on a freighter flight after he has obtained his stolen goods. Rector follows a young patrolman until he catches him unaware on the observation deck of the Founders’ Tower. Rector shoots him in the chest, steals his wallet, and throws his body over the parapet. However, a hook on the patrolman’s uniform catches Rector, pulling Rector over the parapet. He manages to unhook himself, and just as he estimates he can hold on one minute longer, a man comes and pulls him up. The man is Harold Tate, and he invites Rector to have a drink with him. As they get drunk, Tate confides to Rector that he needs a guide to take him to Kal-Jmar; he has discovered a way to enter the dome surrounding the city. The two men set out on their journey and follow a gully they reach. While they are in the lower part, Tate sees something overhead, and a boulder crashes down just to the left of their sand car. A horde of Martians surrounds them and forces the two men to go with them. The leader reveals that the Martians are telepathic and have no need for a spoken language. The Martians want nothing to do with the humans because there is nothing to gain from the humans. The leader tells the men the history of the two species of Martians but says they will kill the men.When the leader pulls his gun on Tate, Rector launches himself against the leader and wrestles away his gun. He shoots the leader and the other Martians as he dodges their shots. The two men then begin walking toward Kal-Jmar and reach the city. Tate uses his device to create a hole in the dome but realizes it isn’t strong enough. Then he thinks of using it where a door would have been, and it works. Rector shoots Tate, and just before he dies, Tate warns him, “You’ll be--sorry.” Rector takes the device and enters the city, noting all the treasures he can steal. He realizes he is hungry and takes two food tablets, but they don’t satisfy him. Then a lifelike robot that is a feeding machine enters and approaches Rector. Rector is startled and opens his mouth, and the robot shoots a feeding tube into Rector’s throat and pours xopa juice into him. The juice is poisonous to humans, and Rector dies immediately. The doorway to Kal-Jmar closes.

What is the backdrop of the story Doorway to Kal-Jmar? [SEP] <s>He stood then in the middle of the room, arms akimbo, his head swimmingwith glory—and remembered suddenly that he was hungry. He felt in thecontainer of his helmet, extracted a couple of food tablets, and poppedthem into his mouth. They would take care of his needs, but they didn't satisfy his hunger.No food tablets for him after this! Steaks, wines, souffles.... Hismouth began to water at the very thought. And then the robot rolled on soundless wheels into the room. Symewhirled and saw it only when it was almost upon him. The thing wasremarkably lifelike, and for a moment he was startled. But it was not alive. It was only a Martian feeding-machine, kept inrepair all these millennia by other robots. It was not intelligent,and so it did not know that its masters would never return. It did notknow, either, that Syme was not a Martian, or that he wanted a steak,and not the distilled liquor of the xopa fungus, which still grew inthe subterranean gardens of Kal-Jmar. It was capable only of receivingthe mental impulse of hunger, and of responding to that impulse. And so when Syme saw it and opened his mouth in startlement, therobot acted as it had done with its degenerate, slothful masters. Itsflexible feeding tube darted out and half down the man's gullet beforehe could move to avoid it. And down Syme Rector's throat poured a floodof xopa -juice, nectar to Martians, but swift, terrible death to humanbeings.... Outside, the last doorway to Kal-Jmar closed forever, across from thecold body of Tate. <doc-sep>Kal-Jmar was the riddle of the Solar System. It was the only remainingcity of the ancient Martian race—the race that, legends said, hadrisen to greater heights than any other Solar culture. The machines,the artifacts, the records of the Martians were all there, perfectlypreserved inside the city's bubble-like dome, after God knew how manythousands of years. But they couldn't be reached. For Kal-Jmar's dome was not the thing of steelite that protectedLillis: it was a tenuous, globular field of force that defied analysisas it defied explosives and diamond drills. The field extended bothabove and below the ground, and tunneling was of no avail. No one knewwhat had happened to the Martians, whether they were the ancestors ofthe present decadent Martian race, or a different species. No one knewanything about them or about Kal-Jmar. In the early days, when the conquest of Mars was just beginning, Earthscientists had been wild to get into the city. They had observed itfrom every angle, taken photographs of its architecture and the robotsthat still patrolled its fantastically winding streets, and then theyhad tried everything they knew to pierce the wall. Later, however, when every unsuccessful attempt had precipitated abloody uprising of the present-day Martians—resulting in a rapiddwindling of the number of Martians—the Mars Protectorate had steppedin and forbidden any further experiments; forbidden, in fact, anyEarthman to go near the place. Thus matter had stood for over a hundred years, until Harold Tate.Tate, a physicist, had stumbled on a field that seemed to be identicalin properties to the Kal-Jmar dome; and what is more, he had found aforce that would break it down. And so he had made his first trip to Mars, and within twenty-fourhours, by the blindest of chances, blurted out his secret to SymeRector, the scourge of the spaceways, the man with a thousand creditson his sleek, tigerish head. Syme's smile was not tigerish now; it was carefully, studiedly mild.For Tate was no longer drunk, and it was important that it should notoccur to him that he had been indiscreet. This is native territory we're coming to, Harold, he said. Betterstrap on your gun. Why. Are they really dangerous? They're unpredictable, Syme told him. They're built differently, andthey think differently. They breathe like us, down in their cavernswhere there's air, but they also eat sand, and get their oxygen thatway. Yes, I've heard about that, Tate said. Iron oxide—very interestingmetabolism. He got his energy pistol out of the compartment andstrapped it on absently. Syme turned the little sand car up a gentle rise towards the tortuoushill country in the distance. Not only that, he continued. Theyeat the damndest stuff. Lichens and fungi and tumble-grass off thedeserts—all full of deadly poisons, from arsenic up the line toxopite. They seem intelligent enough—in their own way—but they nevercome near our cities and they either can't or won't learn Terrestrial.When the first colonists came here, they had to learn their crazylanguage. Every word of it can mean any one of a dozen differentthings, depending on the inflection you give it. I can speak it some,but not much. Nobody can. We don't think the same. So you think they might attack us? Tate asked again, nervously. They might do anything, Syme said curtly. Don't worry about it. The hills were much closer than they had seemed, because of Mars'deceptively low horizon. In half an hour they were in the midst of awilderness of fantastically eroded dunes and channels, laboring onsliding treads up the sides of steep hills only to slither down againon the other side. <doc-sep>They started off down the canyon, Syme urging the slighter man toa fast clip, even though his leg was already stiffening. When theyfinally reached a climbable spot, Syme was limping badly and Tate wasobviously exhausted. They clambered wearily out onto the level sands again just as thesmall, blazing sun was setting. Luck, grunted Syme. Our only chanceof getting near the city is at night. He peered around, shading hiseyes from the sun's glare with a gauntleted hand. See that? Following his pointing finger, Tate saw a faint, ephemeral arc showingabove a line of low hills in the distance. Kal-Jmar, said Syme. Tate brightened a little. His body was too filled with fatigue for hismind to do any work on the problem that was baffling him, and so itreceded into the back of his mind. Kal-Jmar, whispered Syme again. There was no twilight. The sun dropped abruptly behind the low horizon,and darkness fell, sudden and absolute. Syme picked up the extra oxygentank and the suitcase, checked his direction by a wrist compass, andstarted toward the hills. Tate rose wearily to his feet and followedagain. Two hours later, Kal-Jmar stood before them. They had wormed theirway past the sentry posts, doing most of the last two hundred meterson all fours. With skill and luck, and with Syme's fierce, burningdetermination, they had managed to escape detection—and there theywere. Journey's end. Tate stared up at the shining, starlight towers in speechlessadmiration. If the people who had built this city had been decadent,still their architecture was magnificent. The city was a rhapsody madesolid. There was a sense of decay about it, he thought, but it was thedecay of supreme beauty, caught at the very verge of dissolution andpreserved for all eternity. Well? demanded Syme. Tate started, shaken out of his dream. He looked down at the blacksuitcase, a little wonderingly, and then pulled it to him and opened it. Inside, carefully wrapped in shock-absorbing tissue, was a fragilecontrivance of many tubes and wires, and a tiny parabolic mirror. Ithad a brand new Elecorp 210 volt battery, and it needed every volt ofthat tremendous power. Tate made the connections, his hands tremblingslightly, and set it up on a telescoping tripod. Syme watched himclosely, his big body tensed with expectation. The field was before them, shimmering faintly in the starlight. Itlooked unsubstantial as the stuff of dreams, but both men knew that nopower man possessed, unless it was the thing Tate held, could penetratethat screen. Tate set the mechanism up close to the field, aimed it very delicately,and closed a minute switch. After a long second, he opened it again. Nothing happened. The screen was still there, as unsubstantial and as solid as ever.There was no change. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story Doorway to Kal-Jmar?

The setting of the story is on Mars. It begins in the city of Lillis, which is covered with a translucent steelite dome and is guarded by the Triplanet Patrol. One outstanding feature of the city is its Founders’ Tower, which is the tallest building in Lillis. On the top level, there is an observation deck that looks out over the city. Outside the city is an area called the Mare Cimmerium. The planet has red dust and supports some life, specifically lichens and tumble-grass. It has mountains, canyons, gullies, and deserts.The ancient city of Kal-Jmar features prominently in the story. It is an ancient city of the Martian race that was very advanced but is now abandoned. There are machines, records, and other objects left behind, and all are perfectly preserved inside a bubble-like dome that is formed by a force field. Humans have tried to enter the dome using explosives, diamond drills, and even tunnels under the city, but nothing they have tried has penetrated the dome. When Mars was first being conquered, humans tried to get into the city, but their efforts resulted in bloody battles with the current Martians, so eventually, the Mars Protectorate forbade any Earthmen from going near Kal-Jmar. The city has elaborate architecture and features a pair of twin towers. When Rector enters the city, he notices there is no dust, and the air is breathable. Doors open and close automatically. The room Rector enters has platinum ornaments set in the walls and the furniture. As Tate and Rector travel toward Kal-Jmar in their sand car outside of Lillis, they note that Mars has a deceptively low horizon. The surface contains a series of dunes, channels, and gullies that they have to cross. The gully they follow is extremely deep and steep, and from the bottom, they can only see a small section of the sky. When the Martians take Tate and Rector to their cavern, it is approximately nine kilometers below the gully they were in. There is a sense of moisture in the tunnel they take to the Martians’ cavern. In the cavern, the walls are covered with a phosphorescent glowing fungus, and there is air, although not enough for the humans to use. Some of the Martians eat the fungus.

What is the fate of Harold Tate in the tale Doorway to Kal-Jmar? [SEP] <s>Kal-Jmar was the riddle of the Solar System. It was the only remainingcity of the ancient Martian race—the race that, legends said, hadrisen to greater heights than any other Solar culture. The machines,the artifacts, the records of the Martians were all there, perfectlypreserved inside the city's bubble-like dome, after God knew how manythousands of years. But they couldn't be reached. For Kal-Jmar's dome was not the thing of steelite that protectedLillis: it was a tenuous, globular field of force that defied analysisas it defied explosives and diamond drills. The field extended bothabove and below the ground, and tunneling was of no avail. No one knewwhat had happened to the Martians, whether they were the ancestors ofthe present decadent Martian race, or a different species. No one knewanything about them or about Kal-Jmar. In the early days, when the conquest of Mars was just beginning, Earthscientists had been wild to get into the city. They had observed itfrom every angle, taken photographs of its architecture and the robotsthat still patrolled its fantastically winding streets, and then theyhad tried everything they knew to pierce the wall. Later, however, when every unsuccessful attempt had precipitated abloody uprising of the present-day Martians—resulting in a rapiddwindling of the number of Martians—the Mars Protectorate had steppedin and forbidden any further experiments; forbidden, in fact, anyEarthman to go near the place. Thus matter had stood for over a hundred years, until Harold Tate.Tate, a physicist, had stumbled on a field that seemed to be identicalin properties to the Kal-Jmar dome; and what is more, he had found aforce that would break it down. And so he had made his first trip to Mars, and within twenty-fourhours, by the blindest of chances, blurted out his secret to SymeRector, the scourge of the spaceways, the man with a thousand creditson his sleek, tigerish head. Syme's smile was not tigerish now; it was carefully, studiedly mild.For Tate was no longer drunk, and it was important that it should notoccur to him that he had been indiscreet. This is native territory we're coming to, Harold, he said. Betterstrap on your gun. Why. Are they really dangerous? They're unpredictable, Syme told him. They're built differently, andthey think differently. They breathe like us, down in their cavernswhere there's air, but they also eat sand, and get their oxygen thatway. Yes, I've heard about that, Tate said. Iron oxide—very interestingmetabolism. He got his energy pistol out of the compartment andstrapped it on absently. Syme turned the little sand car up a gentle rise towards the tortuoushill country in the distance. Not only that, he continued. Theyeat the damndest stuff. Lichens and fungi and tumble-grass off thedeserts—all full of deadly poisons, from arsenic up the line toxopite. They seem intelligent enough—in their own way—but they nevercome near our cities and they either can't or won't learn Terrestrial.When the first colonists came here, they had to learn their crazylanguage. Every word of it can mean any one of a dozen differentthings, depending on the inflection you give it. I can speak it some,but not much. Nobody can. We don't think the same. So you think they might attack us? Tate asked again, nervously. They might do anything, Syme said curtly. Don't worry about it. The hills were much closer than they had seemed, because of Mars'deceptively low horizon. In half an hour they were in the midst of awilderness of fantastically eroded dunes and channels, laboring onsliding treads up the sides of steep hills only to slither down againon the other side. <doc-sep>Syme looked at the man, nursing the tortured muscles of his arms. Hisrescuer was tall and thin, of indeterminate age. He had light, sandyhair, a sharp nose, and—oddly conflicting—pale, serious eyes and ahumorous wide mouth. He was still panting. I'm not hurt, Syme said. He grinned, his white teeth flashing in hisdark, lean face. Thanks for giving me a hand. You scared hell out of me, said the man. I heard a thud. Ithought—you'd gone over. He looked at Syme questioningly. That was my bag, the outlaw said quickly. It slipped out of my hand,and I overbalanced myself when I grabbed for it. The man sighed. I need a drink. You need a drink. Come on. Hepicked up a small black suitcase from the floor and started for theelevator, then stopped. Oh—your bag. Shouldn't we do something aboutthat? Never mind, said Syme, taking his arm. The shock must have busted itwide open. My laundry is probably all over Lillis by now. They got off at the amusement level, three tiers down, and found acafe around the corner. Syme wasn't worried about the man he had justkilled. He had heard no second thud, so the body must have stayed onthe first outcropping of the tower it struck. It probably wouldn't befound until morning. And he had the wallet. When he paid for the first round of culcha , hetook it out and stole a glance at the identification card inside. Thereit was—his ticket to freedom. He began feeling expansive, and evenfriendly toward the slender, mouse-like man across the table. It wasthe culcha , of course. He knew it, and didn't care. In the morninghe'd find a freighter berth—in as big a spaceport as Lillis, therewere always jobs open. Meanwhile, he might as well enjoy himself, andit was safer to be seen with a companion than to be alone. He listened lazily to what the other was saying, leaning his tall,graceful body back into the softly-cushioned seat. Lissen, said Harold Tate. He leaned forward on one elbow, slipped,caught himself, and looked at the elbow reproachfully. Lissen, hesaid again, I trust you, Jones. You're obvi-obviously an adventurer,but you have an honest face. I can't see it very well at the moment,but I hic!—pardon—seem to recall it as an honest face. I'm going totell you something, because I need your help!—help. He paused. Ineed a guide. D'you know this part of Mars well? Sure, said Syme absently. Out in the center of the floor, an AGplate had been turned on. Five Venusian girls were diving and twistingin its influence, propelling themselves by the motion of theirdelicately-webbed feet and trailing long gauzy streamers of synthesilkafter them. Syme watched them through narrowed lids, feeling the glowof culcha inside him. I wanta go to Kal-Jmar, said Tate. Syme snapped to attention, every nerve tingling. An indefinable sense,a hunch that had served him well before, told him that something bigwas coming—something that promised adventure and loot for Syme Rector.Why? he asked softly. Why to Kal-Jmar? Harold Tate told him, and later, when Syme had taken him to his rooms,he showed him what was in his little black suitcase. Syme had beenright; it was big. <doc-sep>He stood then in the middle of the room, arms akimbo, his head swimmingwith glory—and remembered suddenly that he was hungry. He felt in thecontainer of his helmet, extracted a couple of food tablets, and poppedthem into his mouth. They would take care of his needs, but they didn't satisfy his hunger.No food tablets for him after this! Steaks, wines, souffles.... Hismouth began to water at the very thought. And then the robot rolled on soundless wheels into the room. Symewhirled and saw it only when it was almost upon him. The thing wasremarkably lifelike, and for a moment he was startled. But it was not alive. It was only a Martian feeding-machine, kept inrepair all these millennia by other robots. It was not intelligent,and so it did not know that its masters would never return. It did notknow, either, that Syme was not a Martian, or that he wanted a steak,and not the distilled liquor of the xopa fungus, which still grew inthe subterranean gardens of Kal-Jmar. It was capable only of receivingthe mental impulse of hunger, and of responding to that impulse. And so when Syme saw it and opened his mouth in startlement, therobot acted as it had done with its degenerate, slothful masters. Itsflexible feeding tube darted out and half down the man's gullet beforehe could move to avoid it. And down Syme Rector's throat poured a floodof xopa -juice, nectar to Martians, but swift, terrible death to humanbeings.... Outside, the last doorway to Kal-Jmar closed forever, across from thecold body of Tate. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the fate of Harold Tate in the tale Doorway to Kal-Jmar?

Harold Tate is a physicist who has developed a way to create an opening in the force field dome covering the ancient city of Kal-Jmar. Other humans have tried to enter, but none have succeeded. They have not been able to breach the force field, and efforts to do so led to bloody uprisings of current Martians, so the Mars Protectorate has forbidden any Earthmen to go there. Tate happens to be on the observation deck of the Founders’ Tower when Syme Rector is trying to pull himself back over the parapet after getting pulled over it by the patrolman’s body that he threw over the side. Tate invites Rector to have a drink with him, and when he is drunk, he tells Rector he trusts him because he has an honest face. Tate asks Rector to be his guide to Kal-Jmar and tells him about the device he invented. Tate sees the boulder that the Martians lob toward their sand car when they are in the gully and saves their lives by using a steering level to flip the car around and out of the main path of the boulder.When the Martians take the two men to their subterranean cavern and reveal that they can speak Terrestrial, Tate asks the leader many questions about the Martians. When the leader of the Martians starts to shoot him, Rector saves Tate by hitting the Martian, wrestling his gun away, and shooting the rest of the Martians while Tate cowers against the wall. When they reach Kal-Jmar, Tate uses his device to open the force field, but then Rector shoots him. As he is dying, Tate warns Rector that he will be sorry.

What tools does Syme Rector rely on to stay alive in Doorway to Kal-Jmar? [SEP] <s>He stood then in the middle of the room, arms akimbo, his head swimmingwith glory—and remembered suddenly that he was hungry. He felt in thecontainer of his helmet, extracted a couple of food tablets, and poppedthem into his mouth. They would take care of his needs, but they didn't satisfy his hunger.No food tablets for him after this! Steaks, wines, souffles.... Hismouth began to water at the very thought. And then the robot rolled on soundless wheels into the room. Symewhirled and saw it only when it was almost upon him. The thing wasremarkably lifelike, and for a moment he was startled. But it was not alive. It was only a Martian feeding-machine, kept inrepair all these millennia by other robots. It was not intelligent,and so it did not know that its masters would never return. It did notknow, either, that Syme was not a Martian, or that he wanted a steak,and not the distilled liquor of the xopa fungus, which still grew inthe subterranean gardens of Kal-Jmar. It was capable only of receivingthe mental impulse of hunger, and of responding to that impulse. And so when Syme saw it and opened his mouth in startlement, therobot acted as it had done with its degenerate, slothful masters. Itsflexible feeding tube darted out and half down the man's gullet beforehe could move to avoid it. And down Syme Rector's throat poured a floodof xopa -juice, nectar to Martians, but swift, terrible death to humanbeings.... Outside, the last doorway to Kal-Jmar closed forever, across from thecold body of Tate. <doc-sep> Doorway to Kal-Jmar By Stuart Fleming Two men had died before Syme Rector's guns to give him the key to the ancient city of Kal-Jmar—a city of untold wealth, and of robots that made desires instant commands. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The tall man loitered a moment before a garish window display, his eyesimpassive in his space-burned face, as the Lillis patrolman passed.Then he turned, burying his long chin in the folds of his sand cape,and took up the pursuit of the dark figure ahead once more. Above, the city's multicolored lights were reflected from thetranslucent Dome—a distant, subtly distorted Lillis, through which thestars shone dimly. Getting through that dome had been his first urgent problem, but now hehad another, and a more pressing one. It had been simple enough to passhimself off as an itinerant prospector and gain entrance to the city,after his ship had crashed in the Mare Cimmerium. But the rest wouldnot be so simple. He had to acquire a spaceman's identity card, and hehad to do it fast. It was only a matter of time until the TriplanetPatrol gave up the misleading trail he had made into the hill country,and concluded that he must have reached Lillis. After that, his onlysafety lay in shipping out on a freighter as soon as possible. He hadto get off Mars, because his trail was warm, and the Patrol thorough. They knew, of course, that he was an outlaw—the very fact of thecrashed, illegally-armed ship would have told them that. But theydidn't know that he was Syme Rector, the most-wanted and most-fearedraider in the System. In that was his only advantage. He walked a little faster, as his quarry turned up a side street andthen boarded a moving ramp to an upper level. He watched until theshort, wide-shouldered figure in spaceman's harness disappeared overthe top of the ramp, and then followed. The man was waiting for him at the mouth of the ascending tunnel. Syme looked at him casually, without a flicker of expression, andstarted to walk on, but the other stepped into his path. He was quiteyoung, Syme saw, with a fighter's shoulders under the white leather,and a hard, determined thrust to his firm jaw. All right, the boy said quietly. What is it? I don't understand, Syme said. The game, the angle. You've been following me. Do you want trouble? Why, no, Syme told him bewilderedly. I haven't been following you.I— The boy knuckled his chin reflectively. You could be lying, he saidfinally. But maybe I've made a mistake. Then—Okay, citizen, you canclear—but don't let me catch you on my tail again. Syme murmured something and turned away, feeling the spaceman's eyeson the small of his back until he turned the corner. At the nextstreet he took a ramp up, crossed over and came down on the other sidea block away. He waited until he saw the boy's broad figure pass theintersection, and then followed again more cautiously. It was risky, but there was no other way. The signatures, the data,even the photograph on the card could be forged once Syme got his handson it, but the identity card itself—that oblong of dark diamondite,glowing with the tiny fires of radioactivity—that could not beimitated, and the only way to get it was to kill. Up ahead was the Founders' Tower, the tallest building in Lillis. Theboy strode into the entrance lobby, bought a ticket for the observationplatform, and took the elevator. As soon as his car was out of sight inthe transparent tube, Syme followed. He put a half-credit slug into themachine, took the punctured slip of plastic that came out. The ticketwent into a scanning slot in the wall of the car, and the elevatorwhisked him up. <doc-sep>Syme looked at the man, nursing the tortured muscles of his arms. Hisrescuer was tall and thin, of indeterminate age. He had light, sandyhair, a sharp nose, and—oddly conflicting—pale, serious eyes and ahumorous wide mouth. He was still panting. I'm not hurt, Syme said. He grinned, his white teeth flashing in hisdark, lean face. Thanks for giving me a hand. You scared hell out of me, said the man. I heard a thud. Ithought—you'd gone over. He looked at Syme questioningly. That was my bag, the outlaw said quickly. It slipped out of my hand,and I overbalanced myself when I grabbed for it. The man sighed. I need a drink. You need a drink. Come on. Hepicked up a small black suitcase from the floor and started for theelevator, then stopped. Oh—your bag. Shouldn't we do something aboutthat? Never mind, said Syme, taking his arm. The shock must have busted itwide open. My laundry is probably all over Lillis by now. They got off at the amusement level, three tiers down, and found acafe around the corner. Syme wasn't worried about the man he had justkilled. He had heard no second thud, so the body must have stayed onthe first outcropping of the tower it struck. It probably wouldn't befound until morning. And he had the wallet. When he paid for the first round of culcha , hetook it out and stole a glance at the identification card inside. Thereit was—his ticket to freedom. He began feeling expansive, and evenfriendly toward the slender, mouse-like man across the table. It wasthe culcha , of course. He knew it, and didn't care. In the morninghe'd find a freighter berth—in as big a spaceport as Lillis, therewere always jobs open. Meanwhile, he might as well enjoy himself, andit was safer to be seen with a companion than to be alone. He listened lazily to what the other was saying, leaning his tall,graceful body back into the softly-cushioned seat. Lissen, said Harold Tate. He leaned forward on one elbow, slipped,caught himself, and looked at the elbow reproachfully. Lissen, hesaid again, I trust you, Jones. You're obvi-obviously an adventurer,but you have an honest face. I can't see it very well at the moment,but I hic!—pardon—seem to recall it as an honest face. I'm going totell you something, because I need your help!—help. He paused. Ineed a guide. D'you know this part of Mars well? Sure, said Syme absently. Out in the center of the floor, an AGplate had been turned on. Five Venusian girls were diving and twistingin its influence, propelling themselves by the motion of theirdelicately-webbed feet and trailing long gauzy streamers of synthesilkafter them. Syme watched them through narrowed lids, feeling the glowof culcha inside him. I wanta go to Kal-Jmar, said Tate. Syme snapped to attention, every nerve tingling. An indefinable sense,a hunch that had served him well before, told him that something bigwas coming—something that promised adventure and loot for Syme Rector.Why? he asked softly. Why to Kal-Jmar? Harold Tate told him, and later, when Syme had taken him to his rooms,he showed him what was in his little black suitcase. Syme had beenright; it was big. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What tools does Syme Rector rely on to stay alive in Doorway to Kal-Jmar?

Rector carries a pistol that, when shot, is silent. This enables him to shoot the young patrolman without drawing attention to himself or making people aware that there has been a shooting. In the sand car, Rector relies on the car’s metal arm and thick wire cable to travel down into the gully. He has harpoon guns that he and Tate can use later if they need to climb back out of the gully. After Rector battles with the Martians and shoots them, he uses a tube of sealing liquid that he carries in his emergency kit to seal the tear in his suit so that he stops losing oxygen. He also uses the sealant to close the wound in his leg from the graze of one of the Benson guns the Martians fired at him. Rector and Tate use oxygen tanks and space suits in their journey to Kal-Jmar because there is not enough air for them to breathe without these items. When he is hungry, Rector takes two food tablets that he carries in his helmet.

What can be said about the Martians featured in Doorway to Kal-Jmar? [SEP] <s>He stood then in the middle of the room, arms akimbo, his head swimmingwith glory—and remembered suddenly that he was hungry. He felt in thecontainer of his helmet, extracted a couple of food tablets, and poppedthem into his mouth. They would take care of his needs, but they didn't satisfy his hunger.No food tablets for him after this! Steaks, wines, souffles.... Hismouth began to water at the very thought. And then the robot rolled on soundless wheels into the room. Symewhirled and saw it only when it was almost upon him. The thing wasremarkably lifelike, and for a moment he was startled. But it was not alive. It was only a Martian feeding-machine, kept inrepair all these millennia by other robots. It was not intelligent,and so it did not know that its masters would never return. It did notknow, either, that Syme was not a Martian, or that he wanted a steak,and not the distilled liquor of the xopa fungus, which still grew inthe subterranean gardens of Kal-Jmar. It was capable only of receivingthe mental impulse of hunger, and of responding to that impulse. And so when Syme saw it and opened his mouth in startlement, therobot acted as it had done with its degenerate, slothful masters. Itsflexible feeding tube darted out and half down the man's gullet beforehe could move to avoid it. And down Syme Rector's throat poured a floodof xopa -juice, nectar to Martians, but swift, terrible death to humanbeings.... Outside, the last doorway to Kal-Jmar closed forever, across from thecold body of Tate. <doc-sep>It was a weird situation, Syme thought. His mind was racing, but as yethe could see no way out. He began to wonder, if he did, could he keepthe Martians from knowing about it? Then he realized that the Martianmust have received that thought, too, and he was enraged. He stood,holding himself in check with an effort. Will you tell us why? Tate asked. You were brought here for that purpose. It is part of our conceptionof justice. I will tell you and your—friend—anything you wish toknow. Syme noticed that the other Martians had retired to the farther side ofthe cavern. Some were munching the glowing fungus. That left only theleader, who was standing alertly on all fours a short distance awayfrom them, holding the Benson gun trained on them. Syme tried not tothink about the gun, especially about making a grab for it. It was liketrying not to think of the word hippopotamus. Tate squatted down comfortably on the floor of the cavern, apparentlyunconcerned, but his hands were trembling slightly. First why— hebegan. There are many secrets in Kal-Jmar, the Martian said, among them avery simple catalyzing agent which could within fifty years transformMars to a planet with Terrestrially-thick atmosphere. I think I see, Tate said thoughtfully. That's been the ultimate aimall along, but so far the problem has us licked. If we solved it, thenwe'd have all of Mars, not just the cities. Your people would die out.You couldn't have that, of course. He sighed deeply. He spread his gloved hands before him and lookedat them with a queer intentness. Well—how about the Martians—theKal-Jmar Martians, I mean? I'd dearly love to know the answer to thatone. Neither of the alternatives in your mind is correct. They were not aseparate species, although they were unlike us. But they were not ourancestors, either. They were the contemporaries of our ancestors. Several thousand years ago Mars' loss of atmosphere began to makeitself felt. There were two ways out. Some chose to seal themselvesinto cities like Kal-Jmar; our ancestors chose to adapt their bodies tothe new conditions. Thus the race split. Their answer to the problemwas an evasion; they remained static. Our answer was the true one, forwe progressed. We progressed beyond the need of science; they remainedits slaves. They died of a plague—and other causes. You see, he finished gently, our deception has caused a naturalconfusion in your minds. They were the degenerates, not we. And yet, Tate mused, you are being destroyed by contact withan—inferior—culture. We hope to win yet, the Martian said. Tate stood up, his face very white. Tell me one thing, he begged.Will our two races ever live together in amity? The Martian lowered his head. That is for unborn generations. Helooked at Tate again and aimed the energy gun. You are a brave man,he said. I am sorry. Syme saw all his hopes of treasure and glory go glimmering down thesights of the Martian's Benson gun, and suddenly the pent-up rage inhim exploded. Too swiftly for his intention to be telegraphed, beforehe knew himself what he meant to do, he hurled himself bodily into theMartian. <doc-sep>Kal-Jmar was the riddle of the Solar System. It was the only remainingcity of the ancient Martian race—the race that, legends said, hadrisen to greater heights than any other Solar culture. The machines,the artifacts, the records of the Martians were all there, perfectlypreserved inside the city's bubble-like dome, after God knew how manythousands of years. But they couldn't be reached. For Kal-Jmar's dome was not the thing of steelite that protectedLillis: it was a tenuous, globular field of force that defied analysisas it defied explosives and diamond drills. The field extended bothabove and below the ground, and tunneling was of no avail. No one knewwhat had happened to the Martians, whether they were the ancestors ofthe present decadent Martian race, or a different species. No one knewanything about them or about Kal-Jmar. In the early days, when the conquest of Mars was just beginning, Earthscientists had been wild to get into the city. They had observed itfrom every angle, taken photographs of its architecture and the robotsthat still patrolled its fantastically winding streets, and then theyhad tried everything they knew to pierce the wall. Later, however, when every unsuccessful attempt had precipitated abloody uprising of the present-day Martians—resulting in a rapiddwindling of the number of Martians—the Mars Protectorate had steppedin and forbidden any further experiments; forbidden, in fact, anyEarthman to go near the place. Thus matter had stood for over a hundred years, until Harold Tate.Tate, a physicist, had stumbled on a field that seemed to be identicalin properties to the Kal-Jmar dome; and what is more, he had found aforce that would break it down. And so he had made his first trip to Mars, and within twenty-fourhours, by the blindest of chances, blurted out his secret to SymeRector, the scourge of the spaceways, the man with a thousand creditson his sleek, tigerish head. Syme's smile was not tigerish now; it was carefully, studiedly mild.For Tate was no longer drunk, and it was important that it should notoccur to him that he had been indiscreet. This is native territory we're coming to, Harold, he said. Betterstrap on your gun. Why. Are they really dangerous? They're unpredictable, Syme told him. They're built differently, andthey think differently. They breathe like us, down in their cavernswhere there's air, but they also eat sand, and get their oxygen thatway. Yes, I've heard about that, Tate said. Iron oxide—very interestingmetabolism. He got his energy pistol out of the compartment andstrapped it on absently. Syme turned the little sand car up a gentle rise towards the tortuoushill country in the distance. Not only that, he continued. Theyeat the damndest stuff. Lichens and fungi and tumble-grass off thedeserts—all full of deadly poisons, from arsenic up the line toxopite. They seem intelligent enough—in their own way—but they nevercome near our cities and they either can't or won't learn Terrestrial.When the first colonists came here, they had to learn their crazylanguage. Every word of it can mean any one of a dozen differentthings, depending on the inflection you give it. I can speak it some,but not much. Nobody can. We don't think the same. So you think they might attack us? Tate asked again, nervously. They might do anything, Syme said curtly. Don't worry about it. The hills were much closer than they had seemed, because of Mars'deceptively low horizon. In half an hour they were in the midst of awilderness of fantastically eroded dunes and channels, laboring onsliding treads up the sides of steep hills only to slither down againon the other side. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What can be said about the Martians featured in Doorway to Kal-Jmar?

From the humans' perspective, the Martians are strange, unpredictable beings. They eat sand to get their oxygen, and lichens, fungi, and tumble-grass from the deserts, all of which contain substances like arsenic that are deadly poisons to humans. The humans believe the Martians cannot or will not learn their language, Terrestrial, and that they have their own language. In it, every word can have multiple meanings depending on the inflection used by the speaker. In truth, the Martians have been telepathic for several thousand years because the planet is practically airless. They are clever and only pretend not to understand Terrestrial, and they make up their complicated language to deceive the humans. Martians want no contact with humans because the Martians have nothing to gain from contact with them. They see the humans as imperialistic. They plan to kill Rector and Tate as part of their concept of justice. The Martians know that Kal-Jmar holds the secret that would make Mars have an Earthlike atmosphere within fifty years. The ancient Kal-Jmar Martians were the contemporaries of the current Martians' ancestors. When the atmosphere of Mars began thinning several thousand years earlier, the Kal-Jmar Martians sealed themselves in their dome where they died of plague and other causes, while the other Martians adapted to the change. The Martians look like they have six legs but really have four legs and two arms. Their torsos bulge because they have a huge air bladder. They look a bit like dogs but have high foreheads and lips that are not split. They are covered with patches of black and white fur; with their muscles, they can control the patches so that they are primarily black or white, depending on the temperature. They can use weapons and are armed with spears and Benson guns when they confront Rector and Tate.

Can you provide a brief summary of the storyline in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN by KEITH LAUMER Retief knew the importance of sealed orders—and the need to keep them that way! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It's true, Consul Passwyn said, I requested assignment as principalofficer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resortworlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressedspaceman or two a year. Instead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confoundedsettlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight! He stared glumlyat Vice-Consul Retief. Still, Retief said, it gives an opportunity to travel— Travel! the consul barked. I hate travel. Here in this backwatersystem particularly— He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared histhroat. Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent thing for ajunior officer. Marvelous experience. He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagramappeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger diskrepresenting the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating theinnermost planet. The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—amere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble withan intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't think why theybother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However Ihave, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters totake certain action. He swung back to face Retief. I'm sending youin to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders. He pickedup a fat buff envelope. A pity they didn't see fit to order theTerrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late.I'm expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrialand Adoban and a division of territory. It's idiotic. However, failurewould look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results. He passed the buff envelope across to Retief. I understood that Adobe was uninhabited, Retief said, until theTerrestrial settlers arrived. Apparently, that was an erroneous impression. Passwyn fixed Retiefwith a watery eye. You'll follow your instructions to the letter. In adelicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptuelement introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail atSector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear? Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe? Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions,you'd best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less thanan hour. What's this native life form like? Retief asked, getting to his feet. When you get back, said Passwyn, you tell me. <doc-sep>Twenty minutes' walk into the desert brought Retief to a low rampartof thorn branches: the Flap-jacks' outer defensive line against Terryforays. It would be as good a place as any to wait for the move by theFlap-jacks. He sat down and eased the weight of his captive off hisback, but kept a firm thumb in place. If his analysis of the situationwas correct, a Flap-jack picket should be along before too long.... A penetrating beam of red light struck Retief in the face, blinked off.He got to his feet. The captive Flap-jack rippled its fringe in anagitated way. Retief tensed his thumb in the eye-socket. Sit tight, he said. Don't try to do anything hasty.... His remarkswere falling on deaf ears—or no ears at all—but the thumb spoke asloudly as words. There was a slither of sand. Another. He became aware of a ring ofpresences drawing closer. Retief tightened his grip on the alien. He could see a dark shape now,looming up almost to his own six-three. It looked like the Flap-jackscame in all sizes. A low rumble sounded, like a deep-throated growl. It strummed on, fadedout. Retief cocked his head, frowning. Try it two octaves higher, he said. Awwrrp! Sorry. Is that better? a clear voice came from the darkness. That's fine, Retief said. I'm here to arrange a prisoner exchange. Prisoners? But we have no prisoners. Sure you have. Me. Is it a deal? Ah, yes, of course. Quite equitable. What guarantees do you require? The word of a gentleman is sufficient. Retief released the alien. Itflopped once, disappeared into the darkness. If you'd care to accompany me to our headquarters, the voice said,we can discuss our mutual concerns in comfort. Delighted. Red lights blinked briefly. Retief glimpsed a gap in the thornybarrier, stepped through it. He followed dim shapes across warm sand toa low cave-like entry, faintly lit with a reddish glow. I must apologize for the awkward design of our comfort-dome, said thevoice. Had we known we would be honored by a visit— Think nothing of it, Retief said. We diplomats are trained to crawl. Inside, with knees bent and head ducked under the five-foot ceiling,Retief looked around at the walls of pink-toned nacre, a floor likeburgundy-colored glass spread with silken rugs and a low table ofpolished red granite that stretched down the center of the spaciousroom, set out with silver dishes and rose-crystal drinking-tubes. III Let me congratulate you, the voice said. Retief turned. An immense Flap-jack, hung with crimson trappings,rippled at his side. The voice issued from a disk strapped to its back.You fight well. I think we will find in each other worthy adversaries. Thanks. I'm sure the test would be interesting, but I'm hoping we canavoid it. Avoid it? Retief heard a low humming coming from the speaker in thesilence. Well, let us dine, the mighty Flap-jack said at last. Wecan resolve these matters later. I am called Hoshick of the Mosaic ofthe Two Dawns. I'm Retief. Hoshick waited expectantly, ... of the Mountain of RedTape, Retief added. Take place, Retief, said Hoshick. I hope you won't find our rudecouches uncomfortable. Two other large Flap-jacks came into the room,communed silently with Hoshick. Pray forgive our lack of translatingdevices, he said to Retief. Permit me to introduce my colleagues.... A small Flap-jack rippled the chamber bearing on its back a silver trayladen with aromatic food. The waiter served the four diners, filled thedrinking tubes with yellow wine. It smelled good. I trust you'll find these dishes palatable, said Hoshick. Ourmetabolisms are much alike, I believe. Retief tried the food. It had adelicious nut-like flavor. The wine was indistinguishable from Chateaud'Yquem. It was an unexpected pleasure to encounter your party here,said Hoshick. I confess at first we took you for an indigenousearth-grubbing form, but we were soon disabused of that notion. Heraised a tube, manipulating it deftly with his fringe tentacles. Retiefreturned the salute and drank. Of course, Hoshick continued, as soon as we realized that you weresportsmen like ourselves, we attempted to make amends by providing abit of activity for you. We've ordered out our heavier equipment and afew trained skirmishers and soon we'll be able to give you an adequateshow. Or so I hope. Additional skirmishers? said Retief. How many, if you don't mind myasking? For the moment, perhaps only a few hundred. There-after ... well,I'm sure we can arrange that between us. Personally I would prefer acontest of limited scope. No nuclear or radiation-effect weapons. Sucha bore, screening the spawn for deviations. Though I confess we've comeupon some remarkably useful sports. The rangerform such as you madecaptive, for example. Simple-minded, of course, but a fantasticallykeen tracker. Oh, by all means, Retief said. No atomics. As you pointed out,spawn-sorting is a nuisance, and then too, it's wasteful of troops. Ah, well, they are after all expendable. But we agree: no atomics.Have you tried the ground-gwack eggs? Rather a specialty of myMosaic.... Delicious, said Retief. I wonder. Have you considered eliminatingweapons altogether? <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a brief summary of the storyline in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN?

The story begins with Consul Passwyn giving an assignment in a sealed envelope to Vice-Consul Retief, who is a diplomat with the Embassy. His mission is to visit the planet of Adobe and broker a land treaty between the Terrestrial settlers and an invading species, the Jaq. Before Retief leaves, Passwyn stresses the importance of following his orders exactly as written and acknowledges that no one from the Embassy has visited Adobe before, nor do they know the characteristics of the Jaq. Retief gets a ride to Adobe on a mail carrier with the help of a veteran pilot. When the pilot discovers they are entering the planet in the midst of war, he decides to leave on a lifeboat and gives control of the skiff to Retief. Then, Retief crash lands the skiff in order to avoid being blown up by a fission missile that was tracking him on his course. He lands in the middle of an Adoban oasis and immediately encounters a Terrestrial man named Potter, who confuses him for the cousin of one of his associates, Lemuel. Potter tells Retief about his group's history with the Jaqs, whom he refers to as Flap-jacks due to their wide, flat, tentacled bodies. Along with a team of settlers including Swazey, Lemuel, and Bert, Potter has been spending his days protecting his farms against attacks by the Jaqs after they mistakenly killed one three months prior, having mistaken it for one of the native species. Potter and his team do not trust the Embassy, having heard they are sending a representative to tell them to ceded control of the oases to the Jaqs. When they discover Retief is not Lemuel's cousin, Lemuel confronts Retief, who swiftly establishes his authority by knocking him out cold. When the group senses a Jaq nearby, Retief insists on dealing with the issue by himself. He hunts down the Jaq, they wrestle, and he assumes control by pressing his thumb against the Jaq’s eye hole. The captive Jaq leads Retief to the Jaq headquarters, where he is introduced to their leader, Hoshick. Retief discovers the affability of the species and particularly their penchant for proper sportsmanship. He uses this knowledge to his advantage, and convinces Hoshick that it would be more sportsmanlike to abandon the war efforts and solve their differences through a simple wrestling match. Once again, he wins the match by squeezing his thumb against Hoshick’s eye hole, and he convinces Hoshick to agree to cede control of the entirety of the oases to the Terrestrials and his people would be gifted all of the planets’ desert areas. Upon returning to the Embassy, Retief tells Consul Passwyn the good news and then burns the envelope Passwyn had given him at the beginning of the story.

How do the Jaqs and Terrestrials interact with each other in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN? [SEP] <s> RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN by KEITH LAUMER Retief knew the importance of sealed orders—and the need to keep them that way! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It's true, Consul Passwyn said, I requested assignment as principalofficer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resortworlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressedspaceman or two a year. Instead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confoundedsettlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight! He stared glumlyat Vice-Consul Retief. Still, Retief said, it gives an opportunity to travel— Travel! the consul barked. I hate travel. Here in this backwatersystem particularly— He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared histhroat. Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent thing for ajunior officer. Marvelous experience. He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagramappeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger diskrepresenting the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating theinnermost planet. The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—amere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble withan intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't think why theybother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However Ihave, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters totake certain action. He swung back to face Retief. I'm sending youin to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders. He pickedup a fat buff envelope. A pity they didn't see fit to order theTerrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late.I'm expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrialand Adoban and a division of territory. It's idiotic. However, failurewould look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results. He passed the buff envelope across to Retief. I understood that Adobe was uninhabited, Retief said, until theTerrestrial settlers arrived. Apparently, that was an erroneous impression. Passwyn fixed Retiefwith a watery eye. You'll follow your instructions to the letter. In adelicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptuelement introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail atSector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear? Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe? Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions,you'd best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less thanan hour. What's this native life form like? Retief asked, getting to his feet. When you get back, said Passwyn, you tell me. <doc-sep>Retief turned. A tall Groacian vibrated his mandibles in a gestureof contempt. From his bluish throat coloration, it was apparent thecreature was drunk. To choke in your upper sac, the bartender hissed, extending his eyestoward the drunk. To keep silent, litter-mate of drones. To swallow your own poison, dispenser of vileness, the drunkwhispered. To find a proper cage for this zoo-piece. He waveredtoward Retief. To show this one in the streets, like all freaks. Seen a lot of freaks like me, have you? Retief asked, interestedly. To speak intelligibly, malodorous outworlder, the drunk said. Thebarkeep whispered something, and two customers came up to the drunk,took his arms and helped him to the door. To get a cage! the drunk shrilled. To keep the animals in their ownstinking place. I've changed my mind, Retief said to the bartender. To be gratefulas hell, but to have to hurry off now. He followed the drunk out thedoor. The other Groaci released him, hurried back inside. Retief lookedat the weaving alien. To begone, freak, the Groacian whispered. To be pals, Retief said. To be kind to dumb animals. To have you hauled away to a stockyard, ill-odored foreign livestock. To not be angry, fragrant native, Retief said. To permit me to chumwith you. To flee before I take a cane to you! To have a drink together— To not endure such insolence! The Groacian advanced toward Retief.Retief backed away. To hold hands, Retief said. To be palsy-walsy— The Groacian reached for him, missed. A passer-by stepped around him,head down, scuttled away. Retief backed into the opening to a narrowcrossway and offered further verbal familiarities to the drunken local,who followed, furious. Retief backed, rounded a corner into a narrowalley-like passage, deserted, silent ... except for the followingGroacian. Retief stepped around him, seized his collar and yanked. The Groacianfell on his back. Retief stood over him. The downed native half-rose;Retief put a foot against his chest and pushed. To not be going anywhere for a few minutes, Retief said. To stayright here and have a nice long talk. II There you are! Miss Meuhl said, eyeing Retief over her lenses. Thereare two gentlemen waiting to see you. Groacian gentlemen. Government men, I imagine. Word travels fast. Retief pulled off hiscape. This saves me the trouble of paying another call at the ForeignMinistry. What have you been doing? They seem very upset, I don't mind tellingyou. I'm sure you don't. Come along. And bring an official recorder. Two Groaci wearing heavy eye-shields and elaborate crest ornamentsindicative of rank rose as Retief entered the room. Neither offered acourteous snap of the mandibles, Retief noted. They were mad, all right. I am Fith, of the Terrestrial Desk, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Mr.Consul, the taller Groacian said, in lisping Terran. May I presentShluh, of the Internal Police? Sit down, gentlemen, Retief said. They resumed their seats. MissMeuhl hovered nervously, then sat on the edge of a comfortless chair. Oh, it's such a pleasure— she began. Never mind that, Retief said. These gentlemen didn't come here tosip tea today. So true, Fith said. Frankly, I have had a most disturbing report,Mr. Consul. I shall ask Shluh to recount it. He nodded to the policechief. One hour ago, The Groacian said, a Groacian national was broughtto hospital suffering from serious contusions. Questioning of thisindividual revealed that he had been set upon and beaten by aforeigner. A Terrestrial, to be precise. Investigation by my departmentindicates that the description of the culprit closely matches that ofthe Terrestrial Consul. Miss Meuhl gasped audibly. Have you ever heard, Retief said, looking steadily at Fith, of aTerrestrial cruiser, the ISV Terrific , which dropped from sight inthis sector nine years ago? Really! Miss Meuhl exclaimed, rising. I wash my hands— Just keep that recorder going, Retief snapped. I'll not be a party— You'll do as you're told, Miss Meuhl, Retief said quietly. I'mtelling you to make an official sealed record of this conversation. Miss Meuhl sat down. Fith puffed out his throat indignantly. You reopen an old wound,Mr. Consul. It reminds us of certain illegal treatment at Terrestrialhands— Hogwash, Retief said. That tune went over with my predecessors, butit hits a sour note with me. All our efforts, Miss Meuhl said, to live down that terribleepisode! And you— Terrible? I understand that a Terrestrial task force stood off Groacand sent a delegation down to ask questions. They got some funnyanswers, and stayed on to dig around a little. After a week they left.Somewhat annoying to the Groaci, maybe—at the most. If they wereinnocent. IF! Miss Meuhl burst out. If, indeed! Fith said, his weak voice trembling. I must protestyour— <doc-sep>Save the protests, Fith. You have some explaining to do. And I don'tthink your story will be good enough. It is for you to explain! This person who was beaten— Not beaten. Just rapped a few times to loosen his memory. Then you admit— It worked, too. He remembered lots of things, once he put his mind toit. Fith rose; Shluh followed suit. I shall ask for your immediate recall, Mr. Consul. Were it not foryour diplomatic immunity, I should do more— Why did the government fall, Fith? It was just after the task forcepaid its visit, and before the arrival of the first Terrestrialdiplomatic mission. This is an internal matter! Fith cried, in his faint Groacian voice.The new regime has shown itself most amiable to you Terrestrials. Ithas outdone itself— —to keep the Terrestrial consul and his staff in the dark, Retiefsaid. And the same goes for the few terrestrial businessmen you'vevisaed. This continual round of culture; no social contacts outside thediplomatic circle; no travel permits to visit out-lying districts, oryour satellite— Enough! Fith's mandibles quivered in distress. I can talk no more ofthis matter— You'll talk to me, or there'll be a task force here in five days to dothe talking, Retief said. You can't! Miss Meuhl gasped. Retief turned a steady look on Miss Meuhl. She closed her mouth. TheGroaci sat down. Answer me this one, Retief said, looking at Shluh. A few yearsback—about nine, I think—there was a little parade held here. Somecurious looking creatures were captured. After being securely caged,they were exhibited to the gentle Groaci public. Hauled through thestreets. Very educational, no doubt. A highly cultural show. Funny thing about these animals. They wore clothes. They seemed tocommunicate with each other. Altogether it was a very amusing exhibit. Tell me, Shluh, what happened to those six Terrestrials after theparade was over? <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do the Jaqs and Terrestrials interact with each other in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN?

The Jaq are a flat, wide-bodied species with tentacles and a tender orifice at the center of their bodies where a human chest would normally be. They are led by Hoshick, who has a strong interest in mining the deserts of Adobe for a special lichen used to craft their yellow wine. This wine would then be sold to planets across the universe. The Jaq make their headquarters in the desert. In the scattered oases of Adobe, the Terrestrial settlers have built farms in the rich soil of the planet's surface. The Terrestrials refer to the Jaq as Flap-jacks due to their unique physicality. One day, a Terrestrial man mistakes a Jaq for one of Adobe's native species, and he shoots and kills it. This ignites a war between the two groups. The central Terrestrials featured in the story--Potter, Lemuel, Bert, and Swazey--require assistance from their allies on Ivory because they only have three hundred men and are unsure they can defeat the Jaq. When the Embassy sends Retief to serve as an intermediary, he discovers that the two groups have similar interests--they each only want control of their separate areas. By craftily suggesting the use of weapons is no longer fashionable, Retief neutralizes the Jaq artillery and is able to convince both groups to reach a peace treaty. And, as it turns out, the Terrestrial settlements no longer have wine, so the adjacent existence of Jaq wine fields would have a mutual benefit.

In what location does the story of RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN occur? [SEP] <s> RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN by KEITH LAUMER Retief knew the importance of sealed orders—and the need to keep them that way! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It's true, Consul Passwyn said, I requested assignment as principalofficer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resortworlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressedspaceman or two a year. Instead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confoundedsettlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight! He stared glumlyat Vice-Consul Retief. Still, Retief said, it gives an opportunity to travel— Travel! the consul barked. I hate travel. Here in this backwatersystem particularly— He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared histhroat. Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent thing for ajunior officer. Marvelous experience. He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagramappeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger diskrepresenting the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating theinnermost planet. The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—amere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble withan intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't think why theybother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However Ihave, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters totake certain action. He swung back to face Retief. I'm sending youin to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders. He pickedup a fat buff envelope. A pity they didn't see fit to order theTerrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late.I'm expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrialand Adoban and a division of territory. It's idiotic. However, failurewould look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results. He passed the buff envelope across to Retief. I understood that Adobe was uninhabited, Retief said, until theTerrestrial settlers arrived. Apparently, that was an erroneous impression. Passwyn fixed Retiefwith a watery eye. You'll follow your instructions to the letter. In adelicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptuelement introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail atSector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear? Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe? Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions,you'd best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less thanan hour. What's this native life form like? Retief asked, getting to his feet. When you get back, said Passwyn, you tell me. <doc-sep>A scratchy sound issued from the disk. Pardon my laughter, Hoshicksaid, but surely you jest? As a matter of fact, said Retief, we ourselves seldom use weapons. I seem to recall that our first contact of skirmishforms involved theuse of a weapon by one of your units. My apologies, said Retief. The—ah—the skirmishform failed torecognize that he was dealing with a sportsman. Still, now that we have commenced so merrily with weapons.... Hoshicksignaled and the servant refilled tubes. There is an aspect I haven't yet mentioned, Retief went on. I hopeyou won't take this personally, but the fact is, our skirmishformsthink of weapons as something one employs only in dealing with certainspecific life-forms. Oh? Curious. What forms are those? Vermin. Or 'varmints' as some call them. Deadly antagonists, butlacking in caste. I don't want our skirmishforms thinking of suchworthy adversaries as yourself as varmints. Dear me! I hadn't realized, of course. Most considerate of you topoint it out. Hoshick clucked in dismay. I see that skirmishforms aremuch the same among you as with us: lacking in perception. He laughedscratchily. Imagine considering us as—what was the word?—varmints. Which brings us to the crux of the matter. You see, we're up againsta serious problem with regard to skirmishforms. A low birth rate.Therefore we've reluctantly taken to substitutes for the mass actionsso dear to the heart of the sportsman. We've attempted to put an end tothese contests altogether.... Hoshick coughed explosively, sending a spray of wine into the air.What are you saying? he gasped. Are you proposing that Hoshick ofthe Mosaic of the Two Dawns abandon honor....? Sir! said Retief sternly. You forget yourself. I, Retief of the RedTape Mountain, make an alternate proposal more in keeping with thenewest sporting principles. New? cried Hoshick. My dear Retief, what a pleasant surprise! I'menthralled with novel modes. One gets so out of touch. Do elaborate. It's quite simple, really. Each side selects a representative and thetwo individuals settle the issue between them. I ... um ... fear I don't understand. What possible significance couldone attach to the activities of a couple of random skirmishforms? I haven't made myself clear, said Retief. He took a sip of wine. Wedon't involve the skirmishforms at all. That's quite passe. You don't mean...? That's right. You and me. <doc-sep>The girls set up a shout and threw stones down at the centaurs, whoreared, pawed the air, and galloped to a safe distance, from which theyhurled back insults in a strange tongue. Their voices sounded faintlylike the neighing of horses. Amazons and centaurs, he thought again. He couldn't get the problemof the girls' phenomenal strength out of his mind. Then it occurredto him that the asteroid, most likely, was smaller even than Earth'smoon. He must weigh about a thirtieth of what he usually did, due tothe lessened gravity. It also occurred to him that they would be thirtytimes as strong. He was staggered. He wished he had a smoke. At length, the amazons and the centaurs tired of bandying insultsback and forth. The centaurs galloped off into the prairie, the girlsresumed their march. Jonathan scrambled up hills, skidded down slopes.The brunette was beside him helping him over the rough spots. I'm Olga, she confided. Has anybody ever told you what a handsomefellow you are? She pinched his cheek. Jonathan blushed. They climbed a ridge, paused at the crest. Below them, he saw a deepvalley. A stream tumbled through the center of it. There were treesalong its banks, the first he had seen on the asteroid. At the head ofthe valley, he made out the massive pile of a space liner. They started down a winding path. The space liner disappeared behinda promontory of the mountain. Jonathan steeled himself for the comingordeal. He would have sat down and refused to budge except that he knewthe girls would hoist him on their shoulders and bear him into the camplike a bag of meal. The trail debouched into the valley. Just ahead the space linerreappeared. He imagined that it had crashed into the mountain, skiddedand rolled down its side until it lodged beside the stream. It remindedhim of a wounded dinosaur. Three girls were bathing in the stream. Helooked away hastily. Someone hailed them from the space ship. We've caught a man, shrieked one of his captors. A flock of girls streamed out of the wrecked space ship. A man! screamed a husky blonde. She was wearing a grass skirt. Shehad green eyes. We're rescued! No. No, Ann Clotilde hastened to explain. He was wrecked like us. Oh, came a disappointed chorus. He's a man, said the green-eyed blonde. That's the next best thing. Oh, Olga, said a strapping brunette. Who'd ever thought a man couldlook so good? I did, said Olga. She chucked Jonathan under the chin. He shiveredlike an unbroken colt when the bit first goes in its mouth. He feltlike a mouse hemmed in by a ring of cats. A big rawboned brute of a girl strolled into the circle. She said,Dinner's ready. Her voice was loud, strident. It reminded him ofthe voices of girls in the honky tonks on Venus. She looked at himappraisingly as if he were a horse she was about to bid on. Bring himinto the ship, she said. The man must be starved. He was propelled jubilantly into the palatial dining salon of thewrecked liner. A long polished meturilium table occupied the center ofthe floor. Automatic weight distributing chairs stood around it. Hisfeet sank into a green fiberon carpet. He had stepped back into theThirty-fourth Century from the fabulous barbarian past. With a sigh of relief, he started to sit down. A lithe red-head sprangforward and held his chair. They all waited politely for him to beseated before they took their places. He felt silly. He felt likea captive princess. All the confidence engendered by the familiarsettings of the space ship went out of him like wind. He, JonathanFawkes, was a castaway on an asteroid inhabited by twenty-seven wildwomen. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] In what location does the story of RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN occur?

The story begins on the planet of Ivory, where Retief meets with his superior, Consul Passwyn. This seems to be the headquarters of the CDT, a kind of intergalactic governing body concerned with diplomatic efforts. The majority of the story's action takes place on the planet of Adobe. The planet is covered with vast deserts and spotted with several oases. The oases are like jungles with hot air, dense foliage, and dwarf trees along with a variety of wildlife from lizards to insects. They used to be sea-beds and therefore have rich soil for planting. The Terrestrials settlers live and built farms there. The Jaq built their headquarters in the midst of the deserts, where they prefer to stay for their rich resource of lichen used to produce wine. When Retief crash-lands on Adobe, he meets the Terrestrials in an oasis and eventually crosses over into the desert when he goes to consult with the leader of the Jaq, Hoshick. The Jaq headquarters is a comfort-dome with red lights, granite tables, fine silverware and glassware, pink walls, and a low-lying ceiling. Retief meets with Hoshick here and convinces him to engage in a skirmish. He then fights and defeats the leader outside the headquarters in the bright sand. After securing the deal, Retief returns to Ivory to report on the success of his mission.

"What role does wine play in the plot of RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN?" [SEP] <s> RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN by KEITH LAUMER Retief knew the importance of sealed orders—and the need to keep them that way! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It's true, Consul Passwyn said, I requested assignment as principalofficer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resortworlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressedspaceman or two a year. Instead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confoundedsettlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight! He stared glumlyat Vice-Consul Retief. Still, Retief said, it gives an opportunity to travel— Travel! the consul barked. I hate travel. Here in this backwatersystem particularly— He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared histhroat. Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent thing for ajunior officer. Marvelous experience. He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagramappeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger diskrepresenting the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating theinnermost planet. The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—amere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble withan intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't think why theybother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However Ihave, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters totake certain action. He swung back to face Retief. I'm sending youin to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders. He pickedup a fat buff envelope. A pity they didn't see fit to order theTerrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late.I'm expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrialand Adoban and a division of territory. It's idiotic. However, failurewould look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results. He passed the buff envelope across to Retief. I understood that Adobe was uninhabited, Retief said, until theTerrestrial settlers arrived. Apparently, that was an erroneous impression. Passwyn fixed Retiefwith a watery eye. You'll follow your instructions to the letter. In adelicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptuelement introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail atSector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear? Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe? Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions,you'd best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less thanan hour. What's this native life form like? Retief asked, getting to his feet. When you get back, said Passwyn, you tell me. <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up. Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback? Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest. We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men. That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base. It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers. Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose? Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews. Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice? <doc-sep>A scratchy sound issued from the disk. Pardon my laughter, Hoshicksaid, but surely you jest? As a matter of fact, said Retief, we ourselves seldom use weapons. I seem to recall that our first contact of skirmishforms involved theuse of a weapon by one of your units. My apologies, said Retief. The—ah—the skirmishform failed torecognize that he was dealing with a sportsman. Still, now that we have commenced so merrily with weapons.... Hoshicksignaled and the servant refilled tubes. There is an aspect I haven't yet mentioned, Retief went on. I hopeyou won't take this personally, but the fact is, our skirmishformsthink of weapons as something one employs only in dealing with certainspecific life-forms. Oh? Curious. What forms are those? Vermin. Or 'varmints' as some call them. Deadly antagonists, butlacking in caste. I don't want our skirmishforms thinking of suchworthy adversaries as yourself as varmints. Dear me! I hadn't realized, of course. Most considerate of you topoint it out. Hoshick clucked in dismay. I see that skirmishforms aremuch the same among you as with us: lacking in perception. He laughedscratchily. Imagine considering us as—what was the word?—varmints. Which brings us to the crux of the matter. You see, we're up againsta serious problem with regard to skirmishforms. A low birth rate.Therefore we've reluctantly taken to substitutes for the mass actionsso dear to the heart of the sportsman. We've attempted to put an end tothese contests altogether.... Hoshick coughed explosively, sending a spray of wine into the air.What are you saying? he gasped. Are you proposing that Hoshick ofthe Mosaic of the Two Dawns abandon honor....? Sir! said Retief sternly. You forget yourself. I, Retief of the RedTape Mountain, make an alternate proposal more in keeping with thenewest sporting principles. New? cried Hoshick. My dear Retief, what a pleasant surprise! I'menthralled with novel modes. One gets so out of touch. Do elaborate. It's quite simple, really. Each side selects a representative and thetwo individuals settle the issue between them. I ... um ... fear I don't understand. What possible significance couldone attach to the activities of a couple of random skirmishforms? I haven't made myself clear, said Retief. He took a sip of wine. Wedon't involve the skirmishforms at all. That's quite passe. You don't mean...? That's right. You and me. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] "What role does wine play in the plot of RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN?"

Wine is the essential reason the Jaq came to Adobe in the first place. Their leader, Hoshick, envisioned sourcing its vast deserts for lichen. This lichen would then be used to produce a yellow wine that could be sold to planets all around the universe. When Retief first meets Hoshick, the Jaq leader provides him with a rose-crystal drinking-tube, from which they are able to sample this wine. Retief notes that the wine tastes delicious and smells good and reminds him of Chateau d'Yquem. This detail reveals the Jaq's interest in the finer things in life, in appearing distinguished. This interest is reflected in all of the Jaq's interactions with Retief, including his ability to be coerced into hand-to-hand combat because he deems it a more modern, sportsmanlike way of resolving issues. Wine again becomes important after Retief wins the fight and gets Hoshick to agree to the terms of his proposed land treaty with the Terrestrials. After Hoshick agrees, Retief attempts to convince the Terrestrials to agree as well. After learning of the lack of wine within their settlements, Retief lets the Terrestrials sample the wine provided to him by the Jaq. Eventually, the Terrestrials agree to the arrangement as well. Therefore, the wine is also a symbol of the newfound peace between the two previously warring groups.

What role does the fission weapon play in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN? [SEP] <s> RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN by KEITH LAUMER Retief knew the importance of sealed orders—and the need to keep them that way! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It's true, Consul Passwyn said, I requested assignment as principalofficer at a small post. But I had in mind one of those charming resortworlds, with only an occasional visa problem, or perhaps a distressedspaceman or two a year. Instead, I'm zoo-keeper to these confoundedsettlers. And not for one world, mind you, but eight! He stared glumlyat Vice-Consul Retief. Still, Retief said, it gives an opportunity to travel— Travel! the consul barked. I hate travel. Here in this backwatersystem particularly— He paused, blinked at Retief and cleared histhroat. Not that a bit of travel isn't an excellent thing for ajunior officer. Marvelous experience. He turned to the wall-screen and pressed a button. A system triagramappeared: eight luminous green dots arranged around a larger diskrepresenting the primary. He picked up a pointer, indicating theinnermost planet. The situation on Adobe is nearing crisis. The confounded settlers—amere handful of them—have managed, as usual, to stir up trouble withan intelligent indigenous life form, the Jaq. I can't think why theybother, merely for a few oases among the endless deserts. However Ihave, at last, received authorization from Sector Headquarters totake certain action. He swung back to face Retief. I'm sending youin to handle the situation, Retief—under sealed orders. He pickedup a fat buff envelope. A pity they didn't see fit to order theTerrestrial settlers out weeks ago, as I suggested. Now it is too late.I'm expected to produce a miracle—a rapprochement between Terrestrialand Adoban and a division of territory. It's idiotic. However, failurewould look very bad in my record, so I shall expect results. He passed the buff envelope across to Retief. I understood that Adobe was uninhabited, Retief said, until theTerrestrial settlers arrived. Apparently, that was an erroneous impression. Passwyn fixed Retiefwith a watery eye. You'll follow your instructions to the letter. In adelicate situation such as this, there must be no impulsive, impromptuelement introduced. This approach has been worked out in detail atSector. You need merely implement it. Is that entirely clear? Has anyone at Headquarters ever visited Adobe? Of course not. They all hate travel. If there are no other questions,you'd best be on your way. The mail run departs the dome in less thanan hour. What's this native life form like? Retief asked, getting to his feet. When you get back, said Passwyn, you tell me. <doc-sep>The mail pilot, a leathery veteran with quarter-inch whiskers, spattoward a stained corner of the compartment, leaned close to the screen. They's shootin' goin' on down there, he said. See them white puffsover the edge of the desert? I'm supposed to be preventing the war, said Retief. It looks likeI'm a little late. The pilot's head snapped around. War? he yelped. Nobody told me theywas a war goin' on on 'Dobe. If that's what that is, I'm gettin' out ofhere. Hold on, said Retief. I've got to get down. They won't shoot at you. They shore won't, sonny. I ain't givin' 'em the chance. He startedpunching keys on the console. Retief reached out, caught his wrist. Maybe you didn't hear me. I said I've got to get down. The pilot plunged against the restraint, swung a punch that Retiefblocked casually. Are you nuts? the pilot screeched. They's plentyshootin' goin' on fer me to see it fifty miles out. The mail must go through, you know. Okay! You're so dead set on gettin' killed, you take the skiff. I'lltell 'em to pick up the remains next trip. You're a pal. I'll take your offer. The pilot jumped to the lifeboat hatch and cycled it open. Get in.We're closin' fast. Them birds might take it into their heads to lobone this way.... Retief crawled into the narrow cockpit of the skiff, glanced over thecontrols. The pilot ducked out of sight, came back, handed Retief aheavy old-fashioned power pistol. Long as you're goin' in, might aswell take this. Thanks. Retief shoved the pistol in his belt. I hope you're wrong. I'll see they pick you up when the shootin's over—one way or another. The hatch clanked shut. A moment later there was a jar as the skiffdropped away, followed by heavy buffeting in the backwash from thedeparting mail boat. Retief watched the tiny screen, hands on themanual controls. He was dropping rapidly: forty miles, thirty-nine.... A crimson blip showed on the screen, moving out. Retief felt sweat pop out on his forehead. The red blip meant heavyradiation from a warhead. Somebody was playing around with an outlawedbut by no means unheard of fission weapon. But maybe it was just on ahigh trajectory and had no connection with the skiff.... Retief altered course to the south. The blip followed. He checked instrument readings, gripped the controls, watching. Thiswas going to be tricky. The missile bored closer. At five miles Retiefthrew the light skiff into maximum acceleration, straight toward theoncoming bomb. Crushed back in the padded seat, he watched the screen,correcting course minutely. The proximity fuse should be set for nomore than 1000 yards. At a combined speed of two miles per second, the skiff flashed pastthe missile, and Retief was slammed violently against the restrainingharness in the concussion of the explosion ... a mile astern, andharmless. Then the planetary surface was rushing up with frightening speed.Retief shook his head, kicked in the emergency retro-drive. Pointsof light arced up from the planet face below. If they were ordinarychemical warheads the skiff's meteor screens should handle them. Thescreen flashed brilliant white, then went dark. The skiff flipped onits back. Smoke filled the tiny compartment. There was a series ofshocks, a final bone-shaking concussion, then stillness, broken by theping of hot metal contracting. <doc-sep>A scratchy sound issued from the disk. Pardon my laughter, Hoshicksaid, but surely you jest? As a matter of fact, said Retief, we ourselves seldom use weapons. I seem to recall that our first contact of skirmishforms involved theuse of a weapon by one of your units. My apologies, said Retief. The—ah—the skirmishform failed torecognize that he was dealing with a sportsman. Still, now that we have commenced so merrily with weapons.... Hoshicksignaled and the servant refilled tubes. There is an aspect I haven't yet mentioned, Retief went on. I hopeyou won't take this personally, but the fact is, our skirmishformsthink of weapons as something one employs only in dealing with certainspecific life-forms. Oh? Curious. What forms are those? Vermin. Or 'varmints' as some call them. Deadly antagonists, butlacking in caste. I don't want our skirmishforms thinking of suchworthy adversaries as yourself as varmints. Dear me! I hadn't realized, of course. Most considerate of you topoint it out. Hoshick clucked in dismay. I see that skirmishforms aremuch the same among you as with us: lacking in perception. He laughedscratchily. Imagine considering us as—what was the word?—varmints. Which brings us to the crux of the matter. You see, we're up againsta serious problem with regard to skirmishforms. A low birth rate.Therefore we've reluctantly taken to substitutes for the mass actionsso dear to the heart of the sportsman. We've attempted to put an end tothese contests altogether.... Hoshick coughed explosively, sending a spray of wine into the air.What are you saying? he gasped. Are you proposing that Hoshick ofthe Mosaic of the Two Dawns abandon honor....? Sir! said Retief sternly. You forget yourself. I, Retief of the RedTape Mountain, make an alternate proposal more in keeping with thenewest sporting principles. New? cried Hoshick. My dear Retief, what a pleasant surprise! I'menthralled with novel modes. One gets so out of touch. Do elaborate. It's quite simple, really. Each side selects a representative and thetwo individuals settle the issue between them. I ... um ... fear I don't understand. What possible significance couldone attach to the activities of a couple of random skirmishforms? I haven't made myself clear, said Retief. He took a sip of wine. Wedon't involve the skirmishforms at all. That's quite passe. You don't mean...? That's right. You and me. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does the fission weapon play in RETIEF OF THE RED-TAPE MOUNTAIN?

After Retief takes command of the mail skiff, he narrowly misses colliding with a warhead that tracks his trajectory. Thanks to a swift maneuver, Retief is able to dodge its impact and crash-lands on Adobe. However, due to the red blip on his radar screen, Retief is now aware that one of the warring groups on the planet is using illegal fission weapons in battle. Initially, he believes the Terrestrials were responsible for this, but after meeting Potter, he realizes his mistake. Potter informs him the Terrestrials do not have weapons of that kind, so it has to be Jaq weaponry. This information becomes important later when Retief meets Hoshick for the first time. As the leader of the Jaq, Hoshick informs Retief that the skirmishes were a result of a desire to engage in more sportsmanlike conduct on the battlefield. Retief realizes he can use this desire to his advantage and pushes Hoshick to question whether or not weapons are required at all in resolving conflict. He pushes this idea further by suggesting his own kind would never solve problems with weapons, despite one of the Jaqs having been previously shot down by them. Retief excuses this by again playing into Hoshick's desire to appear more dignified and saying the shooting was a failure to recognize the Jaq as sportsmen. This tactic works, and he is able to use it to convince Hoshick to engage in hand-to-hand combat, which eventually leads to the resolution of the war.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in MIGHTIEST QORN? [SEP] <s> MIGHTIEST QORN BY KEITH LAUMER Sly, brave and truculent, the Qornt held all humans in contempt—except one! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Ambassador Nitworth glowered across his mirror-polished, nine-footplatinum desk at his assembled staff. Gentlemen, are any of you familiar with a race known as the Qornt? There was a moment of profound silence. Nitworth leaned forward,looking solemn. They were a warlike race known in this sector back in Concordiattimes, perhaps two hundred years ago. They vanished as suddenly asthey had appeared. There was no record of where they went. He pausedfor effect. They have now reappeared—occupying the inner planet of this system! But, sir, Second Secretary Magnan offered. That's uninhabitedTerrestrial territory.... Indeed, Mr. Magnan? Nitworth smiled icily. It appears the Qornt donot share that opinion. He plucked a heavy parchment from a folderbefore him, harrumphed and read aloud: His Supreme Excellency The Qorn, Regent of Qornt, Over-Lord of theGalactic Destiny, Greets the Terrestrials and, with reference to thepresence in mandated territory of Terrestrial squatters, has the honorto advise that he will require the use of his outer world on thethirtieth day. Then will the Qornt come with steel and fire. Receive,Terrestrials, renewed assurances of my awareness of your existence,and let Those who dare gird for the contest. Frankly, I wouldn't call it conciliatory, Magnan said. Nitworth tapped the paper with a finger. We have been served, gentlemen, with nothing less than an Ultimatum! Well, we'll soon straighten these fellows out— the Military Attachebegan. There happens to be more to this piece of truculence than appears onthe surface, the Ambassador cut in. He paused, waiting for interestedfrowns to settle into place. Note, gentlemen, that these invaders have appeared on terrestrialcontrolled soil—and without so much as a flicker from the instrumentsof the Navigational Monitor Service! The Military Attache blinked. That's absurd, he said flatly. Nitworthslapped the table. We're up against something new, gentlemen! I've considered everyhypothesis from cloaks of invisibility to time travel! The fact is—theQornt fleets are indetectible! <doc-sep>Magnan hovered at Retief's side. Twelve feet tall, he moaned. Anddid you notice the size of those hands? Retief watched as Qorn's aides helped him out of his formal trappings.I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Magnan. This is a light-Gee world. Idoubt if old Qorn would weigh up at more than two-fifty standard poundshere. But that phenomenal reach— I'll peck away at him at knee level. When he bends over to swat me,I'll get a crack at him. Across the cleared floor, Qorn shook off his helpers with a snort. Enough! Let me at the upstart! Retief moved out to meet him, watching the upraised backward-jointedarms. Qorn stalked forward, long lean legs bent, long horny feetclacking against the polished floor. The other aliens—both servitorsand bejeweled Qornt—formed a wide circle, all eyes unwaveringly on thecombatants. Qorn struck suddenly, a long arm flashing down in a vicious cut atRetief, who leaned aside, caught one lean shank below the knee. Qornbent to haul Retief from his leg—and staggered back as a haymaker tookhim just below the beak. A screech went up from the crowd as Retiefleaped clear. Qorn hissed and charged. Retief whirled aside, then struck the alien'soff-leg in a flying tackle. Qorn leaned, arms windmilling, crashed tothe floor. Retief whirled, dived for the left arm, whipped it behindthe narrow back, seized Qorn's neck in a stranglehold and threw hisweight backward. Qorn fell on his back, his legs squatted out at anawkward angle. He squawked and beat his free arm on the floor, reachingin vain for Retief. Zubb stepped forward, pistols ready. Magnan stepped before him. Need I remind you, sir, he said icily, that this is an officialdiplomatic function? I can brook no interference from disinterestedparties. Zubb hesitated. Magnan held out a hand. I must ask you to hand me yourweapons, Zubb. Look here, Zubb began. I may lose my temper, Magnan hinted. Zubb lowered the guns, passedthem to Magnan. He thrust them into his belt with a sour smile, turnedback to watch the encounter. Retief had thrown a turn of violet silk around Qorn's left wrist, boundit to the alien's neck. Another wisp of stuff floated from Qorn'sshoulder. Retief, still holding Qorn in an awkward sprawl, wrappedit around one outflung leg, trussed ankle and thigh together. Qornflopped, hooting. At each movement, the constricting loop around hisneck, jerked his head back, the green crest tossing wildly. If I were you, I'd relax, Retief said, rising and releasing his grip.Qorn got a leg under him; Retief kicked it. Qorn's chin hit the floorwith a hollow clack. He wilted, an ungainly tangle of over-long limbsand gay silks. Retief turned to the watching crowd. Next? he called. The blue and flame Qornt stepped forward. Maybe this would be a goodtime to elect a new leader, he said. Now, my qualifications— Sit down, Retief said loudly. He stepped to the head of the table,seated himself in Qorn's vacated chair. A couple of you finishtrussing Qorn up for me. But we must select a leader! That won't be necessary, boys. I'm your new leader. <doc-sep>There was a momentary silence from all sides. I guess so, grunted a giant Qornt in iridescent blue withflame-colored plumes. Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose. We've been all over this, hebassooned. He clamped bony fingers on the hilt of a light rapier. Ithought I'd made my point! Oh, sure, Qorn. You bet. I'm convinced. Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat. All for one and one for all, that'sus. And you're the one, eh, Qorn? Retief commented. Magnan cleared his throat. I sense that some of you gentlemen are notconvinced of the wisdom of this move, he piped, looking along thetable at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staringeyes. Silence! Qorn hooted. No use your talking to my loyal lieutenantsanyway, he added. They do whatever I convince them they ought to do. But I'm sure that on more mature consideration— I can lick any Qornt in the house. Qorn said. That's why I'm Qorn.He belched again. A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with acrash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrappedthree loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place. You next! The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms.Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped aroundthem. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through theends and closed it. Now, Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. There's abit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them? Let them go, the blue and flame Qornt said glumly. You can do better than that, Qorn hooted. Now here's a suggestion:we carve them up a little—lop off the external labiae and pinnae,say—and ship them back. Good lord! Retief, he's talking about cutting off our ears and sendingus home mutilated! What a barbaric proposal! It wouldn't be the first time a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming,Retief commented. It should have the effect of stimulating the Terries to put up areasonable scrap, Qorn said judiciously. I have a feeling thatthey're thinking of giving up without a struggle. Oh, I doubt that, the blue-and-flame Qornt said. Why should they? Qorn rolled an eye at Retief and another at Magnan. Take these two,he hooted. I'll wager they came here to negotiate a surrender! Well, Magnan started. Hold it, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. I'll tell him. What's your proposal? Qorn whistled, taking a gulp from his goblet.A fifty-fifty split? Monetary reparations? Alternate territory? I canassure you, it's useless. We Qornt like to fight. I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong impression, your Excellency,Retief said blandly. We didn't come to negotiate. We came to deliveran Ultimatum. What? Qorn trumpeted. Behind Retief, Magnan spluttered. We plan to use this planet for target practice, Retief said. A newtype hell bomb we've worked out. Have all your people off of it inseventy-two hours, or suffer the consequences. IV You have the gall, Qorn stormed, to stand here in the center ofQornt Hall—uninvited, at that—and in chains— Oh, these, Retief said. He tensed his arms. The soft aluminum linksstretched and broke. He shook the light metal free. We diplomats liketo go along with colorful local customs, but I wouldn't want to misleadyou. Now, as to the evacuation of Roolit I— Zubb screeched, waved the guns. The Qornt were jabbering. I told you they were brutes, Zubb shrilled. Qorn slammed his fist down on the table. I don't care what they are!he honked. Evacuate, hell! I can field eighty-five combat-ready ships! And we can englobe every one of them with a thousand Peace Enforcerswith a hundred megatons/second firepower each. Retief. Magnan tugged at his sleeve. Don't forget their superdrive. That's all right. They don't have one. But— We'll take you on! Qorn French-horned. We're the Qorn! We glory inbattle! We live in fame or go down in— Hogwash, the flame-and-blue Qorn cut in. If it wasn't for you, Qorn,we could sit around and feast and brag and enjoy life without having toprove anything. Qorn, you seem to be the fire-brand here, Retief said. I think therest of the boys would listen to reason— Over my dead body! My idea exactly, Retief said. You claim you can lick any man inthe house. Unwind yourself from your ribbons and step out here on thefloor, and we'll see how good you are at backing up your conversation. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in MIGHTIEST QORN?

Ambassador Nitworth, the local head of the government for the Terrestrials, has received an ultimatum from a species called the Qornt. The Qornt want to take over the planet that the Terrestrials currently occupy. This is surprising because the whereabouts of the Qornt have been unknown for the past two centuries. The Ambassador orders Second Secretary Magnan to travel to Roolit I, the planet where the Qornt are now, to investigate the situation in person. Retief is sent to go with Magnan, with orders from the Ambassador to avoid Magnan from doing anything impulsive. When they arrive, Retief wants to investigate the situation on the surface, whereas Magnan would have been happy to take one look and return to his office. As Retief is insisting on taking a look, the two men are spotted by two eight-foot-tall creatures and a skirmish starts. After Retief pulls Magnan from the fight, and some bickering takes place, the men learn that these two creatures are Verpp, not Qornt. They ask if they know about the Ultimatum sent to the Ambassador—the men call the outer planet Smorbrod, but those on Roolit I call it Guzzum. Zubb and Slun (the Verpp) say that they aren’t caught up on political matters, so they don’t have anything to say about the upcoming invasion, but they do give the men information about where they are. Tarroon is the town they are closest to, where there are 15-20 Qornt, and Zubb and Slun say that the Qornt would mostly ignore Terrestrials, which makes Retief think they should walk right in. Magnan is afraid of a trap, but they head into the underground Qornt village. Once they make it to Qornt Hall, the group walks through a tunnel into a huge room with high ceilings, where the walls are plastered with weapons and other spoils of battle. It was a trap: the Verpp walk the men into the dining hall where the Qornt are having a feast, hoping that the Qornt would be mad at the men for interfering with the Verpp. It turns out the Qornt are even larger than the Verpp (twelve feet tall), and Qorn (the lead Qornt) is insistent that there will be no peace, because he is hungry for battle, so he ties up the men. Retief threatens them saying the Terrestrials intended to use Roolit I to test a bomb, and breaks out of his chains in the chaos—the differences in gravity between the planets means that the men are very strong, even if they are much smaller than the Verpp and Qornt. Retief ties up Qorn and declares himself the new leader. The Qornt explain that Verpp molt into Qornt after a few other stages of metamorphosis, and that the Qornt are very driven by a need for battle. Upon return to the outer planet, we learn that Retief has supposedly recruited the Qornt for the Peace Enforcement Corps, and sends them out to battle, circumventing Nitworth’s authority.

How does the dynamic between Magnan and Retief evolve in the story "Mightiest Qorn"? [SEP] <s>Magnan hovered at Retief's side. Twelve feet tall, he moaned. Anddid you notice the size of those hands? Retief watched as Qorn's aides helped him out of his formal trappings.I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Magnan. This is a light-Gee world. Idoubt if old Qorn would weigh up at more than two-fifty standard poundshere. But that phenomenal reach— I'll peck away at him at knee level. When he bends over to swat me,I'll get a crack at him. Across the cleared floor, Qorn shook off his helpers with a snort. Enough! Let me at the upstart! Retief moved out to meet him, watching the upraised backward-jointedarms. Qorn stalked forward, long lean legs bent, long horny feetclacking against the polished floor. The other aliens—both servitorsand bejeweled Qornt—formed a wide circle, all eyes unwaveringly on thecombatants. Qorn struck suddenly, a long arm flashing down in a vicious cut atRetief, who leaned aside, caught one lean shank below the knee. Qornbent to haul Retief from his leg—and staggered back as a haymaker tookhim just below the beak. A screech went up from the crowd as Retiefleaped clear. Qorn hissed and charged. Retief whirled aside, then struck the alien'soff-leg in a flying tackle. Qorn leaned, arms windmilling, crashed tothe floor. Retief whirled, dived for the left arm, whipped it behindthe narrow back, seized Qorn's neck in a stranglehold and threw hisweight backward. Qorn fell on his back, his legs squatted out at anawkward angle. He squawked and beat his free arm on the floor, reachingin vain for Retief. Zubb stepped forward, pistols ready. Magnan stepped before him. Need I remind you, sir, he said icily, that this is an officialdiplomatic function? I can brook no interference from disinterestedparties. Zubb hesitated. Magnan held out a hand. I must ask you to hand me yourweapons, Zubb. Look here, Zubb began. I may lose my temper, Magnan hinted. Zubb lowered the guns, passedthem to Magnan. He thrust them into his belt with a sour smile, turnedback to watch the encounter. Retief had thrown a turn of violet silk around Qorn's left wrist, boundit to the alien's neck. Another wisp of stuff floated from Qorn'sshoulder. Retief, still holding Qorn in an awkward sprawl, wrappedit around one outflung leg, trussed ankle and thigh together. Qornflopped, hooting. At each movement, the constricting loop around hisneck, jerked his head back, the green crest tossing wildly. If I were you, I'd relax, Retief said, rising and releasing his grip.Qorn got a leg under him; Retief kicked it. Qorn's chin hit the floorwith a hollow clack. He wilted, an ungainly tangle of over-long limbsand gay silks. Retief turned to the watching crowd. Next? he called. The blue and flame Qornt stepped forward. Maybe this would be a goodtime to elect a new leader, he said. Now, my qualifications— Sit down, Retief said loudly. He stepped to the head of the table,seated himself in Qorn's vacated chair. A couple of you finishtrussing Qorn up for me. But we must select a leader! That won't be necessary, boys. I'm your new leader. <doc-sep>There was a momentary silence from all sides. I guess so, grunted a giant Qornt in iridescent blue withflame-colored plumes. Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose. We've been all over this, hebassooned. He clamped bony fingers on the hilt of a light rapier. Ithought I'd made my point! Oh, sure, Qorn. You bet. I'm convinced. Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat. All for one and one for all, that'sus. And you're the one, eh, Qorn? Retief commented. Magnan cleared his throat. I sense that some of you gentlemen are notconvinced of the wisdom of this move, he piped, looking along thetable at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staringeyes. Silence! Qorn hooted. No use your talking to my loyal lieutenantsanyway, he added. They do whatever I convince them they ought to do. But I'm sure that on more mature consideration— I can lick any Qornt in the house. Qorn said. That's why I'm Qorn.He belched again. A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with acrash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrappedthree loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place. You next! The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms.Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped aroundthem. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through theends and closed it. Now, Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. There's abit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them? Let them go, the blue and flame Qornt said glumly. You can do better than that, Qorn hooted. Now here's a suggestion:we carve them up a little—lop off the external labiae and pinnae,say—and ship them back. Good lord! Retief, he's talking about cutting off our ears and sendingus home mutilated! What a barbaric proposal! It wouldn't be the first time a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming,Retief commented. It should have the effect of stimulating the Terries to put up areasonable scrap, Qorn said judiciously. I have a feeling thatthey're thinking of giving up without a struggle. Oh, I doubt that, the blue-and-flame Qornt said. Why should they? Qorn rolled an eye at Retief and another at Magnan. Take these two,he hooted. I'll wager they came here to negotiate a surrender! Well, Magnan started. Hold it, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. I'll tell him. What's your proposal? Qorn whistled, taking a gulp from his goblet.A fifty-fifty split? Monetary reparations? Alternate territory? I canassure you, it's useless. We Qornt like to fight. I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong impression, your Excellency,Retief said blandly. We didn't come to negotiate. We came to deliveran Ultimatum. What? Qorn trumpeted. Behind Retief, Magnan spluttered. We plan to use this planet for target practice, Retief said. A newtype hell bomb we've worked out. Have all your people off of it inseventy-two hours, or suffer the consequences. IV You have the gall, Qorn stormed, to stand here in the center ofQornt Hall—uninvited, at that—and in chains— Oh, these, Retief said. He tensed his arms. The soft aluminum linksstretched and broke. He shook the light metal free. We diplomats liketo go along with colorful local customs, but I wouldn't want to misleadyou. Now, as to the evacuation of Roolit I— Zubb screeched, waved the guns. The Qornt were jabbering. I told you they were brutes, Zubb shrilled. Qorn slammed his fist down on the table. I don't care what they are!he honked. Evacuate, hell! I can field eighty-five combat-ready ships! And we can englobe every one of them with a thousand Peace Enforcerswith a hundred megatons/second firepower each. Retief. Magnan tugged at his sleeve. Don't forget their superdrive. That's all right. They don't have one. But— We'll take you on! Qorn French-horned. We're the Qorn! We glory inbattle! We live in fame or go down in— Hogwash, the flame-and-blue Qorn cut in. If it wasn't for you, Qorn,we could sit around and feast and brag and enjoy life without having toprove anything. Qorn, you seem to be the fire-brand here, Retief said. I think therest of the boys would listen to reason— Over my dead body! My idea exactly, Retief said. You claim you can lick any man inthe house. Unwind yourself from your ribbons and step out here on thefloor, and we'll see how good you are at backing up your conversation. <doc-sep>Retief turned. Zubb stood gripping an ornately decorated power pistolin one bony hand, a slim needler in the other. Both were pointed atMagnan's chest. I suspected you had hidden qualities, Zubb, Retief commented. See here, Zubb! We're diplomats! Magnan started. Careful, Mr. Magnan; you may goad him to a frenzy. By no means, Zubb whistled. I much prefer to observe the frenzyof the Qornt when presented with the news that two peaceful Verpphave been assaulted and kidnapped by bullying interlopers. If there'sanything that annoys the Qornt, it's Qornt-like behavior in others. Nowstep along, please. Rest assured, this will be reported! I doubt it. You'll face the wrath of Enlightened Galactic Opinion! Oh? How big a navy does Enlightened Galactic Opinion have? Stop scaring him, Mr. Magnan. He may get nervous and shoot. Retiefstepped into the banquet hall, headed for the resplendent figure atthe head of the table. A trio of flute-players broke off in mid-bleat,staring. An inverted pyramid of tumblers blinked as Retief swung past,followed by Magnan and the tall Verpp. The shrill chatter at the tablefaded. Qorn turned as Retief came up, blinking three-inch eyes. Zubb steppedforward, gibbered, waving his arms excitedly. Qorn pushed back hischair—a low, heavily padded stool—and stared unwinking at Retief,moving his head to bring first one great round eye, then the other, tobear. There were small blue veins in the immense fleshy beak. The bushyhair, springing out in a giant halo around the grayish, porous-skinnedface, was wiry, stiff, moss-green, with tufts of chartreuse fuzzsurrounding what appeared to be tympanic membranes. The tall head-dressof scarlet silk and purple feathers was slightly askew, and a loop ofpink pearls had slipped down above one eye. Zubb finished his speech and fell silent, breathing hard. Qorn looked Retief over in silence, then belched. Not bad, Retief said admiringly. Maybe we could get up a matchbetween you and Ambassador Sternwheeler. You've got the volume on him,but he's got timbre. So, Qorn hooted in a resonant tenor. You come from Guzzum, eh? OrSmorbrod, as I think you call it. What is it you're after? More time?A compromise? Negotiations? Peace? He slammed a bony hand against thetable. The answer is no ! Zubb twittered. Qorn cocked an eye, motioned to a servant. Chain thatone. He indicated Magnan. His eyes went to Retief. This one's bigger;you'd best chain him, too. Why, your Excellency— Magnan started, stepping forward. Stay back! Qorn hooted. Stand over there where I can keep an eye onyou. Your Excellency, I'm empowered— Not here, you're not! Qorn trumpeted. Want peace, do you? Well, Idon't want peace! I've had a surfeit of peace these last two centuries!I want action! Loot! Adventure! Glory! He turned to look down thetable. How about it, fellows? It's war to the knife, eh? <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does the dynamic between Magnan and Retief evolve in the story "Mightiest Qorn"?

Magnan and Retief are the men selected to go to the planet where the Qornt are based in order to investigate. Although Magnan was the first person assigned to the job, he is less comfortable out in the field compared to Retief, who ends up making most of the decisions. There is a tension here as they continue their adventure, with Magnan being scared and Retief encouraging him forward, and Retief saving Magnan when he is pinned by the Verpp. Magnan is the one who is explicitly a diplomat, but Retief takes over most conversations—not only does he push the mission forward and insist on following the Verpp to the Qornt, but he eventually declares himself leader of the Qornt. Even when Ambassador Nitworth demands information from Magnan near the end, it is Retief who responds—he wants the Ambassador to know that he is the one calling the shots, even if it has been behind the scenes. It’s clear that Magnan has either not understood this, as if he were being tricked, or he is just not good at giving credit where credit is due, because he refers to the plan as his own recruiting scheme, correcting himself to say it was a group effort, even though it was all Retief’s idea. At the very end of the story, Retief complies to all of Magnan’s requests in an uncharacteristic way—the interpretation is left open, but there is a possibility Retief is hiding something and intends to return as a military leader with the Qornt and perhaps attack the Terrestrials.

How does Magnan's attitude change throughout the story of MIGHTIEST QORN? [SEP] <s> MIGHTIEST QORN BY KEITH LAUMER Sly, brave and truculent, the Qornt held all humans in contempt—except one! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Ambassador Nitworth glowered across his mirror-polished, nine-footplatinum desk at his assembled staff. Gentlemen, are any of you familiar with a race known as the Qornt? There was a moment of profound silence. Nitworth leaned forward,looking solemn. They were a warlike race known in this sector back in Concordiattimes, perhaps two hundred years ago. They vanished as suddenly asthey had appeared. There was no record of where they went. He pausedfor effect. They have now reappeared—occupying the inner planet of this system! But, sir, Second Secretary Magnan offered. That's uninhabitedTerrestrial territory.... Indeed, Mr. Magnan? Nitworth smiled icily. It appears the Qornt donot share that opinion. He plucked a heavy parchment from a folderbefore him, harrumphed and read aloud: His Supreme Excellency The Qorn, Regent of Qornt, Over-Lord of theGalactic Destiny, Greets the Terrestrials and, with reference to thepresence in mandated territory of Terrestrial squatters, has the honorto advise that he will require the use of his outer world on thethirtieth day. Then will the Qornt come with steel and fire. Receive,Terrestrials, renewed assurances of my awareness of your existence,and let Those who dare gird for the contest. Frankly, I wouldn't call it conciliatory, Magnan said. Nitworth tapped the paper with a finger. We have been served, gentlemen, with nothing less than an Ultimatum! Well, we'll soon straighten these fellows out— the Military Attachebegan. There happens to be more to this piece of truculence than appears onthe surface, the Ambassador cut in. He paused, waiting for interestedfrowns to settle into place. Note, gentlemen, that these invaders have appeared on terrestrialcontrolled soil—and without so much as a flicker from the instrumentsof the Navigational Monitor Service! The Military Attache blinked. That's absurd, he said flatly. Nitworthslapped the table. We're up against something new, gentlemen! I've considered everyhypothesis from cloaks of invisibility to time travel! The fact is—theQornt fleets are indetectible! <doc-sep>There was a momentary silence from all sides. I guess so, grunted a giant Qornt in iridescent blue withflame-colored plumes. Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose. We've been all over this, hebassooned. He clamped bony fingers on the hilt of a light rapier. Ithought I'd made my point! Oh, sure, Qorn. You bet. I'm convinced. Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat. All for one and one for all, that'sus. And you're the one, eh, Qorn? Retief commented. Magnan cleared his throat. I sense that some of you gentlemen are notconvinced of the wisdom of this move, he piped, looking along thetable at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staringeyes. Silence! Qorn hooted. No use your talking to my loyal lieutenantsanyway, he added. They do whatever I convince them they ought to do. But I'm sure that on more mature consideration— I can lick any Qornt in the house. Qorn said. That's why I'm Qorn.He belched again. A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with acrash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrappedthree loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place. You next! The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms.Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped aroundthem. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through theends and closed it. Now, Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. There's abit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them? Let them go, the blue and flame Qornt said glumly. You can do better than that, Qorn hooted. Now here's a suggestion:we carve them up a little—lop off the external labiae and pinnae,say—and ship them back. Good lord! Retief, he's talking about cutting off our ears and sendingus home mutilated! What a barbaric proposal! It wouldn't be the first time a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming,Retief commented. It should have the effect of stimulating the Terries to put up areasonable scrap, Qorn said judiciously. I have a feeling thatthey're thinking of giving up without a struggle. Oh, I doubt that, the blue-and-flame Qornt said. Why should they? Qorn rolled an eye at Retief and another at Magnan. Take these two,he hooted. I'll wager they came here to negotiate a surrender! Well, Magnan started. Hold it, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. I'll tell him. What's your proposal? Qorn whistled, taking a gulp from his goblet.A fifty-fifty split? Monetary reparations? Alternate territory? I canassure you, it's useless. We Qornt like to fight. I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong impression, your Excellency,Retief said blandly. We didn't come to negotiate. We came to deliveran Ultimatum. What? Qorn trumpeted. Behind Retief, Magnan spluttered. We plan to use this planet for target practice, Retief said. A newtype hell bomb we've worked out. Have all your people off of it inseventy-two hours, or suffer the consequences. IV You have the gall, Qorn stormed, to stand here in the center ofQornt Hall—uninvited, at that—and in chains— Oh, these, Retief said. He tensed his arms. The soft aluminum linksstretched and broke. He shook the light metal free. We diplomats liketo go along with colorful local customs, but I wouldn't want to misleadyou. Now, as to the evacuation of Roolit I— Zubb screeched, waved the guns. The Qornt were jabbering. I told you they were brutes, Zubb shrilled. Qorn slammed his fist down on the table. I don't care what they are!he honked. Evacuate, hell! I can field eighty-five combat-ready ships! And we can englobe every one of them with a thousand Peace Enforcerswith a hundred megatons/second firepower each. Retief. Magnan tugged at his sleeve. Don't forget their superdrive. That's all right. They don't have one. But— We'll take you on! Qorn French-horned. We're the Qorn! We glory inbattle! We live in fame or go down in— Hogwash, the flame-and-blue Qorn cut in. If it wasn't for you, Qorn,we could sit around and feast and brag and enjoy life without having toprove anything. Qorn, you seem to be the fire-brand here, Retief said. I think therest of the boys would listen to reason— Over my dead body! My idea exactly, Retief said. You claim you can lick any man inthe house. Unwind yourself from your ribbons and step out here on thefloor, and we'll see how good you are at backing up your conversation. <doc-sep>Magnan hovered at Retief's side. Twelve feet tall, he moaned. Anddid you notice the size of those hands? Retief watched as Qorn's aides helped him out of his formal trappings.I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Magnan. This is a light-Gee world. Idoubt if old Qorn would weigh up at more than two-fifty standard poundshere. But that phenomenal reach— I'll peck away at him at knee level. When he bends over to swat me,I'll get a crack at him. Across the cleared floor, Qorn shook off his helpers with a snort. Enough! Let me at the upstart! Retief moved out to meet him, watching the upraised backward-jointedarms. Qorn stalked forward, long lean legs bent, long horny feetclacking against the polished floor. The other aliens—both servitorsand bejeweled Qornt—formed a wide circle, all eyes unwaveringly on thecombatants. Qorn struck suddenly, a long arm flashing down in a vicious cut atRetief, who leaned aside, caught one lean shank below the knee. Qornbent to haul Retief from his leg—and staggered back as a haymaker tookhim just below the beak. A screech went up from the crowd as Retiefleaped clear. Qorn hissed and charged. Retief whirled aside, then struck the alien'soff-leg in a flying tackle. Qorn leaned, arms windmilling, crashed tothe floor. Retief whirled, dived for the left arm, whipped it behindthe narrow back, seized Qorn's neck in a stranglehold and threw hisweight backward. Qorn fell on his back, his legs squatted out at anawkward angle. He squawked and beat his free arm on the floor, reachingin vain for Retief. Zubb stepped forward, pistols ready. Magnan stepped before him. Need I remind you, sir, he said icily, that this is an officialdiplomatic function? I can brook no interference from disinterestedparties. Zubb hesitated. Magnan held out a hand. I must ask you to hand me yourweapons, Zubb. Look here, Zubb began. I may lose my temper, Magnan hinted. Zubb lowered the guns, passedthem to Magnan. He thrust them into his belt with a sour smile, turnedback to watch the encounter. Retief had thrown a turn of violet silk around Qorn's left wrist, boundit to the alien's neck. Another wisp of stuff floated from Qorn'sshoulder. Retief, still holding Qorn in an awkward sprawl, wrappedit around one outflung leg, trussed ankle and thigh together. Qornflopped, hooting. At each movement, the constricting loop around hisneck, jerked his head back, the green crest tossing wildly. If I were you, I'd relax, Retief said, rising and releasing his grip.Qorn got a leg under him; Retief kicked it. Qorn's chin hit the floorwith a hollow clack. He wilted, an ungainly tangle of over-long limbsand gay silks. Retief turned to the watching crowd. Next? he called. The blue and flame Qornt stepped forward. Maybe this would be a goodtime to elect a new leader, he said. Now, my qualifications— Sit down, Retief said loudly. He stepped to the head of the table,seated himself in Qorn's vacated chair. A couple of you finishtrussing Qorn up for me. But we must select a leader! That won't be necessary, boys. I'm your new leader. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Magnan's attitude change throughout the story of MIGHTIEST QORN?

Second Secretary Magnan was selected by Ambassador Nitworth to travel to Roolit I to investigate the Qornt. Magnan does not have much field experience and is surprised by this assignment, and had been trying to get out of doing anything related to the Qornt issue when it was handed to him. He resigns himself to the task and Retief is assigned to go along with him. When they get to the planet, Magnan is clearly anxious—he remarks on the quality of the view and states his intent to head back to finish the mission, but Retief doesn’t let him give up so early. When the men are spotted by some creatures, and he tries to run for help, he is instead jumped by the creatures and Retief has to tear him free. This gives Magnan some confidence, and has a much more arrogant attitude towards the Verpp. He flaunts his title as diplomat and tries to assert as much dominance as he can. Once he learns that these are Verpp and not Qornt, he is preoccupied by the confusing details of the story: how many Qornt there are, and things like that. Once the group starts towards the Qornt’s village, however, he becomes nervous again, no longer with the upper hand. He is not sure if he is walking into a trap, and becomes more and more nervous until the trap is revealed. Once at gunpoint standing in front of the Qornt, however, he has enough confidence to pry at the division between the Qornt who want war and those who aren’t sold on the idea yet. Once Retief threatens the Qornt and a fight commences, Magnan still tries to talk his way out of Zubb shooting the men, gains confidence again, and insists on taking the guns. Once Qorn has been tied up, Magnan suggests putting the Verpp in charge, and asks the Qornt if there are alternatives to militaristic life that they would consider. Eventually they all make it back to where the story started, and he seems more passive again, until the Ambassador is on board with Retief’s plan, and Magnan starts ordering Retief around again, though Retief’s behavior has shifted in response.

What makes the men so certain about the Qornt's superior tactical advantage? Can we gather information about the military strategies and equipment used by the group? [SEP] <s>The beak twitched. Smorbrod? I know of no place called Smorbrod. The outer planet of this system. Oh, yes. We call it Guzzum. I had heard that some sort of creatureshad established a settlement there, but I confess I pay little note tosuch matters. We're wasting time, Retief, Magnan said. We must truss these chapsup, hurry back to the boat and make our escape. You heard what theysaid. Are there any Qornt down there at the harbor, where the boats are?Retief asked. At Tarroon, you mean? Oh, yes. Planning some adventure. That would be the invasion of Smorbrod, Magnan said. And unless wehurry, Retief, we're likely to be caught there with the last of theevacuees! How many Qornt would you say there are at Tarroon? Oh, a very large number. Perhaps fifteen or twenty. Fifteen or twenty what? Magnan looked perplexed. Fifteen or twenty Qornt. You mean that there are only fifteen or twenty individual Qornt inall? Another whistle. Not at all. I was referring to the local Qornt only.There are more at the other Centers, of course. And the Qornt are responsible for the ultimatum—unilaterally? I suppose so; it sounds like them. A truculent group, you know. Andinterplanetary relations are rather a hobby of theirs. Zubb moaned and stirred. He sat up slowly, rubbing his head. He spoketo his companion in a shrill alien clatter of consonants. What did he say? Poor Zubb. He blames me for his bruises, since it was my idea togather you as specimens. You should have known better than to tackle that fierce-lookingcreature, Zubb said, pointing his beak at Magnan. How does it happen that you speak Terrestrial? Retief asked. Oh, one picks up all sorts of dialects. It's quite charming, really, Magnan said. Such a quaint, archaicaccent. Suppose we went down to Tarroon, Retief asked. What kind ofreception would we get? That depends. I wouldn't recommend interfering with the Gwil or theRheuk; it's their nest-mending time, you know. The Boog will be busymating—such a tedious business—and of course the Qornt are tied upwith their ceremonial feasting. I'm afraid no one will take any noticeof you. Do you mean to say, Magnan demanded, that these ferocious Qornt, whohave issued an ultimatum to the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne—whoopenly avow their occupied world—would ignore Terrestrials in theirmidst? If at all possible. Retief got to his feet. I think our course is clear, Mr. Magnan. It's up to us to go down andattract a little attention. III I'm not at all sure we're going about this in the right way, Magnanpuffed, trotting at Retief's side. These fellows Zubb and Slun—Oh,they seem affable enough, but how can we be sure we're not being ledinto a trap? We can't. Magnan stopped short. Let's go back. All right, Retief said. Of course there may be an ambush— Magnan moved off. Let's keep going. The party emerged from the undergrowth at the edge of a greatbrush-grown mound. Slun took the lead, rounded the flank of thehillock, halted at a rectangular opening cut into the slope. You can find your way easily enough from here, he said. You'llexcuse us, I hope— Nonsense, Slun! Zubb pushed forward. I'll escort our guests to QorntHall. He twittered briefly to his fellow Verpp. Slun twittered back. I don't like it, Retief, Magnan whispered. Those fellows areplotting mischief. Threaten them with violence, Mr Magnan. They're scared of you. That's true. And the drubbing they received was well-deserved. I'm apatient man, but there are occasions— Come along, please, Zubb called. Another ten minutes' walk— See here, we have no interest in investigating this barrow, Magnanannounced. We wish you to take us direct to Tarroon to interview yourmilitary leaders regarding the ultimatum! Yes, yes, of course. Qornt Hall lies here inside the village. This is Tarroon? A modest civic center, sir, but there are those who love it. No wonder we didn't observe their works from the air, Magnanmuttered. Camouflaged. He moved hesitantly through the opening. The party moved along a wide, deserted tunnel which sloped downsteeply, then leveled off and branched. Zubb took the center branch,ducking slightly under the nine-foot ceiling lit at intervals with whatappeared to be primitive incandescent panels. Few signs of an advanced technology here, Magnan whispered. Thesecreatures must devote all their talents to warlike enterprise. Ahead, Zubb slowed. A distant susurration was audible, a sustainedhigh-pitched screeching. Softly, now. We approach Qornt Hall. Theycan be an irascible lot when disturbed at their feasting. When will the feast be over? Magnan called hoarsely. In another few weeks, I should imagine, if, as you say, they'vescheduled an invasion for next month. Look here, Zubb. Magnan shook a finger at the tall alien. How is itthat these Qornt are allowed to embark on piratical ventures of thissort without reference to the wishes of the majority? Oh, the majority of the Qornt favor the move, I imagine. These few hotheads are permitted to embroil the planet in war? Oh, they don't embroil the planet in war. They merely— Retief, this is fantastic! I've heard of iron-fisted military cliquesbefore, but this is madness! Come softly, now. Zubb beckoned, moving toward a bend in theyellow-lit corridor. Retief and Magnan moved forward. <doc-sep>As I see it, Retief said, dribbling cigar ashes into an empty wineglass, you Qornt like to be warriors, but you don't particularly liketo fight. We don't mind a little fighting—within reason. And, of course, asQornt, we're expected to die in battle. But what I say is, why rushthings? I have a suggestion, Magnan said. Why not turn the reins ofgovernment over to the Verpp? They seem a level-headed group. What good would that do? Qornt are Qornt. It seems there's always oneamong us who's a slave to instinct—and, naturally, we have to followhim. Why? Because that's the way it's done. Why not do it another way? Magnan offered. Now, I'd like to suggestcommunity singing— If we gave up fighting, we might live too long. Then what wouldhappen? Live too long? Magnan looked puzzled. When estivating time comes there'd be no burrows for us. Anyway, withthe new Qornt stepping on our heels— I've lost the thread, Magnan said. Who are the new Qornt? After estivating, the Verpp moult, and then they're Qornt, of course.The Gwil become Boog, the Boog become Rheuk, the Rheuk metamorphosizeinto Verpp— You mean Slun and Zubb—the mild-natured naturalists—will becomewarmongers like Qorn? Very likely. 'The milder the Verpp, the wilder the Qorn,' as the oldsaying goes. What do Qornt turn into? Retief asked. Hmmmm. That's a good question. So far, none have survived Qornthood. Have you thought of forsaking your warlike ways? Magnan asked. Whatabout taking up sheepherding and regular church attendance? Don't mistake me. We Qornt like a military life. It's great sport tosit around roaring fires and drink and tell lies and then go dashingoff to enjoy a brisk affray and some leisurely looting afterward. Butwe prefer a nice numerical advantage. Not this business of tackling youTerrestrials over on Guzzum—that was a mad notion. We had no idea whatyour strength was. But now that's all off, of course, Magnan chirped. Now that we'vehad diplomatic relations and all— Oh, by no means. The fleet lifts in thirty days. After all, we'reQornt; we have to satisfy our drive to action. But Mr. Retief is your leader now. He won't let you! Only a dead Qornt stays home when Attack day comes. And even ifhe orders us all to cut our own throats, there are still the otherCenters—all with their own leaders. No, gentlemen, the Invasion isdefinitely on. Why don't you go invade somebody else? Magnan suggested. I couldname some very attractive prospects—outside my sector, of course. Hold everything, Retief said. I think we've got the basis of a dealhere.... V At the head of a double column of gaudily caparisoned Qornt, Retiefand Magnan strolled across the ramp toward the bright tower of the CDTSector HQ. Ahead, gates opened, and a black Corps limousine emerged,flying an Ambassadorial flag under a plain square of white. Curious, Magnan commented. I wonder what the significance of thewhite ensign might be? Retief raised a hand. The column halted with a clash of accoutrementsand a rasp of Qornt boots. Retief looked back along the line. The highwhite sun flashed on bright silks, polished buckles, deep-dyed plumes,butts of pistols, the soft gleam of leather. A brave show indeed, Magnan commented approvingly. I confess theidea has merit. The limousine pulled up with a squeal of brakes, stood on two fat-tiredwheels, gyros humming softly. The hatch popped up. A portly diplomatstepped out. Why, Ambassador Nitworth, Magnan glowed. This is very kind of you. Keep cool, Magnan, Nitworth said in a strained voice. We'll attemptto get you out of this. He stepped past Magnan's out-stretched hand and looked hesitantly atthe ramrod-straight line of Qornt, eighty-five strong—and beyond, atthe eighty-five tall Qornt dreadnaughts. Good afternoon, sir ... ah, Your Excellency, Nitworth said, blinkingup at the leading Qornt. You are Commander of the Strike Force, Iassume? Nope, the Qornt said shortly. I ... ah ... wish to request seventy-two hours in which to evacuateHeadquarters, Nitworth plowed on. Mr. Ambassador. Retief said. This— Don't panic, Retief. I'll attempt to secure your release, Nitworthhissed over his shoulder. Now— You will address our leader with more respect! the tall Qornt hooted,eyeing Nitworth ominously from eleven feet up. Oh, yes indeed, sir ... your Excellency ... Commander. Now, about theinvasion— Mr. Secretary, Magnan tugged at Nitworth's sleeve. In heaven's name, permit me to negotiate in peace! Nitworth snapped.He rearranged his features. Now your Excellency, we've arranged toevacuate Smorbrod, of course, just as you requested— Requested? the Qornt honked. Ah ... demanded, that is. Quite rightly of course. Ordered.Instructed. And, of course, we'll be only too pleased to follow anyother instructions you might have. You don't quite get the big picture, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.This isn't— Silence, confound you! Nitworth barked. The leading Qornt looked atRetief. He nodded. Two bony hands shot out, seized Nitworth and stuffeda length of bright pink silk into his mouth, then spun him around andheld him facing Retief. If you don't mind my taking this opportunity to brief you, Mr.Ambassador, Retief said blandly. I think I should mention that thisisn't an invasion fleet. These are the new recruits for the PeaceEnforcement Corps. Magnan stepped forward, glanced at the gag in Ambassador Nitworth'smouth, hesitated, then cleared his throat. We felt, he said, thatthe establishment of a Foreign Brigade within the P. E. Corps structurewould provide the element of novelty the Department has requestedin our recruiting, and at the same time would remove the stigma ofTerrestrial chauvinism from future punitive operations. Nitworth stared, eyes bulging. He grunted, reaching for the gag, caughtthe Qornt's eye on him, dropped his hands to his sides. I suggest we get the troops in out of the hot sun, Retief said.Magnan edged close. What about the gag? he whispered. Let's leave it where it is for a while, Retief murmured. It may saveus a few concessions. <doc-sep> MIGHTIEST QORN BY KEITH LAUMER Sly, brave and truculent, the Qornt held all humans in contempt—except one! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Ambassador Nitworth glowered across his mirror-polished, nine-footplatinum desk at his assembled staff. Gentlemen, are any of you familiar with a race known as the Qornt? There was a moment of profound silence. Nitworth leaned forward,looking solemn. They were a warlike race known in this sector back in Concordiattimes, perhaps two hundred years ago. They vanished as suddenly asthey had appeared. There was no record of where they went. He pausedfor effect. They have now reappeared—occupying the inner planet of this system! But, sir, Second Secretary Magnan offered. That's uninhabitedTerrestrial territory.... Indeed, Mr. Magnan? Nitworth smiled icily. It appears the Qornt donot share that opinion. He plucked a heavy parchment from a folderbefore him, harrumphed and read aloud: His Supreme Excellency The Qorn, Regent of Qornt, Over-Lord of theGalactic Destiny, Greets the Terrestrials and, with reference to thepresence in mandated territory of Terrestrial squatters, has the honorto advise that he will require the use of his outer world on thethirtieth day. Then will the Qornt come with steel and fire. Receive,Terrestrials, renewed assurances of my awareness of your existence,and let Those who dare gird for the contest. Frankly, I wouldn't call it conciliatory, Magnan said. Nitworth tapped the paper with a finger. We have been served, gentlemen, with nothing less than an Ultimatum! Well, we'll soon straighten these fellows out— the Military Attachebegan. There happens to be more to this piece of truculence than appears onthe surface, the Ambassador cut in. He paused, waiting for interestedfrowns to settle into place. Note, gentlemen, that these invaders have appeared on terrestrialcontrolled soil—and without so much as a flicker from the instrumentsof the Navigational Monitor Service! The Military Attache blinked. That's absurd, he said flatly. Nitworthslapped the table. We're up against something new, gentlemen! I've considered everyhypothesis from cloaks of invisibility to time travel! The fact is—theQornt fleets are indetectible! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What makes the men so certain about the Qornt's superior tactical advantage? Can we gather information about the military strategies and equipment used by the group?

Because they Qornt have been underground for two centuries while they molted from the Verpp stage of their life cycle, they have gone undetected by the Terrestrials in this time. This led the Terrestrials to believe that the Qornt possessed superior technology of some kind, as they seemed to have reappeared out of nowhere. However, this is not the case, and it was merely that the group remained dormant for a long time. There are rumors of stealth technology and superior ships, including a superdrive, but not much firsthand information until Magnan and Retief make it to the surface of Roolit I, the planet that the Qornt are currently occupying. It is true that the Verpp and Qornt are physically larger than the Terrestrials, but the systems of gravity on the different planets means that the smaller Terrestrials are actually stronger and have a kind of advantage on Roolit I. The Verpp tell Magnan that the Qornt have huge, powerful warships that have a variety of weapon types. Not only this, but each Qornt has his own ship, which means that there is a large fleet of these. It comes to Magnan as a surprise, then, that the Qornt are not worried about diplomatic negotiation, but instead just seem to have an impulse that drives them to be in battle.

What is the relationship between the Qornt and the other groups mentioned in the story of the Mightiest Qorn? [SEP] <s> MIGHTIEST QORN BY KEITH LAUMER Sly, brave and truculent, the Qornt held all humans in contempt—except one! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Ambassador Nitworth glowered across his mirror-polished, nine-footplatinum desk at his assembled staff. Gentlemen, are any of you familiar with a race known as the Qornt? There was a moment of profound silence. Nitworth leaned forward,looking solemn. They were a warlike race known in this sector back in Concordiattimes, perhaps two hundred years ago. They vanished as suddenly asthey had appeared. There was no record of where they went. He pausedfor effect. They have now reappeared—occupying the inner planet of this system! But, sir, Second Secretary Magnan offered. That's uninhabitedTerrestrial territory.... Indeed, Mr. Magnan? Nitworth smiled icily. It appears the Qornt donot share that opinion. He plucked a heavy parchment from a folderbefore him, harrumphed and read aloud: His Supreme Excellency The Qorn, Regent of Qornt, Over-Lord of theGalactic Destiny, Greets the Terrestrials and, with reference to thepresence in mandated territory of Terrestrial squatters, has the honorto advise that he will require the use of his outer world on thethirtieth day. Then will the Qornt come with steel and fire. Receive,Terrestrials, renewed assurances of my awareness of your existence,and let Those who dare gird for the contest. Frankly, I wouldn't call it conciliatory, Magnan said. Nitworth tapped the paper with a finger. We have been served, gentlemen, with nothing less than an Ultimatum! Well, we'll soon straighten these fellows out— the Military Attachebegan. There happens to be more to this piece of truculence than appears onthe surface, the Ambassador cut in. He paused, waiting for interestedfrowns to settle into place. Note, gentlemen, that these invaders have appeared on terrestrialcontrolled soil—and without so much as a flicker from the instrumentsof the Navigational Monitor Service! The Military Attache blinked. That's absurd, he said flatly. Nitworthslapped the table. We're up against something new, gentlemen! I've considered everyhypothesis from cloaks of invisibility to time travel! The fact is—theQornt fleets are indetectible! <doc-sep>There was a momentary silence from all sides. I guess so, grunted a giant Qornt in iridescent blue withflame-colored plumes. Qorn's eyes bulged. He half rose. We've been all over this, hebassooned. He clamped bony fingers on the hilt of a light rapier. Ithought I'd made my point! Oh, sure, Qorn. You bet. I'm convinced. Qorn rumbled and resumed his seat. All for one and one for all, that'sus. And you're the one, eh, Qorn? Retief commented. Magnan cleared his throat. I sense that some of you gentlemen are notconvinced of the wisdom of this move, he piped, looking along thetable at the silks, jewels, beaks, feather-decked crests and staringeyes. Silence! Qorn hooted. No use your talking to my loyal lieutenantsanyway, he added. They do whatever I convince them they ought to do. But I'm sure that on more mature consideration— I can lick any Qornt in the house. Qorn said. That's why I'm Qorn.He belched again. A servant came up staggering under a weight of chain, dropped it with acrash at Magnan's feet. Zubb aimed the guns while the servant wrappedthree loops around Magnan's wrists, snapped a lock in place. You next! The guns pointed at Retief's chest. He held out his arms.Four loops of silvery-gray chain in half-inch links dropped aroundthem. The servant cinched them up tight, squeezed a lock through theends and closed it. Now, Qorn said, lolling back in his chair, glass in hand. There's abit of sport to be had here, lads. What shall we do with them? Let them go, the blue and flame Qornt said glumly. You can do better than that, Qorn hooted. Now here's a suggestion:we carve them up a little—lop off the external labiae and pinnae,say—and ship them back. Good lord! Retief, he's talking about cutting off our ears and sendingus home mutilated! What a barbaric proposal! It wouldn't be the first time a Terrestrial diplomat got a trimming,Retief commented. It should have the effect of stimulating the Terries to put up areasonable scrap, Qorn said judiciously. I have a feeling thatthey're thinking of giving up without a struggle. Oh, I doubt that, the blue-and-flame Qornt said. Why should they? Qorn rolled an eye at Retief and another at Magnan. Take these two,he hooted. I'll wager they came here to negotiate a surrender! Well, Magnan started. Hold it, Mr. Magnan, Retief said. I'll tell him. What's your proposal? Qorn whistled, taking a gulp from his goblet.A fifty-fifty split? Monetary reparations? Alternate territory? I canassure you, it's useless. We Qornt like to fight. I'm afraid you've gotten the wrong impression, your Excellency,Retief said blandly. We didn't come to negotiate. We came to deliveran Ultimatum. What? Qorn trumpeted. Behind Retief, Magnan spluttered. We plan to use this planet for target practice, Retief said. A newtype hell bomb we've worked out. Have all your people off of it inseventy-two hours, or suffer the consequences. IV You have the gall, Qorn stormed, to stand here in the center ofQornt Hall—uninvited, at that—and in chains— Oh, these, Retief said. He tensed his arms. The soft aluminum linksstretched and broke. He shook the light metal free. We diplomats liketo go along with colorful local customs, but I wouldn't want to misleadyou. Now, as to the evacuation of Roolit I— Zubb screeched, waved the guns. The Qornt were jabbering. I told you they were brutes, Zubb shrilled. Qorn slammed his fist down on the table. I don't care what they are!he honked. Evacuate, hell! I can field eighty-five combat-ready ships! And we can englobe every one of them with a thousand Peace Enforcerswith a hundred megatons/second firepower each. Retief. Magnan tugged at his sleeve. Don't forget their superdrive. That's all right. They don't have one. But— We'll take you on! Qorn French-horned. We're the Qorn! We glory inbattle! We live in fame or go down in— Hogwash, the flame-and-blue Qorn cut in. If it wasn't for you, Qorn,we could sit around and feast and brag and enjoy life without having toprove anything. Qorn, you seem to be the fire-brand here, Retief said. I think therest of the boys would listen to reason— Over my dead body! My idea exactly, Retief said. You claim you can lick any man inthe house. Unwind yourself from your ribbons and step out here on thefloor, and we'll see how good you are at backing up your conversation. <doc-sep>As I see it, Retief said, dribbling cigar ashes into an empty wineglass, you Qornt like to be warriors, but you don't particularly liketo fight. We don't mind a little fighting—within reason. And, of course, asQornt, we're expected to die in battle. But what I say is, why rushthings? I have a suggestion, Magnan said. Why not turn the reins ofgovernment over to the Verpp? They seem a level-headed group. What good would that do? Qornt are Qornt. It seems there's always oneamong us who's a slave to instinct—and, naturally, we have to followhim. Why? Because that's the way it's done. Why not do it another way? Magnan offered. Now, I'd like to suggestcommunity singing— If we gave up fighting, we might live too long. Then what wouldhappen? Live too long? Magnan looked puzzled. When estivating time comes there'd be no burrows for us. Anyway, withthe new Qornt stepping on our heels— I've lost the thread, Magnan said. Who are the new Qornt? After estivating, the Verpp moult, and then they're Qornt, of course.The Gwil become Boog, the Boog become Rheuk, the Rheuk metamorphosizeinto Verpp— You mean Slun and Zubb—the mild-natured naturalists—will becomewarmongers like Qorn? Very likely. 'The milder the Verpp, the wilder the Qorn,' as the oldsaying goes. What do Qornt turn into? Retief asked. Hmmmm. That's a good question. So far, none have survived Qornthood. Have you thought of forsaking your warlike ways? Magnan asked. Whatabout taking up sheepherding and regular church attendance? Don't mistake me. We Qornt like a military life. It's great sport tosit around roaring fires and drink and tell lies and then go dashingoff to enjoy a brisk affray and some leisurely looting afterward. Butwe prefer a nice numerical advantage. Not this business of tackling youTerrestrials over on Guzzum—that was a mad notion. We had no idea whatyour strength was. But now that's all off, of course, Magnan chirped. Now that we'vehad diplomatic relations and all— Oh, by no means. The fleet lifts in thirty days. After all, we'reQornt; we have to satisfy our drive to action. But Mr. Retief is your leader now. He won't let you! Only a dead Qornt stays home when Attack day comes. And even ifhe orders us all to cut our own throats, there are still the otherCenters—all with their own leaders. No, gentlemen, the Invasion isdefinitely on. Why don't you go invade somebody else? Magnan suggested. I couldname some very attractive prospects—outside my sector, of course. Hold everything, Retief said. I think we've got the basis of a dealhere.... V At the head of a double column of gaudily caparisoned Qornt, Retiefand Magnan strolled across the ramp toward the bright tower of the CDTSector HQ. Ahead, gates opened, and a black Corps limousine emerged,flying an Ambassadorial flag under a plain square of white. Curious, Magnan commented. I wonder what the significance of thewhite ensign might be? Retief raised a hand. The column halted with a clash of accoutrementsand a rasp of Qornt boots. Retief looked back along the line. The highwhite sun flashed on bright silks, polished buckles, deep-dyed plumes,butts of pistols, the soft gleam of leather. A brave show indeed, Magnan commented approvingly. I confess theidea has merit. The limousine pulled up with a squeal of brakes, stood on two fat-tiredwheels, gyros humming softly. The hatch popped up. A portly diplomatstepped out. Why, Ambassador Nitworth, Magnan glowed. This is very kind of you. Keep cool, Magnan, Nitworth said in a strained voice. We'll attemptto get you out of this. He stepped past Magnan's out-stretched hand and looked hesitantly atthe ramrod-straight line of Qornt, eighty-five strong—and beyond, atthe eighty-five tall Qornt dreadnaughts. Good afternoon, sir ... ah, Your Excellency, Nitworth said, blinkingup at the leading Qornt. You are Commander of the Strike Force, Iassume? Nope, the Qornt said shortly. I ... ah ... wish to request seventy-two hours in which to evacuateHeadquarters, Nitworth plowed on. Mr. Ambassador. Retief said. This— Don't panic, Retief. I'll attempt to secure your release, Nitworthhissed over his shoulder. Now— You will address our leader with more respect! the tall Qornt hooted,eyeing Nitworth ominously from eleven feet up. Oh, yes indeed, sir ... your Excellency ... Commander. Now, about theinvasion— Mr. Secretary, Magnan tugged at Nitworth's sleeve. In heaven's name, permit me to negotiate in peace! Nitworth snapped.He rearranged his features. Now your Excellency, we've arranged toevacuate Smorbrod, of course, just as you requested— Requested? the Qornt honked. Ah ... demanded, that is. Quite rightly of course. Ordered.Instructed. And, of course, we'll be only too pleased to follow anyother instructions you might have. You don't quite get the big picture, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.This isn't— Silence, confound you! Nitworth barked. The leading Qornt looked atRetief. He nodded. Two bony hands shot out, seized Nitworth and stuffeda length of bright pink silk into his mouth, then spun him around andheld him facing Retief. If you don't mind my taking this opportunity to brief you, Mr.Ambassador, Retief said blandly. I think I should mention that thisisn't an invasion fleet. These are the new recruits for the PeaceEnforcement Corps. Magnan stepped forward, glanced at the gag in Ambassador Nitworth'smouth, hesitated, then cleared his throat. We felt, he said, thatthe establishment of a Foreign Brigade within the P. E. Corps structurewould provide the element of novelty the Department has requestedin our recruiting, and at the same time would remove the stigma ofTerrestrial chauvinism from future punitive operations. Nitworth stared, eyes bulging. He grunted, reaching for the gag, caughtthe Qornt's eye on him, dropped his hands to his sides. I suggest we get the troops in out of the hot sun, Retief said.Magnan edged close. What about the gag? he whispered. Let's leave it where it is for a while, Retief murmured. It may saveus a few concessions. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the relationship between the Qornt and the other groups mentioned in the story of the Mightiest Qorn?

The Qornt is a race of aliens known for their militaristic tendencies that seemed to disappear two centuries ago. They are of particular issue because they have reappeared and written to the Terrestrials saying they would take over the planet that the Terrestrials are on. We eventually learn that the Qornt are but one stage in a longer life cycle, in which Gwil become Boog, who become Rheuk, who become Verpp, who eventually become Qornt after the two hundred year estivation period. It is only in this stage that they become antagonistic and warlike, but they do not know what happens after this stage because Qornt are expected to die in battle, and none have survived long enough to know what happens. The Qornt themselves are twelve feet tall and troll-like, with very bushy fur, huge eyes, and beaks. They are very comfortable with their militaristic traditions—when we meet them, they are in the midst of a large feast that they partake in before going to war. They boast the spoils of battle on display in their great hall, and wear intricate headdresses to show their power. After a skirmish with the men on Roolit I, in which Qorn (the lead Qornt) is replaced in power by Retief, they eventually make it to the outer planets where they have presumably been recruited into the Peace Enforcement Corps.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in DUST UNTO DUST? [SEP] <s> DUST UNTO DUST By LYMAN D. HINCKLEY It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister city of metal that glittered malignantly before the cautious advance of three awed space-scouters. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention oneusually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected hasoccurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silenceat the city a quarter-mile away. He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into thetwilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and thebarren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before theylanded, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction. He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant. Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men,unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. Shall we, gentlemen? and witha graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city. Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through thestillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilightsky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And thecity. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to builda city—even a city like this one—in such surroundings. The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waitinggeometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight,and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration whilethis planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe returnin their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expeditionhad, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a returnflight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the onlycity on the planet—the planet without any life at all, save tinymosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction fromthe city a man moved, he would always be going north. Hey, Martin! Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused.Wind, Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the blackpile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. That's all we need, isn't it? Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dustcavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little,adjusting his radio. Worried? Rodney's bony face was without expression. Gives me the creeps, kindof. I wonder what they were like? Wass murmured, Let us hope they aren't immortal. Three feet from the edge of the city Martin stopped and stubbed at thesand with the toe of his boot, clearing earth from part of a shiningmetal band. Wass watched him, and then shoved aside more sand, several feet away.It's here, too. Martin stood up. Let's try farther on. Rodney, radio the ship, tellthem we're going in. Rodney nodded. After a time, Wass said, Here, too. How far do you think it goes? Martin shrugged. Clear around the city? I'd like to know what itis—was—for. Defense, Rodney, several yards behind, suggested. Could be, Martin said. Let's go in. The three crossed the metal band and walked abreast down a street,their broad soft soled boots making no sound on the dull metal. Theypassed doors and arches and windows and separate buildings. They movedcautiously across five intersections. And they stood in a squaresurrounded by the tallest buildings in the city. Rodney broke the silence, hesitantly. Not—not very big. Is it? Wass looked at him shrewdly. Neither were the—well, shall we callthem, people? Have you noticed how low everything is? Rodney's laughter rose, too. Then, sobering—Maybe they crawled. A nebulous image, product of childhood's vivid imagination, movedslowly across Martin's mind. All right! he rapped out—and the imagefaded. Sorry, Rodney murmured, his throat working beneath his lantern jaw.Then—I wonder what it's like here in the winter when there's no lightat all? I imagine they had illumination of some sort, Martin answered, dryly.If we don't hurry up and get through this place and back to the ship,we're very likely to find out. Rodney said quickly, I mean outside. Out there, too, Rodney, they must have had illumination. Martinlooked back along the straight, metal street they'd walked on, and pastthat out over the bleak, furrowed slopes where the ship's lifeboatlay ... and he thought everything outside the city seemed, somehow,from here, a little dim, a little hazy. He straightened his shoulders. The city was alien, of course, and thatexplained most of it ... most of it. But he felt the black city wassomething familiar, yet twisted and distorted. Well, Wass said, his nose wrinkling a bit, now that we're here.... Pictures, Martin decided. We have twelve hours. We'll start here.What's the matter, Wass? The blond man grinned ruefully. I left the camera in the lifeboat.There was a pause. Then Wass, defensively—It's almost as if the citydidn't want to be photographed. Martin ignored the remark. Go get it. Rodney and I will be somewherealong this street. Wass turned away. Martin and Rodney started slowly down the wide metalstreet, at right angles to their path of entrance. Again Martin felt a tug of twisted, distorted familiarity. It wasalmost as if ... they were human up to a certain point, the pointbeing, perhaps, some part of their minds.... Alien things, dark andsubtle, things no man could ever comprehend. Parallel evolution on two inner planets of the same system? Somewhere,sometime, a common ancestor? Martin noted the shoulder-high doors, theheavier gravity, remembered the inhabitants of the city vanished beforethe thing that was to become man ever emerged from the slime, and hedecided to grin at himself, at his own imagination. Rodney jerked his scarecrow length about quickly, and a chill sped upMartin's spine. What's the matter? The bony face was white, the gray eyes were wide. I saw—I thought Isaw—something—moving— Anger rose in Martin. You didn't, he said flatly, gripping theother's shoulder cruelly. You couldn't have. Get hold of yourself,man! Rodney stared. The wind. Remember? There isn't any, here. ... How could there be? The buildings protect us now. It was blowingfrom the other direction. Rodney wrenched free of Martin's grip. He gestured wildly. That— Martin! Wass' voice came through the receivers in both their radios.Martin, I can't get out! <doc-sep>Carpenter rubbed modestly gloved hands together. I have no immediatebusiness, so supposing I start showing you the sights. What would youlike to see first, Mr. Frey? Or would you prefer a nice, restful movid? Frankly, Michael admitted, the first thing I'd like to do is getmyself something to eat. I didn't have any breakfast and I'm famished.Two small creatures standing close to him giggled nervously andscuttled off on six legs apiece. Shh, not so loud! There are females present. Carpenter drew theyouth to a secluded corner. Don't you know that on Theemim it'sfrightfully vulgar to as much as speak of eating in public? But why? Michael demanded in too loud a voice. What's wrong witheating in public here on Earth? Carpenter clapped a hand over the young man's mouth. Hush, hecautioned. After all, on Earth there are things we don't do or evenmention in public, aren't there? Well, yes. But those are different. Not at all. Those rules might seem just as ridiculous to a Theemimian.But the Theemimians have accepted our customs just as we have acceptedthe Theemimians'. How would you like it if a Theemimian violatedone of our tabus in public? You must consider the feelings of theTheemimians as equal to your own. Observe the golden rule: 'Do untoextraterrestrials as you would be done by.' But I'm still hungry, Michael persisted, modulating his voice,however, to a decent whisper. Do the proprieties demand that I starveto death, or can I get something to eat somewhere? Naturally, the salesman whispered back. Portyork provides for allbodily needs. Numerous feeding stations are conveniently locatedthroughout the port, and there must be some on the field. After gazing furtively over his shoulder to see that no females werewatching, Carpenter approached a large map of the landing field andpressed a button. A tiny red light winked demurely for an instant. That's the nearest one, Carpenter explained. <doc-sep>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it. Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then? Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself. Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again. Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun. The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches. For a little while he was alone. Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects. Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals. Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself. How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance. We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered. Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it. The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff. Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens? Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees. He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts. Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney. All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust. Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine. Wass! There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening. The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves. Are we going straight? Rodney asked. Of course, Martin growled. There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number. Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney? Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed. A grate. Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out! Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I— There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate. The grate groaned upward and stopped. Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream. Martin switched off his radio, sick. He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well? I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer? We couldn't do anything for him. Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us. So he did, Martin said, very quietly. Rodney said nothing. Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end? Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—! Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap. An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it. Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them. Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in DUST UNTO DUST?

The story opens with Rodney, Martin and Wass landing on a foreign planet and overlooking an abandoned metal city where the inhabitants supposedly died more than a million years ago. They had thirteen hours to explore before they must return to their mother ship.They notice a metal rim at the perimeter of the city that they must step over to enter, and continue in to explore. Wass must return to their “lifeboat” spaceship to get a camera, but is unable to exit the city as the metal band they noticed coming in has turned into a dome-shaped shield over the entire city. They suspect it may be a radiation shield, and are suspicious that the wind they saw when landing and their inability to contact their home ship may indicate a tragedy took place as they arrived. They find a control center of sorts with lots of knobs and levers, but do not engage with it for fear of not knowing what might happen. They all find the city somewhat familiar, but have no idea why. They begin looking for where the water of the city comes from, since they may be able to find a way out of the city through its transport corridors. They all begin to start frightening each other with stories and seeing dust and objects move around in the dark. Rodney and Martin enter an underground tunnel through a hatch in the ground and Wass chooses not to follow them and instead leaves to return to the switchboard.As Rodney and Martin discover a grate in the tunnel it begins to open for them. Wass delivers the message on the radio that he was able to do that from the control room, and then something attacks and kills him. Rodney and Martin escape to the outside of the dome to where others from their crew have come to their rescue. It is unclear whether Rodney and Martin ultimately live after they exit the tunnel.

How does Wass's fate unfold in the story DUST UNTO DUST? [SEP] <s>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it. Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then? Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself. Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again. Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun. The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches. For a little while he was alone. Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects. Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals. Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself. How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance. We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered. Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it. The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff. Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens? Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees. He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts. Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney. All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust. Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine. Wass! There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening. The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves. Are we going straight? Rodney asked. Of course, Martin growled. There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number. Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney? Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed. A grate. Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out! Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I— There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate. The grate groaned upward and stopped. Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream. Martin switched off his radio, sick. He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well? I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer? We couldn't do anything for him. Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us. So he did, Martin said, very quietly. Rodney said nothing. Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end? Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—! Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap. An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it. Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them. Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed. <doc-sep> DUST UNTO DUST By LYMAN D. HINCKLEY It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister city of metal that glittered malignantly before the cautious advance of three awed space-scouters. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention oneusually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected hasoccurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silenceat the city a quarter-mile away. He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into thetwilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and thebarren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before theylanded, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction. He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant. Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men,unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. Shall we, gentlemen? and witha graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city. Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through thestillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilightsky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And thecity. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to builda city—even a city like this one—in such surroundings. The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waitinggeometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight,and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration whilethis planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe returnin their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expeditionhad, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a returnflight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the onlycity on the planet—the planet without any life at all, save tinymosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction fromthe city a man moved, he would always be going north. Hey, Martin! Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused.Wind, Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the blackpile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. That's all we need, isn't it? Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dustcavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little,adjusting his radio. Worried? Rodney's bony face was without expression. Gives me the creeps, kindof. I wonder what they were like? Wass murmured, Let us hope they aren't immortal. Three feet from the edge of the city Martin stopped and stubbed at thesand with the toe of his boot, clearing earth from part of a shiningmetal band. Wass watched him, and then shoved aside more sand, several feet away.It's here, too. Martin stood up. Let's try farther on. Rodney, radio the ship, tellthem we're going in. Rodney nodded. After a time, Wass said, Here, too. How far do you think it goes? Martin shrugged. Clear around the city? I'd like to know what itis—was—for. Defense, Rodney, several yards behind, suggested. Could be, Martin said. Let's go in. The three crossed the metal band and walked abreast down a street,their broad soft soled boots making no sound on the dull metal. Theypassed doors and arches and windows and separate buildings. They movedcautiously across five intersections. And they stood in a squaresurrounded by the tallest buildings in the city. Rodney broke the silence, hesitantly. Not—not very big. Is it? Wass looked at him shrewdly. Neither were the—well, shall we callthem, people? Have you noticed how low everything is? Rodney's laughter rose, too. Then, sobering—Maybe they crawled. A nebulous image, product of childhood's vivid imagination, movedslowly across Martin's mind. All right! he rapped out—and the imagefaded. Sorry, Rodney murmured, his throat working beneath his lantern jaw.Then—I wonder what it's like here in the winter when there's no lightat all? I imagine they had illumination of some sort, Martin answered, dryly.If we don't hurry up and get through this place and back to the ship,we're very likely to find out. Rodney said quickly, I mean outside. Out there, too, Rodney, they must have had illumination. Martinlooked back along the straight, metal street they'd walked on, and pastthat out over the bleak, furrowed slopes where the ship's lifeboatlay ... and he thought everything outside the city seemed, somehow,from here, a little dim, a little hazy. He straightened his shoulders. The city was alien, of course, and thatexplained most of it ... most of it. But he felt the black city wassomething familiar, yet twisted and distorted. Well, Wass said, his nose wrinkling a bit, now that we're here.... Pictures, Martin decided. We have twelve hours. We'll start here.What's the matter, Wass? The blond man grinned ruefully. I left the camera in the lifeboat.There was a pause. Then Wass, defensively—It's almost as if the citydidn't want to be photographed. Martin ignored the remark. Go get it. Rodney and I will be somewherealong this street. Wass turned away. Martin and Rodney started slowly down the wide metalstreet, at right angles to their path of entrance. Again Martin felt a tug of twisted, distorted familiarity. It wasalmost as if ... they were human up to a certain point, the pointbeing, perhaps, some part of their minds.... Alien things, dark andsubtle, things no man could ever comprehend. Parallel evolution on two inner planets of the same system? Somewhere,sometime, a common ancestor? Martin noted the shoulder-high doors, theheavier gravity, remembered the inhabitants of the city vanished beforethe thing that was to become man ever emerged from the slime, and hedecided to grin at himself, at his own imagination. Rodney jerked his scarecrow length about quickly, and a chill sped upMartin's spine. What's the matter? The bony face was white, the gray eyes were wide. I saw—I thought Isaw—something—moving— Anger rose in Martin. You didn't, he said flatly, gripping theother's shoulder cruelly. You couldn't have. Get hold of yourself,man! Rodney stared. The wind. Remember? There isn't any, here. ... How could there be? The buildings protect us now. It was blowingfrom the other direction. Rodney wrenched free of Martin's grip. He gestured wildly. That— Martin! Wass' voice came through the receivers in both their radios.Martin, I can't get out! <doc-sep>Wass moved silently through the darkness beyond the torches. We allhave guns, Martin. I'm holding mine. Martin waited. After a moment, Wass switched his flashlight back on. He said quietly,He's right, Rodney. It would be sure death to monkey around in here. Well.... Rodney turned quickly toward the black arch. Let's get outof here, then! Martin hung back waiting for the others to go ahead of him down themetal hall. At the other arch, where the ramp led downward, he called ahalt. If the dome, or whatever it is, is a radiation screen there mustbe at least half-a-dozen emergency exits around the city. Rodney said, To search every building next to the dome clean aroundthe city would take years. Martin nodded. But there must be central roads beneath this main levelleading to them. Up here there are too many roads. Wass laughed rudely. Have you a better idea? Wass ignored that, as Martin hoped he would. He said slowly, Thatleads to another idea. If the band around the city is responsible forthe dome, does it project down into the ground as well? You mean dig out? Martin asked. Sure. Why not? We're wearing heavy suits and bulky breathing units. We have noequipment. That shouldn't be hard to come by. Martin smiled, banishing Wass' idea. Rodney said, They may have had their digging equipment built right into themselves. Anyway, Martin decided, we can take a look down below. In the pitch dark, Wass added. Martin adjusted his torch, began to lead the way down the metal ramp.The incline was gentle, apparently constructed for legs shorter, feetperhaps less broad than their own. The metal, without mark of any sort,gleamed under the combined light of the torches, unrolling out of thedarkness before the men. At length the incline melted smoothly into the next level of the city. Martin shined his light upward, and the others followed his example.Metal as smooth and featureless as that on which they stood shone downon them. Wass turned his light parallel with the floor, and then moved slowly ina circle. No supports. No supports anywhere. What keeps all that upthere? I don't know. I have no idea. Martin gestured toward the ramp withhis light. Does all this, this whole place, look at all familiar toyou? Rodney's gulp was clearly audible through the radio receivers. Here? No, no, Martin answered impatiently, not just here. I mean the wholecity. Yes, Wass said dryly, it does. I'm sure this is where all mynightmares stay when they're not on shift. Martin turned on his heel and started down a metal avenue which, hethought, paralleled the street above. And Rodney and Wass followed himsilently. They moved along the metal, past unfamiliar shapes made moreso by gloom and moving shadows, past doors dancing grotesquely in thethree lights, past openings in the occasional high metal partitions,past something which was perhaps a conveyor belt, past anothersomething which could have been anything at all. The metal street ended eventually in a blank metal wall. The edge of the city—the city which was a dome of force above and abowl of metal below. After a long time, Wass sighed. Well, skipper...? We go back, I guess, Martin said. Rodney turned swiftly to face him. Martin thought the tall man washolding his gun. To the switchboard, Martin? Unless someone has a better idea, Martin conceded. He waited. ButRodney was holding the gun ... and Wass was.... Then—I can't think ofanything else. They began to retrace their steps along the metal street, back pastthe same dancing shapes of metal, the partitions, the odd windows, alllooking different now in the new angles of illumination. Martin was in the lead. Wass followed him silently. Rodney, tall,matchstick thin, even in his cumbersome suit, swayed with jauntytriumph in the rear. Martin looked at the metal street lined with its metal objects and hesighed. He remembered how the dark buildings of the city looked atsurface level, how the city itself looked when they were landing, andthen when they were walking toward it. The dream was gone again fornow. Idealism died in him, again and again, yet it was always reborn.But—The only city, so far as anyone knew, on the first planet they'dever explored. And it had to be like this. Nightmares, Wass said, andMartin thought perhaps the city was built by a race of beings who atsome point twisted away from their evolutionary spiral, plagued by asort of racial insanity. No, Martin thought, shaking his head. No, that couldn't be.Viewpoint ... his viewpoint. It was the haunting sense of familiarity,a faint strain through all this broad jumble, the junkpile of alienmetal, which was making him theorize so wildly. Then Wass touched his elbow. Look there, Martin. Left of the ramp. Light from their torches was reflected, as from glass. All right, Rodney said belligerently into his radio. What's holdingup the procession? Martin was silent. Wass undertook to explain. Why not, after all? Martin asked himself. Itwas in Wass' own interest. In a moment, all three were standing beforea bank of glass cases which stretched off into the distance as far asthe combined light of their torches would reach. Seeds! Wass exclaimed, his faceplate pressed against the glass. Martin blinked. He thought how little time they had. He wet his lips. Wass' gloved hands fumbled awkwardly at a catch in the nearest sectionof the bank. Martin thought of the dark, convoluted land outside the city. If theywouldn't grow there.... Or had they, once? Don't, Wass! Torchlight reflected from Wass' faceplate as he turned his head. Whynot? They were like children.... We don't know, released, what they'll do. Skipper, Wass said carefully, if we don't get out of this place bythe deadline we may be eating these. Martin raised his arm tensely. Opening a seed bank doesn't help usfind a way out of here. He started up the ramp. Besides, we've nowater. Rodney came last up the ramp, less jaunty now, but still holding thegun. His mind, too, was taken up with childhood's imaginings. Fora plant to grow in this environment, it wouldn't need much water.Maybe— he had a vision of evil plants attacking them, growing withsuper-swiftness at the air valves and joints of their suits —only thelittle moisture in the atmosphere. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Wass's fate unfold in the story DUST UNTO DUST?

Wass is an equal part of the exploration party with Rodney and Martin until he has had enough and parts ways with them when they enter an underground passageway filled with dust. Wass instead returns to the switchboard and pulls a series of levers that allows Rodney and Martin to escape from the city through the underground tunnels - saving their lives. Wass ultimately dies at the switchboard, though it is not clear what kills him.

In what location does the narrative of DUST UNTO DUST occur? [SEP] <s> DUST UNTO DUST By LYMAN D. HINCKLEY It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister city of metal that glittered malignantly before the cautious advance of three awed space-scouters. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention oneusually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected hasoccurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silenceat the city a quarter-mile away. He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into thetwilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and thebarren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before theylanded, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction. He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant. Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men,unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. Shall we, gentlemen? and witha graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city. Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through thestillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilightsky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And thecity. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to builda city—even a city like this one—in such surroundings. The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waitinggeometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight,and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration whilethis planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe returnin their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expeditionhad, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a returnflight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the onlycity on the planet—the planet without any life at all, save tinymosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction fromthe city a man moved, he would always be going north. Hey, Martin! Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused.Wind, Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the blackpile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. That's all we need, isn't it? Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dustcavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little,adjusting his radio. Worried? Rodney's bony face was without expression. Gives me the creeps, kindof. I wonder what they were like? Wass murmured, Let us hope they aren't immortal. Three feet from the edge of the city Martin stopped and stubbed at thesand with the toe of his boot, clearing earth from part of a shiningmetal band. Wass watched him, and then shoved aside more sand, several feet away.It's here, too. Martin stood up. Let's try farther on. Rodney, radio the ship, tellthem we're going in. Rodney nodded. After a time, Wass said, Here, too. How far do you think it goes? Martin shrugged. Clear around the city? I'd like to know what itis—was—for. Defense, Rodney, several yards behind, suggested. Could be, Martin said. Let's go in. The three crossed the metal band and walked abreast down a street,their broad soft soled boots making no sound on the dull metal. Theypassed doors and arches and windows and separate buildings. They movedcautiously across five intersections. And they stood in a squaresurrounded by the tallest buildings in the city. Rodney broke the silence, hesitantly. Not—not very big. Is it? Wass looked at him shrewdly. Neither were the—well, shall we callthem, people? Have you noticed how low everything is? Rodney's laughter rose, too. Then, sobering—Maybe they crawled. A nebulous image, product of childhood's vivid imagination, movedslowly across Martin's mind. All right! he rapped out—and the imagefaded. Sorry, Rodney murmured, his throat working beneath his lantern jaw.Then—I wonder what it's like here in the winter when there's no lightat all? I imagine they had illumination of some sort, Martin answered, dryly.If we don't hurry up and get through this place and back to the ship,we're very likely to find out. Rodney said quickly, I mean outside. Out there, too, Rodney, they must have had illumination. Martinlooked back along the straight, metal street they'd walked on, and pastthat out over the bleak, furrowed slopes where the ship's lifeboatlay ... and he thought everything outside the city seemed, somehow,from here, a little dim, a little hazy. He straightened his shoulders. The city was alien, of course, and thatexplained most of it ... most of it. But he felt the black city wassomething familiar, yet twisted and distorted. Well, Wass said, his nose wrinkling a bit, now that we're here.... Pictures, Martin decided. We have twelve hours. We'll start here.What's the matter, Wass? The blond man grinned ruefully. I left the camera in the lifeboat.There was a pause. Then Wass, defensively—It's almost as if the citydidn't want to be photographed. Martin ignored the remark. Go get it. Rodney and I will be somewherealong this street. Wass turned away. Martin and Rodney started slowly down the wide metalstreet, at right angles to their path of entrance. Again Martin felt a tug of twisted, distorted familiarity. It wasalmost as if ... they were human up to a certain point, the pointbeing, perhaps, some part of their minds.... Alien things, dark andsubtle, things no man could ever comprehend. Parallel evolution on two inner planets of the same system? Somewhere,sometime, a common ancestor? Martin noted the shoulder-high doors, theheavier gravity, remembered the inhabitants of the city vanished beforethe thing that was to become man ever emerged from the slime, and hedecided to grin at himself, at his own imagination. Rodney jerked his scarecrow length about quickly, and a chill sped upMartin's spine. What's the matter? The bony face was white, the gray eyes were wide. I saw—I thought Isaw—something—moving— Anger rose in Martin. You didn't, he said flatly, gripping theother's shoulder cruelly. You couldn't have. Get hold of yourself,man! Rodney stared. The wind. Remember? There isn't any, here. ... How could there be? The buildings protect us now. It was blowingfrom the other direction. Rodney wrenched free of Martin's grip. He gestured wildly. That— Martin! Wass' voice came through the receivers in both their radios.Martin, I can't get out! <doc-sep>Quickly, Roddie drew the hammer from his waist. Then, with weapon readyfor an instantaneous blow, he stretched his left hand through thedarkness. He touched something warm, softish. Gingerly he felt overthat curving surface for identifying features. While Roddie investigated by touch, his long fingers were suddenlyseized and bitten. At the same time, his right shin received a savagekick. And his own retaliatory blow was checked in mid-swing by anunexpected voice. Get your filthy hands off me! it whispered angrily. Who do you thinkyou are? Startled, he dropped his hammer. I'm Roddie, he said, squatting tofumble for it. Who do you think you are? I'm Ida, naturally! Just how many girls are there in this raidingparty? His first Invader—and he had dropped his weapon! Scrabbling fearfully in the dust for his hammer, Roddie pausedsuddenly. This girl—whatever that was—seemed to think him one ofher own kind. There was a chance, not much, but worth taking, to turndelay to advantage. Maybe he could learn something of value before hekilled her. That would make the soldiers accept him! He stalled, seeking a gambit. How would I know how many girls thereare? Half expecting a blow, he got instead an apology. I'm sorry, the girlsaid. I should have known. Never even heard your name before, either.Roddie.... Whose boat did you come in, Roddie? Boat? What was a boat? How would I know? he repeated, voice tightwith fear of discovery. If she noticed the tension, she didn't show it. Certainly her whisperwas friendly enough. Oh, you're one of the fellows from Bodega, then.They shoved a boy into our boat at the last minute, too. Tough, wasn'tit, getting separated in the fog and tide like that? If only we didn'thave to use boats.... But, say, how are we going to get away from here? I wouldn't know, Roddie said, closing his fingers on the hammer, andrising. How did you get in? Followed your footprints. It was sundown and I saw human tracks in thedust and they led me here. Where were you? Scouting around, Roddie said vaguely. How did you know I was a manwhen I came back? Because you couldn't see me, silly! You know perfectly well theseandroids are heat-sensitive and can locate us in the dark! Indeed he did know! Many times he'd felt ashamed that Molly could findhim whenever she wanted to, even here in the manhole. But perhaps themanhole would help him now to redeem himself.... <doc-sep>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it. Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then? Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself. Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again. Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun. The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches. For a little while he was alone. Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects. Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals. Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself. How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance. We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered. Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it. The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff. Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens? Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees. He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts. Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney. All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust. Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine. Wass! There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening. The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves. Are we going straight? Rodney asked. Of course, Martin growled. There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number. Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney? Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed. A grate. Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out! Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I— There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate. The grate groaned upward and stopped. Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream. Martin switched off his radio, sick. He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well? I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer? We couldn't do anything for him. Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us. So he did, Martin said, very quietly. Rodney said nothing. Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end? Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—! Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap. An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it. Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them. Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] In what location does the narrative of DUST UNTO DUST occur?

The story takes place on the surface of a planet that has an abandoned city made of metal. The city is spooky and the inhabitants supposedly died over a million years ago. However, they see things moving strangely while they are in the city suggesting it is inhabited, and something kills Wass within the city during the story.They explore the metal streets of the city, a room with a large switchboard, and seven levels underground. Rodney and Martin explore an underground tunnel that eventually leads them out of the city and to the safety of their fellow crew.

How do Rodney, Martin, and Wass interact with each other in DUST UNTO DUST? [SEP] <s>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it. Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then? Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself. Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again. Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun. The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches. For a little while he was alone. Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects. Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals. Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself. How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance. We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered. Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it. The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff. Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens? Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees. He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts. Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney. All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust. Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine. Wass! There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening. The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves. Are we going straight? Rodney asked. Of course, Martin growled. There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number. Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney? Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed. A grate. Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out! Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I— There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate. The grate groaned upward and stopped. Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream. Martin switched off his radio, sick. He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well? I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer? We couldn't do anything for him. Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us. So he did, Martin said, very quietly. Rodney said nothing. Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end? Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—! Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap. An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it. Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them. Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed. <doc-sep> DUST UNTO DUST By LYMAN D. HINCKLEY It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister city of metal that glittered malignantly before the cautious advance of three awed space-scouters. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention oneusually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected hasoccurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silenceat the city a quarter-mile away. He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into thetwilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and thebarren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before theylanded, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction. He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant. Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men,unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. Shall we, gentlemen? and witha graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city. Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through thestillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilightsky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And thecity. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to builda city—even a city like this one—in such surroundings. The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waitinggeometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight,and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration whilethis planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe returnin their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expeditionhad, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a returnflight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the onlycity on the planet—the planet without any life at all, save tinymosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction fromthe city a man moved, he would always be going north. Hey, Martin! Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused.Wind, Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the blackpile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. That's all we need, isn't it? Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dustcavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little,adjusting his radio. Worried? Rodney's bony face was without expression. Gives me the creeps, kindof. I wonder what they were like? Wass murmured, Let us hope they aren't immortal. Three feet from the edge of the city Martin stopped and stubbed at thesand with the toe of his boot, clearing earth from part of a shiningmetal band. Wass watched him, and then shoved aside more sand, several feet away.It's here, too. Martin stood up. Let's try farther on. Rodney, radio the ship, tellthem we're going in. Rodney nodded. After a time, Wass said, Here, too. How far do you think it goes? Martin shrugged. Clear around the city? I'd like to know what itis—was—for. Defense, Rodney, several yards behind, suggested. Could be, Martin said. Let's go in. The three crossed the metal band and walked abreast down a street,their broad soft soled boots making no sound on the dull metal. Theypassed doors and arches and windows and separate buildings. They movedcautiously across five intersections. And they stood in a squaresurrounded by the tallest buildings in the city. Rodney broke the silence, hesitantly. Not—not very big. Is it? Wass looked at him shrewdly. Neither were the—well, shall we callthem, people? Have you noticed how low everything is? Rodney's laughter rose, too. Then, sobering—Maybe they crawled. A nebulous image, product of childhood's vivid imagination, movedslowly across Martin's mind. All right! he rapped out—and the imagefaded. Sorry, Rodney murmured, his throat working beneath his lantern jaw.Then—I wonder what it's like here in the winter when there's no lightat all? I imagine they had illumination of some sort, Martin answered, dryly.If we don't hurry up and get through this place and back to the ship,we're very likely to find out. Rodney said quickly, I mean outside. Out there, too, Rodney, they must have had illumination. Martinlooked back along the straight, metal street they'd walked on, and pastthat out over the bleak, furrowed slopes where the ship's lifeboatlay ... and he thought everything outside the city seemed, somehow,from here, a little dim, a little hazy. He straightened his shoulders. The city was alien, of course, and thatexplained most of it ... most of it. But he felt the black city wassomething familiar, yet twisted and distorted. Well, Wass said, his nose wrinkling a bit, now that we're here.... Pictures, Martin decided. We have twelve hours. We'll start here.What's the matter, Wass? The blond man grinned ruefully. I left the camera in the lifeboat.There was a pause. Then Wass, defensively—It's almost as if the citydidn't want to be photographed. Martin ignored the remark. Go get it. Rodney and I will be somewherealong this street. Wass turned away. Martin and Rodney started slowly down the wide metalstreet, at right angles to their path of entrance. Again Martin felt a tug of twisted, distorted familiarity. It wasalmost as if ... they were human up to a certain point, the pointbeing, perhaps, some part of their minds.... Alien things, dark andsubtle, things no man could ever comprehend. Parallel evolution on two inner planets of the same system? Somewhere,sometime, a common ancestor? Martin noted the shoulder-high doors, theheavier gravity, remembered the inhabitants of the city vanished beforethe thing that was to become man ever emerged from the slime, and hedecided to grin at himself, at his own imagination. Rodney jerked his scarecrow length about quickly, and a chill sped upMartin's spine. What's the matter? The bony face was white, the gray eyes were wide. I saw—I thought Isaw—something—moving— Anger rose in Martin. You didn't, he said flatly, gripping theother's shoulder cruelly. You couldn't have. Get hold of yourself,man! Rodney stared. The wind. Remember? There isn't any, here. ... How could there be? The buildings protect us now. It was blowingfrom the other direction. Rodney wrenched free of Martin's grip. He gestured wildly. That— Martin! Wass' voice came through the receivers in both their radios.Martin, I can't get out! <doc-sep>They stood before the switchboard again. Martin and Wass side by side,Rodney, still holding his gun, slightly to the rear. Rodney moved forward a little toward the switches. His breathing wasloud and rather uneven in the radio receivers. Martin made a final effort. Rodney, it's still almost nine hours totake off. Let's search awhile first. Let this be a last resort. Rodney jerked his head negatively. No. Now, I know you, Martin.Postpone and postpone until it's too late, and the ship leaves withoutus and we're stranded here to eat seeds and gradually dehydrateourselves and God only knows what else and— He reached out convulsively and yanked a switch. Martin leaped, knocking him to the floor. Rodney's gun skittered awaysilently, like a live thing, out of the range of the torches. The radio receivers impersonally recorded the grating sounds ofRodney's sobs. Sorry, Martin said, without feeling. He turned quickly. Wass? The slight, blond man stood unmoving. I'm with you, Martin, but, asa last resort it might be better to be blown sky high than to diegradually— Martin was watching Rodney, struggling to get up. I agree. As a lastresort. We still have a little time. Rodney's tall, spare figure looked bowed and tired in the torchlight,now that he was up again. Martin, I— Martin turned his back. Skip it, Rodney, he said gently. Water, Wass said thoughtfully. There must be reservoirs under thiscity somewhere. Rodney said, How does water help us get out? Martin glanced at Wass, then started out of the switchboard room, notlooking back. It got in and out of the city some way. Perhaps we canleave the same way. Down the ramp again. There's another ramp, Wass murmured. Rodney looked down it. I wonder how many there are, all told. Martin placed one foot on the metal incline. He angled his torch down,picking out shadowy, geometrical shapes, duplicates of the ones on thepresent level. We'll find out, he said, how many there are. Eleven levels later Rodney asked, How much time have we now? Seven hours, Wass said quietly, until take-off. One more level, Martin said, ignoring the reference to time. I ...think it's the last. They walked down the ramp and stood together, silent in a dim pool ofartificial light on the bottom level of the alien city. Rodney played his torch about the metal figures carefully placed aboutthe floor. Martin, what if there are no reservoirs? What if there arecemeteries instead? Or cold storage units? Maybe the switch I pulled— Rodney! Stop it! Rodney swallowed audibly. This place scares me.... The first time I was ever in a rocket, it scared me. I was thirteen. This is different, Wass said. Built-in traps— They had a war, Martin said. Wass agreed. And the survivors retired here. Why? Martin said, They wanted to rebuild. Or maybe this was already builtbefore the war as a retreat. He turned impatiently. How should Iknow? Wass turned, too, persistent. But the planet was through with them. In a minute, Martin said, too irritably, we'll have a sentientplanet. From the corner of his eye he saw Rodney start at that. Knockit off, Wass. We're looking for reservoirs, you know. They moved slowly down the metal avenue, between the twisted shadowshapes, looking carefully about them. Rodney paused. We might not recognize one. Martin urged him on. You know what a man-hole cover looks like. Headded dryly, Use your imagination. They reached the metal wall at the end of the avenue and paused again,uncertain. Martin swung his flashlight, illuminating the distorted metal shapes. Wass said, All this had a purpose, once.... We'll disperse and search carefully, Martin said. I wonder what the pattern was. ... The reservoirs, Wass. The pattern will still be here for laterexpeditions to study. So will we if we don't find a way to get out. Their radios recorded Rodney's gasp. Then—Martin! Martin! I thinkI've found something! Martin began to run. After a moment's hesitation, Wass swung in behindhim. Here, Rodney said, as they came up to him, out of breath. Here. See?Right here. Three flashlights centered on a dark, metal disk raised a foot or morefrom the floor. Well, they had hands. With his torch Wass indicated a small wheel ofthe same metal as everything else in the city, set beside the disk. From its design Martin assumed that the disk was meant to be graspedand turned. He wondered what precisely they were standing over. Well, Skipper, are you going to do the honors? Martin kneeled, grasped the wheel. It turned easily—almost tooeasily—rotating the disk as it turned. Suddenly, without a sound, the disk rose, like a hatch, on a concealedhinge. The three men, clad in their suits and helmets, grouped around thesix-foot opening, shining their torches down into the thing thatdrifted and eddied directly beneath them. Rodney's sudden grip on Martin's wrist nearly shattered the bone.Martin! It's all alive! It's moving! Martin hesitated long enough for a coil to move sinuously up toward theopening. Then he spun the wheel and the hatch slammed down. He was shaking. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do Rodney, Martin, and Wass interact with each other in DUST UNTO DUST?

They are bound by a sense of duty to the mission. However, when they are put in the predicament of being trapped under the dome, their bond begins to fray and they start fighting with each other about the best means of escape.Rodney and Martin squabble, but both stick together in exploring an underground tunnel filled with dust while Wass elects to go his own way. Wass ultimately appears to sacrifice his life to save Rodney and Martin by returning to the switchboard and opening a grate that allows them to escape from the city.

What was the crucial factor that enabled their getaway in DUST UNTO DUST? [SEP] <s> DUST UNTO DUST By LYMAN D. HINCKLEY It was alien but was it dead, this towering, sinister city of metal that glittered malignantly before the cautious advance of three awed space-scouters. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Martin set the lifeboat down carefully, with all the attention oneusually exercises in a situation where the totally unexpected hasoccurred, and he and his two companions sat and stared in awed silenceat the city a quarter-mile away. He saw the dull, black walls of buildings shouldering grimly into thetwilight sky, saw the sheared edge where the metal city ended and thebarren earth began ... and he remembered observing, even before theylanded, the too-strict geometry imposed on the entire construction. He frowned. The first impression was ... malignant. Wass, blond and slight, with enough nose for three or four men,unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. Shall we, gentlemen? and witha graceful movement of hand and arm he indicated the waiting city. Martin led Wass, and the gangling, scarecrow-like Rodney, through thestillness overlaying the barren ground. There was only the twilightsky, and harsh and black against it, the convoluted earth. And thecity. Malignant. He wondered, again, what beings would choose to builda city—even a city like this one—in such surroundings. The men from the ship knew only the surface facts about this waitinggeometric discovery. Theirs was the eleventh inter-planetary flight,and the previous ten, in the time allowed them for exploration whilethis planet was still close enough to their own to permit a safe returnin their ships, had not spotted the city. But the eleventh expeditionhad, an hour ago, with just thirteen hours left during which a returnflight could be safely started. So far as was known, this was the onlycity on the planet—the planet without any life at all, save tinymosses, for a million years or more. And no matter which direction fromthe city a man moved, he would always be going north. Hey, Martin! Rodney called through his helmet radio. Martin paused.Wind, Rodney said, coming abreast of him. He glanced toward the blackpile, as if sharing Martin's thoughts. That's all we need, isn't it? Martin looked at the semi-transparent figures of wind and dustcavorting in the distance, moving toward them. He grinned a little,adjusting his radio. Worried? Rodney's bony face was without expression. Gives me the creeps, kindof. I wonder what they were like? Wass murmured, Let us hope they aren't immortal. Three feet from the edge of the city Martin stopped and stubbed at thesand with the toe of his boot, clearing earth from part of a shiningmetal band. Wass watched him, and then shoved aside more sand, several feet away.It's here, too. Martin stood up. Let's try farther on. Rodney, radio the ship, tellthem we're going in. Rodney nodded. After a time, Wass said, Here, too. How far do you think it goes? Martin shrugged. Clear around the city? I'd like to know what itis—was—for. Defense, Rodney, several yards behind, suggested. Could be, Martin said. Let's go in. The three crossed the metal band and walked abreast down a street,their broad soft soled boots making no sound on the dull metal. Theypassed doors and arches and windows and separate buildings. They movedcautiously across five intersections. And they stood in a squaresurrounded by the tallest buildings in the city. Rodney broke the silence, hesitantly. Not—not very big. Is it? Wass looked at him shrewdly. Neither were the—well, shall we callthem, people? Have you noticed how low everything is? Rodney's laughter rose, too. Then, sobering—Maybe they crawled. A nebulous image, product of childhood's vivid imagination, movedslowly across Martin's mind. All right! he rapped out—and the imagefaded. Sorry, Rodney murmured, his throat working beneath his lantern jaw.Then—I wonder what it's like here in the winter when there's no lightat all? I imagine they had illumination of some sort, Martin answered, dryly.If we don't hurry up and get through this place and back to the ship,we're very likely to find out. Rodney said quickly, I mean outside. Out there, too, Rodney, they must have had illumination. Martinlooked back along the straight, metal street they'd walked on, and pastthat out over the bleak, furrowed slopes where the ship's lifeboatlay ... and he thought everything outside the city seemed, somehow,from here, a little dim, a little hazy. He straightened his shoulders. The city was alien, of course, and thatexplained most of it ... most of it. But he felt the black city wassomething familiar, yet twisted and distorted. Well, Wass said, his nose wrinkling a bit, now that we're here.... Pictures, Martin decided. We have twelve hours. We'll start here.What's the matter, Wass? The blond man grinned ruefully. I left the camera in the lifeboat.There was a pause. Then Wass, defensively—It's almost as if the citydidn't want to be photographed. Martin ignored the remark. Go get it. Rodney and I will be somewherealong this street. Wass turned away. Martin and Rodney started slowly down the wide metalstreet, at right angles to their path of entrance. Again Martin felt a tug of twisted, distorted familiarity. It wasalmost as if ... they were human up to a certain point, the pointbeing, perhaps, some part of their minds.... Alien things, dark andsubtle, things no man could ever comprehend. Parallel evolution on two inner planets of the same system? Somewhere,sometime, a common ancestor? Martin noted the shoulder-high doors, theheavier gravity, remembered the inhabitants of the city vanished beforethe thing that was to become man ever emerged from the slime, and hedecided to grin at himself, at his own imagination. Rodney jerked his scarecrow length about quickly, and a chill sped upMartin's spine. What's the matter? The bony face was white, the gray eyes were wide. I saw—I thought Isaw—something—moving— Anger rose in Martin. You didn't, he said flatly, gripping theother's shoulder cruelly. You couldn't have. Get hold of yourself,man! Rodney stared. The wind. Remember? There isn't any, here. ... How could there be? The buildings protect us now. It was blowingfrom the other direction. Rodney wrenched free of Martin's grip. He gestured wildly. That— Martin! Wass' voice came through the receivers in both their radios.Martin, I can't get out! <doc-sep>After a time he said, Rodney, Wass, it's dust, down there. Rememberthe wind? Air currents are moving it. Rodney sat down on the metal flooring. For a long time he said nothing.Then—It wasn't.... Why did you close the hatch then? Martin did not say he thought the other two would have shot him,otherwise. He said merely, At first I wasn't sure myself. Rodney stood up, backing away from the closed hatch. He held his gunloosely, and his hand shook. Then prove it. Open it again. Martin went to the wheel. He noticed Wass was standing behind Rodneyand he, too, had drawn his gun. The hatch rose again at Martin's direction. He stood beside it,outlined in the light of two torches. For a little while he was alone. Then—causing a gasp from Wass, a harsh expletive from Rodney—atenuous, questing alien limb edged through the hatch, curling aboutMartin, sparkling in ten thousand separate particles in the torchlight,obscuring the dimly seen backdrop of geometrical processions of strangeobjects. Martin raised an arm, and the particles swirled in stately, shimmeringspirals. Rodney leaned forward and looked over the edge of the hatch. He saidnothing. He eyed the sparkling particles swirling about Martin, andnow, himself. How deep, Wass said, from his safe distance. We'll have to lower a flashlight, Martin answered. Rodney, all eagerness to be of assistance now, lowered a rope with atorch swinging wildly on the end of it. The torch came to rest about thirty feet down. It shone on gentlyrolling mounds of fine, white stuff. Martin anchored the rope soundly, and paused, half across the lipof the hatch to stare coldly at Wass. You'd rather monkey with theswitches and blow yourself to smithereens? Wass sighed and refused to meet Martin's gaze. Martin looked at himdisgustedly, and then began to descend the rope, slowly, peering intothe infinite, sparkling darkness pressing around him. At the bottomof the rope he sank to his knees in dust, and then was held even. Hestamped his feet, and then, as well as he was able, did a standingjump. He sank no farther than his knees. He sighted a path parallel with the avenue above, toward the nearestedge of the city. I think we'll be all right, he called out, as longas we avoid the drifts. Rodney began the descent. Looking up, Martin saw Wass above Rodney. All right, Wass, Martin said quietly, as Rodney released the rope andsank into the dust. Not me, the answer came back quickly. You two fools go your way,I'll go mine. Wass! There was no answer. The light faded swiftly away from the opening. The going was hard. The dust clung like honey to their feet, and eddiedand swirled about them until the purifying systems in their suits werehard-pressed to remove the fine stuff working in at joints and valves. Are we going straight? Rodney asked. Of course, Martin growled. There was silence again, the silence of almost-exhausted determination.The two men lifted their feet out of the dust, and then laboriouslyplunged forward, to sink again to the knees, repeated the act, timeswithout number. Then Wass broke his silence, taunting. The ship leaves in two hours,Martin. Two hours. Hear me, Rodney? Martin pulled his left foot from the sand and growled deep in histhroat. Ahead, through the confusing patterns of the sparkling dust,his flashlight gleamed against metal. He grabbed Rodney's arm, pointed. A grate. Rodney stared. Wass! he shouted. We've found a way out! Their radios recorded Wass' laughter. I'm at the switchboard now,Martin. I— There was a tinkle of breaking glass, breaking faceplate. The grate groaned upward and stopped. Wass babbled incoherently into the radio for a moment, and then hebegan to scream. Martin switched off his radio, sick. He turned it on again when they reached the opening in the metal wall.Well? I've been trying to get you, Rodney said, frantically. Why didn'tyou answer? We couldn't do anything for him. Rodney's face was white and drawn. But he did this for us. So he did, Martin said, very quietly. Rodney said nothing. Then Martin said, Did you listen until the end? Rodney nodded, jerkily. He pulled three more switches. I couldn'tunderstand it all. But—Martin, dying alone like that in a place likethis—! Martin crawled into the circular pipe behind the grate. It tilted uptoward the surface. Come on, Rodney. Last lap. An hour later they surfaced about two hundred yards away from theedge of the city. Behind them the black pile rose, the dome of forceshimmering, almost invisible, about it. Ahead of them were the other two scoutships from the mother ship.Martin called out faintly, pulling Rodney out of the pipe. Crew membersstanding by the scoutships, and at the edge of the city, began to runtoward them. Radio picked you up as soon as you entered the pipe, someone said. Itwas the last thing Martin heard before he collapsed. <doc-sep> The Beast-Jewel of Mars By V. E. THIESSEN The city was strange, fantastic, beautiful. He'd never been there before, yet already he was a fabulous legend—a dire, hateful legend. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] He lay on his stomach, a lean man in faded one piece dungarees, and anodd metallic hat, peering over the side of the canal. Behind him thelittle winds sifted red dust into his collar, but he could not move; hecould only sit there with his gaze riveted on the spires and minaretsthat twinkled in the distance, far down the bottom of the canal. One part of his mind said, This is it, this is the fabled city ofMars. This is the beauty and the fantasy and the music of the legends,and I must go down there. Yet somewhere deeper in his mind, deep inthe primal urges that kept him from death, the warning was taut andurgent. Get away. They have a part of your mind now. Get away from thecity before you lose it all. Get away before your body becomes a husk,a soulless husk to walk the low canals with sightless eyes, like thosewho came before you. He strained to push back from the edge, trying to get that fantasticbeauty out of his sight. He fought the lids of his eyes, fought toclose them while he pushed himself back, but they remained open,staring at the jeweled towers, and borne on the little winds the thinwail of music reached him, saying, Come into the city, come down intothe fabled city . He slid over the edge, sliding down the sloping sides of the canal.The rough sandstone tore at his dungarees, tore at his elbow where ittouched but he did not feel the pain. His face was turned toward thetowers, and the sound of his breathing was less than human. His feet caught a projecting bit of stone and were slowed for aninstant, so that he turned sideways and rolled on, down into the reddust bottom of the canal, to lie face down in the dust, with the chinstrap of the odd metallic hat cutting cruelly into his chin. He lay there an instant, knowing that now he had a chance. With hisface down like this, and the dust smarting his eyes the image was gonefor an instant. He had to get away, he knew that. He had to mount thesides of the canal and never look back. He told himself, I am Eric North, from Earth, the Third Planet of Sol,and this is not real. He squirmed in the dust, feeling it bite his cheeks; he squirmed untilhe could get up and see nothing but the red sand stone walls of thecanal. He ran at the walls and clawed his way up like an animal in hishaste. He wouldn't look again. The wind freshened and the tune of the music began to talk to him. Ittold of going barefoot over long streets of fur. It told of jewels, andwine, and women as fair as springtime. These and more were in the city,waiting for him to claim them. He sobbed, and clawed forward. He stopped to rest, and slowly his headbegan to turn. He turned, and the spires and minarets twinkled at him,beautiful, soothing, stopping the tears that had welled down his cheeks. When he reached the bottom of the canal he began to run toward the city. When he came to the city there was a high wall around it, and a heavygate carved with lotus blossoms. He beat against the gate and cried,Oh! Let me in. Let me in to the city! The music was richer now, as ifit were everywhere, and the gate swung open without the faintest sound. A sentinel stood before the opened gate at the end of a long bluestreet. He was dressed in red silk with his sleeves edged in blueleopard skin, and he wore a belt with a jeweled short sword. He drewthe sword from its scabbard, and bowed forward until the point of thesword touched the street of blue fur. He said, I give you the welcomeof my sword, and the welcome of the city. Speak your name so that itmay be set in the records of the dreamers. The music sang, and the spires twinkled, and Eric said, I am EricNorth! The sword point jerked, and the sentinel straightened. His face waswhite. He cried aloud, It is Eric the Bronze. It is Eric of theLegend. He whirled the sword aloft, and smashed it upon Eric's metalhat, and the hatred was a blue flame in his eyes. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What was the crucial factor that enabled their getaway in DUST UNTO DUST?

Choosing to search underground for where water might enter and exit the city was an important step for them to find the tunnel that led to their escape. However, Wass’ pulling levers at the switchboard was critical to opening the grate inside the tunnel that actually allowed them to leave. Otherwise, they did not have tools with them that would have likely allowed them to escape in time.If Martin had not forced the team to join together when they were fighting over the control panel the first time, they likely may have never escaped as well.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in MUCK MAN? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>They went into a courtyard partly covered by a roof projecting fromthe Hazeltyne company's dome settlement. The far half of the courtyardwas open to the gray drizzle that fell almost ceaselessly from the skyof Jordan's Planet and turned most of its surface into marsh and mudflats. A high wall enclosed the far portion of the courtyard. Rangedalong the wall were thirty stalls for muck men. From fifty yards across the courtyard a muck man bounded over to themin two leaps. Attached to a harness across his shoulders and chest werea gun and a long knife. Names? he growled. He was a foot taller than Graybar and bigeverywhere in proportion. Kershaw. I'm back, Furston. I'm Graybar. Kershaw again? Just start in where you left off, sucker. Come on,you. He pointed to Asa and leaped to the open portion of the courtyard. Do what he says, Kershaw whispered to Graybar. He's sort of a trustyand warden and parole officer rolled into one. Asa was put through a series of exercises to get him used to hisdistorted body, to teach him how to leap and how to dig. He was shownhow to operate the radio he would carry and how to fire the pencil-slimrockets of this gun. Finally he was told to eat a few berries from anative vine. He did so and immediately vomited. Furston laughed. That's to remind you you're still a man, Furston said, grinning.Everything that grows on this planet is poison. So if you got anyideas of hiding out till your term is up, forget 'em. Right here iswhere you eat. Asa turned without a word and hopped feebly away from Furston. Helifted his head to breathe deeply and saw two humans watching him froman observation tower on the roof. He leaped twenty feet into the air for a closer look. Gazing at him with repugnance, after witnessing the end of his sessionwith Furston, were Harriet Hazeltyne and general manager Tom Dorr. The girl's presence merely puzzled Asa, but Dorr's being here worriedhim. Dorr had tried to get rid of him once and was now in an excellentposition to make the riddance permanent. At supper that night, squatting on the ground beside a low table withthe dozen other muck men operating from the dome, Asa asked what thetwo were doing out here. The girl will inherit this racket some day, won't she? asked one ofthe others. She wants to see what kind of suckers are making her rich. Maybe that guy Dorr brought her along to show her what a big wheelhe is, said one of the others. Just hope he doesn't take over theoperations. III Next morning Furston passed out guns, knives, radios, and pouches tocarry any eggs the muck men found. He gave each man a compass andassigned the sectors to be worked during the day. Finally he calledGraybar aside. In case you don't like it here, Furston said, you can get a weekknocked off your sentence for every egg you bring in. Now get out thereand work that muck. Furston sent Graybar and Kershaw out together so that the veteran couldshow Asa the ropes. Asa had already learned that the wall around thecourtyard was to keep Sliders out, not muck men in. He leaped over itand hopped along after Kershaw. Feet slapping against the mud, they went about five miles from theHazeltyne station, swimming easily across ponds too broad to jump. Themud, if not precisely as pleasant to the touch as chinchilla fur, wasnot at all uncomfortable, and the dripping air caressed their skinslike a summer breeze back on Earth. Tiny, slippery creatures skiddedand splashed out of their way. Finally Kershaw stopped. His experiencedeye had seen a trail of swamp weeds crushed low into the mud. Keep your eyes open, Kershaw said. There's a Slider been around herelately. If you see something like an express train headed our way,start shooting. At each leap along the trail they peered quickly around. They saw noSliders, but this meant little, for the beasts lived under the mud asmuch as on top of it. Kershaw halted again when they came to a roughly circular area some tenyards in diameter where the weeds had been torn out and lay rotting inthe muck. We're in luck, he said as Asa skidded to a stop at his side. An eggwas laid somewhere here within the last week. These places are hard tospot when the new weeds start growing. Kershaw took a long look around. No trouble in sight. We dig. They started at the center of the cleared area, shoveling up great gobsof mud with their hands and flinging them out of the clearing. Usuallya muck man dug in a spiral out from the center, but Graybar and Kershawdug in gradually widening semi-circles opposite each other. They hadto dig four feet deep, and it was slow going until they had a pitbig enough to stand in. Each handful of mud had to be squeezed gentlybefore it was thrown away, to make sure it didn't conceal an egg. As heworked, Asa kept thinking what an inefficient system it was. Everythingabout the operation was wrong. Got it! Kershaw shouted. He leaped out of the pit and started wipingslime off a round object the size of a baseball. Asa jumped out towatch. A big one, Kershaw said. He held it, still smeared with traces ofmud, lovingly to his cheek, and then lifted it to eye level. Just lookat it. A SLIDER EGG The egg was flashing with a mad radiance, like a thousand diamondsbeing splintered under a brilliant sun. Static crackled in Asa'searphones and he thought of what Kershaw had said, that thescintillation of an egg was an effect of its calls to a mother Sliderfor help. Asa looked around. Jump! he shouted. At the edge of the clearing a segmented length of greenish blackscales, some two feet thick and six feet high, had reared up out of theweeds. The top segment was almost all mouth, already opened to show rowupon row of teeth. Before Asa could draw his gun the Slider loweredits head to the ground, dug two front flippers into the mud and shotforward. Asa leaped with all his strength, sailing far out of the clearing.While he was still in the air he snapped the mouthpiece of his radiodown from where it was hinged over his head. As he landed he turnedinstantly, his gun in his hand. Calling the 'copter! he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. Kershawand Graybar, sector eight, five miles out. Hurry! Graybar? asked a voice in his earphone. What's up? We've got an egg but a Slider wants it back. On the way. Asa hopped back to the clearing. Kershaw must have been bowled over bythe Slider's first rush, for he was trying to hop on one leg as if theother had been broken. The egg lay flickering on top of the mud whereKershaw had dropped it. The Slider, eight flippers on each side workingmadly, was twisting its thirty feet of wormlike body around for anothercharge. Aiming hastily, Asa fired a rocket at the monster's middle segment. Therocket smashed through hard scales and exploded in a fountain of grayflesh. The Slider writhed, coating its wound in mud, and twisted towardAsa. He leaped to one side, firing from the air and missing, and sawthe Slider turn toward the patch of weeds where he would land. His legswere tensed to leap again the moment he hit the mud, but he saw theSlider would be on top of him before he could escape. As he landed hethrust his gun forward almost into the mouth of the creature and firedagain. Even as he was knocked aside into the muck, Asa's body was showeredwith shreds of alien flesh scattered by the rocket's explosion.Desperately pushing himself to his feet, he saw the long headless bodyshiver and lie still. <doc-sep>Asa took a deep breath and looked around. Kershaw! he called. Where are you? Over here. Kershaw stood briefly above the weeds and fell back again.Asa leaped over to him. Thanks, Kershaw said. Muck men stick together. You'll make a goodone. I wouldn't have had a chance. My leg's busted. The helicopter ought to be here pretty soon, Asa said. He looked overat the dead Slider and shook his head. Tell me, what are the odds ongetting killed doing this? Last time I was here there was about one mucker killed for every sixeggs brought out. Of course you're not supposed to stand there admiringthe eggs like I did while a Slider comes up on you. Asa hopped over to the egg, which was still full of a dancing radiancewhere it rested on the mud. He scooped a hole in the muck and buriedthe egg. Just in case there are any more Sliders around, he explained. Makes no difference, said Kershaw, pointing upward. Here comes the'copter, late as usual. The big machine circled them, hovered to inspect the dead Slider, andsettled down on broad skids. Through the transparent nose Asa could seeTom Dorr and Harriet Hazeltyne. The company manager swung the door openand leaned out. I see you took care of the Slider, he said. Hand over the egg. Kershaw has a broken leg, Asa said. I'll help him in and then I'llget the egg. While Kershaw grabbed the door frame to help pull himself into thehelicopter, Asa got under his companion's belly and lifted him by thewaist. He hadn't realized before just how strong his new body was.Kershaw, as a muck man, would have weighed close to three hundredpounds on Earth, close to six hundred here. Dorr made no move to help, but the girl reached under Kershaw'sshoulder and strained to get him in. Once he was inside, Asa saw, thecabin was crowded. Are you going to have room for me too? he asked. Not this trip, Dorr answered. Now give me the egg. Asa didn't hesitate. The egg stays with me, he said softly. You do what I tell you, mucker, said Dorr. Nope. I want to make sure you come back. Asa turned his head toHarriet. You see, Miss Hazeltyne, I don't trust your friend. You mightask him to tell you about it. Dorr stared at him with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he smiled in a way thatworried Asa. Whatever you say, Graybar, Dorr said. He turned to the controls. Inanother minute the helicopter was in the sky. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in MUCK MAN?

Asa Graybar is a biological engineer who studies keeping Slider eggs alive and he is accused of a crime at the opening of the story. He thinks he was framed by Tom Dorr, Hazeltyne’s general manager.He was offered one year as a “changeling” on another planet or 5 years in rehabilitation on Earth. He elects to do the one year, and thinks that he will get into smuggling Slider eggs on Jordan’s planet. Being a changeling is not a highly sought after line of work, but it pays well, and the people who do it have organs and body parts regenerated to better suit specialized tasks.Asa travels to Jordan’s planet on a spaceship with a cellmate, Kershaw, who got caught stealing a Slider egg and is returning to serve more time. When they arrive they are both “converted” into muck men, with the forms of frogs and scaly, pink skin. Their task is to collect Slider eggs and bring them back to the base which is watched over by a warden, Furston.Asa and Kershaw go out together for the first time into the mud so Kershaw can teach Asa how to find Slider eggs. They find one, and are immediately attacked by a Slider that disables one of Kershaw’s legs. Kershaw calls for helicopters to come get them. Tom Dorr is operating the helicopter that comes to collect Kershaw in the field, and demands that Asa also give him the egg they found. Asa refuses to ensure his own safety that they would come back to get him as soon as they dropped off Kershaw.Back at the base Tom Dorr refuses to go back into the field to rescue Asa and gets into an argument with Harriet Hazeltyne (taking over charge of all operations for her father), and storms off. Harriet goes into the field to save Asa herself, but accidentally crashes the helicopter because she is not used to the double force of gravity. Asa is unable to right the helicopter, and they think it is unlikely they will be able to use its machine guns to keep them safe while the Sliders come to feed on the dead Slider they are near to in the night. They must get back to the base somehow, and the story ends with them contemplating how they might do this.

In what locations does the story of MUCK MAN unfold? [SEP] <s>They went into a courtyard partly covered by a roof projecting fromthe Hazeltyne company's dome settlement. The far half of the courtyardwas open to the gray drizzle that fell almost ceaselessly from the skyof Jordan's Planet and turned most of its surface into marsh and mudflats. A high wall enclosed the far portion of the courtyard. Rangedalong the wall were thirty stalls for muck men. From fifty yards across the courtyard a muck man bounded over to themin two leaps. Attached to a harness across his shoulders and chest werea gun and a long knife. Names? he growled. He was a foot taller than Graybar and bigeverywhere in proportion. Kershaw. I'm back, Furston. I'm Graybar. Kershaw again? Just start in where you left off, sucker. Come on,you. He pointed to Asa and leaped to the open portion of the courtyard. Do what he says, Kershaw whispered to Graybar. He's sort of a trustyand warden and parole officer rolled into one. Asa was put through a series of exercises to get him used to hisdistorted body, to teach him how to leap and how to dig. He was shownhow to operate the radio he would carry and how to fire the pencil-slimrockets of this gun. Finally he was told to eat a few berries from anative vine. He did so and immediately vomited. Furston laughed. That's to remind you you're still a man, Furston said, grinning.Everything that grows on this planet is poison. So if you got anyideas of hiding out till your term is up, forget 'em. Right here iswhere you eat. Asa turned without a word and hopped feebly away from Furston. Helifted his head to breathe deeply and saw two humans watching him froman observation tower on the roof. He leaped twenty feet into the air for a closer look. Gazing at him with repugnance, after witnessing the end of his sessionwith Furston, were Harriet Hazeltyne and general manager Tom Dorr. The girl's presence merely puzzled Asa, but Dorr's being here worriedhim. Dorr had tried to get rid of him once and was now in an excellentposition to make the riddance permanent. At supper that night, squatting on the ground beside a low table withthe dozen other muck men operating from the dome, Asa asked what thetwo were doing out here. The girl will inherit this racket some day, won't she? asked one ofthe others. She wants to see what kind of suckers are making her rich. Maybe that guy Dorr brought her along to show her what a big wheelhe is, said one of the others. Just hope he doesn't take over theoperations. III Next morning Furston passed out guns, knives, radios, and pouches tocarry any eggs the muck men found. He gave each man a compass andassigned the sectors to be worked during the day. Finally he calledGraybar aside. In case you don't like it here, Furston said, you can get a weekknocked off your sentence for every egg you bring in. Now get out thereand work that muck. Furston sent Graybar and Kershaw out together so that the veteran couldshow Asa the ropes. Asa had already learned that the wall around thecourtyard was to keep Sliders out, not muck men in. He leaped over itand hopped along after Kershaw. Feet slapping against the mud, they went about five miles from theHazeltyne station, swimming easily across ponds too broad to jump. Themud, if not precisely as pleasant to the touch as chinchilla fur, wasnot at all uncomfortable, and the dripping air caressed their skinslike a summer breeze back on Earth. Tiny, slippery creatures skiddedand splashed out of their way. Finally Kershaw stopped. His experiencedeye had seen a trail of swamp weeds crushed low into the mud. Keep your eyes open, Kershaw said. There's a Slider been around herelately. If you see something like an express train headed our way,start shooting. At each leap along the trail they peered quickly around. They saw noSliders, but this meant little, for the beasts lived under the mud asmuch as on top of it. Kershaw halted again when they came to a roughly circular area some tenyards in diameter where the weeds had been torn out and lay rotting inthe muck. We're in luck, he said as Asa skidded to a stop at his side. An eggwas laid somewhere here within the last week. These places are hard tospot when the new weeds start growing. Kershaw took a long look around. No trouble in sight. We dig. They started at the center of the cleared area, shoveling up great gobsof mud with their hands and flinging them out of the clearing. Usuallya muck man dug in a spiral out from the center, but Graybar and Kershawdug in gradually widening semi-circles opposite each other. They hadto dig four feet deep, and it was slow going until they had a pitbig enough to stand in. Each handful of mud had to be squeezed gentlybefore it was thrown away, to make sure it didn't conceal an egg. As heworked, Asa kept thinking what an inefficient system it was. Everythingabout the operation was wrong. Got it! Kershaw shouted. He leaped out of the pit and started wipingslime off a round object the size of a baseball. Asa jumped out towatch. A big one, Kershaw said. He held it, still smeared with traces ofmud, lovingly to his cheek, and then lifted it to eye level. Just lookat it. A SLIDER EGG The egg was flashing with a mad radiance, like a thousand diamondsbeing splintered under a brilliant sun. Static crackled in Asa'searphones and he thought of what Kershaw had said, that thescintillation of an egg was an effect of its calls to a mother Sliderfor help. Asa looked around. Jump! he shouted. At the edge of the clearing a segmented length of greenish blackscales, some two feet thick and six feet high, had reared up out of theweeds. The top segment was almost all mouth, already opened to show rowupon row of teeth. Before Asa could draw his gun the Slider loweredits head to the ground, dug two front flippers into the mud and shotforward. Asa leaped with all his strength, sailing far out of the clearing.While he was still in the air he snapped the mouthpiece of his radiodown from where it was hinged over his head. As he landed he turnedinstantly, his gun in his hand. Calling the 'copter! he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. Kershawand Graybar, sector eight, five miles out. Hurry! Graybar? asked a voice in his earphone. What's up? We've got an egg but a Slider wants it back. On the way. Asa hopped back to the clearing. Kershaw must have been bowled over bythe Slider's first rush, for he was trying to hop on one leg as if theother had been broken. The egg lay flickering on top of the mud whereKershaw had dropped it. The Slider, eight flippers on each side workingmadly, was twisting its thirty feet of wormlike body around for anothercharge. Aiming hastily, Asa fired a rocket at the monster's middle segment. Therocket smashed through hard scales and exploded in a fountain of grayflesh. The Slider writhed, coating its wound in mud, and twisted towardAsa. He leaped to one side, firing from the air and missing, and sawthe Slider turn toward the patch of weeds where he would land. His legswere tensed to leap again the moment he hit the mud, but he saw theSlider would be on top of him before he could escape. As he landed hethrust his gun forward almost into the mouth of the creature and firedagain. Even as he was knocked aside into the muck, Asa's body was showeredwith shreds of alien flesh scattered by the rocket's explosion.Desperately pushing himself to his feet, he saw the long headless bodyshiver and lie still. <doc-sep>A round trip for the helicopter should have taken no more than twentyminutes, allowing time for Kershaw to be taken out at the settlement. After an hour passed Asa began to worry. He was sure Dorr would returnfor the egg. Finally he realized that Dorr could locate the eggapproximately by the body of the dead Slider. Dorr could return for theegg any time with some other muck man to dig for it. Asa pulled down the mouthpiece of his radio. This is Graybar, calling the helicopter, he said. When are youcoming? There was no answer except the hum of carrier wave. If he tried to carry the egg back, Asa knew, Sliders would attack himall along the way. A man had no chance of getting five miles with anegg by himself. He could leave the egg here, of course. Even so hewould be lucky if he got back, following a hazy compass course fromwhich he and Kershaw had certainly deviated on their outward trip.There were no landmarks in this wilderness of bog to help him find hisway. The workers were supposed to home in on radio signals, if theylost their bearings, but Dorr would deny him that help. What was the night like on Jordan's Planet? Maybe Sliders slept atnight. If he could stay awake, and if he didn't faint from hunger inthis strange new body, and if the Sliders left him alone.... A whirring noise made Asa jump in alarm. Then he smiled in relief, for it was the helicopter, the blessedhelicopter, coming in over the swamp. But what if it was Dorr, comingback alone to dispose of him without any witnesses? Asa leaped for thecarcass of the dead Slider and took shelter behind it. No machine-gun blast of rockets came from the helicopter. The bigmachine swooped low dizzily, tilted back in an inexpert attempt tohover, thumped down upon the mud and slid forward. As Asa jumped aside,the landing skids caught against the Slider's body and the helicopterflipped forward on its nose, one of the rotor blades plunging deep intothe mud. Asa leaped forward in consternation. Not only was his chance of safepassage back to the settlement wrecked, but now he would have theextra burden of taking care of the pilot. When he reached the noseof the helicopter he saw that the pilot, untangling herself from thecontrols to get up, was Harriet Hazeltyne. IV Are you hurt? Asa asked her. She reached for his shoulder to steadyherself as she climbed out of the machine. I guess not, she said. But taking a fall in this gravity is no fun.From the way my face feels I ought to be getting a black eye prettysoon. What happened? I made a fool of myself. She made a face back in the direction ofthe settlement. Dorr wasn't going to come after you. He said anyonewho talked back to him should try arguing with the Sliders. She looked up at the machine-gun on the helicopter. They feed at night, you know. And they eat their own kind, she said.The Slider you killed would draw them like ants to jam. Asa glanced around quickly to make sure no Sliders had already come. Heeyed the helicopter with distaste at the thought of what a flimsy fortit would make. Anyway, Harriet said, I told him he couldn't just leave you hereand we started arguing. I lost my temper. He thought he had brought meto Jordan's Planet on a fancy tour. I told him the real reason I washere was to check up for my father on the way he was running things andthere seemed to be a lot wrong. So he told me very politely I could runthings to suit myself and he walked off. She shrugged, as if to indicate that she had made a mess of things. And you took the helicopter by yourself, Asa said, as if he couldhardly believe it yet. Oh, back on Earth I can make a helicopter do stunts. But I wasn't usedto this gravity. I don't suppose you could make this machine stand upstraight? Asa tugged at the body of the Slider until he got it off the skids ofthe plane. He pulled with all his strength at the rotor blade sunk inthe mud, but the weight of the helicopter was upon it and the mud heldit with a suction of its own. After a few minutes he had to give up. We fight off the Sliders, then, she said, as matter of factly as ifthat problem was settled. If it's any comfort, I know how to handlethe machine-gun. Nope. In this drizzle, at night, the Sliders would be on us beforewe could see them. We've got to try to get back. He stood in thoughtwhile she stared at him patiently. What happened to the other muck menwho went out today? he asked. They were called in when the 'copter came out the first time. Some ofthem may not have got back yet. <doc-sep>Asa took a deep breath and looked around. Kershaw! he called. Where are you? Over here. Kershaw stood briefly above the weeds and fell back again.Asa leaped over to him. Thanks, Kershaw said. Muck men stick together. You'll make a goodone. I wouldn't have had a chance. My leg's busted. The helicopter ought to be here pretty soon, Asa said. He looked overat the dead Slider and shook his head. Tell me, what are the odds ongetting killed doing this? Last time I was here there was about one mucker killed for every sixeggs brought out. Of course you're not supposed to stand there admiringthe eggs like I did while a Slider comes up on you. Asa hopped over to the egg, which was still full of a dancing radiancewhere it rested on the mud. He scooped a hole in the muck and buriedthe egg. Just in case there are any more Sliders around, he explained. Makes no difference, said Kershaw, pointing upward. Here comes the'copter, late as usual. The big machine circled them, hovered to inspect the dead Slider, andsettled down on broad skids. Through the transparent nose Asa could seeTom Dorr and Harriet Hazeltyne. The company manager swung the door openand leaned out. I see you took care of the Slider, he said. Hand over the egg. Kershaw has a broken leg, Asa said. I'll help him in and then I'llget the egg. While Kershaw grabbed the door frame to help pull himself into thehelicopter, Asa got under his companion's belly and lifted him by thewaist. He hadn't realized before just how strong his new body was.Kershaw, as a muck man, would have weighed close to three hundredpounds on Earth, close to six hundred here. Dorr made no move to help, but the girl reached under Kershaw'sshoulder and strained to get him in. Once he was inside, Asa saw, thecabin was crowded. Are you going to have room for me too? he asked. Not this trip, Dorr answered. Now give me the egg. Asa didn't hesitate. The egg stays with me, he said softly. You do what I tell you, mucker, said Dorr. Nope. I want to make sure you come back. Asa turned his head toHarriet. You see, Miss Hazeltyne, I don't trust your friend. You mightask him to tell you about it. Dorr stared at him with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he smiled in a way thatworried Asa. Whatever you say, Graybar, Dorr said. He turned to the controls. Inanother minute the helicopter was in the sky. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] In what locations does the story of MUCK MAN unfold?

The story opens on Earth and then travels to Jordan’s planet.Jordan’s planet is the place where Asa goes as a changeling to be a muck man. There is a base on Jordan's planet which has a laboratory for converting prisoners into muck men, living quarters and kitchen, and a courtyard with high walls to keep the Sliders out. The surface of the planet is mud and the force of gravity is twice that on Earth. Asa's conversion into a frog-like person is necessary to survive there.

What is the fate of Tom Dorr in the tale of MUCK MAN? [SEP] <s>Asa took a deep breath and looked around. Kershaw! he called. Where are you? Over here. Kershaw stood briefly above the weeds and fell back again.Asa leaped over to him. Thanks, Kershaw said. Muck men stick together. You'll make a goodone. I wouldn't have had a chance. My leg's busted. The helicopter ought to be here pretty soon, Asa said. He looked overat the dead Slider and shook his head. Tell me, what are the odds ongetting killed doing this? Last time I was here there was about one mucker killed for every sixeggs brought out. Of course you're not supposed to stand there admiringthe eggs like I did while a Slider comes up on you. Asa hopped over to the egg, which was still full of a dancing radiancewhere it rested on the mud. He scooped a hole in the muck and buriedthe egg. Just in case there are any more Sliders around, he explained. Makes no difference, said Kershaw, pointing upward. Here comes the'copter, late as usual. The big machine circled them, hovered to inspect the dead Slider, andsettled down on broad skids. Through the transparent nose Asa could seeTom Dorr and Harriet Hazeltyne. The company manager swung the door openand leaned out. I see you took care of the Slider, he said. Hand over the egg. Kershaw has a broken leg, Asa said. I'll help him in and then I'llget the egg. While Kershaw grabbed the door frame to help pull himself into thehelicopter, Asa got under his companion's belly and lifted him by thewaist. He hadn't realized before just how strong his new body was.Kershaw, as a muck man, would have weighed close to three hundredpounds on Earth, close to six hundred here. Dorr made no move to help, but the girl reached under Kershaw'sshoulder and strained to get him in. Once he was inside, Asa saw, thecabin was crowded. Are you going to have room for me too? he asked. Not this trip, Dorr answered. Now give me the egg. Asa didn't hesitate. The egg stays with me, he said softly. You do what I tell you, mucker, said Dorr. Nope. I want to make sure you come back. Asa turned his head toHarriet. You see, Miss Hazeltyne, I don't trust your friend. You mightask him to tell you about it. Dorr stared at him with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he smiled in a way thatworried Asa. Whatever you say, Graybar, Dorr said. He turned to the controls. Inanother minute the helicopter was in the sky. <doc-sep> MUCK MAN BY FREMONT DODGE The work wasn't hard, but there were some sacrifices. You had to give up hope and freedom—and being human! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I The girl with the Slider egg glittering in her hair watched thebailiff lead Asa Graybar out of the courtroom. He recognized her asold Hazeltyne's daughter Harriet, no doubt come to see justice done.She didn't have the hothouse-flower look Asa would have expected in agirl whose father owned the most valuable of the planetary franchises.She was not afraid to meet his eye, the eye of a judicially certifiedcriminal. There was, perhaps, a crease of puzzlement in her brow, as ifshe had thought crimes were committed by shriveled, rat-faced types,and not by young biological engineers who still affected crewcuts. Tom Dorr, Hazeltyne's general manager, was her escort. Asa feltcertain, without proof, that Dorr was the man who had framed him forthe charge of grand theft by secreting a fresh Slider egg in hislaboratory. The older man stared at Asa coldly as he was led out ofthe courtroom and down the corridor back to jail. Jumpy, Asa's cellmate, took one look at his face as he was put backbehind bars. Guilty, Jumpy said. Asa glared at him. I know, I know, Jumpy said hastily. You were framed. But what's therap? Five or one. Take the five, Jumpy advised. Learn basket-weaving in a niceair-conditioned rehab clinic. A year on a changeling deal will seem alot longer, even if you're lucky enough to live through it. Asa took four steps to the far wall of the cell, stood there brieflywith his head bent and turned to face Jumpy. Nope, Asa said softly. I'm going into a conversion tank. I'm goingto be a muck man, Jumpy. I'm going out to Jordan's Planet and huntSlider eggs. Smuggling? It won't work. Asa didn't answer. The Hazeltyne company had gone after him becausehe had been working on a method of keeping Slider eggs alive. TheHazeltyne company would be happy to see him mark time for five yearsof so-called social reorientation. But if he could get out to Jordan'sPlanet, with his physiology adapted to the environment of that wretchedworld, he could study the eggs under conditions no laboratory couldduplicate. He might even be able to cause trouble for Hazeltyne. His only problem would be staying alive for a year. <doc-sep>They went into a courtyard partly covered by a roof projecting fromthe Hazeltyne company's dome settlement. The far half of the courtyardwas open to the gray drizzle that fell almost ceaselessly from the skyof Jordan's Planet and turned most of its surface into marsh and mudflats. A high wall enclosed the far portion of the courtyard. Rangedalong the wall were thirty stalls for muck men. From fifty yards across the courtyard a muck man bounded over to themin two leaps. Attached to a harness across his shoulders and chest werea gun and a long knife. Names? he growled. He was a foot taller than Graybar and bigeverywhere in proportion. Kershaw. I'm back, Furston. I'm Graybar. Kershaw again? Just start in where you left off, sucker. Come on,you. He pointed to Asa and leaped to the open portion of the courtyard. Do what he says, Kershaw whispered to Graybar. He's sort of a trustyand warden and parole officer rolled into one. Asa was put through a series of exercises to get him used to hisdistorted body, to teach him how to leap and how to dig. He was shownhow to operate the radio he would carry and how to fire the pencil-slimrockets of this gun. Finally he was told to eat a few berries from anative vine. He did so and immediately vomited. Furston laughed. That's to remind you you're still a man, Furston said, grinning.Everything that grows on this planet is poison. So if you got anyideas of hiding out till your term is up, forget 'em. Right here iswhere you eat. Asa turned without a word and hopped feebly away from Furston. Helifted his head to breathe deeply and saw two humans watching him froman observation tower on the roof. He leaped twenty feet into the air for a closer look. Gazing at him with repugnance, after witnessing the end of his sessionwith Furston, were Harriet Hazeltyne and general manager Tom Dorr. The girl's presence merely puzzled Asa, but Dorr's being here worriedhim. Dorr had tried to get rid of him once and was now in an excellentposition to make the riddance permanent. At supper that night, squatting on the ground beside a low table withthe dozen other muck men operating from the dome, Asa asked what thetwo were doing out here. The girl will inherit this racket some day, won't she? asked one ofthe others. She wants to see what kind of suckers are making her rich. Maybe that guy Dorr brought her along to show her what a big wheelhe is, said one of the others. Just hope he doesn't take over theoperations. III Next morning Furston passed out guns, knives, radios, and pouches tocarry any eggs the muck men found. He gave each man a compass andassigned the sectors to be worked during the day. Finally he calledGraybar aside. In case you don't like it here, Furston said, you can get a weekknocked off your sentence for every egg you bring in. Now get out thereand work that muck. Furston sent Graybar and Kershaw out together so that the veteran couldshow Asa the ropes. Asa had already learned that the wall around thecourtyard was to keep Sliders out, not muck men in. He leaped over itand hopped along after Kershaw. Feet slapping against the mud, they went about five miles from theHazeltyne station, swimming easily across ponds too broad to jump. Themud, if not precisely as pleasant to the touch as chinchilla fur, wasnot at all uncomfortable, and the dripping air caressed their skinslike a summer breeze back on Earth. Tiny, slippery creatures skiddedand splashed out of their way. Finally Kershaw stopped. His experiencedeye had seen a trail of swamp weeds crushed low into the mud. Keep your eyes open, Kershaw said. There's a Slider been around herelately. If you see something like an express train headed our way,start shooting. At each leap along the trail they peered quickly around. They saw noSliders, but this meant little, for the beasts lived under the mud asmuch as on top of it. Kershaw halted again when they came to a roughly circular area some tenyards in diameter where the weeds had been torn out and lay rotting inthe muck. We're in luck, he said as Asa skidded to a stop at his side. An eggwas laid somewhere here within the last week. These places are hard tospot when the new weeds start growing. Kershaw took a long look around. No trouble in sight. We dig. They started at the center of the cleared area, shoveling up great gobsof mud with their hands and flinging them out of the clearing. Usuallya muck man dug in a spiral out from the center, but Graybar and Kershawdug in gradually widening semi-circles opposite each other. They hadto dig four feet deep, and it was slow going until they had a pitbig enough to stand in. Each handful of mud had to be squeezed gentlybefore it was thrown away, to make sure it didn't conceal an egg. As heworked, Asa kept thinking what an inefficient system it was. Everythingabout the operation was wrong. Got it! Kershaw shouted. He leaped out of the pit and started wipingslime off a round object the size of a baseball. Asa jumped out towatch. A big one, Kershaw said. He held it, still smeared with traces ofmud, lovingly to his cheek, and then lifted it to eye level. Just lookat it. A SLIDER EGG The egg was flashing with a mad radiance, like a thousand diamondsbeing splintered under a brilliant sun. Static crackled in Asa'searphones and he thought of what Kershaw had said, that thescintillation of an egg was an effect of its calls to a mother Sliderfor help. Asa looked around. Jump! he shouted. At the edge of the clearing a segmented length of greenish blackscales, some two feet thick and six feet high, had reared up out of theweeds. The top segment was almost all mouth, already opened to show rowupon row of teeth. Before Asa could draw his gun the Slider loweredits head to the ground, dug two front flippers into the mud and shotforward. Asa leaped with all his strength, sailing far out of the clearing.While he was still in the air he snapped the mouthpiece of his radiodown from where it was hinged over his head. As he landed he turnedinstantly, his gun in his hand. Calling the 'copter! he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. Kershawand Graybar, sector eight, five miles out. Hurry! Graybar? asked a voice in his earphone. What's up? We've got an egg but a Slider wants it back. On the way. Asa hopped back to the clearing. Kershaw must have been bowled over bythe Slider's first rush, for he was trying to hop on one leg as if theother had been broken. The egg lay flickering on top of the mud whereKershaw had dropped it. The Slider, eight flippers on each side workingmadly, was twisting its thirty feet of wormlike body around for anothercharge. Aiming hastily, Asa fired a rocket at the monster's middle segment. Therocket smashed through hard scales and exploded in a fountain of grayflesh. The Slider writhed, coating its wound in mud, and twisted towardAsa. He leaped to one side, firing from the air and missing, and sawthe Slider turn toward the patch of weeds where he would land. His legswere tensed to leap again the moment he hit the mud, but he saw theSlider would be on top of him before he could escape. As he landed hethrust his gun forward almost into the mouth of the creature and firedagain. Even as he was knocked aside into the muck, Asa's body was showeredwith shreds of alien flesh scattered by the rocket's explosion.Desperately pushing himself to his feet, he saw the long headless bodyshiver and lie still. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the fate of Tom Dorr in the tale of MUCK MAN?

Asa thinks Tom framed him for the crime at the opening of the story. Tom is present on Jordan’s planet when Asa arrives to begin his one year term as a muck man. Tom is providing a tour of Jordan’s planet to Harriet Hazeltyne, who is taking over her father’s operations and wants to investigate how Toms is running things. Tom and Harriet get into an argument on Jordan’s planet and Tom leaves in anger. It is unclear what his final fate is after leaving, though it is likely he will be removed from his post.

How would you describe the dynamic between Asa and Kershaw in MUCK MAN? [SEP] <s>Asa took a deep breath and looked around. Kershaw! he called. Where are you? Over here. Kershaw stood briefly above the weeds and fell back again.Asa leaped over to him. Thanks, Kershaw said. Muck men stick together. You'll make a goodone. I wouldn't have had a chance. My leg's busted. The helicopter ought to be here pretty soon, Asa said. He looked overat the dead Slider and shook his head. Tell me, what are the odds ongetting killed doing this? Last time I was here there was about one mucker killed for every sixeggs brought out. Of course you're not supposed to stand there admiringthe eggs like I did while a Slider comes up on you. Asa hopped over to the egg, which was still full of a dancing radiancewhere it rested on the mud. He scooped a hole in the muck and buriedthe egg. Just in case there are any more Sliders around, he explained. Makes no difference, said Kershaw, pointing upward. Here comes the'copter, late as usual. The big machine circled them, hovered to inspect the dead Slider, andsettled down on broad skids. Through the transparent nose Asa could seeTom Dorr and Harriet Hazeltyne. The company manager swung the door openand leaned out. I see you took care of the Slider, he said. Hand over the egg. Kershaw has a broken leg, Asa said. I'll help him in and then I'llget the egg. While Kershaw grabbed the door frame to help pull himself into thehelicopter, Asa got under his companion's belly and lifted him by thewaist. He hadn't realized before just how strong his new body was.Kershaw, as a muck man, would have weighed close to three hundredpounds on Earth, close to six hundred here. Dorr made no move to help, but the girl reached under Kershaw'sshoulder and strained to get him in. Once he was inside, Asa saw, thecabin was crowded. Are you going to have room for me too? he asked. Not this trip, Dorr answered. Now give me the egg. Asa didn't hesitate. The egg stays with me, he said softly. You do what I tell you, mucker, said Dorr. Nope. I want to make sure you come back. Asa turned his head toHarriet. You see, Miss Hazeltyne, I don't trust your friend. You mightask him to tell you about it. Dorr stared at him with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he smiled in a way thatworried Asa. Whatever you say, Graybar, Dorr said. He turned to the controls. Inanother minute the helicopter was in the sky. <doc-sep>They went into a courtyard partly covered by a roof projecting fromthe Hazeltyne company's dome settlement. The far half of the courtyardwas open to the gray drizzle that fell almost ceaselessly from the skyof Jordan's Planet and turned most of its surface into marsh and mudflats. A high wall enclosed the far portion of the courtyard. Rangedalong the wall were thirty stalls for muck men. From fifty yards across the courtyard a muck man bounded over to themin two leaps. Attached to a harness across his shoulders and chest werea gun and a long knife. Names? he growled. He was a foot taller than Graybar and bigeverywhere in proportion. Kershaw. I'm back, Furston. I'm Graybar. Kershaw again? Just start in where you left off, sucker. Come on,you. He pointed to Asa and leaped to the open portion of the courtyard. Do what he says, Kershaw whispered to Graybar. He's sort of a trustyand warden and parole officer rolled into one. Asa was put through a series of exercises to get him used to hisdistorted body, to teach him how to leap and how to dig. He was shownhow to operate the radio he would carry and how to fire the pencil-slimrockets of this gun. Finally he was told to eat a few berries from anative vine. He did so and immediately vomited. Furston laughed. That's to remind you you're still a man, Furston said, grinning.Everything that grows on this planet is poison. So if you got anyideas of hiding out till your term is up, forget 'em. Right here iswhere you eat. Asa turned without a word and hopped feebly away from Furston. Helifted his head to breathe deeply and saw two humans watching him froman observation tower on the roof. He leaped twenty feet into the air for a closer look. Gazing at him with repugnance, after witnessing the end of his sessionwith Furston, were Harriet Hazeltyne and general manager Tom Dorr. The girl's presence merely puzzled Asa, but Dorr's being here worriedhim. Dorr had tried to get rid of him once and was now in an excellentposition to make the riddance permanent. At supper that night, squatting on the ground beside a low table withthe dozen other muck men operating from the dome, Asa asked what thetwo were doing out here. The girl will inherit this racket some day, won't she? asked one ofthe others. She wants to see what kind of suckers are making her rich. Maybe that guy Dorr brought her along to show her what a big wheelhe is, said one of the others. Just hope he doesn't take over theoperations. III Next morning Furston passed out guns, knives, radios, and pouches tocarry any eggs the muck men found. He gave each man a compass andassigned the sectors to be worked during the day. Finally he calledGraybar aside. In case you don't like it here, Furston said, you can get a weekknocked off your sentence for every egg you bring in. Now get out thereand work that muck. Furston sent Graybar and Kershaw out together so that the veteran couldshow Asa the ropes. Asa had already learned that the wall around thecourtyard was to keep Sliders out, not muck men in. He leaped over itand hopped along after Kershaw. Feet slapping against the mud, they went about five miles from theHazeltyne station, swimming easily across ponds too broad to jump. Themud, if not precisely as pleasant to the touch as chinchilla fur, wasnot at all uncomfortable, and the dripping air caressed their skinslike a summer breeze back on Earth. Tiny, slippery creatures skiddedand splashed out of their way. Finally Kershaw stopped. His experiencedeye had seen a trail of swamp weeds crushed low into the mud. Keep your eyes open, Kershaw said. There's a Slider been around herelately. If you see something like an express train headed our way,start shooting. At each leap along the trail they peered quickly around. They saw noSliders, but this meant little, for the beasts lived under the mud asmuch as on top of it. Kershaw halted again when they came to a roughly circular area some tenyards in diameter where the weeds had been torn out and lay rotting inthe muck. We're in luck, he said as Asa skidded to a stop at his side. An eggwas laid somewhere here within the last week. These places are hard tospot when the new weeds start growing. Kershaw took a long look around. No trouble in sight. We dig. They started at the center of the cleared area, shoveling up great gobsof mud with their hands and flinging them out of the clearing. Usuallya muck man dug in a spiral out from the center, but Graybar and Kershawdug in gradually widening semi-circles opposite each other. They hadto dig four feet deep, and it was slow going until they had a pitbig enough to stand in. Each handful of mud had to be squeezed gentlybefore it was thrown away, to make sure it didn't conceal an egg. As heworked, Asa kept thinking what an inefficient system it was. Everythingabout the operation was wrong. Got it! Kershaw shouted. He leaped out of the pit and started wipingslime off a round object the size of a baseball. Asa jumped out towatch. A big one, Kershaw said. He held it, still smeared with traces ofmud, lovingly to his cheek, and then lifted it to eye level. Just lookat it. A SLIDER EGG The egg was flashing with a mad radiance, like a thousand diamondsbeing splintered under a brilliant sun. Static crackled in Asa'searphones and he thought of what Kershaw had said, that thescintillation of an egg was an effect of its calls to a mother Sliderfor help. Asa looked around. Jump! he shouted. At the edge of the clearing a segmented length of greenish blackscales, some two feet thick and six feet high, had reared up out of theweeds. The top segment was almost all mouth, already opened to show rowupon row of teeth. Before Asa could draw his gun the Slider loweredits head to the ground, dug two front flippers into the mud and shotforward. Asa leaped with all his strength, sailing far out of the clearing.While he was still in the air he snapped the mouthpiece of his radiodown from where it was hinged over his head. As he landed he turnedinstantly, his gun in his hand. Calling the 'copter! he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. Kershawand Graybar, sector eight, five miles out. Hurry! Graybar? asked a voice in his earphone. What's up? We've got an egg but a Slider wants it back. On the way. Asa hopped back to the clearing. Kershaw must have been bowled over bythe Slider's first rush, for he was trying to hop on one leg as if theother had been broken. The egg lay flickering on top of the mud whereKershaw had dropped it. The Slider, eight flippers on each side workingmadly, was twisting its thirty feet of wormlike body around for anothercharge. Aiming hastily, Asa fired a rocket at the monster's middle segment. Therocket smashed through hard scales and exploded in a fountain of grayflesh. The Slider writhed, coating its wound in mud, and twisted towardAsa. He leaped to one side, firing from the air and missing, and sawthe Slider turn toward the patch of weeds where he would land. His legswere tensed to leap again the moment he hit the mud, but he saw theSlider would be on top of him before he could escape. As he landed hethrust his gun forward almost into the mouth of the creature and firedagain. Even as he was knocked aside into the muck, Asa's body was showeredwith shreds of alien flesh scattered by the rocket's explosion.Desperately pushing himself to his feet, he saw the long headless bodyshiver and lie still. <doc-sep>Since it was cheaper to transport a normal human than to rig specialenvironments in a spaceship, every planet operated its own conversionchambers. On the space freighter that carried him from Earth AsaGraybar was confined to a small cabin that was opened only for a guardto bring meals and take out dirty dishes. He was still a prisoner. Sometimes he could hear voices in the passageway outside, and onceone of them sounded like a woman's. But since women neither served onspaceships nor worked in the dome settlements on harsher worlds, hedecided it was his imagination. He might have been dead cargo for allhe learned about space travel. Nevertheless his time was not wasted. He had as a companion, orcellmate, another convict who had elected conversion to muck man. Moreimportant, his companion had done time on Jordan's Planet before andhad wanted to return. It's the Slider eggs, explained Kershaw, the two-time loser. Theones you see on Earth knock your eyes out, but they've already begunto die. There's nothing like a fresh one. And I'm not the first togo crazy over them. When I was reconverted and got home I had ninethousand dollars waiting for me. That'll buy a two-year-old egg thatflashes maybe four times a day. So I stole a new one and got caught. Asa had held a Slider egg in his hand as he gazed into it. He couldunderstand. The shell was clear as crystal, taut but elastic, whilethe albumen was just as clear around the sparkling network of organicfilaments that served as a yolk. Along these interior threads playedtiny flashes of lightning, part of some unexplained process of life.Electrical instruments picked up static discharges from the egg, butthe phenomenon remained a mystery. Hardly anyone faced with the beauty of a Slider's egg bothered toquestion its workings. For a few expectant moments there would be onlyrandom, fitful gleamings, and then there would be a wild coruscation oflight, dancing from one filament to the next in a frenzy of brilliance. It took about four years for a Slider egg to die. Beauty, rarity andfading value made the eggs a luxury item like nothing the world hadever seen. If Asa had found a means of keeping them alive it would havemade him wealthy at the expense of the Hazeltyne monopoly. You know what I think? Kershaw asked. I think those flashes arethe egg calling its momma. They sparkle like a million diamonds whenyou scoop one out of the muck, and right away a Slider always comesswooping out of nowhere at you. I've been meaning to ask you, Asa said. How do you handle theSliders? Kershaw grinned. First you try to catch it with a rocket. If you miss you start leapingfor home. All this time you're broadcasting for help, you understand.When the Slider catches you, you leap up while it buries its jaws inthe mud where you were just standing. You dig your claws in its backand hang on while it rolls around in the mud. Finally, if the 'coptercomes—and if they don't shoot off your head by mistake—you live totell the tale. II Asa Graybar kept his normal form on Jordan's Planet just long enough tolearn the discomfort of double gravity. He was told he needed anotherphysical examination and was taken right in to a doctor. His heart waspounding to keep his blood circulating on this massive world, but thedoctor had apparently learned to make allowances. Swallow this, said the doctor after making a series of tests. Asa swallowed the capsule. Two minutes later he felt himself beginningto lose consciousness. This is it! he thought in panic. He felt someone ease him back down onto a wheeled stretcher. Beforeconsciousness faded completely he realized that no one got a chanceto back out of becoming a changeling, that he was on his way to theconversion tank right now. When he finally awoke he felt well rested and very comfortable. But fora long time he was afraid to open his eyes. Come on, Graybar, said a deep, booming voice. Let's test our wings. It was not Kershaw's voice, but it had to be Kershaw. Asa opened hiseyes. Everyone had seen pictures of muck men. It was different having onestand beside you. Kershaw looked much like an enormous frog except thathis head was still mostly human. He was sitting on webbed feet, hislower legs bent double under huge thighs, and his trunk tilted forwardso that his arms dangled to the ground. The arms were as thick aroundas an ordinary man's legs. The hands had become efficient scoops, withbroad fingers webbed to the first joint and tipped with spade-likeclaws. The skin was still pinkish but had become scaly. Not a thread ofhair showed anywhere on the body, not even on the head. This, Asa realized, was what he looked like himself. It would have been more bearable if the head had not retained strongtraces of humanity. The nostrils flared wide and the jaws hardlyemerged from the neck, but the ears were human ears and the eyes, underthose horny ridges, were human eyes. Asa felt sure that the eyes couldstill weep. He started to walk forward and tipped over on his side. Kershaw laughed. Come to daddy, babykins, Kershaw said, holding out his hands. Onlytry hopping this time. And take it easy. Asa pushed himself upright with one arm and tried a small hop. Nerveand muscle coordination was perfect. He found himself leaping as highas Kershaw's head. That's the way, Kershaw said approvingly. Now get this on and we'llgo outside. Asa snapped on a belt and breech cloth combination that had flaps offabric dangling from the belt in front and behind. He followed asKershaw pushed open a sliding door to lead the way out of the roomwhere they had been left to revive from conversion. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How would you describe the dynamic between Asa and Kershaw in MUCK MAN?

They meet as cellmates on their way to Jordan’s planet to convert to muck men. They convert into frog-like forms together. Kershaw is assigned to pick up where he left off as a return prisoner and Asa is taught how to operate in his new body.Kershaw teaches Asa the ropes of how to collect slider eggs as a muck man. One muck man is killed for about every 6 Slider eggs that are found, and it is extremely dangerous. During their first time out they have to fight a Slider and Kershaw breaks his leg, relying on Asa to save him. This task bonds them together as they must trust each other with their lives.

What role does the egg play in the plot of MUCK MAN? [SEP] <s>Asa took a deep breath and looked around. Kershaw! he called. Where are you? Over here. Kershaw stood briefly above the weeds and fell back again.Asa leaped over to him. Thanks, Kershaw said. Muck men stick together. You'll make a goodone. I wouldn't have had a chance. My leg's busted. The helicopter ought to be here pretty soon, Asa said. He looked overat the dead Slider and shook his head. Tell me, what are the odds ongetting killed doing this? Last time I was here there was about one mucker killed for every sixeggs brought out. Of course you're not supposed to stand there admiringthe eggs like I did while a Slider comes up on you. Asa hopped over to the egg, which was still full of a dancing radiancewhere it rested on the mud. He scooped a hole in the muck and buriedthe egg. Just in case there are any more Sliders around, he explained. Makes no difference, said Kershaw, pointing upward. Here comes the'copter, late as usual. The big machine circled them, hovered to inspect the dead Slider, andsettled down on broad skids. Through the transparent nose Asa could seeTom Dorr and Harriet Hazeltyne. The company manager swung the door openand leaned out. I see you took care of the Slider, he said. Hand over the egg. Kershaw has a broken leg, Asa said. I'll help him in and then I'llget the egg. While Kershaw grabbed the door frame to help pull himself into thehelicopter, Asa got under his companion's belly and lifted him by thewaist. He hadn't realized before just how strong his new body was.Kershaw, as a muck man, would have weighed close to three hundredpounds on Earth, close to six hundred here. Dorr made no move to help, but the girl reached under Kershaw'sshoulder and strained to get him in. Once he was inside, Asa saw, thecabin was crowded. Are you going to have room for me too? he asked. Not this trip, Dorr answered. Now give me the egg. Asa didn't hesitate. The egg stays with me, he said softly. You do what I tell you, mucker, said Dorr. Nope. I want to make sure you come back. Asa turned his head toHarriet. You see, Miss Hazeltyne, I don't trust your friend. You mightask him to tell you about it. Dorr stared at him with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he smiled in a way thatworried Asa. Whatever you say, Graybar, Dorr said. He turned to the controls. Inanother minute the helicopter was in the sky. <doc-sep>They went into a courtyard partly covered by a roof projecting fromthe Hazeltyne company's dome settlement. The far half of the courtyardwas open to the gray drizzle that fell almost ceaselessly from the skyof Jordan's Planet and turned most of its surface into marsh and mudflats. A high wall enclosed the far portion of the courtyard. Rangedalong the wall were thirty stalls for muck men. From fifty yards across the courtyard a muck man bounded over to themin two leaps. Attached to a harness across his shoulders and chest werea gun and a long knife. Names? he growled. He was a foot taller than Graybar and bigeverywhere in proportion. Kershaw. I'm back, Furston. I'm Graybar. Kershaw again? Just start in where you left off, sucker. Come on,you. He pointed to Asa and leaped to the open portion of the courtyard. Do what he says, Kershaw whispered to Graybar. He's sort of a trustyand warden and parole officer rolled into one. Asa was put through a series of exercises to get him used to hisdistorted body, to teach him how to leap and how to dig. He was shownhow to operate the radio he would carry and how to fire the pencil-slimrockets of this gun. Finally he was told to eat a few berries from anative vine. He did so and immediately vomited. Furston laughed. That's to remind you you're still a man, Furston said, grinning.Everything that grows on this planet is poison. So if you got anyideas of hiding out till your term is up, forget 'em. Right here iswhere you eat. Asa turned without a word and hopped feebly away from Furston. Helifted his head to breathe deeply and saw two humans watching him froman observation tower on the roof. He leaped twenty feet into the air for a closer look. Gazing at him with repugnance, after witnessing the end of his sessionwith Furston, were Harriet Hazeltyne and general manager Tom Dorr. The girl's presence merely puzzled Asa, but Dorr's being here worriedhim. Dorr had tried to get rid of him once and was now in an excellentposition to make the riddance permanent. At supper that night, squatting on the ground beside a low table withthe dozen other muck men operating from the dome, Asa asked what thetwo were doing out here. The girl will inherit this racket some day, won't she? asked one ofthe others. She wants to see what kind of suckers are making her rich. Maybe that guy Dorr brought her along to show her what a big wheelhe is, said one of the others. Just hope he doesn't take over theoperations. III Next morning Furston passed out guns, knives, radios, and pouches tocarry any eggs the muck men found. He gave each man a compass andassigned the sectors to be worked during the day. Finally he calledGraybar aside. In case you don't like it here, Furston said, you can get a weekknocked off your sentence for every egg you bring in. Now get out thereand work that muck. Furston sent Graybar and Kershaw out together so that the veteran couldshow Asa the ropes. Asa had already learned that the wall around thecourtyard was to keep Sliders out, not muck men in. He leaped over itand hopped along after Kershaw. Feet slapping against the mud, they went about five miles from theHazeltyne station, swimming easily across ponds too broad to jump. Themud, if not precisely as pleasant to the touch as chinchilla fur, wasnot at all uncomfortable, and the dripping air caressed their skinslike a summer breeze back on Earth. Tiny, slippery creatures skiddedand splashed out of their way. Finally Kershaw stopped. His experiencedeye had seen a trail of swamp weeds crushed low into the mud. Keep your eyes open, Kershaw said. There's a Slider been around herelately. If you see something like an express train headed our way,start shooting. At each leap along the trail they peered quickly around. They saw noSliders, but this meant little, for the beasts lived under the mud asmuch as on top of it. Kershaw halted again when they came to a roughly circular area some tenyards in diameter where the weeds had been torn out and lay rotting inthe muck. We're in luck, he said as Asa skidded to a stop at his side. An eggwas laid somewhere here within the last week. These places are hard tospot when the new weeds start growing. Kershaw took a long look around. No trouble in sight. We dig. They started at the center of the cleared area, shoveling up great gobsof mud with their hands and flinging them out of the clearing. Usuallya muck man dug in a spiral out from the center, but Graybar and Kershawdug in gradually widening semi-circles opposite each other. They hadto dig four feet deep, and it was slow going until they had a pitbig enough to stand in. Each handful of mud had to be squeezed gentlybefore it was thrown away, to make sure it didn't conceal an egg. As heworked, Asa kept thinking what an inefficient system it was. Everythingabout the operation was wrong. Got it! Kershaw shouted. He leaped out of the pit and started wipingslime off a round object the size of a baseball. Asa jumped out towatch. A big one, Kershaw said. He held it, still smeared with traces ofmud, lovingly to his cheek, and then lifted it to eye level. Just lookat it. A SLIDER EGG The egg was flashing with a mad radiance, like a thousand diamondsbeing splintered under a brilliant sun. Static crackled in Asa'searphones and he thought of what Kershaw had said, that thescintillation of an egg was an effect of its calls to a mother Sliderfor help. Asa looked around. Jump! he shouted. At the edge of the clearing a segmented length of greenish blackscales, some two feet thick and six feet high, had reared up out of theweeds. The top segment was almost all mouth, already opened to show rowupon row of teeth. Before Asa could draw his gun the Slider loweredits head to the ground, dug two front flippers into the mud and shotforward. Asa leaped with all his strength, sailing far out of the clearing.While he was still in the air he snapped the mouthpiece of his radiodown from where it was hinged over his head. As he landed he turnedinstantly, his gun in his hand. Calling the 'copter! he spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece. Kershawand Graybar, sector eight, five miles out. Hurry! Graybar? asked a voice in his earphone. What's up? We've got an egg but a Slider wants it back. On the way. Asa hopped back to the clearing. Kershaw must have been bowled over bythe Slider's first rush, for he was trying to hop on one leg as if theother had been broken. The egg lay flickering on top of the mud whereKershaw had dropped it. The Slider, eight flippers on each side workingmadly, was twisting its thirty feet of wormlike body around for anothercharge. Aiming hastily, Asa fired a rocket at the monster's middle segment. Therocket smashed through hard scales and exploded in a fountain of grayflesh. The Slider writhed, coating its wound in mud, and twisted towardAsa. He leaped to one side, firing from the air and missing, and sawthe Slider turn toward the patch of weeds where he would land. His legswere tensed to leap again the moment he hit the mud, but he saw theSlider would be on top of him before he could escape. As he landed hethrust his gun forward almost into the mouth of the creature and firedagain. Even as he was knocked aside into the muck, Asa's body was showeredwith shreds of alien flesh scattered by the rocket's explosion.Desperately pushing himself to his feet, he saw the long headless bodyshiver and lie still. <doc-sep>Since it was cheaper to transport a normal human than to rig specialenvironments in a spaceship, every planet operated its own conversionchambers. On the space freighter that carried him from Earth AsaGraybar was confined to a small cabin that was opened only for a guardto bring meals and take out dirty dishes. He was still a prisoner. Sometimes he could hear voices in the passageway outside, and onceone of them sounded like a woman's. But since women neither served onspaceships nor worked in the dome settlements on harsher worlds, hedecided it was his imagination. He might have been dead cargo for allhe learned about space travel. Nevertheless his time was not wasted. He had as a companion, orcellmate, another convict who had elected conversion to muck man. Moreimportant, his companion had done time on Jordan's Planet before andhad wanted to return. It's the Slider eggs, explained Kershaw, the two-time loser. Theones you see on Earth knock your eyes out, but they've already begunto die. There's nothing like a fresh one. And I'm not the first togo crazy over them. When I was reconverted and got home I had ninethousand dollars waiting for me. That'll buy a two-year-old egg thatflashes maybe four times a day. So I stole a new one and got caught. Asa had held a Slider egg in his hand as he gazed into it. He couldunderstand. The shell was clear as crystal, taut but elastic, whilethe albumen was just as clear around the sparkling network of organicfilaments that served as a yolk. Along these interior threads playedtiny flashes of lightning, part of some unexplained process of life.Electrical instruments picked up static discharges from the egg, butthe phenomenon remained a mystery. Hardly anyone faced with the beauty of a Slider's egg bothered toquestion its workings. For a few expectant moments there would be onlyrandom, fitful gleamings, and then there would be a wild coruscation oflight, dancing from one filament to the next in a frenzy of brilliance. It took about four years for a Slider egg to die. Beauty, rarity andfading value made the eggs a luxury item like nothing the world hadever seen. If Asa had found a means of keeping them alive it would havemade him wealthy at the expense of the Hazeltyne monopoly. You know what I think? Kershaw asked. I think those flashes arethe egg calling its momma. They sparkle like a million diamonds whenyou scoop one out of the muck, and right away a Slider always comesswooping out of nowhere at you. I've been meaning to ask you, Asa said. How do you handle theSliders? Kershaw grinned. First you try to catch it with a rocket. If you miss you start leapingfor home. All this time you're broadcasting for help, you understand.When the Slider catches you, you leap up while it buries its jaws inthe mud where you were just standing. You dig your claws in its backand hang on while it rolls around in the mud. Finally, if the 'coptercomes—and if they don't shoot off your head by mistake—you live totell the tale. II Asa Graybar kept his normal form on Jordan's Planet just long enough tolearn the discomfort of double gravity. He was told he needed anotherphysical examination and was taken right in to a doctor. His heart waspounding to keep his blood circulating on this massive world, but thedoctor had apparently learned to make allowances. Swallow this, said the doctor after making a series of tests. Asa swallowed the capsule. Two minutes later he felt himself beginningto lose consciousness. This is it! he thought in panic. He felt someone ease him back down onto a wheeled stretcher. Beforeconsciousness faded completely he realized that no one got a chanceto back out of becoming a changeling, that he was on his way to theconversion tank right now. When he finally awoke he felt well rested and very comfortable. But fora long time he was afraid to open his eyes. Come on, Graybar, said a deep, booming voice. Let's test our wings. It was not Kershaw's voice, but it had to be Kershaw. Asa opened hiseyes. Everyone had seen pictures of muck men. It was different having onestand beside you. Kershaw looked much like an enormous frog except thathis head was still mostly human. He was sitting on webbed feet, hislower legs bent double under huge thighs, and his trunk tilted forwardso that his arms dangled to the ground. The arms were as thick aroundas an ordinary man's legs. The hands had become efficient scoops, withbroad fingers webbed to the first joint and tipped with spade-likeclaws. The skin was still pinkish but had become scaly. Not a thread ofhair showed anywhere on the body, not even on the head. This, Asa realized, was what he looked like himself. It would have been more bearable if the head had not retained strongtraces of humanity. The nostrils flared wide and the jaws hardlyemerged from the neck, but the ears were human ears and the eyes, underthose horny ridges, were human eyes. Asa felt sure that the eyes couldstill weep. He started to walk forward and tipped over on his side. Kershaw laughed. Come to daddy, babykins, Kershaw said, holding out his hands. Onlytry hopping this time. And take it easy. Asa pushed himself upright with one arm and tried a small hop. Nerveand muscle coordination was perfect. He found himself leaping as highas Kershaw's head. That's the way, Kershaw said approvingly. Now get this on and we'llgo outside. Asa snapped on a belt and breech cloth combination that had flaps offabric dangling from the belt in front and behind. He followed asKershaw pushed open a sliding door to lead the way out of the roomwhere they had been left to revive from conversion. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does the egg play in the plot of MUCK MAN?

The Slider egg is a captivating object that has a clear shell, and light of various colors flash inside it. They are laid by Sliders on Jordan’s planet and are collected by prisoners that are stationed there. The eggs only live for about 4 years, which makes them in demand. If they could be stabilized to live longer they would be even more valuable.Their use is never discussed and the people in the story do not reveal why they are so valuable. Asa is working on a method to keep the eggs alive for longer at the opening of the story, but does not continue in that task during the plot.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE DESERT AND THE STARS? [SEP] <s> HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by WEST [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every lonely man tries to make friends. Manet just didn't know when to stop! William Manet was alone. In the beginning, he had seen many advantages to being alone. It wouldgive him an unprecedented opportunity to once and for all correlateloneliness to the point of madness, to see how long it would take himto start slavering and clawing the pin-ups from the magazines, to beginteaching himself classes in philosophy consisting of interminablelectures to a bored and captive audience of one. He would be able to measure the qualities of peace and decide whetherit was really better than war, he would be able to get as fat and asdirty as he liked, he would be able to live more like an animal andthink more like a god than any man for generations. But after a shorter time than he expected, it all got to be a tearingbore. Even the waiting to go crazy part of it. Not that he was going to have any great long wait of it. He was alreadytalking to himself, making verbal notes for his lectures, and he hadcut out a picture of Annie Oakley from an old book. He tacked it up andwinked at it whenever he passed that way. Lately she was winking back at him. Loneliness was a physical weight on his skull. It peeled the flesh fromhis arms and legs and sandpapered his self-pity to a fine sensitivity. No one on Earth was as lonely as William Manet, and even William Manetcould only be this lonely on Mars. Manet was Atmosphere Seeder Station 131-47's own human. All Manet had to do was sit in the beating aluminum heart in the middleof the chalk desert and stare out, chin cupped in hands, at the flat,flat pavement of dirty talcum, at the stars gleaming as hard in theblack sky as a starlet's capped teeth ... stars two of which were moonsand one of which was Earth. He had to do nothing else. The wholegimcrack was cybernetically controlled, entirely automatic. No one wasneeded here—no human being, at least. The Workers' Union was a pretty small pressure group, but it didn'ttake much to pressure the Assembly. Featherbedding had been carefullyspecified, including an Overseer for each of the Seeders to honeycombMars, to prepare its atmosphere for colonization. They didn't give tests to find well-balanced, well-integrated peoplefor the job. Well-balanced, well-integrated men weren't going toisolate themselves in a useless job. They got, instead, William Manetand his fellows. The Overseers were to stay as long as the job required. Passenger fareto Mars was about one billion dollars. They weren't providing commuterservice for night shifts. They weren't providing accommodationsfor couples when the law specified only one occupant. They weren'tproviding fuel (at fifty million dollars a gallon) for visits betweenthe various Overseers. They weren't very providential. But it was two hundred thousand a year in salary, and it offeredwonderful opportunities. It gave William Manet an opportunity to think he saw a spaceship makinga tailfirst landing on the table of the desert, its tail burning asbright as envy. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE DESERT AND THE STARS?

As the story opens, Retief, the Minister to Flamme, is meeting with other members of the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne, including Under-Secretary Sternwheeler and Deputy Under-Secretary Magnan. The men discuss Retief’s plan to visit Flamme in person to deal with the growing conflict between the Boyars, who have been living on Flamme for sixty years, and the Aga Kagans. The latter recently arrived on Flamme and began taking over land that the Boyars are farming. The Aga Kagans appear to be goat herders, living in tents and allowing their goats to graze on land that the Boyars use for crops, but in reality, the Aga Kagans have weapons, including 40 mm infinite repeaters and rocket launchers. Retief wants to offer the Boyars the support of the Corps, but Sternwheeler will only go so far as to authorize a “stiffly worded Protest Note.” With foresight, Retief has already drafted a note because he anticipated the Corps would respond with paperwork rather than action. Retief travels to Flamme and meets with Georges Duror, the Boyar Chef d’Regime. Georges indicates that he has been holding back his men who want to attack the Aga Kagans for taking their land, and Retief reminds Georges that if the Boyars act without backing from the Corps, they are likely to be destroyed. Retief also tells Georges that the goats and tents are just for show; the Aga Kagans have a modern navy and bullet-proof cloaks, and on their home planet, they travel via modern helis and ground cars. Georges seems discouraged by this news, but Retief reminds him he has the Note and asks him to give diplomacy a chance. Retief and Georges travel to meet with the head of the Aga Kagans to deliver the Note. On the way, Georges points out the progress that the Boyars have made on Flamme. They stop their air-car when Georges sees a herd of goats in a grain field, and three Aga Kagan horsemen confront them. Retief asks them to take him and Georges to their leader, and they do. Retief introduces Georges as from the Planetary government to the leader, Stanley, and offers to read the Note. He begins with a series of titles until Stanley tells him to skip them. Retief flips two pages and begins a long, legalistic description of relocated people until Stanley cuts him off. Stanley says the Boyars will be accused of imperialism if they attack the Aga Kagans but offers to allow the Boyars to stay until they can make other arrangements. Stanley reveals that the Aga Kagans are slowly creating an empire, and he expects the Corps won’t do anything about it. Georges and Stanley exchange heated insults.

How do Georges and Retief differ and what similarities do they share in THE DESERT AND THE STARS? [SEP] <s>The air car followed the escort down a long slope to a dry river bedand across it, through a barren stretch of shifting sand to a greenoasis set with canopies. The armed escort motioned the car to a halt before an immense tent ofglistening black. Before the tent armed men lounged under a pennantbearing a lion couchant in crimson on a field verte. Get out, Blackbeard ordered. The guards eyed the visitors, theirdrawn sabers catching sunlight. Retief and Georges stepped from thecar onto rich rugs spread on the grass. They followed the ferociousgesture of the bearded man through the opening into a perfumed interiorof luminous shadows. A heavy odor of incense hung in the air, and thestrumming of stringed instruments laid a muted pattern of sound behindthe decorations of gold and blue, silver and green. At the far end ofthe room, among a bevy of female slaves, a large and resplendently cladman with blue-black hair and a clean-shaven chin popped a grape intohis mouth. He wiped his fingers negligently on a wisp of silk offeredby a handmaiden, belched loudly and looked the callers over. Blackbeard cleared his throat. Down on your faces in the presence ofthe Exalted One, the Aga Kaga, ruler of East and West. Sorry, Retief said firmly. My hay-fever, you know. The reclining giant waved a hand languidly. Never mind the formalities, he said. Approach. Retief and Georges crossed the thick rugs. A cold draft blew towardthem. The reclining man sneezed violently, wiped his nose on anothersilken scarf and held up a hand. Night and the horses and the desert know me, he said in resonanttones. Also the sword and the guest and paper and pen— Hepaused, wrinkled his nose and sneezed again. Turn off that damnedair-conditioner, he snapped. He settled himself and motioned the bearded man to him. The twoexchanged muted remarks. Then the bearded man stepped back, ducked hishead and withdrew to the rear. Excellency, Retief said, I have the honor to present M. GeorgesDuror, Chef d'Regime of the Planetary government. Planetary government? The Aga Kaga spat grape seeds on the rug. Mymen have observed a few squatters along the shore. If they're indistress, I'll see about a distribution of goat-meat. It is the punishment of the envious to grieve at anothers' plenty,Retief said. No goat-meat will be required. Ralph told me you talk like a page out of Mustapha ben Abdallah KatibJelebi, the Aga Kaga said. I know a few old sayings myself. Forexample, 'A Bedouin is only cheated once.' We have no such intentions, Excellency, Retief said. Is it notwritten, 'Have no faith in the Prince whose minister cheats you'? I've had some unhappy experiences with strangers, the Aga Kaga said.It is written in the sands that all strangers are kin. Still, he whovisits rarely is a welcome guest. Be seated. III Handmaidens brought cushions, giggled and fled. Retief and Georgessettled themselves comfortably. The Aga Kaga eyed them in silence. We have come to bear tidings from the Corps DiplomatiqueTerrestrienne, Retief said solemnly. A perfumed slave girl offeredgrapes. Modest ignorance is better than boastful knowledge, the Aga Kagasaid. What brings the CDT into the picture? The essay of the drunkard will be read in the tavern, Retief said.Whereas the words of kings.... Very well, I concede the point. The Aga Kaga waved a hand at theserving maids. Depart, my dears. Attend me later. You too, Ralph.These are mere diplomats. They are men of words, not deeds. The bearded man glared and departed. The girls hurried after him. Now, the Aga Kaga said. Let's drop the wisdom of the ages andget down to the issues. Not that I don't admire your repertoire ofplatitudes. How do you remember them all? Diplomats and other liars require good memories, said Retief. Butas you point out, small wisdom to small minds. I'm here to effect asettlement of certain differences between yourself and the planetaryauthorities. I have here a Note, which I'm conveying on behalf of theSector Under-Secretary. With your permission, I'll read it. Go ahead. The Aga Kaga kicked a couple of cushions onto the floor,eased a bottle from under the couch and reached for glasses. The Under-Secretary for Sector Affairs presents his compliments to hisExcellency, the Aga Kaga of the Aga Kaga, Primary Potentate, HereditarySheik, Emir of the— Yes, yes. Skip the titles. Retief flipped over two pages. ... and with reference to the recent relocation of persons under thejurisdiction of his Excellency, has the honor to point out that theterritories now under settlement comprise a portion of that area,hereinafter designated as Sub-sector Alpha, which, under terms ofthe Agreement entered into by his Excellency's predecessor, and asreferenced in Sector Ministry's Notes numbers G-175846573957-b andX-7584736 c-1, with particular pertinence to that body designated inthe Revised Galactic Catalogue, Tenth Edition, as amended, VolumeNine, reel 43, as 54 Cygni Alpha, otherwise referred to hereinafter asFlamme— Come to the point, the Aga Kaga cut in. You're here to lodge acomplaint that I'm invading territories to which someone else laysclaim, is that it? He smiled broadly, offered dope-sticks and lit one.Well, I've been expecting a call. After all, it's what you gentlemenare paid for. Cheers. Your Excellency has a lucid way of putting things, Retief said. Call me Stanley, the Aga Kaga said. The other routine is just toplease some of the old fools—I mean the more conservative membersof my government. They're still gnawing their beards and kickingthemselves because their ancestors dropped science in favor of alchemyand got themselves stranded in a cultural dead end. This charade issupposed to prove they were right all along. However, I've no timeto waste in neurotic compensations. I have places to go and deeds toaccomplish. At first glance, Retief said, it looks as though the places arealready occupied, and the deeds are illegal. <doc-sep>The Aga Kaga guffawed. For a diplomat, you speak plainly, Retief. Haveanother drink. He poured, eyeing Georges. What of M. Duror? How doeshe feel about it? Georges took a thoughtful swallow of whiskey. Not bad, he said. Butnot quite good enough to cover the odor of goats. The Aga Kaga snorted. I thought the goats were overdoing it a bitmyself, he said. Still, the graybeards insisted. And I need theirsupport. Also, Georges said distinctly, I think you're soft. You lie aroundletting women wait on you, while your betters are out doing an honestday's work. The Aga Kaga looked startled. Soft? I can tie a knot in an iron baras big as your thumb. He popped a grape into his mouth. As for therest, your pious views about the virtues of hard labor are as childishas my advisors' faith in the advantages of primitive plumbing. As formyself, I am a realist. If two monkeys want the same banana, in the endone will have it, and the other will cry morality. The days of my yearsare numbered, praise be to God. While they last, I hope to eat well,hunt well, fight well and take my share of pleasure. I leave to othersthe arid satisfactions of self-denial and other perversions. You admit you're here to grab our land, then, Georges said. That'sthe damnedest piece of bare-faced aggression— Ah, ah! The Aga Kaga held up a hand. Watch your vocabulary, mydear sir. I'm sure that 'justifiable yearnings for territorialself-realization' would be more appropriate to the situation. Orpossibly 'legitimate aspirations, for self-determination of formerlyexploited peoples' might fit the case. Aggression is, by definition,an activity carried on only by those who have inherited the mantle ofColonial Imperialism. Imperialism! Why, you Aga Kagans have been the most notoriousplanet-grabbers in Sector history, you—you— Call me Stanley. The Aga Kaga munched a grape. I merely face therealities of popular folk-lore. Let's be pragmatic; it's a matter ofhistorical association. Some people can grab land and pass it offlightly as a moral duty; others are dubbed imperialist merely forholding onto their own. Unfair, you say. But that's life, my friends.And I shall continue to take every advantage of it. We'll fight you! Georges bellowed. He took another gulp of whiskeyand slammed the glass down. You won't take this world without astruggle! Another? the Aga Kaga said, offering the bottle. Georges glowered ashis glass was filled. The Aga Kaga held the glass up to the light. Excellent color, don't you agree? He turned his eyes on Georges. It's pointless to resist, he said. We have you outgunned andoutmanned. Your small nation has no chance against us. But we'reprepared to be generous. You may continue to occupy such areas as we donot immediately require until such time as you're able to make otherarrangements. And by the time we've got a crop growing out of what was bare rock,you'll be ready to move in, the Boyar Chef d'Regime snapped. Butyou'll find that we aren't alone! <doc-sep>That would have been a mistake, said Retief. The Aga Kagans aretough customers. They're active on half a dozen worlds at the moment.They've been building up for this push for the last five years. Ashow of resistance by you Boyars without Corps backing would be aninvitation to slaughter—with the excuse that you started it. So what are we going to do? Sit here and watch these goat-herders takeover our farms and fisheries? Those goat-herders aren't all they seem. They've got a first-classmodern navy. I've seen 'em. They camp in goat-skin tents, gallop around onanimal-back, wear dresses down to their ankles— The 'goat-skin' tents are a high-polymer plastic, made in the samefactory that turns out those long flowing bullet-proof robes youmention. The animals are just for show. Back home they use helis andground cars of the most modern design. The Chef d'Regime chewed his cigar. Why the masquerade? Something to do with internal policies, I suppose. So we sit tight and watch 'em take our world away from us. That's whatI get for playing along with you, Retief. We should have clobberedthese monkeys as soon as they set foot on our world. Slow down, I haven't finished yet. There's still the Note. I've got plenty of paper already. Rolls and rolls of it. Give diplomatic processes a chance, said Retief. The Note hasn'teven been delivered yet. Who knows? We may get surprising results. If you expect me to supply a runner for the purpose, you're out ofluck. From what I hear, he's likely to come back with his ears stuffedin his hip pocket. I'll deliver the Note personally, Retief said. I could use a coupleof escorts—preferably strong-arm lads. The Chef d'Regime frowned, blew out a cloud of smoke. I wasn't kiddingabout these Aga Kagans, he said. I hear they have some nasty habits.I don't want to see you operated on with the same knives they use toskin out the goats. I'd be against that myself. Still, the mail must go through. Strong-arm lads, eh? What have you got in mind, Retief? A little muscle in the background is an old diplomatic custom, Retiefsaid. The Chef d'Regime stubbed out his cigar thoughtfully. I used to be apretty fair elbow-wrestler myself, he said. Suppose I go along...? That, said Retief, should lend just the right note of solidarity toour little delegation. He hitched his chair closer. Now, depending onwhat we run into, here's how we'll play it.... II Eight miles into the rolling granite hills west of the capital, ablack-painted official air-car flying the twin flags of Chief of Stateand Terrestrial Minister skimmed along a foot above a pot-holed road.Slumped in the padded seat, the Boyar Chef d'Regime waved his cigarglumly at the surrounding hills. Fifty years ago this was bare rock, he said. We've bred specialstrains of bacteria here to break down the formations into soil, and wefollowed up with a program of broad-spectrum fertilization. We plannedto put the whole area into crops by next year. Now it looks like thegoats will get it. Will that scrubland support a crop? Retief said, eyeing thelichen-covered knolls. Sure. We start with legumes and follow up with cereals. Wait until yousee this next section. It's an old flood plain, came into productionthirty years ago. One of our finest— The air-car topped a rise. The Chef dropped his cigar and half rose,with a hoarse yell. A herd of scraggly goats tossed their heads among astand of ripe grain. The car pulled to a stop. Retief held the Boyar'sarm. Keep calm, Georges, he said. Remember, we're on a diplomaticmission. It wouldn't do to come to the conference table smelling ofgoats. Let me at 'em! Georges roared. I'll throttle 'em with my bare hands! A bearded goat eyed the Boyar Chef sardonically, jaw working. Look atthat long-nosed son! The goat gave a derisive bleat and took anothermouthful of ripe grain. Did you see that? Georges yelled. They've trained the son of a— Chin up, Georges, Retief said. We'll take up the goat problem alongwith the rest. I'll murder 'em! Hold it, Georges. Look over there. A hundred yards away, a trio of brown-cloaked horsemen topped a rise,paused dramatically against the cloudless pale sky, then gallopeddown the slope toward the car, rifles bobbing at their backs, cloaksbillowing out behind. Side by side they rode, through the brown-goldengrain, cutting three narrow swaths that ran in a straight sweep fromthe ridge to the air-car where Retief and the Chef d'Regime hovered,waiting. Georges scrambled for the side of the car. Just wait 'til I get myhands on him! Retief pulled him back. Sit tight and look pleased, Georges. Nevergive the opposition a hint of your true feelings. Pretend you're a goatlover—and hand me one of your cigars. The three horsemen pulled up in a churn of chaff and a clatter ofpebbles. Georges coughed, batting a hand at the settling dust. Retiefpeeled the cigar unhurriedly, sniffed, at it and thumbed it alight. Hedrew at it, puffed out a cloud of smoke and glanced casually at thetrio of Aga Kagan cavaliers. Peace be with you, he intoned in accent-free Kagan. May your shadowsnever grow less. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do Georges and Retief differ and what similarities do they share in THE DESERT AND THE STARS?

The two men have dealt with each other prior to the events in the story; Retief addresses Georges by his first name, so they know each other fairly well. However, Retief’s position is higher than Georges’s position. Retief works for the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne; Georges works for the Planetary government. Retief knows information about the Aga Kagans that Georges doesn’t know, such as the fact that they are armed, have bulletproof cloaks, and have modern technology on their home planet. He has advised Georges about handling the situation with the Aga Kagans, urging him to prevent the Boyars from attacking the Aga Kagans, and Georges trusts Retief to secure assistance for them. Retief is sympathetic to the Boyars and their situation, trying to persuade Under-Secretary Sternwheeler to support them. When Retief tells Georges that he will personally deliver the Note to the Aga Kagans, Georges wants to help Retief and volunteers to go with him; Retief agrees. It is Retief who develops the plan for handling the Aga Kagans. Georges is impulsive, which leads Retief to keep watch on him. When they encounter the goats in the grain field, Retief has to convince Georges not to hurt the animals, and when the horsemen ride through the grain, Retief has to hold him back again. Retief is calmer in stressful situations and reminds Georges of their strategy: to make their flattery sound like insults and their insults sound like flattery. Georges seems unsure of himself and comments that he should have learned more about their habits before accompanying Retief. Retief has to translate what the Aga Kagans say for Georges in order for him to know what is going on. When the two men meet with Stanley, Retief maintains his calm demeanor, while Georges loses his temper.

What is the backdrop of the story "The Desert and the Stars"? [SEP] <s> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep>In the evening a girl brought Maitland his meal. As the door slidaside, he automatically stood up, and they stared at each other forseveral seconds. She had the high cheekbones and almond eyes of an Oriental, skin thatglowed like gold in the evening light, yet thick coiled braids ofblonde hair that glittered like polished brass. Shorts and a sleevelessblouse of some thick, reddish, metallic-looking fabric clung to herbody, and over that she was wearing a light, ankle-length cloak of whatseemed to be white wool. She was looking at him with palpable curiosity and something likeexpectancy. Maitland sighed and said, Hello, then glanced downself-consciously at his wrinkled green pajamas. She smiled, put the tray of food on the table, and swept out, her cloakbillowing behind her. Maitland remained standing, staring at the closeddoor for a minute after she was gone. Later, when he had finished the steak and corn on the cob and shreddedcarrots, and a feeling of warm well-being was diffusing from hisstomach to his extremities, he sat down on the bed to watch the sunsetand to think. There were three questions for which he required answers before hecould formulate any plan or policy. Where was he? Who was Swarts? What was the purpose of the tests he was being given? It was possible, of course, that this was all an elaborate schemefor getting military secrets, despite Swarts' protestations to thecontrary. Maitland frowned. This place certainly didn't have theappearance of a military establishment, and so far there had beennothing to suggest the kind of interrogation to be expected fromforeign intelligence officers. It might be better to tackle the first question first. He looked atthe Sun, a red spheroid already half below the horizon, and tried tothink of a region that had this kind of terrain. That prairie out therewas unique. Almost anywhere in the world, land like that would becultivated, not allowed to go to grass. This might be somewhere in Africa.... He shook his head, puzzled. The Sun disappeared and its blood-huedglow began to fade from the sky. Maitland sat there, trying to gethold of the problem from an angle where it wouldn't just slip away.After a while the western sky became a screen of clear luminous blue,a backdrop for a pure white brilliant star. As always at that sight,Maitland felt his worry drain away, leaving an almost mystical sense ofpeace and an undefinable longing. Venus, the most beautiful of the planets. Maitland kept track of them all in their majestic paths through theconstellations, but Venus was his favorite. Time and time again hehad watched its steady climb higher and higher in the western sky,its transient rule there as evening star, its progression toward thehorizon, and loved it equally in its alter ego of morning star. Venuswas an old friend. An old friend.... Something icy settled on the back of his neck, ran down his spine, anddiffused into his body. He stared at the planet unbelievingly, fistsclenched, forgetting to breathe. Last night Venus hadn't been there. Venus was a morning star just now.... Just now! He realized the truth in that moment. <doc-sep> The Sense of Wonder By MILTON LESSER Illustrated by HARRY ROSENBAUM [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction September 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When nobody aboard ship remembers where it's going, how can they tell when it has arrived? Every day for a week now, Rikud had come to the viewport to watchthe great changeless sweep of space. He could not quite explain thefeelings within him; they were so alien, so unnatural. But ever sincethe engines somewhere in the rear of the world had changed their tone,from the steady whining Rikud had heard all twenty-five years of hislife, to the sullen roar that came to his ears now, the feelings hadgrown. If anyone else had noticed the change, he failed to mention it. Thisdisturbed Rikud, although he could not tell why. And, because he hadrealized this odd difference in himself, he kept it locked up insidehim. Today, space looked somehow different. The stars—it was a meaninglessconcept to Rikud, but that was what everyone called the brightpinpoints of light on the black backdrop in the viewport—were notapparent in the speckled profusion Rikud had always known. Instead,there was more of the blackness, and one very bright star set apartby itself in the middle of the viewport. If he had understood the term, Rikud would have told himself this wasodd. His head ached with the half-born thought. It was—it was—whatwas it? Someone was clomping up the companionway behind Rikud. He turned andgreeted gray-haired old Chuls. In five more years, the older man chided, you'll be ready to sirechildren. And all you can do in the meantime is gaze out at the stars. Rikud knew he should be exercising now, or bathing in the rays of thehealth-lamps. It had never occurred to him that he didn't feel like it;he just didn't, without comprehending. Chuls' reminder fostered uneasiness. Often Rikud had dreamed of thetime he would be thirty and a father. Whom would the Calculator selectas his mate? The first time this idea had occurred to him, Rikudignored it. But it came again, and each time it left him with a feelinghe could not explain. Why should he think thoughts that no other manhad? Why should he think he was thinking such thoughts, when it alwaysembroiled him in a hopeless, infinite confusion that left him with aheadache? Chuls said, It is time for my bath in the health-rays. I saw you hereand knew it was your time, too.... His voice trailed off. Rikud knew that something which he could notexplain had entered the elder man's head for a moment, but it haddeparted almost before Chuls knew of its existence. I'll go with you, Rikud told him. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story "The Desert and the Stars"?

The story’s beginning takes place at the headquarters for the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne where Retief works, but the rest of the story takes place on the planet Flamme. Sixty years earlier, the Boyars settled on Flamme and set about making it suitable for farming by clearing the jungle, descumming the seas, irrigating the deserts, and setting out forests. For sixty years, the Boyars inhabited the planet by themselves, with only the saurian wildlife presenting a danger to them. Flamme is now a thriving planet. It has a Government House with comfortable lounge furniture, waiters in white jackets, colorful flowers, a lake, a lawn, and colorful flowerbeds. It also has beautiful sunsets. Outside the capital, there are rolling hills of granite. Flamme’s main industry seems to be agriculture; fifty years ago they had bare rock, but they bred special strains of bacteria that broke the rock down to soil where they raised legumes and then grains. The Boyars also have oyster breeding beds. There are roads, although they have pot-holes, and air-cars for transportation. The Aga Kaban headquarters is a large black tent featuring air conditioning and a pennant featuring a lion “couchant in crimson on a field verte.” It has the smell of incense, and someone is playing stringed instruments inside. There are colorful decorations in gold, blue, silver, and green. The Aga Kaba are accustomed to the finer things in life; Stanley even blows his nose on silk cloth. Their foods include grapes, oranges, and bananas, and their beverages include whiskey. Everything about the Aga Kaba’s leader’s tent suggests wealth and luxury.

How does history play a part in THE DESERT AND THE STARS? [SEP] <s>We played. Tune after tune.John knew them all, from thelatest pop melodies to a swing versionof the classic Rhapsody of TheStars . He was a quiet guy duringthe next couple of hours, and gettingmore than a few words fromhim seemed as hard as extracting atooth. He'd stand by his fiddle—Imean, his Zloomph —with a dreamyexpression in those watery eyes,staring at nothing. But after one number he studiedFat Boy's clarinet for a moment.Nice clarinet, he mused. Has anunusual hole in the front. Fat Boy scratched the back ofhis head. You—you mean here?Where the music comes out? John Smith nodded. Unusual. Hummm, I thought again. Awhile later I caught him eyeingmy piano keyboard. What'sthe matter, John? He pointed. Oh, there, I said. A cigarettefell out of my ashtray, burnt a holein the key. If The Eye sees it, he'llswear at me in seven languages. Even there, he said softly,even there.... There was no doubt about it.John Smith was peculiar, but hewas the best bass man this side of amusician's Nirvana. It didn't take a genius to figureout our situation. Item one: Goon-Face'scountenance had evidencedan excellent imitation of Mephistophelesbefore John began to play.Item two: Goon-Face had beamedlike a kitten with a quart of creamafter John began to play. Conclusion: If we wanted tokeep eating, we'd have to persuadeJohn Smith to join our combo. At intermission I said, Howabout a drink, John? Maybe a shotof wine-syrup? He shook his head. Then maybe a Venusian fizz? His grunt was negative. Then some old-fashioned beer? He smiled. Yes, I like beer. I escorted him to the bar and assistedhim in his arduous climb ontoa stool. John, I ventured after he'dtaken an experimental sip, wherehave you been hiding? A guy likeyou should be playing every night. John yawned. Just got here. FiguredI might need some money soI went to the union. Then I workedon my plan. Then you need a job. Howabout playing with us steady? Welike your style a lot. He made a long, low hummingsound which I interpreted as anexpression of intense concentration.I don't know, he finally drawled. It'd be a steady job, John. Inspirationstruck me. And listen, Ihave an apartment. It's got everything,solar shower, automatic chef,'copter landing—if we ever get a'copter. Plenty of room there fortwo people. You can stay with meand it won't cost you a cent. Andwe'll even pay you over unionwages. His watery gaze wandered lazilyto the bar mirror, down to the glitteringarray of bottles and then outto the dance floor. He yawned again and spokeslowly, as if each word were a leadenweight cast reluctantly from histongue: No, I don't ... care much ...about playing. What do you like to do, John? His string-bean of a body stiffened.I like to study ancient history ...and I must work on myplan. Oh Lord, that plan again! I took a deep breath. Tell meabout it, John. It must be interesting. He made queer clicking noiseswith his mouth that reminded meof a mechanical toy being woundinto motion. The whole foundationof this or any other culture isbased on the history of all the timedimensions, each interwoven withthe other, throughout the ages. Andthe holes provide a means of studyingall of it first hand. Oh, oh , I thought. But you stillhave to eat. Remember, you stillhave to eat. Trouble is, he went on, thereare so many holes in this universe. Holes? I kept a straight face. Certainly. Look around you. Allyou see is holes. These beer bottlesare just holes surrounded by glass.The doors and windows—they'reholes in walls. The mine tunnelsmake a network of holes under thedesert. Caves are holes, animals livein holes, our faces have holes,clothes have holes—millions andmillions of holes! I winced and thought, humorhim because you gotta eat, yougotta eat. His voice trembled with emotion.Why, they're everywhere. They'rein pots and pans, in pipes, in rocketjets, in bumpy roads. There are buttonholesand well holes, and shoelaceholes. There are doughnutholes and stocking holes and woodpeckerholes and cheese holes.Oceans lie in holes in the earth,and rivers and canals and valleys.The craters of the Moon are holes.Everything is— But, John, I said as patiently aspossible, what have these holesgot to do with you? He glowered at me as if I wereunworthy of such a confidence.What have they to do with me?he shrilled. I can't find the rightone—that's what! I closed my eyes. Which particularhole are you looking for, John? He was speaking rapidly againnow. I was hurrying back to the Universitywith the Zloomph to provea point of ancient history to thosefools. They don't believe that instrumentswhich make music actuallyexisted before the tapes! Itwas dark—and some fool researcherhad forgotten to set a force-fieldover the hole—I fell through. I closed my eyes. Now wait aminute. Did you drop something,lose it in the hole—is that why youhave to find it? Oh I didn't lose anything important,he snapped, just my owntime dimension. And if I don't getback they will think I couldn't provemy theory, that I'm ashamed tocome back, and I'll be discredited. His chest sagged for an instant.Then he straightened. But there'sstill time for my plan to work out—withthe relative difference takeninto account. Only I get so tiredjust thinking about it. Yes, I can see where thinkingabout it would tire any one. He nodded. But it can't be toofar away. I'd like to hear more about it,I said. But if you're not going toplay with us— Oh, I'll play with you, hebeamed. I can talk to you . You understand. Thank heaven! <doc-sep>A tall man, clad in a claw-hammer coat, came out from the wings andadvanced to the footlights. People of Swamp City, he said, bowing, permit me to introducemyself. I am Doctor Universe, and these are my nine experts. There was a roar of applause from the Satellite audience. When it hadsubsided, the man continued: As most of you are familiar with our program, it will be unnecessaryto give any advance explanation. I will only say that on this stage arenine visi sets, each tuned to one of the nine planets. At transmittingsets all over these planets listeners will appear and voice questions.These questions, my nine experts will endeavor to answer. For everyquestion missed, the sender will receive a check for one thousand planetoles . One thing more. As usual we have with us a guest star who will matchher wits with the experts. May I present that renowned writer ofscience fiction, Annabella C. Flowers. From the left wing Grannie Annie appeared. She bowed and took her placeon the dais. The Doctor's program began. The operator of the Earth visi twisted hisdials and nodded. Blue light flickered on the pantascope panel tocoalesce slowly into the face of a red-haired man. Sharp and dear hisvoice echoed through the theater: Who was the first Earthman to titter the sunward side of Mercury? Doctor Universe nodded and turned to Grannie Annie who had raised herhand. She said quietly: Charles Zanner in the year 2012. In a specially constructedtracto-car. And so it went. Questions from Mars, from Earth, from Saturn flowed inthe visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutoniancafes strove to stump the experts. With Doctor Universe offeringbantering side play, the experts gave their answers. When they failed,or when the Truthicator flashed a red light, he announced the name ofthe winner. It grew a little tiresome after a while and I wondered why Grannie hadbrought me here. And then I began to notice things. The audience in the Satellite seemed to have lost much of itsoriginal fervor. They applauded as before but they did so only at thesignal of Doctor Universe. The spell created by the man was complete. Pompous and erect, he strode back and forth across the stage like ageneral surveying his army. His black eyes gleamed, and his thin lipswere turned in a smile of satisfaction. When the last question had been answered I joined the exit-movingcrowd. It was outside under the street marquee that a strange incidentoccurred. A yellow-faced Kagor from the upper Martian desert country shuffled by,dragging his cumbersome third leg behind him. Kagors, of course, had anunpleasant history of persecution since the early colonization days ofthe Red Planet. But the thing that happened there was a throw back toan earlier era. Someone shouted, Yah, yellow-face! Down with all Kagors! As oneman the crowd took up the cry and surged forward. The helpless Kagorwas seized and flung to the pavement. A knife appeared from nowhere,snipped the Martian's single lock of hair. A booted foot bludgeonedinto his mouth. Moments later an official hydrocar roared up and a dozen I.P. menrushed out and scattered the crowd. But a few stragglers lingered toshout derisive epithets. Grannie Annie came out from behind the box office then. She took my armand led me around a corner and through a doorway under a sign that readTHE JET. Inside was a deep room with booths along one wall. The placewas all but deserted. In a booth well toward the rear the old lady surveyed me with sobereyes. Billy-boy, did you see the way that crowd acted? I nodded. As disgraceful an exhibition as I've ever seen. The I.P. menought to clamp down. The I.P. men aren't strong enough. She said it quietly, but there was a glitter in her eyes and a harshline about her usually smiling lips. What do you mean? <doc-sep> HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by WEST [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every lonely man tries to make friends. Manet just didn't know when to stop! William Manet was alone. In the beginning, he had seen many advantages to being alone. It wouldgive him an unprecedented opportunity to once and for all correlateloneliness to the point of madness, to see how long it would take himto start slavering and clawing the pin-ups from the magazines, to beginteaching himself classes in philosophy consisting of interminablelectures to a bored and captive audience of one. He would be able to measure the qualities of peace and decide whetherit was really better than war, he would be able to get as fat and asdirty as he liked, he would be able to live more like an animal andthink more like a god than any man for generations. But after a shorter time than he expected, it all got to be a tearingbore. Even the waiting to go crazy part of it. Not that he was going to have any great long wait of it. He was alreadytalking to himself, making verbal notes for his lectures, and he hadcut out a picture of Annie Oakley from an old book. He tacked it up andwinked at it whenever he passed that way. Lately she was winking back at him. Loneliness was a physical weight on his skull. It peeled the flesh fromhis arms and legs and sandpapered his self-pity to a fine sensitivity. No one on Earth was as lonely as William Manet, and even William Manetcould only be this lonely on Mars. Manet was Atmosphere Seeder Station 131-47's own human. All Manet had to do was sit in the beating aluminum heart in the middleof the chalk desert and stare out, chin cupped in hands, at the flat,flat pavement of dirty talcum, at the stars gleaming as hard in theblack sky as a starlet's capped teeth ... stars two of which were moonsand one of which was Earth. He had to do nothing else. The wholegimcrack was cybernetically controlled, entirely automatic. No one wasneeded here—no human being, at least. The Workers' Union was a pretty small pressure group, but it didn'ttake much to pressure the Assembly. Featherbedding had been carefullyspecified, including an Overseer for each of the Seeders to honeycombMars, to prepare its atmosphere for colonization. They didn't give tests to find well-balanced, well-integrated peoplefor the job. Well-balanced, well-integrated men weren't going toisolate themselves in a useless job. They got, instead, William Manetand his fellows. The Overseers were to stay as long as the job required. Passenger fareto Mars was about one billion dollars. They weren't providing commuterservice for night shifts. They weren't providing accommodationsfor couples when the law specified only one occupant. They weren'tproviding fuel (at fifty million dollars a gallon) for visits betweenthe various Overseers. They weren't very providential. But it was two hundred thousand a year in salary, and it offeredwonderful opportunities. It gave William Manet an opportunity to think he saw a spaceship makinga tailfirst landing on the table of the desert, its tail burning asbright as envy. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does history play a part in THE DESERT AND THE STARS?

The history of Flamme itself is of great relevance to its value to both the Boyars and the Aga Kagans. When the Boyars settled the planet sixty years ago, it was habitable but unable to support much agriculture. They have spent sixty years terraforming Flamme, clearing jungles, descumming seas, irrigating deserts, and planting forests. Fifty years ago, the Boyars learned how to breed a special strain of bacteria that breaks down the granite that covered much of the surface. The granite breaks down to soil, and the Boyars add broad-spectrum fertilizer to make the land arable. The Boyars now have many fields of crops and are continuing to develop new sections for more. Their many years of intensive work in creating farming land and growing crops gives them a vested interest in their settlement.The Aga Kagans are involved in empire-building. They have sent what appear to be goat herders and fishermen to Flamme to begin taking over the land. The goat herders are all male and have rocket launchers. They present a false appearance as homesteaders who lack access to modern technology; in reality, their tents are high-polymer plastic, and their robes are bullet-proof. On their home planet, they have helis and ground cars. The homesteaders set up camp in the middle of farm fields, allow their goats to graze on the crops, and cook their sheep’s brains over dung fires. The fishermen are actually the Aga Kagan navy who come equipped with 40 mm infinite repeaters. The CDT knows that the Aga Kagans have been using this same method of invasion for the past five years in six other worlds. The Aga Kagans hide their modern technology in the places they are invading to dupe the people they are intruding on and to please the older conservatives in their government. The Aga Kagans’ approach to empire-building is based on their knowledge of Earth history. While their society has modern technology, their false appearance of third world trappings can be used to justify their invasions into “more advanced” societies. Stanley admits the Aga Kagans move into an area after others have done the hard work of building the community and civilization so that the Aga Kagans can enjoy the fruits of the others’ labors. By appearing to be a third world civilization, the Aga Kagans can defend their actions and gain empathy with a claim of “legitimate aspirations, for self-determination of formerly exploited peoples.” Stanley also acknowledges his familiarity with empire-builders on Earth and claims he won’t make their mistake of going “too far, too fast.” He couches their approach as “an ancient and honorable custom” and references Mein Kampf, the Communist Manifesto, and Leung’s the Porcelain Wall. Based on the histories of the men behind these works, Stanley knows that the CDT will follow the practice of appeasement and allow the Aga Kagans to make their little land-grabs until they are positioned so that they cannot be stopped.

What is the significance of the Aga Kagans in THE DESERT AND THE STARS? [SEP] <s> THE DESERT AND THE STARS BY KEITH LAUMER The Aga Kaga wanted peace—a piece of everything in sight! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I'm not at all sure, Under-Secretary Sternwheeler said, that I fullyunderstand the necessity for your ... ah ... absenting yourself fromyour post of duty, Mr. Retief. Surely this matter could have been dealtwith in the usual way—assuming any action is necessary. I had a sharp attack of writer's cramp, Mr. Secretary, Retief said.So I thought I'd better come along in person—just to be sure I waspositive of making my point. Eh? Why, ah, there were a number of dispatches, Deputy Under-SecretaryMagnan put in. Unfortunately, this being end-of-the-fiscal-year time,we found ourselves quite inundated with reports. Reports, reports,reports— Not criticizing the reporting system, are you, Mr. Magnan? theUnder-Secretary barked. Gracious, no, Magnan said. I love reports. It seems nobody's told the Aga Kagans about fiscal years, Retiefsaid. They're going right ahead with their program of land-grabbing onFlamme. So far, I've persuaded the Boyars that this is a matter for theCorps, and not to take matters into their own hands. The Under-Secretary nodded. Quite right. Carry on along the samelines. Now, if there's nothing further— Thank you, Mr. Secretary, Magnan said, rising. We certainlyappreciate your guidance. There is a little something further, said Retief, sitting solidly inhis chair. What's the Corps going to do about the Aga Kagans? The Under-Secretary turned a liverish eye on Retief. As Ministerto Flamme, you should know that the function of a diplomaticrepresentative is merely to ... what shall I say...? String them along? Magnan suggested. An unfortunate choice of phrase, the Under-Secretary said. However,it embodies certain realities of Galactic politics. The Corps mustconcern itself with matters of broad policy. Sixty years ago the Corps was encouraging the Boyars to settleFlamme, Retief said. They were assured of Corps support. I don't believe you'll find that in writing, said the Under-Secretaryblandly. In any event, that was sixty years ago. At that time afoothold against Neo-Concordiatist elements was deemed desirable. Nowthe situation has changed. The Boyars have spent sixty years terraforming Flamme, Retief said.They've cleared jungle, descummed the seas, irrigated deserts, set outforests. They've just about reached the point where they can begin toenjoy it. The Aga Kagans have picked this as a good time to move in.They've landed thirty detachments of 'fishermen'—complete with armoredtrawlers mounting 40 mm infinite repeaters—and another two dozenparties of 'homesteaders'—all male and toting rocket launchers. Surely there's land enough on the world to afford space to bothgroups, the Under-Secretary said. A spirit of co-operation— <doc-sep>The leader of the three, a hawk-faced man with a heavy beard,unlimbered his rifle. He fingered it, frowning ferociously. Have no fear, Retief said, smiling graciously. He who comes as aguest enjoys perfect safety. A smooth-faced member of the threesome barked an oath and leveled hisrifle at Retief. Youth is the steed of folly, Retief said. Take care that thebeardless one does not disgrace his house. The leader whirled on the youth and snarled an order. He lowered therifle, muttering. Blackbeard turned back to Retief. Begone, interlopers, he said. You disturb the goats. Provision is not taken to the houses of the generous, Retief said.May the creatures dine well ere they move on. Hah! The goats of the Aga Kaga graze on the lands of the Aga Kaga.The leader edged his horse close, eyed Retief fiercely. We welcome nointruders on our lands. To praise a man for what he does not possess is to make him appearfoolish, Retief said. These are the lands of the Boyars. But enoughof these pleasantries. We seek audience with your ruler. You may address me as 'Exalted One', the leader said. Now dismountfrom that steed of Shaitan. It is written, if you need anything from a dog, call him 'sir',Retief said. I must decline to impute canine ancestry to a guest. Nowyou may conduct us to your headquarters. Enough of your insolence! The bearded man cocked his rifle. I couldblow your heads off! The hen has feathers, but it does not fly, Retief said. We haveasked for escort. A slave must be beaten with a stick; for a free man,a hint is enough. You mock me, pale one. I warn you— Only love makes me weep, Retief said. I laugh at hatred. Get out of the car! Retief puffed at his cigar, eyeing the Aga Kagan cheerfully. The youthin the rear moved forward, teeth bared. Never give in to the fool, lest he say, 'He fears me,' Retief said. I cannot restrain my men in the face of your insults, the bearded AgaKagan roared. These hens of mine have feathers—and talons as well! When God would destroy an ant, he gives him wings, Retief said.Distress in misfortune is another misfortune. The bearded man's face grew purple. Retief dribbled the ash from his cigar over the side of the car. Now I think we'd better be getting on, he said briskly. I've enjoyedour chat, but we do have business to attend to. The bearded leader laughed shortly. Does the condemned man beg for theaxe? he enquired rhetorically. You shall visit the Aga Kaga, then.Move on! And make no attempt to escape, else my gun will speak you abrief farewell. The horsemen glowered, then, at a word from the leader, took positionsaround the car. Georges started the vehicle forward, following theleading rider. Retief leaned back and let out a long sigh. That was close, he said. I was about out of proverbs. You sound as though you'd brought off a coup, Georges said. From theexpression on the whiskery one's face, we're in for trouble. What washe saying? Just a routine exchange of bluffs, Retief said. Now when we getthere, remember to make your flattery sound like insults and yourinsults sound like flattery, and you'll be all right. These birds are armed. And they don't like strangers, Georges said.Maybe I should have boned up on their habits before I joined thisexpedition. Just stick to the plan, Retief said. And remember: a handful of luckis better than a camel-load of learning. <doc-sep>The Aga Kaga guffawed. For a diplomat, you speak plainly, Retief. Haveanother drink. He poured, eyeing Georges. What of M. Duror? How doeshe feel about it? Georges took a thoughtful swallow of whiskey. Not bad, he said. Butnot quite good enough to cover the odor of goats. The Aga Kaga snorted. I thought the goats were overdoing it a bitmyself, he said. Still, the graybeards insisted. And I need theirsupport. Also, Georges said distinctly, I think you're soft. You lie aroundletting women wait on you, while your betters are out doing an honestday's work. The Aga Kaga looked startled. Soft? I can tie a knot in an iron baras big as your thumb. He popped a grape into his mouth. As for therest, your pious views about the virtues of hard labor are as childishas my advisors' faith in the advantages of primitive plumbing. As formyself, I am a realist. If two monkeys want the same banana, in the endone will have it, and the other will cry morality. The days of my yearsare numbered, praise be to God. While they last, I hope to eat well,hunt well, fight well and take my share of pleasure. I leave to othersthe arid satisfactions of self-denial and other perversions. You admit you're here to grab our land, then, Georges said. That'sthe damnedest piece of bare-faced aggression— Ah, ah! The Aga Kaga held up a hand. Watch your vocabulary, mydear sir. I'm sure that 'justifiable yearnings for territorialself-realization' would be more appropriate to the situation. Orpossibly 'legitimate aspirations, for self-determination of formerlyexploited peoples' might fit the case. Aggression is, by definition,an activity carried on only by those who have inherited the mantle ofColonial Imperialism. Imperialism! Why, you Aga Kagans have been the most notoriousplanet-grabbers in Sector history, you—you— Call me Stanley. The Aga Kaga munched a grape. I merely face therealities of popular folk-lore. Let's be pragmatic; it's a matter ofhistorical association. Some people can grab land and pass it offlightly as a moral duty; others are dubbed imperialist merely forholding onto their own. Unfair, you say. But that's life, my friends.And I shall continue to take every advantage of it. We'll fight you! Georges bellowed. He took another gulp of whiskeyand slammed the glass down. You won't take this world without astruggle! Another? the Aga Kaga said, offering the bottle. Georges glowered ashis glass was filled. The Aga Kaga held the glass up to the light. Excellent color, don't you agree? He turned his eyes on Georges. It's pointless to resist, he said. We have you outgunned andoutmanned. Your small nation has no chance against us. But we'reprepared to be generous. You may continue to occupy such areas as we donot immediately require until such time as you're able to make otherarrangements. And by the time we've got a crop growing out of what was bare rock,you'll be ready to move in, the Boyar Chef d'Regime snapped. Butyou'll find that we aren't alone! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the significance of the Aga Kagans in THE DESERT AND THE STARS?

The Aga Kagans are an empire-building society that has been increasing their presence in six other worlds by the time they appear on Flamme. The Aga Kagans send in men disguised as goat herders and fishermen who are actually armed and equipped with modern accessories. The Aga Kagans have a plan to build their empire by invading other worlds following the model of Adolf Hitler, but they plan to avoid his mistake of moving “too far, too fast.” The Aga Kagan leader, Stanley, is well-educated and a manipulator. He plays to the older conservative Aga Kagans by allowing the third-world trappings of goat herders to be used while he actually has disdain for their traditional values, but his charade gives him what he wants. The Aga Kagans wait until an area has done the hard work of building its civilization and becoming sustainable before he moves his men in. Although the CDT is aware of the Aga Kagans’ actions, it wants to avoid warfare and meets the intrusions with diplomacy, but all the while, the Aga Kagans are ensconcing themselves for a permanent takeover of the places where they have intruded.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in INNOCENT AT LARGE? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> INNOCENT AT LARGE By POUL AND KAREN ANDERSON Illustrated by WOOD [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction July 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] A hayseed Martian among big-planet slickers ... of course he would get into trouble. But that was nothing compared to the trouble he would be in if he did not get into trouble! The visiphone chimed when Peri had just gotten into her dinner gown.She peeled it off again and slipped on a casual bathrobe: a wisp oftranslucence which had set the president of Antarctic Enterprise—orhad it been the chairman of the board?—back several thousand dollars.Then she pulled a lock of lion-colored hair down over one eye, checkedwith a mirror, rumpled it a tiny bit more and wrapped the robe looselyon top and tight around the hips. After all, some of the men who knew her private number were important. She undulated to the phone and pressed its Accept. Hello-o, there,she said automatically. So sorry to keep you waiting. I was justtaking a bath and—Oh. It's you. Gus Doran's prawnlike eyes popped at her. Holy Success, he whisperedin awe. You sure the wires can carry that much voltage? Well, hurry up with whatever it is, snapped Peri. I got a datetonight. I'll say you do! With a Martian! <doc-sep>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave. What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark. The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him. They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off. A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness. I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil. I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection. So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in INNOCENT AT LARGE?

Peter Matheny is a Martian sociodynamics professor sent to Earth on behalf of the Martian government under the guise of hiring an Earthman who can help manage and improve their export business. Armed with a hundred million dollars, his real mission is to find and enlist the service of a con man who can help the Martians concoct a securities scheme that will net greater profits than their current exports yield (the government hired him because of his experience formulating the Red Ankh Society scheme, which offered to sell bogus wisdom of the Old Martians). Peter is accustomed to the largely-empty deserts of Mars and enjoys the serenity of smoking a pipe while stargazing behind his small home in addition to other quiet hobbies such as reading, playing chess, and collecting minerals. When he arrives on Earth, he feels out of his element and uncomfortable due to the heavy, humid air and massive towers and neon lights he encounters in the crowded city, so he seeks a place where he can sit. He finds a place called The Church of Choice, where, to his delight, he discovers a number of gambling games in progress despite the ban on such activities on Earth. Because the Martian Constitution specifically allows for gambling, Peter partakes and shoots a successful game of craps. However, he expresses confusion about Earth rules for craps, since the Martian version employs a number of tricks and cheats. After the game, Peter feels uncomfortable again and tries to leave, but he is stopped by a man named Gus Doran, who takes him out for drinks. During their conversation, Peter tells Gus about the struggles of the Martian economy and explains how high Earth taxes and greedy middlemen have cut into the profits from their exports. Over the course of a few more drinks, Peter tells Gus about several frauds the Martians developed in an effort to bolster their economy and accidentally reveals his true intentions for visiting Earth to Gus. This information intrigues Gus who informs Peter that he has contacts that may be able to help. To ensure Peter's trust, Gus uses an oath box and promises not to tell anyone what he learned from Peter that night. Gus then suggests they celebrate by inviting some women to their hotel, and he leaves to make a phone call. He calls his business partner Peri, who is preparing to go on a date with a wealthy marijuana rancher. Gus convinces her to cancel the date and join him at the hotel so that together they can take advantage of Peter's amenability and hustle him out of a million dollars.

What is the location where the events of INNOCENT AT LARGE take place? [SEP] <s>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave. What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark. The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him. They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off. A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness. I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil. I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection. So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited. <doc-sep>When it came over the hastily established camp, the rocket was low,obviously looking for a landing site. It was a military craft, from theoutpost on the near moon, and forward, near the nose, there was theblazoned emblem of the Ninth Fleet. The rocket roared directly overExtrone's tent, turned slowly, spouting fuel expensively, and settledinto the scrub forest, turning the vegetation beneath it sere by itsblasts. Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spatdisgustedly and combed his beard with his blunt fingers. Shortly, from the direction of the rocket, a group of four high-rankingofficers came out of the forest, heading toward him. They were spruce,the officers, with military discipline holding their waists in andknees almost stiff. What in hell do you want? Extrone asked. They stopped a respectful distance away. Sir.... one began. Haven't I told you gentlemen that rockets frighten the game? Extronedemanded, ominously not raising his voice. Sir, the lead officer said, it's another alien ship. It was sighteda few hours ago, off this very planet, sir. Extrone's face looked much too innocent. How did it get there,gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed? We lost it again, sir. Temporarily, sir. So? Extrone mocked. We thought you ought to return to a safer planet, sir. Until we couldlocate and destroy it. Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turnedaway, in the direction of a resting bearer. You! he said. Hey! Bringme a drink! He faced the officers again. He smiled maliciously. I'mstaying here. The lead officer licked his firm lower lip. But, sir.... Extrone toyed with his beard. About a year ago, gentlemen, there wasan alien ship around here then, wasn't there? And you destroyed it,didn't you? Yes, sir. When we located it, sir. You'll destroy this one, too, Extrone said. We have a tight patrol, sir. It can't slip through. But it might try along range bombardment, sir. <doc-sep>Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves.The sounds they made carried a new tone, a desperate foreboding ofdeath. Rhodes! Cabot! Can you hear me? I—I can't move, Captain. My leg, it's.... My God, we're going todrown! Look around you, Cabot. Can you see anyone moving? The men on the beach are nearly buried, Captain. And the rest of ushere in the water— Forbes. Can you see Forbes? Maybe he's— His sounds were cut off by awavelet gently rolling over his head. Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of theanimals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregardingthe consequences, he ordered time to stop. Wading down into the surf, he worked a log off one victim, then hetugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie workedslowly and carefully. He knew there was no hurry—at least, not as faras his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their conditionof life or death was at this moment, it would stay the same way untilhe started time again. He made his way deeper into the orange liquid,where a raised hand signalled the location of a submerged body. Thehand was clutching a large white banner that was tangled among thelogs. Purnie worked the animal free and pulled it ashore. It was the one who had been carrying the shiny object that spit smoke. Scarcely noticing his own injured leg, he ferried one victim afteranother until there were no more in the surf. Up on the beach, hestarted unraveling the logs that pinned down the animals caught there.He removed a log from the lap of one, who then remained in a sittingposition, his face contorted into a frozen mask of agony and shock.Another, with the weight removed, rolled over like an iron statue intoa new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed thechaotic scene before him. At last he could do no more; he felt consciousness slipping away fromhim. He instinctively knew that if he lost his senses during a period oftime-stopping, events would pick up where they had left off ... withouthim. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness,he knew he must first resume time. Step by step he plodded up the little hill, pausing every now and thento consider if this were the moment to start time before it was toolate. With his energy fast draining away, he reached the top of theknoll, and he turned to look down once more on the group below. Then he knew how much his mind and body had suffered: when he orderedtime to resume, nothing happened. His heart sank. He wasn't afraid of death, and he knew that if he diedthe oceans would roll again and his friends would move about. But hewanted to see them safe. He tried to clear his mind for supreme effort. There was no urging time to start. He knew he couldn't persuade it by bits and pieces,first slowly then full ahead. Time either progressed or it didn't. Hehad to take one viewpoint or the other. Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind tookcommand.... <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the location where the events of INNOCENT AT LARGE take place?

There are several locations where key events in the story take place including Peri's residence, the immigration office, the Earth city, the Church of Choice, Paul Bunyan Knotty Pine Bar & Grill, and the Jupiter-Astoria hotel. In addition, at various points throughout the narrative, Peter recalls life on Mars, which is covered with deserts and scrub thorn and an atmosphere with drier air and lesser gravity compared to Earth's humidity and strong gravitation. Martian society is largely rural with very small towns and villages, and their weeks are different than those on Earth; they have a day called Tenthday when Peter likes to play poker with his coworkers, and he sometimes visits a place called Swindletown. Peter often notes the differences between Earth's commercialism and reliance upon automation and Mars' more calm, individualistic society. Peter is overwhelmed by the bright, neon lights, massive towers, and sheer amount of vehicles and people in the city where he arrives on Earth and longs for his small cottage and rock garden back on Mars. To navigate the city, Peter takes cabs, and to access the different levels of the towers, he utilizes the ramp system. Looking for a place to sit, Peter finds The Church of Choice, which seems to be an establishment where people can drink and gamble, although gambling is illegal on Earth. The Church of Choice features craps tables, roulette wheels, and even Bingo and has a large, marble lobby at its entrance that leads into a number of dim rooms with Gothic architecture. After meeting Gus there, the two leave and share drinks at Paul Bunyan Knotty Pine Bar & Grill, a place where diners can talk in private sitting at soundproof booths while enjoying a strip show. The carpeted hotel room he shares with Gus at the Jupiter-Astoria has a pneumatic device that can deliver drinks straight from the bar along with anything else someone may require, such as the oath box Gus uses to cement Peter's trust in him. There is also a bathroom and a sexy type of furniture that operates like a massage chair.

What role does Gus Doran play in the story INNOCENT AT LARGE? [SEP] <s> INNOCENT AT LARGE By POUL AND KAREN ANDERSON Illustrated by WOOD [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction July 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] A hayseed Martian among big-planet slickers ... of course he would get into trouble. But that was nothing compared to the trouble he would be in if he did not get into trouble! The visiphone chimed when Peri had just gotten into her dinner gown.She peeled it off again and slipped on a casual bathrobe: a wisp oftranslucence which had set the president of Antarctic Enterprise—orhad it been the chairman of the board?—back several thousand dollars.Then she pulled a lock of lion-colored hair down over one eye, checkedwith a mirror, rumpled it a tiny bit more and wrapped the robe looselyon top and tight around the hips. After all, some of the men who knew her private number were important. She undulated to the phone and pressed its Accept. Hello-o, there,she said automatically. So sorry to keep you waiting. I was justtaking a bath and—Oh. It's you. Gus Doran's prawnlike eyes popped at her. Holy Success, he whisperedin awe. You sure the wires can carry that much voltage? Well, hurry up with whatever it is, snapped Peri. I got a datetonight. I'll say you do! With a Martian! <doc-sep>The lady drew herself up and jutted an indignant brow at him. Sir!This is a church! Oh—I see—excuse me, I, I, I— Matheny backed out of the crowd,shuddering. He looked around for some place to hide his burning ears. You forgot your chips, pal, said a voice. Oh. Thanks. Thanks ever so much. I, I, that is— Matheny cursedhis knotting tongue. Damn it, just because they're so much moresophisticated than I, do I have to talk like a leaky boiler? The helpful Earthman was not tall. He was dark and chisel-faced andsleekly pomaded, dapper in blue pajamas with a red zigzag, a sleighbellcloak and curly-toed slippers. You're from Mars, aren't you? he asked in the friendliest toneMatheny had yet heard. Yes. Yes, I am. M-my name's Peter Matheny. I, I— He stuck out hishand to shake and chips rolled over the floor. Damn! Oh, excuse me, Iforgot this was a church. Never mind the chips. No, please. I just wantto g-g-get the hell out of here. Good idea. How about a drink? I know a bar downshaft. Matheny sighed. A drink is what I need the very most. My name's Doran. Gus Doran. Call me Gus. They walked back to the deaconette's booth and Matheny cashed whatremained of his winnings. I don't want to—I mean if you're busy tonight, Mr. Doran— Nah. I am not doing one thing in particular. Besides, I have never meta Martian. I am very interested. There aren't many of us on Earth, agreed Matheny. Just a smallembassy staff and an occasional like me. I should think you would do a lot of traveling here. The old motherplanet and so on. We can't afford it, said Matheny. What with gravitation anddistance, such voyages are much too expensive for us to make them forpleasure. Not to mention our dollar shortage. As they entered theshaft, he added wistfully: You Earth people have that kind of money,at least in your more prosperous brackets. Why don't you send a fewtourists to us? I always wanted to, said Doran. I would like to see the what theycall City of Time, and so on. As a matter of fact, I have given mygirl one of those Old Martian rings last Ike's Birthday and she wasjust gazoo about it. A jewel dug out of the City of Time, like,made a million years ago by a, uh, extinct race ... I tell you, she appreciated me for it! He winked and nudged. Oh, said Matheny. <doc-sep>Peri narrowed her silver-blue gaze and looked icily at him. You musthave heard wrong, Gus. He's the heir apparent of Indonesia, Inc.,that's who, and if you called up to ask for a piece of him, you canjust blank right out again. I saw him first! Doran's thin sharp face grinned. You break that date, Peri. Put it offor something. I got this Martian for you, see? So? Since when has all Mars had as much spending money as one big-timemarijuana rancher? Not to mention the heir ap— Sure, sure. But how much are those boys going to spend on any girl,even a high-level type like you? Listen, I need you just for tonight,see? This Martian is strictly from gone. He is here on officialbusiness, but he is a yokel and I do mean hayseed. Like he asked mewhat the Christmas decorations in all the stores were! And here is thesolar nexus of it, Peri, kid. Doran leaned forward as if to climb out of the screen. He has got ahundred million dollars expense money, and they are not going to audithis accounts at home. One hundred million good green certificates,legal tender anywhere in the United Protectorates. And he has aboutas much backbone as a piece of steak alga. Kid, if I did not happen tohave experience otherwise with a small nephew, I would say this will belike taking candy from a baby. Peri's peaches-and-cream countenance began to resemble peaches andcream left overnight on Pluto. Badger? she asked. Sure. You and Sam Wendt handle the routine. I will take the go-betweenangle, so he will think of me as still his friend, because I have otherplans for him too. But if we can't shake a million out of him for thisone night's work, there is something akilter. And your share of amillion is three hundred thirty-three— Is five hundred thousand flat, said Peri. Too bad I just got anawful headache and can't see Mr. Sastro tonight. Where you at, Gus? <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does Gus Doran play in the story INNOCENT AT LARGE?

Gus is a con artist who works with Peri and Sam Wendt to primarily target wealthy, powerful men and extort money from them. He is short, chisel-faced, has slicked-back hair, and wears blue pajamas with a red zigzag, a sleighbell cloak, and slippers. When the story begins, Peri is preparing to go on a date with the heir apparent of Indonesia, Inc. who is also a wealthy marijuana rancher, supposedly to use him for money. Gus convinces her to change her plans to help him swindle Peter since he has discovered Peter has a hundred million dollars at his disposal and appears to be susceptible to Gus's charming and manipulative ways. Gus goads Peter into confessing his secret by providing him with beer and akvavit and gains his trust by wearing the helmet attached to the oath box. At the end of the story, Gus agrees to help Peter find his confidence man by utilizing his network of underworld contacts, but instead calls Peri to begin implementing his con.

What does the Red Ankh Society represent in INNOCENT AT LARGE? [SEP] <s>Doran blew up in laughter. That is one thing I would never spill, evenwithout security. I told you about my girl friend, didn't I? Yes, and that calls to mind the Little Girl, said Mathenyapologetically. She was another official project. Who? Remember Junie O'Brien? The little golden-haired girl on Mars, amathematical prodigy, but dying of an incurable disease? She collectedEarth coins. Oh, that. Sure, I remember—Hey! You didn't! Yes. We made about a billion dollars on that one. I will be double damned. You know, Pete, I sent her a hundred-buckpiece myself. Say, how is Junie O'Brien? Oh, fine. Under a different name, she's now our finance minister.Matheny stared out the wall, his hands twisting nervously behind hisback. There were no lies involved. She really does have a fataldisease. So do you and I. Every day we grow older. Uh! exclaimed Doran. And then the Red Ankh Society. You must have seen or heard their ads.'What mysterious knowledge did the Old Martians possess? What wasthe secret wisdom of the Ancient Aliens? Now the incredibly powerfulsemantics of the Red Ankh (not a religious organization) is availableto a select few—' That's our largest dollar-earning enterprise. He would have liked to say it was his suggestion originally, but itwould have been too presumptuous. He was talking to an Earthman, whohad heard everything already. Doran whistled. That's about all, so far, confessed Matheny. Perhaps a con is ouronly hope. I've been wondering, maybe we could organize a Martianbucket shop, handling Martian securities, but—well, I don't know. I think— Doran removed the helmet and stood up. Yes? Matheny faced around, shivering with his own tension. I may be able to find the man you want, said Doran. I just may. Itwill take a few days and might get a little expensive. You mean.... Mr. Doran—Gus—you could actually— I cannot promise anything yet except that I will try. Now you finishdressing. I will be down in the bar. And I will call up this girl Iknow. We deserve a celebration! <doc-sep>The traditional office of Planetary Dilettante was a civil-servicejob, awarded by competitive examination whenever it fell vacant tothe person who scored highest in intelligence, character and generalgloonatz. However, the tests were inadequate when it came to measuringsense of proportion, adaptiveness and charm—and there, Skkiru felt,was where the essential flaw lay. After all, no really effective testwould have let a person like Bbulas come out on top. The winner was sent to Gambrell, the nearest planet with a TerranLeague University, to be given a thorough Terran-type education. Noindividual on Snaddra could afford such schooling, no matter howgreat his personal fortune, because the transportation costs were soimmense that only a government could afford them. That was the reasonwhy only one person in each generation could be chosen to go abroad atthe planet's expense and acquire enough finish to cover the rest of thepopulation. The Dilettante's official function had always been, in theory, to servethe planet when an emergency came—and this, old Luccar, the formerPresident, had decided, when he and the Parliament had awakened to thefact that Snaddra was falling into ruin, was an emergency. So he had,after considerable soul-searching, called upon Bbulas to plan a methodof saving Snaddra—and Bbulas, happy to be in the limelight at last,had come up with this program. It was not one Skkiru himself would have chosen. It was not one, hefelt, that any reasonable person would have chosen. Nevertheless, theBbulas Plan had been adopted by a majority vote of the Snaddrath,largely because no one had come up with a feasible alternative and,as a patriotic citizen, Skkiru would abide by it. He would accept thestatus of beggar; it was his duty to do so. Moreover, as in the case ofthe planet, there was no choice. But all was not necessarily lost, he told himself. Had he not, in hisanthropological viewings—though Bbulas might have been the only oneprivileged to go on ethnological field trips to other planets, he wasnot the only one who could use a library—seen accounts of societieswhere beggarhood could be a rewarding and even responsible station inlife? There was no reason why, within the framework of the primitivesociety Bbulas had created to allure Terran anthropologists, Skkirushould not make something of himself and show that a beggar was worthyof the high priestess's hand—which would be entirely in the Terranprimitive tradition of romance. Skkiru! Bbulas was screaming, as he spun, now that the Terrans wereout of ear- and eye-shot Skkiru, you idiot, listen to me! What arethose ridiculous things you are wearing on your silly feet? Skkiru protruded all of his eyes in innocent surprise. Just someold pontoons I took from a wrecked air-car once. I have a habit ofcollecting junk and I thought— Bbulas twirled madly in the air. You are not supposed to think. Leaveall the thinking to me! Yes, Bbulas, Skkiru said meekly. <doc-sep>A dropshaft deposited him on a walkway. The crowd, a rainbow of men inpajamas and robes, women in Neo-Sino dresses and goldleaf hats, swepthim against the rail. For a moment, squashed to the wire, he stared ahundred feet down at the river of automobiles. Phobos! he thoughtwildly. If the barrier gives, I'll be sliced in two by a dorsal finbefore I hit the pavement! The August twilight wrapped him in heat and stickiness. He could seeneither stars nor even moon through the city's blaze. The forest ofmulti-colored towers, cataracting half a mile skyward across moreacreage than his eyes reached, was impressive and all that, but—heused to stroll out in the rock garden behind his cottage and smoke apipe in company with Orion. On summer evenings, that is, when thetemperature wasn't too far below zero. Why did they tap me for this job? he asked himself in a surge ofhomesickness. What the hell is the Martian Embassy here for? He, Peter Matheny, was no more than a peaceful professor ofsociodynamics at Devil's Kettle University. Of course, he had advisedhis government before now—in fact, the Red Ankh Society had been hisidea—but still he was at ease only with his books and his chess andhis mineral collection, a faculty poker party on Tenthday night and anoccasional trip to Swindletown— My God , thought Matheny, here I am, one solitary outlander in thegreatest commercial empire the human race has ever seen, and I'msupposed to find my planet a con man! He began walking, disconsolately, at random. His lizardskin shirt andblack culottes drew glances, but derisive ones: their cut was fortyyears out of date. He should find himself a hotel, he thought drearily,but he wasn't tired; the spaceport would pneumo his baggage to himwhenever he did check in. The few Martians who had been to Earth hadgone into ecstasies over the automation which put any service you couldname on a twenty-four-hour basis. But it would be a long time beforeMars had such machines. If ever. The city roared at him. He fumbled after his pipe. Of course , he told himself, that's whythe Embassy can't act. I may find it advisable to go outside the law.Please, sir, where can I contact the underworld? He wished gambling were legal on Earth. The Constitution of the MartianRepublic forbade sumptuary and moral legislation; quite apart from therambunctious individualism which that document formulated, the articlewas a practical necessity. Life was bleak enough on the deserts,without being denied the pleasure of trying to bottom-deal some friendwho was happily trying to mark the cards. Matheny would have found afew spins of roulette soothing: it was always an intellectual challengeto work out the system by which the management operated a wheel. Butmore, he would have been among people he understood. The frightful thing about the Earthman was the way he seemed toexist only in organized masses. A gypsy snake oil peddler, ploddinghis syrtosaur wagon across Martian sands, just didn't have a prayeragainst, say, the Grant, Harding & Adams Public Relations Agency. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What does the Red Ankh Society represent in INNOCENT AT LARGE?

The Red Ankh Society is a con devised by Peter for the Martian government as a way to boost their economy. People paid for the exclusive privilege of access to the secrets and ancient wisdom of the Old Martians; in reality, these were just bogus semantics compiled for the sake of earning large amounts of money. However, the existence of the Red Ankh Society reveals quite a bit about Mars, the role of cons in the story, and even Peter himself. During Peter's discussion with Gus, we learn the Martians are descended from Earthmen who preferred greater freedom than was offered by the United Protectorate and moved to Mars to establish a life there. They work to make the planet habitable and attractive to tourists, but the process is slow because they cannot afford the equipment and power plants required to build on a scale that will attract the necessary amount of visitors needed to turn a profit. This leads the government to resort to drastic measures; they wield their skills at playing tricks and cheating at gambling (they even have a city called Swindletown) to implement a number of schemes meant to draw in vast amounts of cash such as the Red Ankh Society, the construction and sale of phony ancient relics and ruins, and the saga of Junie O'Brien (a little girl whose fake illness raised a billion dollars for the planet). This leads the government to send Peter to Earth in order to purchase the services of a con man who can help implement a new scheme to sell Martian securities. This trip introduces Peter to Gus, who begins work on a plan to swindle Peter out of a million dollars.

What is the role of Peri in the story INNOCENT AT LARGE? [SEP] <s> INNOCENT AT LARGE By POUL AND KAREN ANDERSON Illustrated by WOOD [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction July 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] A hayseed Martian among big-planet slickers ... of course he would get into trouble. But that was nothing compared to the trouble he would be in if he did not get into trouble! The visiphone chimed when Peri had just gotten into her dinner gown.She peeled it off again and slipped on a casual bathrobe: a wisp oftranslucence which had set the president of Antarctic Enterprise—orhad it been the chairman of the board?—back several thousand dollars.Then she pulled a lock of lion-colored hair down over one eye, checkedwith a mirror, rumpled it a tiny bit more and wrapped the robe looselyon top and tight around the hips. After all, some of the men who knew her private number were important. She undulated to the phone and pressed its Accept. Hello-o, there,she said automatically. So sorry to keep you waiting. I was justtaking a bath and—Oh. It's you. Gus Doran's prawnlike eyes popped at her. Holy Success, he whisperedin awe. You sure the wires can carry that much voltage? Well, hurry up with whatever it is, snapped Peri. I got a datetonight. I'll say you do! With a Martian! <doc-sep>Peri narrowed her silver-blue gaze and looked icily at him. You musthave heard wrong, Gus. He's the heir apparent of Indonesia, Inc.,that's who, and if you called up to ask for a piece of him, you canjust blank right out again. I saw him first! Doran's thin sharp face grinned. You break that date, Peri. Put it offor something. I got this Martian for you, see? So? Since when has all Mars had as much spending money as one big-timemarijuana rancher? Not to mention the heir ap— Sure, sure. But how much are those boys going to spend on any girl,even a high-level type like you? Listen, I need you just for tonight,see? This Martian is strictly from gone. He is here on officialbusiness, but he is a yokel and I do mean hayseed. Like he asked mewhat the Christmas decorations in all the stores were! And here is thesolar nexus of it, Peri, kid. Doran leaned forward as if to climb out of the screen. He has got ahundred million dollars expense money, and they are not going to audithis accounts at home. One hundred million good green certificates,legal tender anywhere in the United Protectorates. And he has aboutas much backbone as a piece of steak alga. Kid, if I did not happen tohave experience otherwise with a small nephew, I would say this will belike taking candy from a baby. Peri's peaches-and-cream countenance began to resemble peaches andcream left overnight on Pluto. Badger? she asked. Sure. You and Sam Wendt handle the routine. I will take the go-betweenangle, so he will think of me as still his friend, because I have otherplans for him too. But if we can't shake a million out of him for thisone night's work, there is something akilter. And your share of amillion is three hundred thirty-three— Is five hundred thousand flat, said Peri. Too bad I just got anawful headache and can't see Mr. Sastro tonight. Where you at, Gus? <doc-sep> THE FROZEN PLANET By Keith Laumer [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It is rather unusual, Magnan said, to assign an officer of your rankto courier duty, but this is an unusual mission. Retief sat relaxed and said nothing. Just before the silence grewawkward, Magnan went on. There are four planets in the group, he said. Two double planets,all rather close to an unimportant star listed as DRI-G 33987. They'recalled Jorgensen's Worlds, and in themselves are of no importancewhatever. However, they lie deep in the sector into which the Soettihave been penetrating. Now— Magnan leaned forward and lowered his voice—we have learnedthat the Soetti plan a bold step forward. Since they've met noopposition so far in their infiltration of Terrestrial space, theyintend to seize Jorgensen's Worlds by force. Magnan leaned back, waiting for Retief's reaction. Retief drewcarefully on his cigar and looked at Magnan. Magnan frowned. This is open aggression, Retief, he said, in case I haven't mademyself clear. Aggression on Terrestrial-occupied territory by an alienspecies. Obviously, we can't allow it. Magnan drew a large folder from his desk. A show of resistance at this point is necessary. Unfortunately,Jorgensen's Worlds are technologically undeveloped areas. They'refarmers or traders. Their industry is limited to a minor role intheir economy—enough to support the merchant fleet, no more. The warpotential, by conventional standards, is nil. Magnan tapped the folder before him. I have here, he said solemnly, information which will change thatpicture completely. He leaned back and blinked at Retief. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the role of Peri in the story INNOCENT AT LARGE?

Peri is Gus Doran's business associate along with someone named Sam Wendt. The three of them operate an enterprise centering on Peri's ability to attract rich and powerful men and swindle them for cash. Peri has golden blonde hair and silver-blue eyes and a light complexion, and she has a private phone number she gives to men involved in the group's schemes. At the beginning of the story, she wears a dinner gown as she prepares to go on a date with a marijuana rancher, who is also the heir apparent to Indonesia, Inc. When she receives a phone call, she changes from her gown into a more casual bathrobe, thinking one of her many suitors is calling her and wants to make him feel special. However, the casualness of the bathrobe is misleading as it is worth thousands of dollars and was given to her by a representative of the Antarctic Enterprise. She even tousles up her coiffed hair to complete the image. When she realizes it is only Gus Doran calling, she grows impatient and drops her facade. On the call with Gus, she learns of his introduction to Peter Matheny, and together they agree on a scheme to extort a million dollars from him. Gus wants to split the cash evenly between the three of them, but Peri insists on fifty percent for her share. She cancels the date with the marijuana rancher and prepares to go meet Gus and Peter at the Jupiter-Astoria.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in The CONJURER of VENUS? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> THE SOUL EATERS By WILLIAM CONOVER Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose ships were the scourge of the Void. But his luck had run its course, and now he was marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save himself from a menace weapons could not kill. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] And so, my dear , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase, I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by. Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's. The barbaric rhythms of the Congahua , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests. Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate. A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber. It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla. Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious Verbena , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian Bacca-glas , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote. His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly. Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there. <doc-sep> The CONJURER of VENUS By CONAN T. TROY A world-famed Earth scientist had disappeared on Venus. When Johnson found him, he found too the secret to that globe-shaking mystery—the fabulous Room of The Dreaming. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories November 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The city dripped with rain. Crossing the street toward the dive,Johnson got rain in his eyes, his nose, and his ears. That was the waywith the rain here. It came at you from all directions. There had beenoccasions when Johnson had thought the rain was falling straight up.Otherwise, how had the insides of his pants gotten wet? On Venus, everything came at you from all directions, it seemed toJohnson. Opening the door of the joint, it was noise instead of rainthat came at him, the wild frantic beat of a Venusian rhumba, thenotes pounding and jumping through the smoke and perfume clouded room.Feeling states came at him, intangible, but to his trained senses,perceptible emotional nuances of hate, love, fear, and rage. But mostlylove. Since this place had been designed to excite the senses of bothhumans and Venusians, the love feelings were heavily tinged withstraight sex. He sniffed at them, feeling them somewhere inside of him,aware of them but aware also that here was apprehension, and plain fear. Caldwell, sitting in a booth next to the door, glanced up as Johnsonentered but neither Caldwell's facial expression or his eyes revealedthat he had ever seen this human before. Nor did Johnson seem torecognize Caldwell. Is the mighty human wanting liquor, a woman or dreams? His voicewas all soft syllables of liquid sound. The Venusian equivalent of aheadwaiter was bowing to him. I'll have a tarmur to start, Johnson said. How are the dreamstonight? Ze vill be the most wonserful of all sonight. The great Unger hisselfwill be here to do ze dreaming. There is no ozzer one who has quitehis touch at dreaming, mighty one. The headwaiter spread his handsin a gesture indicating ecstasy. It is my great regret that I must doze work tonight instead of being wiz ze dreamers. Ah, ze great Ungerhisself! The headwaiter kissed the tips of his fingers. Um, Johnson said. The great Unger! His voice expressed surprise,just the right amount of it. I'll have a tarmur to start but when doesthe dreaming commence? In one zonar or maybe less. Shall I make ze reservations for ze mightyone? As he was speaking, the headwaiter was deftly conducting Johnsonto the bar. Not just yet, Johnson said. See me a little later. But certainly. The headwaiter was gone into the throng. Johnson wasat the bar. Behind it, a Venusian was bowing to him. Tarmur, Johnsonsaid. The green drink was set before him. He held it up to the light,admiring the slow rise of the tiny golden bubbles in it. To him,watching the bubbles rise was perhaps more important than drinkingitself. Beautiful, aren't they? a soft voice said. He glanced to his right.A girl had slid into the stool beside him. She wore a green dress cutvery low at the throat. Her skin had the pleasant tan recently onEarth. Her hair was a shade of abundant brown and her eyes were blue,the color of the skies of Earth. A necklace circled her throat andbelow the necklace ... Johnson felt his pulse quicken, for two reasons.Women such as this one had been quickening the pulse of men since thedays of Adam. The second reason concerned her presence here in thisplace where no woman in her right mind ever came unescorted. Her eyessmiled up at him unafraid. Didn't she know there were men present herein this space port city who would snatch her bodily from the barstool and carry her away for sleeping purposes? And Venusians werehere who would cut her pretty throat for the sake of the necklace thatcircled it? They are beautiful, he said, smiling. Thank you. I was referring to the bubbles. You were talking about my eyes, she answered, unperturbed. How did you know? I mean.... I am very knowing, the girl said, smiling. Are you sufficiently knowing to be here? For an instant, as if doubt crossed her mind, the smile flickered. Thenit came again, stronger. Aren't you here? Johnson choked as bubbles from the tarmur seemed to go suddenly up hisnose. My dear child ... he sputtered. I am not a child, she answered with a firm sureness that left nodoubt in his mind that she knew what she was saying. And my name isVee Vee. Vee Vee? Um. That is.... Don't you think it's a nice name? I certainly do. Probably the rest of it is even nicer. There is no more of it. Just Vee Vee. Like Topsy, I just grew. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in The CONJURER of VENUS?

Jonny Johnson is one of Earth’s foremost scientists, but no one on Venus is supposed to know that. He and another man, Caldwell, have come looking for another human named Martin, and it would be quite dangerous for him and them if anyone knew they were there. Johnson enters a bar known for providing patrons with dreams, and meets a gorgeous and dangerous woman named Vee Vee. Vee Vee attempts to use a tactic known as the Karmer nerve paralysis on Johnson, which he swiftly blocks. They enter the Room of the Dreamer together, even though they don’t trust each other (and Caldwell has tipped off Johnson to watch out for her because she has been asking about Martin). As they enter the room and Johnson and Vee Vee lob threats back and forth, she reveals that she knows who he is but says she will keep his secret. The Dreamer, Unger, enters the room and the dreaming commences. It seems to affect everyone, including Johnson, who sees a spaceship and then is upset that he can’t get it back. He has the odd sensation of different bodily organs speaking to him and trying to convince him what he’s seeing is real as he watches Unger levitate high into the air. Unger falls, hard, and the crowd gets very upset and murmurs suggest a human is at fault. Vee Vee suddenly kisses Johnson, saying she might not be able to later. He is puzzled by this, until he sees that Martin is in the room and the crowd is converging on him. Johnson and Caldwell fire their effective but not fatal zit guns into the crowd as Johnson calls out Vee Vee’s name and Caldwell tells him to forget about her. As the passage ends they are trying to get through the frantic throng of people to reach Martin.

What is the role of Johnson in The CONJURER of VENUS? [SEP] <s> The CONJURER of VENUS By CONAN T. TROY A world-famed Earth scientist had disappeared on Venus. When Johnson found him, he found too the secret to that globe-shaking mystery—the fabulous Room of The Dreaming. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories November 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The city dripped with rain. Crossing the street toward the dive,Johnson got rain in his eyes, his nose, and his ears. That was the waywith the rain here. It came at you from all directions. There had beenoccasions when Johnson had thought the rain was falling straight up.Otherwise, how had the insides of his pants gotten wet? On Venus, everything came at you from all directions, it seemed toJohnson. Opening the door of the joint, it was noise instead of rainthat came at him, the wild frantic beat of a Venusian rhumba, thenotes pounding and jumping through the smoke and perfume clouded room.Feeling states came at him, intangible, but to his trained senses,perceptible emotional nuances of hate, love, fear, and rage. But mostlylove. Since this place had been designed to excite the senses of bothhumans and Venusians, the love feelings were heavily tinged withstraight sex. He sniffed at them, feeling them somewhere inside of him,aware of them but aware also that here was apprehension, and plain fear. Caldwell, sitting in a booth next to the door, glanced up as Johnsonentered but neither Caldwell's facial expression or his eyes revealedthat he had ever seen this human before. Nor did Johnson seem torecognize Caldwell. Is the mighty human wanting liquor, a woman or dreams? His voicewas all soft syllables of liquid sound. The Venusian equivalent of aheadwaiter was bowing to him. I'll have a tarmur to start, Johnson said. How are the dreamstonight? Ze vill be the most wonserful of all sonight. The great Unger hisselfwill be here to do ze dreaming. There is no ozzer one who has quitehis touch at dreaming, mighty one. The headwaiter spread his handsin a gesture indicating ecstasy. It is my great regret that I must doze work tonight instead of being wiz ze dreamers. Ah, ze great Ungerhisself! The headwaiter kissed the tips of his fingers. Um, Johnson said. The great Unger! His voice expressed surprise,just the right amount of it. I'll have a tarmur to start but when doesthe dreaming commence? In one zonar or maybe less. Shall I make ze reservations for ze mightyone? As he was speaking, the headwaiter was deftly conducting Johnsonto the bar. Not just yet, Johnson said. See me a little later. But certainly. The headwaiter was gone into the throng. Johnson wasat the bar. Behind it, a Venusian was bowing to him. Tarmur, Johnsonsaid. The green drink was set before him. He held it up to the light,admiring the slow rise of the tiny golden bubbles in it. To him,watching the bubbles rise was perhaps more important than drinkingitself. Beautiful, aren't they? a soft voice said. He glanced to his right.A girl had slid into the stool beside him. She wore a green dress cutvery low at the throat. Her skin had the pleasant tan recently onEarth. Her hair was a shade of abundant brown and her eyes were blue,the color of the skies of Earth. A necklace circled her throat andbelow the necklace ... Johnson felt his pulse quicken, for two reasons.Women such as this one had been quickening the pulse of men since thedays of Adam. The second reason concerned her presence here in thisplace where no woman in her right mind ever came unescorted. Her eyessmiled up at him unafraid. Didn't she know there were men present herein this space port city who would snatch her bodily from the barstool and carry her away for sleeping purposes? And Venusians werehere who would cut her pretty throat for the sake of the necklace thatcircled it? They are beautiful, he said, smiling. Thank you. I was referring to the bubbles. You were talking about my eyes, she answered, unperturbed. How did you know? I mean.... I am very knowing, the girl said, smiling. Are you sufficiently knowing to be here? For an instant, as if doubt crossed her mind, the smile flickered. Thenit came again, stronger. Aren't you here? Johnson choked as bubbles from the tarmur seemed to go suddenly up hisnose. My dear child ... he sputtered. I am not a child, she answered with a firm sureness that left nodoubt in his mind that she knew what she was saying. And my name isVee Vee. Vee Vee? Um. That is.... Don't you think it's a nice name? I certainly do. Probably the rest of it is even nicer. There is no more of it. Just Vee Vee. Like Topsy, I just grew. <doc-sep>What the devil are you doing here on Venus and here in this place? Growing. The blue eyes were unafraid. Sombrely, Johnson regarded her. What was she doing here? Was she inthe employ of the Venusians? If she was being planted on him, thenhis purpose here was suspected. He shrugged the thought aside. If hispurpose here was suspected, there would be no point in planting a womanon him. There would only be the minor matter of slipping a knife into his back. In this city, as on all of Venus, humans died easily. No one questionedthe motives of the killer. You look as if you were considering some very grave matter, Vee Veesaid. Not any longer, he laughed. You have decided them? Yes. Every last one of them? Oh, there might be one or two matters undecided somewhere, say out onthe periphery of the galaxy. But we will solve them when we get tothem. He waved vaguely toward the roof and the sky of space hiddenbehind the clouds that lay over the roof, glanced around as a man easedhimself into an empty stool on his left. The man was Caldwell. Zlock! Caldwell said, to the bartender. Make it snappy. Gotta havezlock. Finest damn drink in the solar system. Caldwell's voice wasthick, his tongue heavy. Johnson's eyes went back to the girl but outof the corner of them he watched Caldwell's hand lying on the bar. Thefingers were beating a quick nervous tattoo on the yellow wood. I haven't seen him, Caldwell's fingers beat out their tattoo. But Ithink he is, or was, here. Um, Johnson said, his eyes on Vee Vee. How— Because that girl was asking for him, Caldwell's fingers answered.Watch that girl! Picking up the zlock, he lurched away from the bar. Your friend is not as drunk as he seems, Vee Vee said, watchingCaldwell. My friend? Do you mean that drunk? I never saw him— Lying is one of the deadly sins. Her eyes twinkled at him. Under themerriment that danced in them there was ice. Johnson felt cold. The reservations for ze dreaming, great one? The headwaiter wasbowing and scraping in front of him. The great one has decided, yes? The dreaming! Vee Vee looked suddenly alert. Of course. We must seethe dreaming. Everyone wants to see the dreaming. We will go, won't wedarling? She hooked her hand into Johnson's elbow. Certainly, Johnson said. The decision was made on the spur of themoment. That there was danger in it, he did not doubt. But there mightbe something else. And he might be there. Oh. But very good. Ze great Unger, you will love him! The headwaiterclutched the gold coins that Johnson extended, bowed himself out ofsight. Say, I want to know more— Johnson began. His words were drowned ina blast of trumpets. The band that had been playing went into suddensilence. Waves of perfume began to flow into the place. The perfumeswere blended, but one aroma was prominent among them, the sweet,cloying, soul-stirring perfume of the Dreamer. In the suddenly hushed place little sounds began to appear as Venusiansand humans began to shift their feet and their bodies in anticipationof what was to happen. The trumpets flared again. On one side of the place, a big door began to swing slowly open. Frombeyond that slowly opening door came music, soft, muted strains thatsounded like lutes from heaven. Vee Vee, her hand on Johnson's elbow, rose. Johnson stood up withher. He got the surprise of his life as her fingers clenched, digginginto his muscles. Pain shot through his arm, paralyzing it and almostparalyzing him. He knew instantly that she was using the Karmer nerveblock paralysis on him. His left hand moved with lightning speed, thetips of his fingers striking savagely against her shoulder. She gasped, her face whitened as pain shot through her in response tothe thrust of his finger tips. Her hand that had been digging into hiselbow lost its grip, dropped away and hung limp at her side. Grabbingit, she began to massage it. You—you— Hot anger and shock were in her voice. You're the firstman I ever knew who could break the Karmer nerve paralysis. And you're the first woman who ever tried it on me. But— Shall we go watch the dreaming? He took the arm that still hung limpat her side and tucked it into his elbow. If you try to use the Karmer grip on me again I'll break your arm, hesaid. His voice was low but there was a wealth of meaning in it. I won't do it again, the girl said stoutly. I never make the samemistake twice. Good, Johnson said. The second time we break our victim's neck, Vee Vee said. What a sweet, charming child you— I told you before, I'm not a child. Child vampire, Johnson said. Let me finish my sentences before youinterrupt. She was silent. A smile, struggling to appear on her face, seemed tosay she held no malice. Her fingers tightened on Johnson's arm. Hetensed, expecting the nerve block grip again. Instead with the tips ofher fingers she gently patted his arm. There, there, darling, relax, she said. I know a better way to getyou than by using the Karmer grip. What way? Her eyes sparkled. Eve's way, she answered. Um! Surprise sounded in his grunt. But apples don't grow on Venus. Eve's daughters don't use apples any more, darling. Come along. Moving toward the open door that led to the Room of the Dreaming,Johnson saw that Caldwell had risen and was following them. Caldwell'sface was writhing in apprehensive agony and he was making warningsigns. Johnson ignored them. With Vee Vee's fingers lightly patting hisarm, they moved into the Room of the Dreaming. II It was a huge, semi-illumined room, with tier on tier of circling rampsrising up from an open space at the bottom. There ought to have beena stage there at the bottom, but there wasn't. Instead there was anopen space, a mat, and a head rest. Up at the top of the circling rampsthe room was in darkness, a fit hiding place for ghosts or Venusianwerewolves. Pillows and a thick rug covered the circling ramps. The soul-quickening Perfume of the Dreamer was stronger here. Thethrobbing of the lutes was louder. It was Venusian music the lutes wereplaying. Human ears found it inharmonious at first, but as they becameaccustomed to it, they began to detect rhythms and melodies that humanminds had not known existed. The room was pleasantly cool but it hadthe feel of dampness. A world that was rarely without pelting rainwould have the feel of dampness in its dreaming rooms. The music playing strange harmonies in his ears, the perfume sendingtingling feelings through his nose, Johnson entered the Room of theDreamer. He suspected that other forces, unknown to him, were catchinghold of his senses. He had been in dreaming rooms many times before buthe had not grown accustomed to them. He wondered if any human everdid. A touch of chill always came over him as he crossed the threshold.In entering these places, it was as if some unknown nerve centerinside the human organism was touched by something, some force, someradiation, some subtlety, that quite escaped radiation. He felt thecoldness now. Vee Vee's fingers left off patting his arm. Do you feel it, darling? Yes. What is it? How would I know? Please! Her voice grew sharp. I think Johnny Johnson ought to know. Johnny! How do you know my name? Shouldn't I recognize one of Earth's foremost scientists, even if heis incognito on Venus? Her voice had a teasing quality in it. But— And who besides Johnny Johnson would recognize the Karmer nerve gripand be able to break it instantly? Hell— John Michael Johnson, known as Johnny to his friends, Earth's foremostexpert in the field of electro-magnetic radiations within the humanbody! Her words were needles of icy fact, each one jabbing deeper anddeeper into him. And how would I make certain you were Johnny Johnson, except by seeingif you could break the Karmer nerve grip? If you could break it, thenthere was no doubt who you were! Her words went on and on. Who are you? His words were blasts of sound. Please, darling, you are making a scene. I am sure this is the lastthing you really want to do. He looked quickly around them. The Venusians and humans moving intothis room seemed to be paying no attention to him. His gaze came backto her. Again she patted his arm. Relax, darling. Your secrets are safe withme. A gray color came up inside his soul. But—but— His voice wassuddenly weak. The fingers on his arm were very gentle. No harm will come to you. AmI not with you? That's what I'm afraid of! he snapped at her. If he had had achoice, he might have drawn back. But with circumstances as theywere—his life, Caldwell's life, possibly Vee Vee's life hung in thebalance. Didn't she know that this was true? And as for Martin—ButCaldwell had said that she had been asking about Martin. Whatconnection did she have with that frantic human genius he sought here? Johnson felt his skin crawl. He moved toward a nest of cushions ona ramp, found a Venusian was beating him to them, deftly changed toanother nest, found it. Vee Vee flowed to the floor on his right, movedcushions to make him more comfortable. She moved in an easy sort of waythat was all flowing movement. He sat down. Someone bumped him on theleft. Sorry, bud. Didn't mean to bump into you. Caldwell's voice was stillthick and heavy. He sprawled to the floor on Johnson's left. Underthe man's coat, Johnson caught a glimpse of a slight bulge, the zitgun hidden there. His left arm pressed against his own coat, feelinghis own zit gun. Operating under gas pressure, throwing a charge ofgas-driven corvel, the zit guns were not only almost noiseless inoperation but they knocked out a human or a Venusian in a matter ofseconds. True, the person they knocked unconscious would be all right the nextday. For this reason, many people did not regard the zit guns aseffective weapons, but Johnson had a fondness for them. The feel of thelittle weapon inside his coat sent a surge of comfort through him. The music picked up a beat, perfume seemed to flow even more freelythrough the air, the lights dimmed almost to darkness, a single brightspotlight appeared in the ceiling, casting a circle of brilliantillumination on the mat and the headrest at the bottom of the room. Thecurtain rose. <doc-sep>Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carriedthe case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared aplace of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put itdown carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gavehim, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been atleast as good as the first; he gagged. That's the stuff, all right, he said, swallowing hard. He countedout the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariouslybalanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his painat paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,and asked: You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now. Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking aboutfood at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry. It's only water we were short of, Harvey said apprehensively. We'vegot rations back at the ship. H-mph! the mayor grunted. Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcometo our hospitality. Your hospitality, said Harvey, depends on the prices you charge. Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying, answeredthe mayor promptly. What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here youcan't get anywhere else for any price. Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He sawnone. Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe, he said guardedly. Johnson immediately fell into the role of mine host. Come right in, gents, he invited. Right into the dining room. He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more orless private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was littlechance of company. Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen withtwo menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders. Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices werephenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, hegrinned, bowed and asked: Everything satisfactory, gents? Quite, said Harvey. We shall order. For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, theculinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the servicewas as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius playeddeftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian viotars , using his other twohands for waiting on the table. We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen, Harveywhispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in thekitchen, attending to the next course. He would make any societyhostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sumto women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire. Think of a fast one fast, Joe agreed. You're right. But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,complained Harvey. I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honestmerchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimateour check at a mere bucko twenty redsents. The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion. It's been a great honor, gents, he said. Ain't often I havevisitors, and I like the best, like you two gents. As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe andHarvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished ina yelp of horror. What the devil is this? he shouted.—How do you arrive at thisfantastic, idiotic figure— three hundred and twenty-eight buckos ! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the role of Johnson in The CONJURER of VENUS?

Johnson, whose full name is John Michael Johnson, is described by Vee Vee as one of Earth’s foremost scientists, and an expert in the field of electro-magnetic radiation in human bodies. He is the protagonist of the story, a human man who has apparently come to Venus in search of another human named Martin. He goes to a bar that has a Room of the Dreamer. Before he enters it, he encounters Vee Vee. She incites both lust and anxiety in Johnson, as he is attracted to her but doesn’t think she should be alone at a Venusian bar. After she attempts to use Karmer’s nerve paralysis on him, he blocks her and threatens her not to do it again. They go into the Room of the Dreamer, where Johnson discovers that Vee Vee knows who he is. The Unger enters and the dreaming begins. Johnson sees a spaceship before him and the room seems to disappear behind him. Johnson is upset when the spaceship disappears and he can’t get it back. He sees Unger starting to levitate and all of Johnson’s various body parts seem to talk to him. When Unger falls, Vee Vee kisses Johnson. He is confused and then realizes that Martin is there and is being attacked. As the passage ends, Johnson and Caldwell are shooting people with their zit guns and trying to get toward Martin as Johnson calls out to Vee Vee.

What is the role of Vee Vee in The CONJURER of VENUS? [SEP] <s> The CONJURER of VENUS By CONAN T. TROY A world-famed Earth scientist had disappeared on Venus. When Johnson found him, he found too the secret to that globe-shaking mystery—the fabulous Room of The Dreaming. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories November 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The city dripped with rain. Crossing the street toward the dive,Johnson got rain in his eyes, his nose, and his ears. That was the waywith the rain here. It came at you from all directions. There had beenoccasions when Johnson had thought the rain was falling straight up.Otherwise, how had the insides of his pants gotten wet? On Venus, everything came at you from all directions, it seemed toJohnson. Opening the door of the joint, it was noise instead of rainthat came at him, the wild frantic beat of a Venusian rhumba, thenotes pounding and jumping through the smoke and perfume clouded room.Feeling states came at him, intangible, but to his trained senses,perceptible emotional nuances of hate, love, fear, and rage. But mostlylove. Since this place had been designed to excite the senses of bothhumans and Venusians, the love feelings were heavily tinged withstraight sex. He sniffed at them, feeling them somewhere inside of him,aware of them but aware also that here was apprehension, and plain fear. Caldwell, sitting in a booth next to the door, glanced up as Johnsonentered but neither Caldwell's facial expression or his eyes revealedthat he had ever seen this human before. Nor did Johnson seem torecognize Caldwell. Is the mighty human wanting liquor, a woman or dreams? His voicewas all soft syllables of liquid sound. The Venusian equivalent of aheadwaiter was bowing to him. I'll have a tarmur to start, Johnson said. How are the dreamstonight? Ze vill be the most wonserful of all sonight. The great Unger hisselfwill be here to do ze dreaming. There is no ozzer one who has quitehis touch at dreaming, mighty one. The headwaiter spread his handsin a gesture indicating ecstasy. It is my great regret that I must doze work tonight instead of being wiz ze dreamers. Ah, ze great Ungerhisself! The headwaiter kissed the tips of his fingers. Um, Johnson said. The great Unger! His voice expressed surprise,just the right amount of it. I'll have a tarmur to start but when doesthe dreaming commence? In one zonar or maybe less. Shall I make ze reservations for ze mightyone? As he was speaking, the headwaiter was deftly conducting Johnsonto the bar. Not just yet, Johnson said. See me a little later. But certainly. The headwaiter was gone into the throng. Johnson wasat the bar. Behind it, a Venusian was bowing to him. Tarmur, Johnsonsaid. The green drink was set before him. He held it up to the light,admiring the slow rise of the tiny golden bubbles in it. To him,watching the bubbles rise was perhaps more important than drinkingitself. Beautiful, aren't they? a soft voice said. He glanced to his right.A girl had slid into the stool beside him. She wore a green dress cutvery low at the throat. Her skin had the pleasant tan recently onEarth. Her hair was a shade of abundant brown and her eyes were blue,the color of the skies of Earth. A necklace circled her throat andbelow the necklace ... Johnson felt his pulse quicken, for two reasons.Women such as this one had been quickening the pulse of men since thedays of Adam. The second reason concerned her presence here in thisplace where no woman in her right mind ever came unescorted. Her eyessmiled up at him unafraid. Didn't she know there were men present herein this space port city who would snatch her bodily from the barstool and carry her away for sleeping purposes? And Venusians werehere who would cut her pretty throat for the sake of the necklace thatcircled it? They are beautiful, he said, smiling. Thank you. I was referring to the bubbles. You were talking about my eyes, she answered, unperturbed. How did you know? I mean.... I am very knowing, the girl said, smiling. Are you sufficiently knowing to be here? For an instant, as if doubt crossed her mind, the smile flickered. Thenit came again, stronger. Aren't you here? Johnson choked as bubbles from the tarmur seemed to go suddenly up hisnose. My dear child ... he sputtered. I am not a child, she answered with a firm sureness that left nodoubt in his mind that she knew what she was saying. And my name isVee Vee. Vee Vee? Um. That is.... Don't you think it's a nice name? I certainly do. Probably the rest of it is even nicer. There is no more of it. Just Vee Vee. Like Topsy, I just grew. <doc-sep>What the devil are you doing here on Venus and here in this place? Growing. The blue eyes were unafraid. Sombrely, Johnson regarded her. What was she doing here? Was she inthe employ of the Venusians? If she was being planted on him, thenhis purpose here was suspected. He shrugged the thought aside. If hispurpose here was suspected, there would be no point in planting a womanon him. There would only be the minor matter of slipping a knife into his back. In this city, as on all of Venus, humans died easily. No one questionedthe motives of the killer. You look as if you were considering some very grave matter, Vee Veesaid. Not any longer, he laughed. You have decided them? Yes. Every last one of them? Oh, there might be one or two matters undecided somewhere, say out onthe periphery of the galaxy. But we will solve them when we get tothem. He waved vaguely toward the roof and the sky of space hiddenbehind the clouds that lay over the roof, glanced around as a man easedhimself into an empty stool on his left. The man was Caldwell. Zlock! Caldwell said, to the bartender. Make it snappy. Gotta havezlock. Finest damn drink in the solar system. Caldwell's voice wasthick, his tongue heavy. Johnson's eyes went back to the girl but outof the corner of them he watched Caldwell's hand lying on the bar. Thefingers were beating a quick nervous tattoo on the yellow wood. I haven't seen him, Caldwell's fingers beat out their tattoo. But Ithink he is, or was, here. Um, Johnson said, his eyes on Vee Vee. How— Because that girl was asking for him, Caldwell's fingers answered.Watch that girl! Picking up the zlock, he lurched away from the bar. Your friend is not as drunk as he seems, Vee Vee said, watchingCaldwell. My friend? Do you mean that drunk? I never saw him— Lying is one of the deadly sins. Her eyes twinkled at him. Under themerriment that danced in them there was ice. Johnson felt cold. The reservations for ze dreaming, great one? The headwaiter wasbowing and scraping in front of him. The great one has decided, yes? The dreaming! Vee Vee looked suddenly alert. Of course. We must seethe dreaming. Everyone wants to see the dreaming. We will go, won't wedarling? She hooked her hand into Johnson's elbow. Certainly, Johnson said. The decision was made on the spur of themoment. That there was danger in it, he did not doubt. But there mightbe something else. And he might be there. Oh. But very good. Ze great Unger, you will love him! The headwaiterclutched the gold coins that Johnson extended, bowed himself out ofsight. Say, I want to know more— Johnson began. His words were drowned ina blast of trumpets. The band that had been playing went into suddensilence. Waves of perfume began to flow into the place. The perfumeswere blended, but one aroma was prominent among them, the sweet,cloying, soul-stirring perfume of the Dreamer. In the suddenly hushed place little sounds began to appear as Venusiansand humans began to shift their feet and their bodies in anticipationof what was to happen. The trumpets flared again. On one side of the place, a big door began to swing slowly open. Frombeyond that slowly opening door came music, soft, muted strains thatsounded like lutes from heaven. Vee Vee, her hand on Johnson's elbow, rose. Johnson stood up withher. He got the surprise of his life as her fingers clenched, digginginto his muscles. Pain shot through his arm, paralyzing it and almostparalyzing him. He knew instantly that she was using the Karmer nerveblock paralysis on him. His left hand moved with lightning speed, thetips of his fingers striking savagely against her shoulder. She gasped, her face whitened as pain shot through her in response tothe thrust of his finger tips. Her hand that had been digging into hiselbow lost its grip, dropped away and hung limp at her side. Grabbingit, she began to massage it. You—you— Hot anger and shock were in her voice. You're the firstman I ever knew who could break the Karmer nerve paralysis. And you're the first woman who ever tried it on me. But— Shall we go watch the dreaming? He took the arm that still hung limpat her side and tucked it into his elbow. If you try to use the Karmer grip on me again I'll break your arm, hesaid. His voice was low but there was a wealth of meaning in it. I won't do it again, the girl said stoutly. I never make the samemistake twice. Good, Johnson said. The second time we break our victim's neck, Vee Vee said. What a sweet, charming child you— I told you before, I'm not a child. Child vampire, Johnson said. Let me finish my sentences before youinterrupt. She was silent. A smile, struggling to appear on her face, seemed tosay she held no malice. Her fingers tightened on Johnson's arm. Hetensed, expecting the nerve block grip again. Instead with the tips ofher fingers she gently patted his arm. There, there, darling, relax, she said. I know a better way to getyou than by using the Karmer grip. What way? Her eyes sparkled. Eve's way, she answered. Um! Surprise sounded in his grunt. But apples don't grow on Venus. Eve's daughters don't use apples any more, darling. Come along. Moving toward the open door that led to the Room of the Dreaming,Johnson saw that Caldwell had risen and was following them. Caldwell'sface was writhing in apprehensive agony and he was making warningsigns. Johnson ignored them. With Vee Vee's fingers lightly patting hisarm, they moved into the Room of the Dreaming. II It was a huge, semi-illumined room, with tier on tier of circling rampsrising up from an open space at the bottom. There ought to have beena stage there at the bottom, but there wasn't. Instead there was anopen space, a mat, and a head rest. Up at the top of the circling rampsthe room was in darkness, a fit hiding place for ghosts or Venusianwerewolves. Pillows and a thick rug covered the circling ramps. The soul-quickening Perfume of the Dreamer was stronger here. Thethrobbing of the lutes was louder. It was Venusian music the lutes wereplaying. Human ears found it inharmonious at first, but as they becameaccustomed to it, they began to detect rhythms and melodies that humanminds had not known existed. The room was pleasantly cool but it hadthe feel of dampness. A world that was rarely without pelting rainwould have the feel of dampness in its dreaming rooms. The music playing strange harmonies in his ears, the perfume sendingtingling feelings through his nose, Johnson entered the Room of theDreamer. He suspected that other forces, unknown to him, were catchinghold of his senses. He had been in dreaming rooms many times before buthe had not grown accustomed to them. He wondered if any human everdid. A touch of chill always came over him as he crossed the threshold.In entering these places, it was as if some unknown nerve centerinside the human organism was touched by something, some force, someradiation, some subtlety, that quite escaped radiation. He felt thecoldness now. Vee Vee's fingers left off patting his arm. Do you feel it, darling? Yes. What is it? How would I know? Please! Her voice grew sharp. I think Johnny Johnson ought to know. Johnny! How do you know my name? Shouldn't I recognize one of Earth's foremost scientists, even if heis incognito on Venus? Her voice had a teasing quality in it. But— And who besides Johnny Johnson would recognize the Karmer nerve gripand be able to break it instantly? Hell— John Michael Johnson, known as Johnny to his friends, Earth's foremostexpert in the field of electro-magnetic radiations within the humanbody! Her words were needles of icy fact, each one jabbing deeper anddeeper into him. And how would I make certain you were Johnny Johnson, except by seeingif you could break the Karmer nerve grip? If you could break it, thenthere was no doubt who you were! Her words went on and on. Who are you? His words were blasts of sound. Please, darling, you are making a scene. I am sure this is the lastthing you really want to do. He looked quickly around them. The Venusians and humans moving intothis room seemed to be paying no attention to him. His gaze came backto her. Again she patted his arm. Relax, darling. Your secrets are safe withme. A gray color came up inside his soul. But—but— His voice wassuddenly weak. The fingers on his arm were very gentle. No harm will come to you. AmI not with you? That's what I'm afraid of! he snapped at her. If he had had achoice, he might have drawn back. But with circumstances as theywere—his life, Caldwell's life, possibly Vee Vee's life hung in thebalance. Didn't she know that this was true? And as for Martin—ButCaldwell had said that she had been asking about Martin. Whatconnection did she have with that frantic human genius he sought here? Johnson felt his skin crawl. He moved toward a nest of cushions ona ramp, found a Venusian was beating him to them, deftly changed toanother nest, found it. Vee Vee flowed to the floor on his right, movedcushions to make him more comfortable. She moved in an easy sort of waythat was all flowing movement. He sat down. Someone bumped him on theleft. Sorry, bud. Didn't mean to bump into you. Caldwell's voice was stillthick and heavy. He sprawled to the floor on Johnson's left. Underthe man's coat, Johnson caught a glimpse of a slight bulge, the zitgun hidden there. His left arm pressed against his own coat, feelinghis own zit gun. Operating under gas pressure, throwing a charge ofgas-driven corvel, the zit guns were not only almost noiseless inoperation but they knocked out a human or a Venusian in a matter ofseconds. True, the person they knocked unconscious would be all right the nextday. For this reason, many people did not regard the zit guns aseffective weapons, but Johnson had a fondness for them. The feel of thelittle weapon inside his coat sent a surge of comfort through him. The music picked up a beat, perfume seemed to flow even more freelythrough the air, the lights dimmed almost to darkness, a single brightspotlight appeared in the ceiling, casting a circle of brilliantillumination on the mat and the headrest at the bottom of the room. Thecurtain rose. <doc-sep>Unger stood in the middle of the spot of light. Johnson felt his chest muscles contract, then relax. Vee Vee's fingerssought his arm, not to harm him but running to him for protection. Hecaught the flutter of her breathing. On his left, Caldwell stiffenedand became a rock. Johnson had not seen Unger appear. One second the circle of lighthad been empty, the next second the Venusian, smiling with all theimpassivity of a bland Buddha, was in the light. He weighed threehundred pounds if he weighed an ounce, he was clad in a long robethat would impede movement. He had appeared in the bright beam of thespotlight as if by magic. Vee Vee's fingers dug deeper into Johnson's arm. How— Shhh. Nobody knows. No human knew the answer to that trick. Unless perhaps Martin— Unger bowed. A little ripple of something that was not quite soundpassed through the audience. Unger bowed again. He stretched himselfflat on the mat, adjusted the rest to support his head, and apparentlywent to sleep. Johnson saw the Dreamer's eyes close, watched the chesttake on the even, regular rhythm of sleep. The music changed, a slow dreamy tempo crept into it. Vee Vee's fingersdug at Johnson's arm as if they were trying to dig under his hide forprotection. She was shivering. He reached for her hand, patted it. Shedrew closer to him. A few minutes earlier, she had been a very certain young woman, ableto take care of herself, and handle anyone around her. Now she wassuddenly uncertain, suddenly scared. In the Room of the Dreaming, shehad suddenly become a frightened child looking for protection. Haven't you ever seen this before? he whispered. N—o. She shivered again. Oh, Johnny.... Under the circle of light pouring down from the ceiling, the Dreamerlay motionless. Johnson found himself with the tendency to hold hisbreath. He was waiting, waiting, waiting—for what? The whole situationwas senseless, silly, but under its apparent lack of coherence, hesensed a pattern. Perhaps the path to the far-off stars passed thisway, through such scented and musical and impossible places as theseRooms of the Dreamers. Certainly Martin thought so. And Johnson himselfwas not prepared to disagree. Around him, he saw that the Venusians were already going ... going ...going.... Some of them were already gone. This was an old experienceto them. They went rapidly. Humans went more slowly. The Venusian watchers had relaxed. They looked as if they were asleep,perhaps in a hypnotic trance, lulled into this state by the musicand the perfume, and by something else. It was this something elsethat sent Johnson's thoughts pounding. The Venusians were like opiumsmokers. But he was not smoking opium. He was not in a hypnotic trance.He was wide awake and very much alert. He was ... watching a space ship float in an endless void . As Unger had come into the spotlight, so the space ship had come intohis vision, out of nowhere, out of nothingness. The room, the Dreamer,the sound of the music, the sweetness of the perfume, Vee Vee andCaldwell were gone. They were no longer in his reality. They were notin the range of his vision. It was as if they did not exist. Yet heknew they did exist, the memory of them, and of other things, was outon the periphery of his universe, perhaps of the universe. All he saw was the space ship. It was a wonderful thing, perhaps the most beautiful sight he had seenin his life. At the sight of it, a deep glow sprang inside of him. Back when he had been a kid he had dreamed of flight to the far-offstars. He had made models of space ships. In a way, they had shaped hisdestiny, had made him what he was. They had brought him where he wasthis night, to the Dream Room of a Venusian tavern. The vision of the space ship floating in the void entranced andthrilled him. Something told him that this was real; that here and nowhe was making contact with a vision that belonged to time. He started to his feet. Fingers gripped his arm. Please, darling. You startled me. Don't move. Vee Vee's voice. Whowas Vee Vee? The fingers dug into his arm. Pain came up in him. The space shipvanished. He looked with startled eyes at Vee Vee, at the Dream Room,at Unger, dreaming on the mat under the spot. You ... you startled me, Vee Vee whispered. She released the grip onhis arm. But, didn't you see it? See what? The space ship! No. No. She seemed startled and a little terrified and half asleep.I ... I was watching something else. When you moved I broke contactwith my dream. Your dream? He asked a question but she did not answer it. Sit down, darling,and look at your damned space ship. Her voice was a taut whisper ofsound in the darkened room. Johnson settled down. A glance to his lefttold him that Caldwell was still sitting like a chunk of stone.... TheVenusians were quiet. The music had shifted. A slow languorous beatof hidden drums filled the room. There was another sound present, ahigh-speed whirring. It was, somehow, a familiar sound, but Johnson hadnot heard it before in this place. He thought about the space ship he had seen. The vision would not come. He shook his head and tried again. Beside him, Vee Vee was silent, her face ecstatic, like the face of awoman in love. He tried again for the space ship. It would not come. Anger came up instead. Somehow he had the impression that the whirring sound which keptintruding into his consciousness was stopping the vision. So far as he could tell, he was the only one present who was notdreaming, who was not in a state of trance. His gaze went to Unger, the Dreamer.... Cold flowed over him. Unger was slowly rising from the mat. The bland face and the body in the robe were slowly floating upward! III An invisible force seemed to twitch at Johnson's skin, nipping it hereand there with a multitude of tiny pinches, like invisible fleas bitinghim. This is it! a voice whispered in his mind. This is what you came toVenus to see. This ... this.... The first voice went into silence.Another voice took its place. This is another damned vision! the second voice said. This ...this is something that is not real, that is not possible! No VenusianDreamer, and no one else, can levitate, can defy the laws of gravity,can float upward toward the ceiling. Your damned eyes are tricking you! We are not tricking you! the eyes hotly insisted. It is happening.We are seeing it. We are reporting accurately to you. That VenusianBuddha is levitating. We, your eyes, do not lie to you! You lied about the space ship! the second voice said. We did not lie about the space ship! the eyes insisted. When ourmaster saw that ship we were out of focus, we were not reporting. Someother sense, some other organ, may have lied, but we did not. I— Johnson whispered. I am your skin, another voice whispered. I am covered with sweat. We are your adrenals. We are pouring forth adrenalin. I am your pancreas. I am gearing you for action. I am your thyroid. I.... A multitude of tiny voices seemed to whisper through him. It was as ifthe parts of his body had suddenly found voices and were reporting tohim what they were doing. These were voices out of his training dayswhen he had learned the names of these functions and how to use them. Be quiet! he said roughly. The little voices seemed to blend into a single chorus. Action,Master! Do something. Quiet! Johnson ordered. But hurry. We are excited. There is a time to be excited and a time to hurry. In this situation,if action is taken before the time for it—if that time ever comes—wecan all die. Die? the chorus quavered. Yes, Johnson said. Now be quiet. When the time goes we will all gotogether. The chorus went into muted silence. But just under the threshold thelittle voices were a multitude of tiny fretful pressures. I hear a whirring sound, his ears reported. Please! Johnson said. In the front of the room Unger floated ten feet above the floor. Master, we are not lying! his eyes repeated. I sweat.... his skin began. Watch Unger! Johnson said. The Dreamer floated. If wires suspended him, Johnson could not seethem. If any known force lifted him, Johnson could not detect thatforce. All he could say for certain was that Unger floated. Yaaah! The silence of a room was broken by the enraged scream of aVenusian being jarred out of his dream. Damn it! A human voice said. A wave as sharp as the tip of a sword swept through the room. Unger fell. He was ten feet high when he started to fall. With a bone-breaking,body-jarring thud, the Dreamer fell. Hard. There was a split second of startled silence in the Dreaming Room. Thesilence went. Voices came. Who did that? What happened? That human hidden there did it! He broke the Dreaming! Anger markedthe voices. Although the language was Venusian, Johnson got most of themeaning. His hand dived under his coat for the gun holstered there. Athis left, Caldwell was muttering thickly. What—what happened? I wasback in the lab on Earth— Caldwell's voice held a plaintive note, asif some pleasant dream had been interrupted. On Johnson's right, Vee Vee seemed to flow to life. Her arms came uparound his neck. He was instantly prepared for anything. Her lips camehungrily against his lips, pressed very hard, then gently drew away. What— he gasped. I had to do it now, darling, she answered. There may not be a later. Johnson had no time to ask her what she meant. Somewhere in the backof the room a human screamed. He jerked around. Back there a knot ofVenusians were attacking a man. It's Martin! Caldwell shouted. He is here! In Johnson's hand as he came to his feet the zit gun throbbed. He firedblindly at the mass of Venusians. Caldwell was firing too. The softthrob of the guns was not audible above the uproar from the crowd.Struck by the gas-driven corvel charges, Venusians were falling. Butthere seemed to be an endless number of them. Vee Vee? Johnson suddenly realized that she had disappeared. She hadslid out of his sight. Vee Vee! Johnson's voice became a shout. To hell with the woman! Caldwell grunted. Martin's the importantone. Zit, zit, zit, Caldwell moved toward the rear, shooting as he went.Johnson followed. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the role of Vee Vee in The CONJURER of VENUS?

Vee Vee is a woman described as very beautiful, with auburn hair, blue eyes and tanned skin. She wears a low-cut green dress and necklace and seems out of place at the dream bar, but unafraid. She introduces herself to Johnson and gets him to escort her to the Room of the Dreamer, even after Caldwell warns him that she has been asking for Martin. She attempts to use Karmer’s nerve paralysis on Johnson and he blocks it. Johnson says she is a child vampire and brings her into the Room of Dreaming; she says next time she’ll use Eve’s trick against him. She says his name and when he questions her, it turns out that she knows exactly who he is and what he does. She claims to have tried the paralysis trick to see if he would block it so she would know if it was him. Self-assured though she was before, she becomes quite frightened in the Room of the Dreamer. After Unger falls and chaos breaks out, she kisses Johnson and says she did it because she might not be able to later. Though he calls for her as he and Caldwell make their way towards Martin, Vee Vee’s whereabouts are unknown at the end of the passage.

What are the different locations featured in The CONJURER of VENUS? [SEP] <s> THE SOUL EATERS By WILLIAM CONOVER Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose ships were the scourge of the Void. But his luck had run its course, and now he was marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save himself from a menace weapons could not kill. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] And so, my dear , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase, I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by. Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's. The barbaric rhythms of the Congahua , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests. Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate. A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber. It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla. Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious Verbena , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian Bacca-glas , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote. His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly. Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there. <doc-sep>Seeming to grind her teeth, the Old O Woman turned abruptly to leaveO'Rielly's watch room. Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from bustingout laughing for joy. Old Woman had been flimflammed for fair! Dear Trillium was saved! Andbetwixt O'Rielly's grand brain and Callahan's great experience she'd behappy forever. A fine loud thump, however, was now heard. Old Woman whirled back andyanked open the doors under O'Rielly's bunk. Of all the sappy hiding places! Callahan yelped, in surprise ofcourse. Trillium? His Excellency bellowed as if stung by one of thesabre-tailed hornets of his native planet. Trillium! Trillium, O'Rielly pleaded in loving anguish, why do you have tokeep coming out of hiding just when nobody's going to find you? Her eyes merely became deep pools in which O'Rielly would have gladlydrowned himself if he could. There are rewards, the Old Woman said with the deadly coldness ofouter space, for Earthmen found in a Venus woman's company, and forher leaving her planet. Shut up! His Excellency's ear beards were standing straight outsideways. I'll handle this! May I remind His Excellency, the Old Woman snapped, that I representEarth and her dominion of space gained by right of original flight! May I remind the Captain, His Excellency declared fit to be heardback to his planet, that I am the Personal Ambassador of the Presidentof Venus and this thing can mean war! Yes! War in which people will actually die! As His Excellency paledat that grisly remark, the Old Woman spoke through her teeth atO'Rielly, Callahan and Trillium. All right, come along! O'Rielly joined the death march gladly. He felt the way Callahanlooked: ready to wrap his arms around Trillium's brave loveliness andprotect it to his last breath of life. Old Woman led the way to her office. Jabbed some buttons on her desk.Panels on opposite walls lit up. Presidents of Earth and Venus, please, the Old Woman stated evenly.Interplanetary emergency. Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonallypleasant. Madame President's office. She is in a Cabinet meeting. Mr. President's office. He is in personal command of our glorious warefforts. Old Woman sighed through her teeth. Venus woman aboard this ship.Stowaway. Rattle that around your belfries. The flunkies' faces went slack with shock, then were replaced by ablizzard of scrambled faces and torrents of incoherent voices. Finally on the Earth panel appeared the famous classic features. Thefacts, if you please, Captain Hatwoody. The Venus panel finally held steady on universally notorious features,that were as fierce as an eagle's, in a fancy war helmet. Trillium! Myown granddaughter? Impossible! Dimdooly, Mr. President roared at hisExcellency, what's this nonsense? Some loud creature is interfering, Madame President snapped withannoyance. Blasted fools still have the circuits crossed, Mr. President swore.Some silly female cackling now! The parties in the panels saw each other now. Each one's left hand on adesk moved toward a big red button marked, ROCKETS. So, Mr. President said evenly. Another violation by your Earthmen. By your granddaughter, at least, Madame President replied coolly. An innocent child, Mr. President snapped, obviously kidnapped bythose two idiotic Earthmen there! Oh, no, Grandpapa, Trillium said swiftly; I stole away all bymyself, and Mr. O'Rielly and Callahan have been very helpful. Impossible! Grandpapa President's ear beards stood near straight upas he roared, You couldn't have stolen away by yourself! Trillium,tell the truth! Very well. Grandmamma told me how. <doc-sep>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things! Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew! She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago. Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible! Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government. What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear? No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries! Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more. But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work! Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement. More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely! Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it! I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant. What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this! Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel. Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature! Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding. Nonsense! You're only my wife! And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women. Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so! Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards! Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now. Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the different locations featured in The CONJURER of VENUS?

The story takes place on Venus at an unspecified point in the future. At the very beginning, the setting is outside on a rainy evening. On Venus, the rain falls in all directions, possibly including straight up. Johnson says that everything on Venus feels like it’s coming at him from all directions. He soon enters the club, a perfumed room with loud Venusian music, a bar that Johnson makes his way to, and “feeling states” that hit Johnson immediately; specifically feelings of love and sex designed to entice humans and Venusians. When they enter the Room of the Dreamer, the perfume becomes stronger and the music louder, playing harmonies that seem new to the ear. The room is massive and only semi-illuminated, with many tiered, carpet and pillow-lined ramps circling up from an empty space with only a mat and headrest. It feels pleasantly cool but also slightly damp, and guests are greeted by a strange, tangible energy.

What can we learn about the culture on Venus from The CONJURER of VENUS? [SEP] <s>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things! Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew! She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago. Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible! Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government. What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear? No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries! Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more. But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work! Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement. More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely! Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it! I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant. What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this! Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel. Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature! Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding. Nonsense! You're only my wife! And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women. Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so! Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards! Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now. Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it! <doc-sep> THE SOUL EATERS By WILLIAM CONOVER Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose ships were the scourge of the Void. But his luck had run its course, and now he was marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save himself from a menace weapons could not kill. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] And so, my dear , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase, I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by. Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's. The barbaric rhythms of the Congahua , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests. Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate. A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber. It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla. Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious Verbena , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian Bacca-glas , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote. His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly. Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there. <doc-sep> The CONJURER of VENUS By CONAN T. TROY A world-famed Earth scientist had disappeared on Venus. When Johnson found him, he found too the secret to that globe-shaking mystery—the fabulous Room of The Dreaming. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories November 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The city dripped with rain. Crossing the street toward the dive,Johnson got rain in his eyes, his nose, and his ears. That was the waywith the rain here. It came at you from all directions. There had beenoccasions when Johnson had thought the rain was falling straight up.Otherwise, how had the insides of his pants gotten wet? On Venus, everything came at you from all directions, it seemed toJohnson. Opening the door of the joint, it was noise instead of rainthat came at him, the wild frantic beat of a Venusian rhumba, thenotes pounding and jumping through the smoke and perfume clouded room.Feeling states came at him, intangible, but to his trained senses,perceptible emotional nuances of hate, love, fear, and rage. But mostlylove. Since this place had been designed to excite the senses of bothhumans and Venusians, the love feelings were heavily tinged withstraight sex. He sniffed at them, feeling them somewhere inside of him,aware of them but aware also that here was apprehension, and plain fear. Caldwell, sitting in a booth next to the door, glanced up as Johnsonentered but neither Caldwell's facial expression or his eyes revealedthat he had ever seen this human before. Nor did Johnson seem torecognize Caldwell. Is the mighty human wanting liquor, a woman or dreams? His voicewas all soft syllables of liquid sound. The Venusian equivalent of aheadwaiter was bowing to him. I'll have a tarmur to start, Johnson said. How are the dreamstonight? Ze vill be the most wonserful of all sonight. The great Unger hisselfwill be here to do ze dreaming. There is no ozzer one who has quitehis touch at dreaming, mighty one. The headwaiter spread his handsin a gesture indicating ecstasy. It is my great regret that I must doze work tonight instead of being wiz ze dreamers. Ah, ze great Ungerhisself! The headwaiter kissed the tips of his fingers. Um, Johnson said. The great Unger! His voice expressed surprise,just the right amount of it. I'll have a tarmur to start but when doesthe dreaming commence? In one zonar or maybe less. Shall I make ze reservations for ze mightyone? As he was speaking, the headwaiter was deftly conducting Johnsonto the bar. Not just yet, Johnson said. See me a little later. But certainly. The headwaiter was gone into the throng. Johnson wasat the bar. Behind it, a Venusian was bowing to him. Tarmur, Johnsonsaid. The green drink was set before him. He held it up to the light,admiring the slow rise of the tiny golden bubbles in it. To him,watching the bubbles rise was perhaps more important than drinkingitself. Beautiful, aren't they? a soft voice said. He glanced to his right.A girl had slid into the stool beside him. She wore a green dress cutvery low at the throat. Her skin had the pleasant tan recently onEarth. Her hair was a shade of abundant brown and her eyes were blue,the color of the skies of Earth. A necklace circled her throat andbelow the necklace ... Johnson felt his pulse quicken, for two reasons.Women such as this one had been quickening the pulse of men since thedays of Adam. The second reason concerned her presence here in thisplace where no woman in her right mind ever came unescorted. Her eyessmiled up at him unafraid. Didn't she know there were men present herein this space port city who would snatch her bodily from the barstool and carry her away for sleeping purposes? And Venusians werehere who would cut her pretty throat for the sake of the necklace thatcircled it? They are beautiful, he said, smiling. Thank you. I was referring to the bubbles. You were talking about my eyes, she answered, unperturbed. How did you know? I mean.... I am very knowing, the girl said, smiling. Are you sufficiently knowing to be here? For an instant, as if doubt crossed her mind, the smile flickered. Thenit came again, stronger. Aren't you here? Johnson choked as bubbles from the tarmur seemed to go suddenly up hisnose. My dear child ... he sputtered. I am not a child, she answered with a firm sureness that left nodoubt in his mind that she knew what she was saying. And my name isVee Vee. Vee Vee? Um. That is.... Don't you think it's a nice name? I certainly do. Probably the rest of it is even nicer. There is no more of it. Just Vee Vee. Like Topsy, I just grew. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What can we learn about the culture on Venus from The CONJURER of VENUS?

The culture on Venus is complex and futuristic, and seems to cater to both Venusians and humans. Women don’t appear to have a particularly high status. A bar like the one the story takes place in is apparently not safe for unaccompanied women, based on Johnson’s initial reaction to her being there alone; he worries that Earth men might abduct her for sex and that Venusians might kill her to steal her jewelry. When Johnson enters, the head waiter asks if he wants liquor, women, or dreams, implying that sex work or some other transactional use of “women” is at play there. Through its use of “feeling states”, the Venusian nightlife appears to have commodified the emotions that people already possess in an attempt to entice, confuse, and manipulate. The popularity of “dreaming” further shows an emphasis on escape and illusion in this culture. The drinks served also seem as much a visual experience as a drinking experience: the bar seems to want to stimulate all senses.

Can you provide a summary of the story's storyline? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep> HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by WEST [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every lonely man tries to make friends. Manet just didn't know when to stop! William Manet was alone. In the beginning, he had seen many advantages to being alone. It wouldgive him an unprecedented opportunity to once and for all correlateloneliness to the point of madness, to see how long it would take himto start slavering and clawing the pin-ups from the magazines, to beginteaching himself classes in philosophy consisting of interminablelectures to a bored and captive audience of one. He would be able to measure the qualities of peace and decide whetherit was really better than war, he would be able to get as fat and asdirty as he liked, he would be able to live more like an animal andthink more like a god than any man for generations. But after a shorter time than he expected, it all got to be a tearingbore. Even the waiting to go crazy part of it. Not that he was going to have any great long wait of it. He was alreadytalking to himself, making verbal notes for his lectures, and he hadcut out a picture of Annie Oakley from an old book. He tacked it up andwinked at it whenever he passed that way. Lately she was winking back at him. Loneliness was a physical weight on his skull. It peeled the flesh fromhis arms and legs and sandpapered his self-pity to a fine sensitivity. No one on Earth was as lonely as William Manet, and even William Manetcould only be this lonely on Mars. Manet was Atmosphere Seeder Station 131-47's own human. All Manet had to do was sit in the beating aluminum heart in the middleof the chalk desert and stare out, chin cupped in hands, at the flat,flat pavement of dirty talcum, at the stars gleaming as hard in theblack sky as a starlet's capped teeth ... stars two of which were moonsand one of which was Earth. He had to do nothing else. The wholegimcrack was cybernetically controlled, entirely automatic. No one wasneeded here—no human being, at least. The Workers' Union was a pretty small pressure group, but it didn'ttake much to pressure the Assembly. Featherbedding had been carefullyspecified, including an Overseer for each of the Seeders to honeycombMars, to prepare its atmosphere for colonization. They didn't give tests to find well-balanced, well-integrated peoplefor the job. Well-balanced, well-integrated men weren't going toisolate themselves in a useless job. They got, instead, William Manetand his fellows. The Overseers were to stay as long as the job required. Passenger fareto Mars was about one billion dollars. They weren't providing commuterservice for night shifts. They weren't providing accommodationsfor couples when the law specified only one occupant. They weren'tproviding fuel (at fifty million dollars a gallon) for visits betweenthe various Overseers. They weren't very providential. But it was two hundred thousand a year in salary, and it offeredwonderful opportunities. It gave William Manet an opportunity to think he saw a spaceship makinga tailfirst landing on the table of the desert, its tail burning asbright as envy. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the story's storyline?

Ferdinand is a young man accompanying his sister Evelyn on a spaceliner called the Eleanor Roosevelt with 300 hundred other women. The final destination of the spaceship is Venus, where the women hope to find a husband. Although women are in charge, the crew of the ship is all men. Ferdinand decides to explore the ship, and he encounters a large red sign forbidding passengers from entering the next deck. Despite being hesitant at first, he decides to break the law anyway because he is technically not a passenger on the ship. Ferdinand is amazed to see the stars, the moon, and another spaceliner take off in space. Unfazed by the next sign that tells unauthorized personnel to leave, he goes to the porthole and tries to figure out a way to open it by trying various methods. Suddenly, the door opens, and a large man plucks him inside by the throat. The man recognizes him as a brother to one of the Anura, which he defines as a herd of women looking for mates. Ferdinand explains his childhood in the Undersea and his parents, to which the other man listens intently. He also mentions that he and his sister have left Earth because she realized there would be no future there. All men have either died in wars, become negatively affected by radioactivity, or gone off to the planets. Then, the older man explains that there are little to no women on Venus, and he had no idea that women were in charge when he first went to Earth to find a wife. He had been arrested and was charged but decided to become a stowaway instead. The man, who introduces himself as Alberta (Butt) Lee Brown, gives Ferdinand the nickname Ford and talks more about his past. Eventually, he asks more about Evelyn, and Ferdinand does not overthink his intentions when he answers. Later, Evelyn then forces Ferdinand to go to a geography lecture with her, where she continuously asks questions and takes notes. However, she does not write down his answer after he corrects the purser and instead takes him back to the cabin to lecture him. They begin to debate, and Ferdinand begins to use the words and knowledge he learned from Butt. Evelyn is suspicious that somebody has been feeding him rebellious opinions, and she begins to hound him for answers after seeing he has a photo of her in his pocket. He then takes Evelyn to see Butt, and she begins to lecture him about breaking the law. While the both of them debate over Butt’s status as a criminal and stowaway, he suddenly suggests that they should get married. Evelyn is surprised by his proposal, and Ferdinand eagerly urges her to accept it.

What are the characteristics of Evelyn Sparling in the story Venus Is a Man's World? [SEP] <s>Then I passed Deck Twelve and there was a big sign. Notice! Passengersnot permitted past this point! A big sign in red. I peeked around the corner. I knew it—the next deck was the hull. Icould see the portholes. Every twelve feet, they were, filled with thevelvet of space and the dancing of more stars than I'd ever dreamedexisted in the Universe. There wasn't anyone on the deck, as far as I could see. And thisdistance from the grav helix, the ship seemed mighty quiet and lonely.If I just took one quick look.... But I thought of what Sis would say and I turned around obediently.Then I saw the big red sign again. Passengers not permitted— Well! Didn't I know from my civics class that only women could be EarthCitizens these days? Sure, ever since the Male Desuffrage Act. Anddidn't I know that you had to be a citizen of a planet in order toget an interplanetary passport? Sis had explained it all to me in thecareful, patient way she always talks politics and things like that tomen. Technically, Ferdinand, I'm the only passenger in our family. Youcan't be one, because, not being a citizen, you can't acquire an EarthPassport. However, you'll be going to Venus on the strength of thisclause—'Miss Evelyn Sparling and all dependent male members of family,this number not to exceed the registered quota of sub-regulationspertaining'—and so on. I want you to understand these matters, so thatyou will grow into a man who takes an active interest in world affairs.No matter what you hear, women really like and appreciate such men. Of course, I never pay much attention to Sis when she says such dumbthings. I'm old enough, I guess, to know that it isn't what Women like and appreciate that counts when it comes to people gettingmarried. If it were, Sis and three hundred other pretty girls like herwouldn't be on their way to Venus to hook husbands. Still, if I wasn't a passenger, the sign didn't have anything to dowith me. I knew what Sis could say to that , but at least it was anargument I could use if it ever came up. So I broke the law. I was glad I did. The stars were exciting enough, but away off tothe left, about five times as big as I'd ever seen it, except in themovies, was the Moon, a great blob of gray and white pockmarks holdingoff the black of space. I was hoping to see the Earth, but I figured itmust be on the other side of the ship or behind us. I pressed my noseagainst the port and saw the tiny flicker of a spaceliner taking off,Marsbound. I wished I was on that one! Then I noticed, a little farther down the companionway, a stretch ofblank wall where there should have been portholes. High up on thewall in glowing red letters were the words, Lifeboat 47. Passengers:Thirty-two. Crew: Eleven. Unauthorized personnel keep away! Another one of those signs. <doc-sep>He had just begun to work into a wonderful anecdote about his brotherwhen the dinner gong rang. Butt told me to scat. He said I was agrowing tadpole and needed my vitamins. And he mentioned, veryoff-hand, that he wouldn't at all object if I brought him some freshfruit. It seemed there was nothing but processed foods in the lifeboatand Butt was used to a farmer's diet. Trouble was, he was a special kind of farmer. Ordinary fruit would havebeen pretty easy to sneak into my pockets at meals. I even found a wayto handle the kelp and giant watercress Mr. Brown liked, but thingslike seaweed salt and Venusian mud-grapes just had too strong a smell.Twice, the mechanical hamper refused to accept my jacket for launderingand I had to wash it myself. But I learned so many wonderful thingsabout Venus every time I visited that stowaway.... I learned three wild-wave songs of the Flatfolk and what it is that thenative Venusians hate so much; I learned how you tell the differencebetween a lousy government paddlefoot from New Kalamazoo and theslaptoe slinker who is the planter's friend. After a lot of begging,Butt Lee Brown explained the workings of his blaster, explained itso carefully that I could name every part and tell what it did fromthe tiny round electrodes to the long spirals of transformer. But nomatter what, he would never let me hold it. Sorry, Ford, old tad, he would drawl, spinning around and around inthe control swivel-chair at the nose of the lifeboat. But way I lookat it, a man who lets somebody else handle his blaster is like thegiant whose heart was in an egg that an enemy found. When you've grownenough so's your pop feels you ought to have a weapon, why, then's thetime to learn it and you might's well learn fast. Before then, you'replain too young to be even near it. I don't have a father to give me one when I come of age. I don't evenhave an older brother as head of my family like your brother Labrador.All I have is Sis. And she — She'll marry some fancy dryhorn who's never been farther South thanthe Polar Coast. And she'll stay head of the family, if I know herbreed of green shata. Bossy, opinionated. By the way, Fordie, hesaid, rising and stretching so the fish-leather bounced and rippled offhis biceps, that sister. She ever.... And he'd be off again, cross-examining me about Evelyn. I sat in theswivel chair he'd vacated and tried to answer his questions. But therewas a lot of stuff I didn't know. Evelyn was a healthy girl, forinstance; how healthy, exactly, I had no way of finding out. Yes, I'dtell him, my aunts on both sides of my family each had had more thanthe average number of children. No, we'd never done any farming tospeak of, back in Undersea, but—yes, I'd guess Evelyn knew about asmuch as any girl there when it came to diving equipment and pressurepump regulation. How would I know that stuff would lead to trouble for me? <doc-sep>He cocked his head and considered a moment. Look, he said finally,I have more than enough munit to pay for round trip tickets, but Icouldn't get a return visa because of that brinosaur judge and allthe charges she hung on me. Had to stow away. Picked the EleanorRoosevelt because a couple of the boys in the crew are friends of mineand they were willing to help. But this lifeboat—don't you know thatevery passenger ship carries four times as many lifeboats as it needs?Not to mention the food I didn't eat because it stuck in my throat? Yes, she said bitterly. You had this boy steal fresh fruit for you.I suppose you didn't know that under space regulations that makes himequally guilty? No, Sis, he didn't, I was beginning to argue. All he wanted— Sure I knew. Also know that if I'm picked up as a stowaway, I'll besent back to Earth to serve out those fancy little sentences. Well, you're guilty of them, aren't you? He waved his hands at her impatiently. I'm not talking law, female;I'm talking sense. Listen! I'm in trouble because I went to Earth tolook for a wife. You're standing here right now because you're on yourway to Venus for a husband. So let's. Sis actually staggered back. Let's? Let's what ? Are—are you daringto suggest that—that— Now, Miss Sparling, no hoopla. I'm saying let's get married, and youknow it. You figured out from what the boy told you that I was chewingon you for a wife. You're healthy and strong, got good heredity, youknow how to operate sub-surface machinery, you've lived underwater, andyour disposition's no worse than most of the anura I've seen. Prolificstock, too. I was so excited I just had to yell: Gee, Sis, say yes ! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the characteristics of Evelyn Sparling in the story Venus Is a Man's World?

Evelyn Sparling is the older sister of Ferdinand Sparling. She is seven years older than him and was born in the Undersea. Her parents were one of the first people to get married in the Undersea, and her mom was an Undersea representative in the World Council. Furthermore, her mom was heavily involved in the Male Desuffrage Act and the Maternal Revolution before being blown up in a surfacing boat alongside her husband. Evelyn herself is proficient in operating sub-surface machinery, believes firmly in the ideals of women leading politics, and is also very focused on affairs that other women do not care much about. She is also skilled at detecting lies, seeing past Ferdinand’s lies that he spoke of to protect Butt’s identity. Moreover, she has a very assertive personality. She did not back down from correcting Ferdinand about the opinions he picked up from Butt, which she classifies as masculinist and anti-socialist. Even if Butt is an intimidating man, her righteousness still shines through when she begins to scold him for escaping Earth on the Eleanor Roosevelt and about how he is also implicating Ferdinand in breaking the law by having the younger boy deliver fruit to him. Despite Evelyn’s forceful nature, she does care for her younger brother and tells him what women appreciate in men.

What are the characteristics of Alberta Lee Brown in the story Venus Is a Man's World? [SEP] <s>He opened his mouth to its maximum width and raised an enormous hand.Then he let the air out and dropped his arm. I take it you either have no defense or care to make none, Sis addedcaustically. Butt laughed slowly and carefully as if he were going over each word.Wonder if all the anura talk like that. And you want to foul upVenus. We haven't done so badly on Earth, after the mess you men made ofpolitics. It needed a revolution of the mothers before— Needed nothing. Everyone wanted peace. Earth is a weary old world. It's a world of strong moral fiber compared to yours, Mr. Alberta LeeBrown. Hearing his rightful name made him move suddenly and tower overher. Sis said with a certain amount of hurry and change of tone, What do you have to say about stowing away and using up lifeboat stores? <doc-sep>For a moment, I didn't understand him. When I did, I was almost ill.Y-you mean, I choked, th-that you're b-breaking the law right now?And I'm with you while you're doing it? He leaned over the edge of the bunk and stared at me very seriously.What breed of tadpole are they turning out these days? Besides, whatbusiness do you have this close to the hull? After a moment of sober reflection, I nodded. You're right. I've alsobecome a male outside the law. We're in this together. He guffawed. Then he sat up and began cleaning his blaster. I foundmyself drawn to the bright killer-tube with exactly the fascination Sisinsists such things have always had for men. Ferdinand your label? That's not right for a sprouting tadpole. I'llcall you Ford. My name's Butt. Butt Lee Brown. I liked the sound of Ford. Is Butt a nickname, too? Yeah. Short for Alberta, but I haven't found a man who can draw ablaster fast enough to call me that. You see, Pop came over in theeighties—the big wave of immigrants when they evacuated Ontario. Namedall us boys after Canadian provinces. I was the youngest, so I got thename they were saving for a girl. You had a lot of brothers, Mr. Butt? He grinned with a mighty set of teeth. Oh, a nestful. Of course, theywere all killed in the Blue Chicago Rising by the MacGregor boys—allexcept me and Saskatchewan. Then Sas and me hunted the MacGregors down.Took a heap of time; we didn't float Jock MacGregor's ugly face downthe Tuscany till both of us were pretty near grown up. I walked up close to where I could see the tiny bright copper coils ofthe blaster above the firing button. Have you killed a lot of men withthat, Mr. Butt? Butt. Just plain Butt to you, Ford. He frowned and sighted atthe light globe. No more'n twelve—not counting five governmentpaddlefeet, of course. I'm a peaceable planter. Way I figure it,violence never accomplishes much that's important. My brother Sas,now— <doc-sep>He had just begun to work into a wonderful anecdote about his brotherwhen the dinner gong rang. Butt told me to scat. He said I was agrowing tadpole and needed my vitamins. And he mentioned, veryoff-hand, that he wouldn't at all object if I brought him some freshfruit. It seemed there was nothing but processed foods in the lifeboatand Butt was used to a farmer's diet. Trouble was, he was a special kind of farmer. Ordinary fruit would havebeen pretty easy to sneak into my pockets at meals. I even found a wayto handle the kelp and giant watercress Mr. Brown liked, but thingslike seaweed salt and Venusian mud-grapes just had too strong a smell.Twice, the mechanical hamper refused to accept my jacket for launderingand I had to wash it myself. But I learned so many wonderful thingsabout Venus every time I visited that stowaway.... I learned three wild-wave songs of the Flatfolk and what it is that thenative Venusians hate so much; I learned how you tell the differencebetween a lousy government paddlefoot from New Kalamazoo and theslaptoe slinker who is the planter's friend. After a lot of begging,Butt Lee Brown explained the workings of his blaster, explained itso carefully that I could name every part and tell what it did fromthe tiny round electrodes to the long spirals of transformer. But nomatter what, he would never let me hold it. Sorry, Ford, old tad, he would drawl, spinning around and around inthe control swivel-chair at the nose of the lifeboat. But way I lookat it, a man who lets somebody else handle his blaster is like thegiant whose heart was in an egg that an enemy found. When you've grownenough so's your pop feels you ought to have a weapon, why, then's thetime to learn it and you might's well learn fast. Before then, you'replain too young to be even near it. I don't have a father to give me one when I come of age. I don't evenhave an older brother as head of my family like your brother Labrador.All I have is Sis. And she — She'll marry some fancy dryhorn who's never been farther South thanthe Polar Coast. And she'll stay head of the family, if I know herbreed of green shata. Bossy, opinionated. By the way, Fordie, hesaid, rising and stretching so the fish-leather bounced and rippled offhis biceps, that sister. She ever.... And he'd be off again, cross-examining me about Evelyn. I sat in theswivel chair he'd vacated and tried to answer his questions. But therewas a lot of stuff I didn't know. Evelyn was a healthy girl, forinstance; how healthy, exactly, I had no way of finding out. Yes, I'dtell him, my aunts on both sides of my family each had had more thanthe average number of children. No, we'd never done any farming tospeak of, back in Undersea, but—yes, I'd guess Evelyn knew about asmuch as any girl there when it came to diving equipment and pressurepump regulation. How would I know that stuff would lead to trouble for me? <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the characteristics of Alberta Lee Brown in the story Venus Is a Man's World?

Alberta Lee Brown, nicknamed Butt, is the man from Venus who Ferdinand meets when he explores the spaceliner. Butt used to have a very large family, and his father immigrated in the eighties after being evacuated from Ontario. His family also consisted of many brothers, also named after Canadian provinces, Unfortunately, all of his brothers except Saskatchewan and him were murdered by the MacGregor boys in an incident known as the Blue Chicago Rising. He is not one to usually act brutally, but he has not hesitated to pull the trigger on people who have wronged him. Butt has great knowledge of his blaster and is capable of explaining everything about it to Ferdinant. Additionally, he tells Ferdinand that he has killed twelve people, excluding the five government personnel, and that he considers his brother as someone who is much more willing to resort to violence. Although he is usually level-headed, Butt is also a very blunt person. He is not afraid to tell Ferdinand what he thinks of Earth, and his actions of breaking the law as a criminal on the run show that he is more than willing to take dangerous risks if he disagrees with something. Butt also tends to act rashly, suggesting to Evelyn that they get married during their first meeting despite never having interacted with her before and only having an impression of her based on what Ferdinand told him earlier.

How are the societal structures on Venus distinct from those on Earth in the story Venus Is a Man's World? [SEP] <s>Dimdooly—the mighty, the lordly, who had sneered at the sight of mereEarthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets,then all the gas went out of him. His ear beards, however, still hadenough zip left to flutter like butterflies. Yes, Trillium dear. Ilove only you. Please marry me at your earliest convenience. Well, Grandmamma, Trillium said with a highly self-satisfied air, itworks. And just like you said, Earthmen meant nothing once I knew weVenus women had our own men in our power. Those crewmen there, Grandmamma President said, seem to be proofenough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth'stranquility. Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden.Worse than the hangover from that crap game with Venus vino. He lookedaway from Trillium and took a look at Callahan. Old guy looked awayfrom Grandmamma President like he was packing the second biggestheadache in history. Hmmmm, yes, Madame President of Earth observed. Reactions agreeperfectly with the psychoanalytical research project we have beenconducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. MadamePresident of Venus, congratulations on your victory! Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted toreceive an Ambassadoress to discuss a new trade treaty at your earliestconvenience. Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychologicalmoment, Grandmamma President said cordially. What with thecommunications mixup, we managed to have the scenes on these panelsbroadcast throughout all Venus. When the rug went out from under thetop man, the tide really turned in our favor. Now, Trillium, you takeover Dimmy's credentials. The Ambassadorial Suite, too, Madame President of Earth saidgraciously. Anything else now, Berta? I should like, Grandmamma President Berta said charmingly, thatMr. O'Rielly and Mr. Callahan be suitably rewarded for assisting ourrevolution better than they knew. Of course, Madame President of Earth was delighted to oblige. Nodoubt Captain Hatwoody knows what reward would satisfy their needsbest. The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium draggedDimdooly off somewhere and the Old Woman eyed O'Rielly and Callahan.Especially she eyed Callahan, like running chilled drills through hisold conniving brain. I award the pair of you five minutes leisurebefore returning to your stations. Oh, well, O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyondearshot, could have been rewarded worse, I suppose. What you expect for being flimflammed by a foreign dame, the rings ofSaturn? Lucky we ain't programmed to be hung, shot and thrown to thecrows for breakfast. Callahan's old pick-and-shovel face wore a littlegrin like the cat that nobody could prove ate the canary. You—I mean, that Earth guy a hundred twenty-five years ago, O'Riellysaid in sudden thought. If Venus dames wanted to be loved so bad, whydid Trillium's Grandmamma let him go? Venus guys wasn't so busy playing war all the time, Callahan mumbled,like to himself, they'd of found out the answer centuries ago. Yep,guess our boy was the only guy on Earth or Venus to find out and live.Dames bossing both planets now, though, his old secret won't be onemuch longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselvesbut didn't, just to spite Earth probably. Later, was part of organizingto take over Venus, I guess. O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trilliumbefore her revolution. All right, Callahan, why did 'our boy' leaveGrandmamma? Yes, ma'am, Callahan sighed like he hadn't heard a word O'Riellysaid, you could sweet-talk 'em, kiss 'em and hold 'em tighter'nBilly-be-damned. And that's all. I'm not sure, O'Rielly said, what you mean by, 'that's all.' Anybody ever seen anybody but a Venus guy come built with ear beards?Course not. But I thought our boy was wearing the best fakes ever. Ain't nothing can match the natural growed-on variety, no, ma'am.Venus guy kisses a Venus dame, his beards grabs her roundst the ears. So what? Tickles 'em, boy, tickles 'em! <doc-sep>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things! Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew! She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago. Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible! Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government. What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear? No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries! Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more. But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work! Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement. More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely! Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it! I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant. What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this! Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel. Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature! Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding. Nonsense! You're only my wife! And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women. Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so! Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards! Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now. Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it! <doc-sep>Venus boys rared up and served notice that if Earth ever got any funnynotions, right away there wouldn't be enough Earth left to hide in anatom's eyebrow. Touchy as hornets on a hot griddle, them Venus guys.Crazier than bed bugs about war. Could smell a loose dollar a millionlight years away too. Finagled around until they finally cooked up adeal. No Venus dames allowed within fifty miles of their port. Earth guysstay inside the high-voltage fence. Any dame caught trying to leaveVenus thrown to the tigers for supper. Same for any Earth guy caughtaround a Venus dame. In return, Earth could buy practically everythingat bargain basement prices. Oh, I was shown the history films in pre-flight, O'Rielly said, stilldreamily. But not a peek of any Venus dame. Pray heaven you'll never lay eyes on one nor have one get within tenfoot of you! Even though you'd know she'd be your damnation wouldn'tmake a whit difference—you'd still act sappier than thirty-sevenangels flying on vino. Callahan suddenly stared at O'Rielly. Holyhollering saints! Now, now, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded with an airylaugh. No Earth guy for a hundred twenty-five years been near one andlived to tell it, has he? So the whispers run, Callahan murmured with a queer flame dancinginto his eyes. So the old whispers still run. Never a name, though. Never how it was done. O'Rielly snorted.Probably just a goofy tale set loose by some old space bum. Oh? Callahan bristled up like a bad name had been bandied about.Seen them ditty bags Venus bigwigs have, ain't you? Some big enough tostuff a cow in. Notice how nobody ever dares question a bigwig's bags,even through customs? Just run 'em through the big Geiger that tellswhether there's any fusionable junk inside. Well, our boy got himselfone of them bags, stuffed himself inside and joined a bigwig's pile of'em. Didn't pull it whilst on the Venus port during a layover either, whena crew check would of turned him up missing. Pulled it on vacation.Started on the Earth end. Made himself a pair of beards to paste on hisears of course. Wove Jupiter wiggle worms in to keep the beards moving.Wasn't like the real thing, but good enough to flimflam Venus guys. With suddenly enlivened interest O'Rielly looked at Callahan. Hey, howcome you know so much? Hah? What? Callahan blinked like waking from a trance; even groanedto himself, something that sounded like, Blabbering like I'd hada nip myself—or one of them dillies was radiating nearby. ThenCallahan glared fit to drill holes in O'Rielly's head. Look! I wasa full Burnerman before you was born. Been flying the spaces hundredtwenty-five years now. Had more chances to hear more—just hear more,you hear! Only tried to clear your mind about Venus dames so you couldput your brain on your control mess. So now put it! If you ain't highon vino and ain't been made nuts by a Venus dame, what answer do wefeed the Old Woman? Search me, Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly responded cheerfully. Of all the loony apprentices I ever had to answer the Old Woman for!Awp, lemme out where I can think of something to save me own neck atleast! Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from rolling on the deck with glee.Old Callahan had been flimflammed for fair! The dear little stowawaywas saved! And O'Rielly would now think of grand ways to save herlovely neck and his own forever. O'Rielly's shower door, however, opened abruptly. O'Rielly had notopened it. O'Rielly, however, suffered a cruel stab of dismay. Surelyhis dear stowaway had been listening through the door. Why didn't shehave brains enough to stay hid until Callahan was gone! At sight of her, of course, Callahan's eyes near popped from his oldhead. Berta! Oh, I'm Trillium, she assured Callahan sweetly. But Grandmamma'sname is Berta and people say I'm just like she was a hundred andtwenty-five years ago. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How are the societal structures on Venus distinct from those on Earth in the story Venus Is a Man's World?

Women are generally given positions of power and have significant influence over political matters on Earth. Most of the hard labor is left to the men instead of the women. Ferdinand mentions that the crews on the spaceliner ships are always men, as women fulfill the more important tasks of running governments. It is also revealed that only women can become Earth Citizens because of the Male Desuffrage Act, which means that men cannot get an interplanetary passport. In many situations, women have the final say as well. When Butt was arrested on Earth, he could only use a female attorney to communicate his thoughts. Compared to the women, the men on Earth face much more restrictions and must follow what they say at all times. The number of men on Earth has greatly diminished, and the population primarily consists of women. On the other hand, Venus is primarily male-inhabited, and there is a scarcity of women there. Butt says that he is unused to the saying it's a woman's world because women do not run Venus, unlike Earth. He also told his attorney that on Venus, a man could speak freely if he wanted to, and a woman's role is to support him. Men can also make a law whenever they wish with their own guns and that they should not wholly be subservient to the rule of women.

What is the primary location of the events in Venus Is a Man's World? [SEP] <s>You have done well, announced Torp when Thig had completed his reporton the resources and temperatures of various sections of Terra. We nowhave located three worlds fit for colonization and so we will return toOrtha at once. I will recommend the conquest of this planet, 72-P-3 at once and thecomplete destruction of all biped life upon it. The mental aberrationsof the barbaric natives might lead to endless complications if theywere permitted to exist outside our ordered way of life. I imagine thatthree circuits of the planet about its primary should prove sufficientfor the purposes of complete liquidation. But why, asked Thig slowly, could we not disarm all the natives andexile them on one of the less desirable continents, Antarctica forexample or Siberia? They are primitive humans even as our race was oncea race of primitives. It is not our duty to help to attain our owndegree of knowledge and comfort? Only the good of the Horde matters! shouted Torp angrily. Shall arace of feeble-witted beasts, such as these Earthmen, stand in the wayof a superior race? We want their world, and so we will take it. TheLaw of the Horde states that all the universe is ours for the taking. Let us get back to Ortha at once, then, gritted out Thig savagely.Never again do I wish to set foot upon the soil of this mad planet.There are forces at work upon Earth that we of Ortha have longforgotten. Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam, ordered Torp shortly. Hiswords are highly irrational. Some form of fever perhaps native to thisworld. While you examine him I will blast off for Ortha. Thig followed Kam into the tiny laboratory and found a seat beside thesquat scientist's desk. His eyes roamed over the familiar instrumentsand gauges, each in its own precise position in the cases along thewalls. His gaze lingered longest on the stubby black ugliness ofa decomposition blaster in its rack close to the deck. A blast ofthe invisible radiations from that weapon's hot throat and flesh orvegetable fiber rotted into flaky ashes. The ship trembled beneath their feet; it tore free from the feebleclutch of the sand about it, and they were rocketing skyward. Thig'sbroad fingers bit deep into the unyielding metal of his chair. Suddenlyhe knew that he must go back to Earth, back to Ellen and the childrenof the man he had helped destroy. He loved Ellen, and nothing muststand between them! The Hordes of Ortha must find some other world, anempty world—this planet was not for them. Turn back! he cried wildly. I must go back to Earth. There is awoman there, helpless and alone, who needs me! The Horde does not needthis planet. Kam eyed him coldly and lifted a shining hypodermic syringe from itscase. He approached Thig warily, aware that disease often made a maniacof the finest members of the Horde. No human being is more important than the Horde, he stated baldly.This woman of whom you speak is merely one unit of the millions wemust eliminate for the good of the Horde. Then it was that Thig went berserk. His fists slashed into the thickjaw of the scientist and his fingers ripped at the hard cords overlyingthe Orthan's vital throat tubes. His fingers and thumb gouged deep intoKam's startled throat and choked off any cry for assistance before itcould be uttered. Kam's hand swept down to the holster swung from his intricate harnessand dragged his blaster from it. Thig's other hand clamped over his andfor long moments they swayed there, locked together in silent deadlystruggle. The fate of a world hung in the balance as Kam's other handfought against that lone arm of Thig. <doc-sep>The blazing disc of Sol, the minor globes of the planets, the unwinkingpinpoints of the stars, all stared with cosmic disinterest at the tinyfigure crawling along the hull. His spacesuit trapped and amplifiedbreathing and heartbeats into a roaring chaos that was an invitationto blind panic, and all the while there was consciousness of theinsidiously deadly Sigma radiations. Barry found the debris of the meteorite, an ugly shining splotchagainst the dull superceramic tube, readied his power chisel, startedcutting. Soon it became a tedious, torturingly strenuous manual taskrequiring little conscious thought, and Barry's mind touched briefly onthe events that had brought him here. First Luna, and that had been murderous. Man had encountered Sigmafor the first time, and many had died before the Kendall-shield wasperfected. And the chemical-fueled rockets of those days had beeninherently poor. Hoskins semi-atomics had made possible the next step—to Mars. But menhad found Mars barren, swept clear of all life in the cataclysm thathad shattered the trans-Martian planet to form the Asteroid Belt. Venus, its true surface forever hidden by enshrouding mists, had beenwell within one-way range. But Hoskins fuel requirements for a roundtrip added up to something beyond critical mass. Impossible. But the Five Ship Plan had evolved, a joint enterprise of governmentand various private groups. Five vessels were to go out, each fueledto within a whiskered neutron of spontaneous detonation, manned byspecialists who, it was hoped, could maintain themselves under alienconditions. On Venus the leftover fuel from all five would be transferred towhichever ship had survived the outbound voyage in best condition.That one would return to Earth. Permanent base or homeward voyage withcolonists crowded aboard like defeated sardines? Only time would tell. Barry Barr had volunteered, and because the enlightened guesses of theexperts called for men and women familiar with tropical conditions,he had survived the rigorous weeding-out process. His duties in VenusColony would be to refabricate the discarded ships into whatever formwas most needed—most particularly a launching ramp—and to studynative Venusian materials. Dorothy Voorhees had signed on as toxicologist and dietician. When thelimited supply of Earth food ran out the Colony would be forced torely upon Venusian plants and animals. She would guard against subtledelayed-action poisons, meanwhile devising ways of preparing Venusianmaterials to suit Earth tastes and digestions. Barry had met her at Training Base and known at once that his years ofloneliness had come to an end. She seemed utterly independent, self-contained, completely intellectualdespite her beauty, but Barry had not been deceived. From the momentof first meeting he had sensed within her deep springs of suppressedemotion, and he had understood. He too had come up the hard way, alone,and been forced to develop a shell of hardness and cold, single-mindeddevotion to his work. Gradually, often unwillingly under hisinsistence, her aloofness had begun to melt. But Robson Hind too had been attracted. He was the only son of thebusiness manager of the great Hoskins Corporation which carrieda considerable share in the Five Ship Plan. Dorothy's failure tovirtually fall into his arms had only piqued his desires. The man's smooth charm had fascinated the girl and his money had openedto her an entirely new world of lavish nightclubs and extravagantlyexpensive entertainments, but her inborn shrewdness had sensed somefactor in his personality that had made her hesitate. Barry had felt a distrust of Hind apart from the normal dislike ofrivalry. He had looked forward to being with Dorothy aboard Three, andhad made no secret of his satisfaction when Hind's efforts to havehimself transferred to Three also or the girl to Four had failed. But then a scaffold had slipped while Three was being readied, and witha fractured ankle he had been forced to miss the ship. He unclipped the magnetic detector from his belt and ran it inch byinch over the nozzle. He found one spot of metal, pinhead-sized, butenough to cause trouble, and once more swung his power chisel intostuttering action. Then it was done. As quickly as possible he inched back to the airlock. Turnover had tostart according to calculations. <doc-sep> IT WAS A DULL, ROUTINE LITTLE WORLD. IT DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A CITY. EVERYTHING IT HAD WAS IN THE GARDEN BY R. A. LAFFERTY [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The protozoic recorder chirped like a bird. Not only would there belife traces on that little moon, but it would be a lively place. Sothey skipped several steps in the procedure. The chordata discerner read Positive over most of the surface. Therewas spinal fluid on that orb, rivers of it. So again they omittedseveral tests and went to the cognition scanner. Would it show Thoughton the body? Naturally they did not get results at once, nor did they expect to; itrequired a fine adjustment. But they were disappointed that they foundnothing for several hours as they hovered high over the rotation. Thenit came—clearly and definitely, but from quite a small location only. Limited, said Steiner, as though within a pale. As though there werebut one city, if that is its form. Shall we follow the rest of thesurface to find another, or concentrate on this? It'll be twelve hoursbefore it's back in our ken if we let it go now. Let's lock on this one and finish the scan. Then we can do the rest ofthe world to make sure we've missed nothing, said Stark. There was one more test to run, one very tricky and difficult ofanalysis, that with the Extraordinary Perception Locator. This wasdesigned simply to locate a source of superior thought. But this mightbe so varied or so unfamiliar that often both the machine and thedesigner of it were puzzled as to how to read the results. The E. P. Locator had been designed by Glaser. But when the Locatorhad refused to read Positive when turned on the inventor himself,bad blood developed between machine and man. Glaser knew that he hadextraordinary perception. He was a much honored man in his field. Hetold the machine so heatedly. The machine replied, with such warmth that its relays chattered, thatGlaser did not have extraordinary perception; he had only ordinaryperception to an extraordinary degree. There is a difference , themachine insisted. It was for this reason that Glaser used that model no more, but builtothers more amenable. And it was for this reason also that the ownersof Little Probe had acquired the original machine so cheaply. And there was no denying that the Extraordinary Perception Locator (orEppel) was a contrary machine. On Earth it had read Positive on anumber of crack-pots, including Waxey Sax, a jazz tootler who could noteven read music. But it had also read Positive on ninety per cent ofthe acknowledged superior minds of the Earth. In space it had been asound guide to the unusual intelligences encountered. Yet on Suzuki-Miit had read Positive on a two-inch-long worm, only one of them out ofbillions. For the countless identical worms no trace of anything at allwas shown by the test. So it was with mixed expectations that Steiner locked onto the areaand got a flick. He then narrowed to a smaller area (apparently oneindividual, though this could not be certain) and got very definiteaction. Eppel was busy. The machine had a touch of the ham in it, andassumed an air of importance when it ran these tests. Finally it signaled the result, the most exasperating result it everproduces: the single orange light. It was the equivalent of the shrugof the shoulders in a man. They called it the You tell me light. So among the intelligences there was at least one that might beextraordinary, though possibly in a crackpot way. It is good to beforewarned. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the primary location of the events in Venus Is a Man's World?

The story is mainly set on the Eleanor Roosevelt spaceliner. The ship is a luxury liner, and there are purple lights in front of the doors that light up when a girl is inside on her hammock. Ferdinand describes the ship as being very large, consisting of smooth black walls and white doors that seem to go on endlessly. There are multiple numbered decks and steam jets. The engines and machinery are all properly oiled. Multiple portholes line the hulls, and there is the feeling of gravity underfoot. Many emergency-use spacesuits in glass cases also line the crossways. Some of the decks also have signs with glowing red letters that warn passengers not to enter further. The portholes are described to have no knobs, switches, or even a button to press to open them. Inside the portholes, there are also bunks for the lifeboats. Some of the other amenities on the ship include a dining salon, library, and numbered lifeboat sections for passengers to go to if there is an emergency.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Stalemate In Space? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALEMATE IN SPACE *** Stalemate In Space By CHARLES L. HARNESS Two mighty metal globes clung in a murderous death-struggle, lashing out with flames of poison. Yet deep in their twisted, radioactive wreckage the main battle raged—where a girl swayed sensuously before her conqueror's mocking eyes. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] At first there was only the voice, a monotonous murmur in her ears. Die now—die now—die now — Evelyn Kane awoke, breathing slowly and painfully. The top of thecubicle was bulging inward on her chest, and it seemed likely that arib or two was broken. How long ago? Years? Minutes? She had no way ofknowing. Her slender right hand found the oxygen valve and turned it.For a long while she lay, hurting and breathing helplessly. Die now—die now—die now — The votron had awakened her with its heart-breaking code message, andit was her duty to carry out its command. Nine years after the greatbattle globes had crunched together the mentors had sealed her in thistiny cell, dormant, unwaking, to be livened only when it was certainher countrymen had either definitely won—or lost. The votron's telepathic dirge chronicled the latter fact. She hadexpected nothing else. She had only to find the relay beside her cot, press the key that wouldset in motion gigantic prime movers in the heart of the great globe,and the conquerors would join the conquered in the wide and namelessgrave of space. But life, now doled out by the second, was too delicious to abandonimmediately. Her mind, like that of a drowning person, raced hungrilyover the memories of her past. For twenty years, in company with her great father, she had watched The Defender grow from a vast metal skeleton into a planet-sizedbattle globe. But it had not grown fast enough, for when the Scythianglobe, The Invader , sprang out of black space to enslave the buddingTerran Confederacy, The Defender was unfinished, half-equipped, andundermanned. The Terrans could only fight for time and hope for a miracle. The Defender , commanded by her father, Gordon, Lord Kane, hurleditself from its orbit around Procyon and met The Invader with giantfission torpedoes. And then, in an intergalactic proton storm beyond the Lesser MagellanicCloud, the globes lost their bearings and collided. Hordes of brute-menpoured through the crushed outer armor of the stricken Defender . The prone woman stirred uneasily. Here the images became unrealand terrible, with the recurrent vision of death. It had taken theScythians nine years to conquer The Defender's outer shell. Then hadcome that final interview with her father. In half an hour our last space port will be captured, he hadtelepathed curtly. Only one more messenger ship can leave TheDefender . Be on it. No. I shall die here. His fine tired eyes had studied her face in enigmatic appraisal. Thendie usefully. The mentors are trying to develop a force that willdestroy both globes in the moment of our inevitable defeat. If they aresuccessful, you will have the task of pressing the final button of thebattle. There's an off-chance you may survive, countered a mentor. We'realso working on a means for your escape—not only because you areGordon's daughter, but because this great proton storm will preventradio contact with Terra for years, and we want someone to escape withour secret if and when our experiments prove successful. But you must expect to die, her father had warned with gentlefinality. She clenched her fingernails vehemently into her palms and wrenchedherself back to the present. That time had come. With some effort she worked herself out of the crumpled bed and lay onthe floor of her little cubicle, panting and holding her chest withboth hands. The metal floor was very cold. Evidently the enemy torpedofissionables had finally broken through to the center portions of theship, letting in the icy breath of space. Small matter. Not by freezingwould she die. She reached out her hand, felt for the all-important key, and gasped indismay. The mahogany box containing the key had burst its metal bondsand was lying on its side. The explosion that had crushed her cubiclehad been terrific. With a gurgle of horror she snapped on her wrist luminar and examinedthe interior of the box. It was a shattered ruin. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in Stalemate In Space?

Evelyn Kane finds herself in pain in the middle of fighting spaceships. She realizes that her nation has lost after 9 years of war and remembers about her task to explode both ships. When she resolves to press the button, it doesn’t work. By deception, she manages to defeat the guards on the ship. Then she gets to the inquisitor and by control of his mind makes him set her free and send her to another zone as a clerk. There a supervisor gets suspicious of her transfer but she convinces him in her honesty. After that she meets Perat, Viscount of the Tharn Suns, her main aim, and is forced to shoot her own father not to be uncovered. From that moment she becomes a private dancer for Perat by night, and a spy into the officers’ minds by day. One day Perat showed Evelyn a reel of his father, a boy, and a woman very much alike her. This reel was sent by his father with a greeting from Perat’s wife and son, though he was not married. Then the mysterious topic changes and Perat asks Evelyn to accompany him to the execution of the foolish inquisitor. Scared of being recognised by the inquisitor she used a dangerous perfume capable of causing death and entered the room.

How is Evelyn's relationship with her father portrayed in Stalemate In Space? [SEP] <s>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALEMATE IN SPACE *** Stalemate In Space By CHARLES L. HARNESS Two mighty metal globes clung in a murderous death-struggle, lashing out with flames of poison. Yet deep in their twisted, radioactive wreckage the main battle raged—where a girl swayed sensuously before her conqueror's mocking eyes. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] At first there was only the voice, a monotonous murmur in her ears. Die now—die now—die now — Evelyn Kane awoke, breathing slowly and painfully. The top of thecubicle was bulging inward on her chest, and it seemed likely that arib or two was broken. How long ago? Years? Minutes? She had no way ofknowing. Her slender right hand found the oxygen valve and turned it.For a long while she lay, hurting and breathing helplessly. Die now—die now—die now — The votron had awakened her with its heart-breaking code message, andit was her duty to carry out its command. Nine years after the greatbattle globes had crunched together the mentors had sealed her in thistiny cell, dormant, unwaking, to be livened only when it was certainher countrymen had either definitely won—or lost. The votron's telepathic dirge chronicled the latter fact. She hadexpected nothing else. She had only to find the relay beside her cot, press the key that wouldset in motion gigantic prime movers in the heart of the great globe,and the conquerors would join the conquered in the wide and namelessgrave of space. But life, now doled out by the second, was too delicious to abandonimmediately. Her mind, like that of a drowning person, raced hungrilyover the memories of her past. For twenty years, in company with her great father, she had watched The Defender grow from a vast metal skeleton into a planet-sizedbattle globe. But it had not grown fast enough, for when the Scythianglobe, The Invader , sprang out of black space to enslave the buddingTerran Confederacy, The Defender was unfinished, half-equipped, andundermanned. The Terrans could only fight for time and hope for a miracle. The Defender , commanded by her father, Gordon, Lord Kane, hurleditself from its orbit around Procyon and met The Invader with giantfission torpedoes. And then, in an intergalactic proton storm beyond the Lesser MagellanicCloud, the globes lost their bearings and collided. Hordes of brute-menpoured through the crushed outer armor of the stricken Defender . The prone woman stirred uneasily. Here the images became unrealand terrible, with the recurrent vision of death. It had taken theScythians nine years to conquer The Defender's outer shell. Then hadcome that final interview with her father. In half an hour our last space port will be captured, he hadtelepathed curtly. Only one more messenger ship can leave TheDefender . Be on it. No. I shall die here. His fine tired eyes had studied her face in enigmatic appraisal. Thendie usefully. The mentors are trying to develop a force that willdestroy both globes in the moment of our inevitable defeat. If they aresuccessful, you will have the task of pressing the final button of thebattle. There's an off-chance you may survive, countered a mentor. We'realso working on a means for your escape—not only because you areGordon's daughter, but because this great proton storm will preventradio contact with Terra for years, and we want someone to escape withour secret if and when our experiments prove successful. But you must expect to die, her father had warned with gentlefinality. She clenched her fingernails vehemently into her palms and wrenchedherself back to the present. That time had come. With some effort she worked herself out of the crumpled bed and lay onthe floor of her little cubicle, panting and holding her chest withboth hands. The metal floor was very cold. Evidently the enemy torpedofissionables had finally broken through to the center portions of theship, letting in the icy breath of space. Small matter. Not by freezingwould she die. She reached out her hand, felt for the all-important key, and gasped indismay. The mahogany box containing the key had burst its metal bondsand was lying on its side. The explosion that had crushed her cubiclehad been terrific. With a gurgle of horror she snapped on her wrist luminar and examinedthe interior of the box. It was a shattered ruin. <doc-sep>Her heart was beating faster as she walked down the hall. She felt avery strong probe flooding over her brain casually, palping with mildinterest the artificial memories she supplied: Escapades with officersin the combat areas. Reprimands. Demotion and transfer. Her deceptionof Gorph. Her anticipation of meeting a real Viscount and hoping hewould let her dance for him. The questing probe withdrew as idly as it had come, and she breatheda sigh of relief. She could not hope to deceive a suspicious telepathfor long. Perat was merely amused at her lie to his under-supervisor.He had accepted her at her own face value, as supplied by her falsememories. She opened the door to the balcony and saw a man leaning moodily on thebalustrade. He gave no immediate notice of her presence. The five hundred and sixth heir of Tharn was of uncertain age, as weremost of the men of both globes. Only the left side of his face could beseen. It was gaunt and leathery, and a deep thin scar lifted the cornerof his mouth into a satanic smile. A faint paunch was gathering at hisabdomen, as befitted a warrior turned to boring paper work. His closelycut black hair and the two sparkling red-gemmed rings—apparentlyidentical—on his right hand seemed to denote a certain fastidiousnessand unconscious superiority. To Evelyn the jeweled fingers bespoke anunnatural contrast to the past history of the man and were symptomaticof a personality that could find stimulation only in strange and cruelpleasures. In alarm she suddenly realized that she had inadvertently let herappraisal penetrate her uncovered conscious mind, and that this probewas there awaiting it. You are right, he said coldly, still staring into the court below.Now that the long battle is over, there is little left to divert me. He pushed the Faeg across the coping toward her. Take this. He had not as yet looked at her. She crossed the balcony, simultaneously grasping the pistol he offeredher and looking down into the courtyard. There seemed to be nearlytwenty Terrans lying about, in pools of their own blood. Only one man, a Terran officer of very high rank—was left standing.His arms were folded somberly across his chest, and he studied thekiller above him almost casually. But when the woman came out, theireyes met, and he started imperceptibly. Evelyn Kane felt a horrid chill creeping over her. The man's hair waswhite, now, and his proud face lined with deep furrows, but there couldbe no mistake. It was Gordon, Lord Kane. Her father. The sweat continued to grow on her forehead, and she felt for a momentthat she needed only to wish hard enough, and this would be a dream.A dream of a big, kind, dark-haired man with laugh-wrinkles about hiseyes, who sat her on his knee when she was a little girl and readbedtime stories to her from a great book with many pictures. An icy, amused voice came through: Our orders are to kill allprisoners. It is entertaining to shoot down helpless men, isn't it? Itwarms me to know that I am cruel and wanton, and worthy of my trust. Even in the midst of her horror, a cold, analytical part of her wasexplaining why the Commandant had called her to the balcony. Becauseall captured Terrans had to be killed, he hated his superiors, his ownmen, and especially the prisoners. A task so revolting he could notrelegate to his own officers. He must do it himself, but he wanted hisunderlings to know he loathed them for it. She was merely a symbol ofthat contempt. His next words did not surprise her. It is even more stimulating to require a shuddering female to killthem. You are shuddering you know? She nodded dumbly. Her palm was so wet that a drop of sweat droppedfrom it to the floor. She was thinking hard. She could kill theCommandant and save her father for a little while. But then theproblem of detonating the pile remained, and it would not be solvedmore quickly by killing the man who controlled the pile area. On thecontrary if she could get him interested in her— So far as our records indicate, murmured Perat, the man down thereis the last living Terran within The Defender . It occurred to me thatour newest clerk would like to start off her duties with a bang. TheFaeg is adjusted to a needle-beam. If you put a bolt between the man'seyes, you may dance for me tonight, and perhaps there will be othernights— The woman seemed lost in thought for a long time. Slowly, she liftedthe ugly little weapon. The doomed Terran looked up at her peacefully,without expression. She lowered the Faeg, her arm trembling. Gordon, Lord Kane, frowned faintly, then closed his eyes. She raisedthe gun again, drew cross hairs with a nerveless wrist, and squeezedthe trigger. There was a loud, hollow cough, but no recoil. The Terranofficer, his eyes still closed and arms folded, sank to the ground,face up. Blood was running from a tiny hole in his forehead. The man leaning on the balustrade turned and looked at Evelyn, at firstwith amused contempt, then with narrowing, questioning eyes. Come here, he ordered. The Faeg dropped from her hand. With a titanic effort she activated herlegs and walked toward him. He was studying her face very carefully. She felt that she was going to be sick. Her knees were so weak that shehad to lean on the coping. With a forefinger he lifted up the mass of golden curls that hungover her right forehead and examined the scar hidden there, where thementors had cut into her frontal lobe. The tiny doll they had createdfor her writhed uneasily in her waist-purse, but Perat seemed to bethinking of something else, and missed the significance of the scarcompletely. He dropped his hand. I'm sorry, he said with a quiet weariness. Ishouldn't have asked you to kill the Terran. It was a sorry joke.Then: Have you ever seen me before? No, she whispered hoarsely. His mind was in hers, verifying the fact. Have you ever met my father, Phaen, the old Count of Tharn? No. Do you have a son? No. His mind was out of hers again, and he had turned moodily back,surveying the courtyard and the dead. Gorph will be wondering whathappened to you. Come to my quarters at the eighth metron tonight. Apparently he suspected nothing. Father. Father. I had to do it. But we'll all join you, soon. Soon. III Perat lay on his couch, sipping cold purple terif and following thethinly-clad dancer with narrowed eyes. Music, soft and subtle, floatedfrom his communications box, illegally tuned to an officer's clubsomewhere. Evelyn made the rhythm part of her as she swayed slowly ontiptoe. For the last thirty nights—the hours allotted to rest and sleep—ithad been thus. By day she probed furtively into the minds of theoffice staff, memorizing area designations, channels for officialmessages, and the names and authorizations of occupational field crews.By night she danced for Perat, who never took his eyes from her, norhis probe from her mind. While she danced it was not too difficult toelude the probe. There was an odd autohypnosis in dancing that blottedout memory and knowledge. Enough for now, he ordered. Careful of your rib. When he had first seen the bandages on her bare chest, that firstnight, she had been ready with a memory of dancing on a freshly waxedfloor, and of falling. Perat seemed to be debating with himself as she sat down on her owncouch to rest. He got up, unlocked his desk, and drew out a tiny reelof metal wire, which Evelyn recognized as being feed for an amateurstereop projector. He placed the reel in a projector that had beeninstalled in the wall, flicked off the table luminar, and both of themwaited in the dark, breathing rather loudly. Suddenly the center of the room was bright with a ball of light sometwo feet in diameter, and inside the luminous sphere were an old man, awoman, and a little boy of about four years. They were walking througha luxurious garden, and then they stopped, looked up, and waved gaily. Evelyn studied the trio with growing wonder. The old man and the boywere complete strangers. But the woman—! That is Phaen, my father, said Perat quietly. He stayed at homebecause he hated war. And that is a path in our country estate onTharn-R-VII. The little boy I fail to recognize, beyond a generalresemblance to the Tharn line. But— can you deny that you are the woman ? The stereop snapped off, and she sat wordless in the dark. There seemed to be some similarity— she admitted. Her throat wassuddenly dry. Yet, why should she be alarmed? She really didn't knowthe woman. The table luminar was on now, and Perat was prowling hungrily about theroom, his scar twisting his otherwise handsome face into a snarlingscowl. Similarity! Bah! That loop of hair over her right forehead hid a scaridentical to yours. I have had the individual frames analyzed! Evelyn's hands knotted unconsciously. She forced her body to relax, buther mind was racing. This introduced another variable to be controlledin her plan for destruction. She must make it a known quantity. Did your father send it to you? she asked. The day before you arrived here. It had been en route for months, ofcourse. What did he say about it? He said, 'Your widow and son send greetings. Be of good cheer, andaccept our love.' What nonsense! He knows very well I'm not married andthat—well, if I have ever fathered any children, I don't know aboutthem. Is that all he said? That's all, except that he included this ring. He pulled one of theduplicate jewels from his right middle finger and tossed it to her.It's identical to the one he had made for me when I entered on mymajority. For a long time it was thought that it was the only stone ofits kind on all the planets of the Tharn suns, a mineralogical freak,but I guess he found another. But why should I want two of them? Evelyn crossed the room and returned the ring. Existence is so full of mysteries, isn't it? murmured Perat.Sometimes it seems unfortunate that we must pass through a sentientphase on our way to death. This foolish, foolish war. Maybe the oldcount was right. You could be courtmartialed for that. Speaking of courtmartials, I've got to attend one tonight—an appealfrom a death sentence. He arose, smoothed his hair and clothes, andpoured another glass of terif . Some fool inquisitor can't showproper disposition of a woman prisoner. Evelyn's heart skipped a beat. Indeed? The wretch insists that he could remember if we would just let himalone. I suppose he took a bribe. You'll find one now and then whotries for a little extra profit. She must absolutely not be seen by the condemned inquisitor. Thestimulus would almost certainly make him remember. I'll wait for you, she said indifferently, thrusting her arms out ina languorous yawn. Very well. Perat stepped to the door, then turned and looked back ather. On the other hand, I may need a clerk. It's way after hours, andthe others have gone. Beneath a gesture of wry protest, she swallowed rapidly. Perhaps you'd better come, insisted Perat. She stood up, unloosed her waist-purse, checked its contents swiftly,and then followed him out. This might be a very close thing. From the purse she took a bottle ofperfume and rubbed her ear lobes casually. Odd smell, commented Perat, wrinkling his nose. Odd scent, corrected Evelyn cryptically. She was thinking aboutthe earnest faces of the mentors as they instructed her carefully inthe use of the perfume. The adrenalin glands, they had explained,provided a useful and powerful stimulant to a man in danger. Adrenalinslowed the heart and digestion, increased the systole and bloodpressure, and increased perspiration to cool the skin. But therecould be too much of a good thing. An overdose of adrenalin, they hadpointed out, caused almost immediate edema. The lungs filled rapidlywith the serum and the victim ... drowned. The perfume she possessedover-stimulated, in some unknown way, the adrenals of frightenedpersons. It had no effect on inactive adrenals. The question remained—who would be the more frightened, she or thecondemned inquisitor? She was perspiring freely, and the blonde hair on her arms and neck wasstanding stiffly when Perat opened the door for her and they enteredthe Zone Provost's chambers. <doc-sep>Once the fact was clear, she composed herself and lay there, breathinghard and thinking. She had no means to construct another key. At best,finding the rare tools and parts would take months, and during theinterval the invaders would be cutting loose from the dead hulk thatclutched their conquering battle globe in a metallic rigor mortis. She gave herself six weeks to accomplish this stalemate in space. Within that time she must know whether the prime movers were stillintact, and whether she could safely enter the pile room herself,set the movers in motion, and draw the moderator columns. If it wereunsafe, she must secure the unwitting assistance of her Scythianenemies. Still prone, she found the first-aid kit and taped her chest expertly.The cold was beginning to make itself felt, so she flicked on thechaudiere she wore as an under-garment to her Scythian woman's uniform.Then she crawled on her elbows and stomach to the tiny door, spun thesealing gear, and was soon outside. Ignoring the pain and pulling onthe side of the imitation rock that contained her cell, she got slowlyto her feet. The air was thin indeed, and frigid. She turned the valveof her portable oxygen bottle almost subconsciously, while exploringthe surrounding blackened forest as far as she could see. Mentally shewas alert for roving alien minds. She had left her weapons inside thecubicle, except for the three things in the little leather bag danglingfrom her waist, for she knew that her greatest weapon in the struggleto come would be her apparent harmlessness. Four hundred yards behind her she detected the mind of a low-bornScythe, of the Tharn sun group. Very quickly she established it as thatof a tired, brutish corporal, taking a mop-up squad through the blackstumps and forlorn branches of the small forest that for years hadsupplied oxygen to the defenders of this sector. The corporal could not see her green Scythian uniform clearly, andevidently took her for a Terran woman. In his mind was the question:Should he shoot immediately, or should he capture her? It had been twomonths since he had seen a woman. But then, his orders were to shoot.Yes, he would shoot. Evelyn turned in profile to the beam-gun and stretched luxuriously,hoping that her grimace of pain could not be detected. Withsatisfaction, she sensed a sudden change of determination in the mindof the Tharn. The gun was lowered, and the man was circling to creep upbehind her. He did not bother to notify his men. He wanted her first.He had seen her uniform, but that deterred him not a whit. Afterwards,he would call up the squad. Finally, they would kill her and move on.Women auxiliaries had no business here, anyway. Hips dipping, Evelyn sauntered into the shattered copse. The man movedfaster, though still trying to approach quietly. Most of the radions inthe mile-high ceiling had been destroyed, and the light was poor. Hewas not surprised when he lost track of his quarry. He tip-toed rapidlyonward, picking his way through the charred and fallen branches,thinking that she must turn up again soon. He had not gone twenty yardsin this manner when a howl of unbearable fury sounded in his mind, andthe dull light in his brain went out. She fought for her life under that mile-high ceiling. Breathing deeply from her mental effort, the woman stepped frombehind a great black tree trunk and hurried to the unconscious man.For I.Q.'s of 100 and less, telepathic cortical paralysis was quiteeffective. With cool efficiency and no trace of distaste she strippedthe odorous uniform from the man, then took his weapon, turned the beampower down very low, and needled a neat slash across his throat. Whilehe bled to death, she slipped deftly into the baggy suit, clasped thebeam gun by the handle, and started up the sooty slope. For a time, atleast, it would be safer to pass as a Tharn soldier than as any kind ofa woman. II The inquisitor leaned forward, frowning at the girl before him. Name? Evelyn Kane. The eyes of the inquisitor widened. So you admit to a Terran name.Well, Terran, you are charged with having stolen passage on a supplylorry, and you also seem to be wearing the uniform of an infantrycorporal as well as that of a Scythian woman auxiliary. Incidentally,where is the corporal? Did you kill him? He was prepared for a last-ditch denial. He would cut it short, havethe guards remove her, and execution would follow immediately. In away, it was unfortunate. The woman was obviously of a high Terranclass. No—he couldn't consider that. His slender means couldn't affordanother woman in his quarters, and besides, he wouldn't feel safe withthis cool murderess. Do you not understand the master tongue? Why did you kill thecorporal? He leaned impatiently over his desk. The woman stared frankly back at him with her clear blue eyes. Theguards on either side of her dug their nails into her arms, as wastheir custom with recalcitrant prisoners, but she took no notice. She had analyzed the minds of the three men. She could handle theinquisitor alone or the two guards alone, but not all three. If you aren't afraid of me, perhaps you'd be so kind as to send theguards out for a few minutes, she said, placing a hand on her hip. Ihave interesting information. So that was it. Buy her freedom by betraying fugitive Terrans. Well, hecould take the information and then kill her. He nodded curtly to theguards, and they walked out of the hut, exchanging sly winks with oneanother. Evelyn Kane crossed her arms across her chest and felt her broken ribgingerly. The inquisitor stared up at her in sadistic admiration. Hewould certainly be on hand for the execution. His anticipation was cutshort with a horrible realization. Under the paralyzing force of a mindgreater than his own, he reached beneath the desk and switched off therecorder. Who is the Occupational Commandant for this Sector, she askedtersely. This must be done swiftly before the guards returned. Perat, Viscount of Tharn, replied the man mechanically. What is the extent of his jurisdiction? From the center of the Terran globe, outward four hundred milesradius. Good. Prepare for me the usual visa that a woman clerk needs forpassage to the offices of the Occupational Commandant. The inquisitor filled in blanks in a stiff sheet of paper and stamped aseal at its bottom. You will add in the portion reserved for 'comments', the following:'Capable clerk. Others will follow as they are found available.' The man's pen scratched away obediently. Evelyn Kane smiled gently at the impotent, inwardly raging inquisitor.She took the paper, folded it, and placed it in a pocket in her blouse.Call the guards, she ordered. He pressed the button on his desk, and the guards re-entered. This person is no longer a prisoner, said the inquisitor woodenly.She is to take the next transport to the Occupational Commandant ofZone One. When the transport had left, neither inquisitor nor guards had anymemory of the woman. However, in the due course of events, therecording was gathered up with many others like it, boxed carefully,and sent to the Office of the Occupational Commandant, Zone One, forauditing. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How is Evelyn's relationship with her father portrayed in Stalemate In Space?

Evelyn was very close with her father as a child and she has a lot of warm memories of their moments together. Her father was the commander of the Defender, a powerful man, Lord Kane. He wanted to save his daughter by putting her on the last ship leaving the Defender, but she decided to stay and die with her people. This decision impressed her father, and after a brief evaluation he decided to make use of her and give her the most important task - explode both ships. Therefore, their relationship is both caring but professional and with the feeling of duty. While resolving to press the button, Evelyn remembered her father and that helped her decision. After her escape and getting to the Viscount she had to end her relationship with her father by shooting him. Trembling, full of emotions and desire to save him, Evelyn was still able to shoot as she didn't see another positive solution for them both. She felt sad and sorry, but she felt she did the right think and would soon join her father in death.

How does Evelyn manage to survive and maintain her freedom in Stalemate In Space? [SEP] <s>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALEMATE IN SPACE *** Stalemate In Space By CHARLES L. HARNESS Two mighty metal globes clung in a murderous death-struggle, lashing out with flames of poison. Yet deep in their twisted, radioactive wreckage the main battle raged—where a girl swayed sensuously before her conqueror's mocking eyes. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] At first there was only the voice, a monotonous murmur in her ears. Die now—die now—die now — Evelyn Kane awoke, breathing slowly and painfully. The top of thecubicle was bulging inward on her chest, and it seemed likely that arib or two was broken. How long ago? Years? Minutes? She had no way ofknowing. Her slender right hand found the oxygen valve and turned it.For a long while she lay, hurting and breathing helplessly. Die now—die now—die now — The votron had awakened her with its heart-breaking code message, andit was her duty to carry out its command. Nine years after the greatbattle globes had crunched together the mentors had sealed her in thistiny cell, dormant, unwaking, to be livened only when it was certainher countrymen had either definitely won—or lost. The votron's telepathic dirge chronicled the latter fact. She hadexpected nothing else. She had only to find the relay beside her cot, press the key that wouldset in motion gigantic prime movers in the heart of the great globe,and the conquerors would join the conquered in the wide and namelessgrave of space. But life, now doled out by the second, was too delicious to abandonimmediately. Her mind, like that of a drowning person, raced hungrilyover the memories of her past. For twenty years, in company with her great father, she had watched The Defender grow from a vast metal skeleton into a planet-sizedbattle globe. But it had not grown fast enough, for when the Scythianglobe, The Invader , sprang out of black space to enslave the buddingTerran Confederacy, The Defender was unfinished, half-equipped, andundermanned. The Terrans could only fight for time and hope for a miracle. The Defender , commanded by her father, Gordon, Lord Kane, hurleditself from its orbit around Procyon and met The Invader with giantfission torpedoes. And then, in an intergalactic proton storm beyond the Lesser MagellanicCloud, the globes lost their bearings and collided. Hordes of brute-menpoured through the crushed outer armor of the stricken Defender . The prone woman stirred uneasily. Here the images became unrealand terrible, with the recurrent vision of death. It had taken theScythians nine years to conquer The Defender's outer shell. Then hadcome that final interview with her father. In half an hour our last space port will be captured, he hadtelepathed curtly. Only one more messenger ship can leave TheDefender . Be on it. No. I shall die here. His fine tired eyes had studied her face in enigmatic appraisal. Thendie usefully. The mentors are trying to develop a force that willdestroy both globes in the moment of our inevitable defeat. If they aresuccessful, you will have the task of pressing the final button of thebattle. There's an off-chance you may survive, countered a mentor. We'realso working on a means for your escape—not only because you areGordon's daughter, but because this great proton storm will preventradio contact with Terra for years, and we want someone to escape withour secret if and when our experiments prove successful. But you must expect to die, her father had warned with gentlefinality. She clenched her fingernails vehemently into her palms and wrenchedherself back to the present. That time had come. With some effort she worked herself out of the crumpled bed and lay onthe floor of her little cubicle, panting and holding her chest withboth hands. The metal floor was very cold. Evidently the enemy torpedofissionables had finally broken through to the center portions of theship, letting in the icy breath of space. Small matter. Not by freezingwould she die. She reached out her hand, felt for the all-important key, and gasped indismay. The mahogany box containing the key had burst its metal bondsand was lying on its side. The explosion that had crushed her cubiclehad been terrific. With a gurgle of horror she snapped on her wrist luminar and examinedthe interior of the box. It was a shattered ruin. <doc-sep>Once the fact was clear, she composed herself and lay there, breathinghard and thinking. She had no means to construct another key. At best,finding the rare tools and parts would take months, and during theinterval the invaders would be cutting loose from the dead hulk thatclutched their conquering battle globe in a metallic rigor mortis. She gave herself six weeks to accomplish this stalemate in space. Within that time she must know whether the prime movers were stillintact, and whether she could safely enter the pile room herself,set the movers in motion, and draw the moderator columns. If it wereunsafe, she must secure the unwitting assistance of her Scythianenemies. Still prone, she found the first-aid kit and taped her chest expertly.The cold was beginning to make itself felt, so she flicked on thechaudiere she wore as an under-garment to her Scythian woman's uniform.Then she crawled on her elbows and stomach to the tiny door, spun thesealing gear, and was soon outside. Ignoring the pain and pulling onthe side of the imitation rock that contained her cell, she got slowlyto her feet. The air was thin indeed, and frigid. She turned the valveof her portable oxygen bottle almost subconsciously, while exploringthe surrounding blackened forest as far as she could see. Mentally shewas alert for roving alien minds. She had left her weapons inside thecubicle, except for the three things in the little leather bag danglingfrom her waist, for she knew that her greatest weapon in the struggleto come would be her apparent harmlessness. Four hundred yards behind her she detected the mind of a low-bornScythe, of the Tharn sun group. Very quickly she established it as thatof a tired, brutish corporal, taking a mop-up squad through the blackstumps and forlorn branches of the small forest that for years hadsupplied oxygen to the defenders of this sector. The corporal could not see her green Scythian uniform clearly, andevidently took her for a Terran woman. In his mind was the question:Should he shoot immediately, or should he capture her? It had been twomonths since he had seen a woman. But then, his orders were to shoot.Yes, he would shoot. Evelyn turned in profile to the beam-gun and stretched luxuriously,hoping that her grimace of pain could not be detected. Withsatisfaction, she sensed a sudden change of determination in the mindof the Tharn. The gun was lowered, and the man was circling to creep upbehind her. He did not bother to notify his men. He wanted her first.He had seen her uniform, but that deterred him not a whit. Afterwards,he would call up the squad. Finally, they would kill her and move on.Women auxiliaries had no business here, anyway. Hips dipping, Evelyn sauntered into the shattered copse. The man movedfaster, though still trying to approach quietly. Most of the radions inthe mile-high ceiling had been destroyed, and the light was poor. Hewas not surprised when he lost track of his quarry. He tip-toed rapidlyonward, picking his way through the charred and fallen branches,thinking that she must turn up again soon. He had not gone twenty yardsin this manner when a howl of unbearable fury sounded in his mind, andthe dull light in his brain went out. She fought for her life under that mile-high ceiling. Breathing deeply from her mental effort, the woman stepped frombehind a great black tree trunk and hurried to the unconscious man.For I.Q.'s of 100 and less, telepathic cortical paralysis was quiteeffective. With cool efficiency and no trace of distaste she strippedthe odorous uniform from the man, then took his weapon, turned the beampower down very low, and needled a neat slash across his throat. Whilehe bled to death, she slipped deftly into the baggy suit, clasped thebeam gun by the handle, and started up the sooty slope. For a time, atleast, it would be safer to pass as a Tharn soldier than as any kind ofa woman. II The inquisitor leaned forward, frowning at the girl before him. Name? Evelyn Kane. The eyes of the inquisitor widened. So you admit to a Terran name.Well, Terran, you are charged with having stolen passage on a supplylorry, and you also seem to be wearing the uniform of an infantrycorporal as well as that of a Scythian woman auxiliary. Incidentally,where is the corporal? Did you kill him? He was prepared for a last-ditch denial. He would cut it short, havethe guards remove her, and execution would follow immediately. In away, it was unfortunate. The woman was obviously of a high Terranclass. No—he couldn't consider that. His slender means couldn't affordanother woman in his quarters, and besides, he wouldn't feel safe withthis cool murderess. Do you not understand the master tongue? Why did you kill thecorporal? He leaned impatiently over his desk. The woman stared frankly back at him with her clear blue eyes. Theguards on either side of her dug their nails into her arms, as wastheir custom with recalcitrant prisoners, but she took no notice. She had analyzed the minds of the three men. She could handle theinquisitor alone or the two guards alone, but not all three. If you aren't afraid of me, perhaps you'd be so kind as to send theguards out for a few minutes, she said, placing a hand on her hip. Ihave interesting information. So that was it. Buy her freedom by betraying fugitive Terrans. Well, hecould take the information and then kill her. He nodded curtly to theguards, and they walked out of the hut, exchanging sly winks with oneanother. Evelyn Kane crossed her arms across her chest and felt her broken ribgingerly. The inquisitor stared up at her in sadistic admiration. Hewould certainly be on hand for the execution. His anticipation was cutshort with a horrible realization. Under the paralyzing force of a mindgreater than his own, he reached beneath the desk and switched off therecorder. Who is the Occupational Commandant for this Sector, she askedtersely. This must be done swiftly before the guards returned. Perat, Viscount of Tharn, replied the man mechanically. What is the extent of his jurisdiction? From the center of the Terran globe, outward four hundred milesradius. Good. Prepare for me the usual visa that a woman clerk needs forpassage to the offices of the Occupational Commandant. The inquisitor filled in blanks in a stiff sheet of paper and stamped aseal at its bottom. You will add in the portion reserved for 'comments', the following:'Capable clerk. Others will follow as they are found available.' The man's pen scratched away obediently. Evelyn Kane smiled gently at the impotent, inwardly raging inquisitor.She took the paper, folded it, and placed it in a pocket in her blouse.Call the guards, she ordered. He pressed the button on his desk, and the guards re-entered. This person is no longer a prisoner, said the inquisitor woodenly.She is to take the next transport to the Occupational Commandant ofZone One. When the transport had left, neither inquisitor nor guards had anymemory of the woman. However, in the due course of events, therecording was gathered up with many others like it, boxed carefully,and sent to the Office of the Occupational Commandant, Zone One, forauditing. <doc-sep>Evelyn was extremely careful with her mental probe as she descendedfrom the transport. The Occupational Commandant would undoubtedlybe high-born and telepathic. He must not have occasion to suspect asimilar ability in a mere clerk. Fighting had passed this way, too, and recently. Many of the buildingswere still smoking, and many of the radions high above were eithershot out or obscured by slowly drifting dust clouds. The acrid odor ofradiation-remover was everywhere. She caught the sound of spasmodic small-arm fire. What is that? she asked the transport attendant. The Commandant is shooting prisoners, he replied laconically. Oh. Where did you want to go? To the personnel office. That way. He pointed to the largest building of the group—twostories high, reasonably intact. She walked off down the gravel path, which was stained here and therewith dark sticky red. She gave her visa to the guard at the door andwas admitted to an improvised waiting room, where another guard eyedher stonily. The firing was much nearer. She recognized the obscenecoughs of a Faeg pistol and began to feel sick. A woman in the green uniform of the Scythe auxiliary came in, whisperedsomething to the guard, and then told Evelyn to follow her. In the anteroom a grey cat looked her over curiously, and Evelynfrowned. She might have to get rid of the cat if she stayed here. Undercertain circumstances the animal could prove her deadliest enemy. The next room held a foppish little man, evidently a supervisor of somesort, who was studying her visa. I'm very happy to have you here, S'ria—ah——he looked at the visasuspiciously—S'ria Lyn. Do sit down. But, as I was just remarking toS'ria Gerek, here—he nodded to the other woman, who smiled back—Iwish the field officers would make up their august minds as to whetherthey want you or don't want you. Just why did they transfer you toH.Q.? She thought quickly. This pompous little ass would have to be givensome answer that would keep him from checking with the inquisitor. Itwould have to be something personal. She looked at the false black inhis eyebrows and sideburns, and the artificial way in which he hadcombed hair over his bald spot. She crossed her knees slowly, ignoringthe narrowing eyes of S'ria Gerek, and smoothed the back of her braidedyellow hair. He was studying her covertly. The men in the fighting zones are uncouth, S'ria Gorph, she saidsimply. I was told that you , that is, I mean— Yes? he was the soul of graciousness. S'ria Gerek began to dictateloudly into her mechanical transcriber. Evelyn cleared her throat, averted her eyes, and with some effort,managed a delicate flush. I meant to say, I thought I would be happierworking for—working here. So I asked for a transfer. S'ria Gorph beamed. Splendid. But the occupation isn't over, yet,you know. There'll be hard work here for several weeks yet, before wecut loose from the enemy globe. But you do your work well—winkingartfully—and I'll see that— He stopped, and his face took on a hunted look of mingled fear andanxiety. He appeared to listen. Evelyn tensed her mind to receive and deceive a mental probe. She wascertain now that the Zone Commandant was high-born and telepathic. Thechances were only fifty-fifty that she could delude him for any lengthof time if he became interested in her. He must be avoided if at allpossible. It should not be too difficult. He undoubtedly had a dozenpersonal secretaries and/or concubines and would take small interest inthe lowly employees that amused Gorph. Gorph looked at her uncertainly. Perat, Viscount of the Tharn Suns,sends you his compliments and wishes to see you on the balcony. Hepointed to a hallway. All the way through there, across to the otherwing. As she left, she heard all sound in the room stop. The transcribing andcalculating machines trailed off into a watchful silence, and she couldfeel the eyes of the men and women on her back. She noticed then thatthe Faeg had ceased firing. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Evelyn manage to survive and maintain her freedom in Stalemate In Space?

First, she decided to appear harmless in the struggle and left her weapon in the cubicle. She took only three things in a small bag with her when exiting her spot. Then she detected a corporal and when facing him, stretched luxuriously to change his mind to shoot her or notify his man. That was a manipulation of a woman using her charm not to get killed. When he didn't expect it, she mentally attacked the corporal to death and put on his clothes. This was her Scythian trick. When Evelyn met the inquisitor and the guards, she analyzed their minds again and with a little use of her feminine charm she pretended to be willing to give some interesting information to the inquisitor one on one. That way she got rid of the guards, also by challenging the inquisitor asking to stay one on one if he is not afraid. Then she forced his mind to answer her questions and fill the blanks for her passage to the Occupational Commandant as a clerk and set her free. Then his memory and the guards' about her were deleted by her force of mind. When she reached the supervisor of her transfer, she made up a legend about its reasons as another trick. She complained about the men in the fighting zones and appealed to the supervisor's ego by claiming she had been told he was a better boss. When it came to Perat she followed his orders and even killed her father. She was humble and seductive and gained his trust and attention, which was her feminine trick again. In the very end she used a trick of a dangerous perfume given by her mentors. She used it not to be set up by the inquisitor.

What does it mean that the device given to Evelyn did not detonate in Stalemate In Space? [SEP] <s>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALEMATE IN SPACE *** Stalemate In Space By CHARLES L. HARNESS Two mighty metal globes clung in a murderous death-struggle, lashing out with flames of poison. Yet deep in their twisted, radioactive wreckage the main battle raged—where a girl swayed sensuously before her conqueror's mocking eyes. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] At first there was only the voice, a monotonous murmur in her ears. Die now—die now—die now — Evelyn Kane awoke, breathing slowly and painfully. The top of thecubicle was bulging inward on her chest, and it seemed likely that arib or two was broken. How long ago? Years? Minutes? She had no way ofknowing. Her slender right hand found the oxygen valve and turned it.For a long while she lay, hurting and breathing helplessly. Die now—die now—die now — The votron had awakened her with its heart-breaking code message, andit was her duty to carry out its command. Nine years after the greatbattle globes had crunched together the mentors had sealed her in thistiny cell, dormant, unwaking, to be livened only when it was certainher countrymen had either definitely won—or lost. The votron's telepathic dirge chronicled the latter fact. She hadexpected nothing else. She had only to find the relay beside her cot, press the key that wouldset in motion gigantic prime movers in the heart of the great globe,and the conquerors would join the conquered in the wide and namelessgrave of space. But life, now doled out by the second, was too delicious to abandonimmediately. Her mind, like that of a drowning person, raced hungrilyover the memories of her past. For twenty years, in company with her great father, she had watched The Defender grow from a vast metal skeleton into a planet-sizedbattle globe. But it had not grown fast enough, for when the Scythianglobe, The Invader , sprang out of black space to enslave the buddingTerran Confederacy, The Defender was unfinished, half-equipped, andundermanned. The Terrans could only fight for time and hope for a miracle. The Defender , commanded by her father, Gordon, Lord Kane, hurleditself from its orbit around Procyon and met The Invader with giantfission torpedoes. And then, in an intergalactic proton storm beyond the Lesser MagellanicCloud, the globes lost their bearings and collided. Hordes of brute-menpoured through the crushed outer armor of the stricken Defender . The prone woman stirred uneasily. Here the images became unrealand terrible, with the recurrent vision of death. It had taken theScythians nine years to conquer The Defender's outer shell. Then hadcome that final interview with her father. In half an hour our last space port will be captured, he hadtelepathed curtly. Only one more messenger ship can leave TheDefender . Be on it. No. I shall die here. His fine tired eyes had studied her face in enigmatic appraisal. Thendie usefully. The mentors are trying to develop a force that willdestroy both globes in the moment of our inevitable defeat. If they aresuccessful, you will have the task of pressing the final button of thebattle. There's an off-chance you may survive, countered a mentor. We'realso working on a means for your escape—not only because you areGordon's daughter, but because this great proton storm will preventradio contact with Terra for years, and we want someone to escape withour secret if and when our experiments prove successful. But you must expect to die, her father had warned with gentlefinality. She clenched her fingernails vehemently into her palms and wrenchedherself back to the present. That time had come. With some effort she worked herself out of the crumpled bed and lay onthe floor of her little cubicle, panting and holding her chest withboth hands. The metal floor was very cold. Evidently the enemy torpedofissionables had finally broken through to the center portions of theship, letting in the icy breath of space. Small matter. Not by freezingwould she die. She reached out her hand, felt for the all-important key, and gasped indismay. The mahogany box containing the key had burst its metal bondsand was lying on its side. The explosion that had crushed her cubiclehad been terrific. With a gurgle of horror she snapped on her wrist luminar and examinedthe interior of the box. It was a shattered ruin. <doc-sep>Once the fact was clear, she composed herself and lay there, breathinghard and thinking. She had no means to construct another key. At best,finding the rare tools and parts would take months, and during theinterval the invaders would be cutting loose from the dead hulk thatclutched their conquering battle globe in a metallic rigor mortis. She gave herself six weeks to accomplish this stalemate in space. Within that time she must know whether the prime movers were stillintact, and whether she could safely enter the pile room herself,set the movers in motion, and draw the moderator columns. If it wereunsafe, she must secure the unwitting assistance of her Scythianenemies. Still prone, she found the first-aid kit and taped her chest expertly.The cold was beginning to make itself felt, so she flicked on thechaudiere she wore as an under-garment to her Scythian woman's uniform.Then she crawled on her elbows and stomach to the tiny door, spun thesealing gear, and was soon outside. Ignoring the pain and pulling onthe side of the imitation rock that contained her cell, she got slowlyto her feet. The air was thin indeed, and frigid. She turned the valveof her portable oxygen bottle almost subconsciously, while exploringthe surrounding blackened forest as far as she could see. Mentally shewas alert for roving alien minds. She had left her weapons inside thecubicle, except for the three things in the little leather bag danglingfrom her waist, for she knew that her greatest weapon in the struggleto come would be her apparent harmlessness. Four hundred yards behind her she detected the mind of a low-bornScythe, of the Tharn sun group. Very quickly she established it as thatof a tired, brutish corporal, taking a mop-up squad through the blackstumps and forlorn branches of the small forest that for years hadsupplied oxygen to the defenders of this sector. The corporal could not see her green Scythian uniform clearly, andevidently took her for a Terran woman. In his mind was the question:Should he shoot immediately, or should he capture her? It had been twomonths since he had seen a woman. But then, his orders were to shoot.Yes, he would shoot. Evelyn turned in profile to the beam-gun and stretched luxuriously,hoping that her grimace of pain could not be detected. Withsatisfaction, she sensed a sudden change of determination in the mindof the Tharn. The gun was lowered, and the man was circling to creep upbehind her. He did not bother to notify his men. He wanted her first.He had seen her uniform, but that deterred him not a whit. Afterwards,he would call up the squad. Finally, they would kill her and move on.Women auxiliaries had no business here, anyway. Hips dipping, Evelyn sauntered into the shattered copse. The man movedfaster, though still trying to approach quietly. Most of the radions inthe mile-high ceiling had been destroyed, and the light was poor. Hewas not surprised when he lost track of his quarry. He tip-toed rapidlyonward, picking his way through the charred and fallen branches,thinking that she must turn up again soon. He had not gone twenty yardsin this manner when a howl of unbearable fury sounded in his mind, andthe dull light in his brain went out. She fought for her life under that mile-high ceiling. Breathing deeply from her mental effort, the woman stepped frombehind a great black tree trunk and hurried to the unconscious man.For I.Q.'s of 100 and less, telepathic cortical paralysis was quiteeffective. With cool efficiency and no trace of distaste she strippedthe odorous uniform from the man, then took his weapon, turned the beampower down very low, and needled a neat slash across his throat. Whilehe bled to death, she slipped deftly into the baggy suit, clasped thebeam gun by the handle, and started up the sooty slope. For a time, atleast, it would be safer to pass as a Tharn soldier than as any kind ofa woman. II The inquisitor leaned forward, frowning at the girl before him. Name? Evelyn Kane. The eyes of the inquisitor widened. So you admit to a Terran name.Well, Terran, you are charged with having stolen passage on a supplylorry, and you also seem to be wearing the uniform of an infantrycorporal as well as that of a Scythian woman auxiliary. Incidentally,where is the corporal? Did you kill him? He was prepared for a last-ditch denial. He would cut it short, havethe guards remove her, and execution would follow immediately. In away, it was unfortunate. The woman was obviously of a high Terranclass. No—he couldn't consider that. His slender means couldn't affordanother woman in his quarters, and besides, he wouldn't feel safe withthis cool murderess. Do you not understand the master tongue? Why did you kill thecorporal? He leaned impatiently over his desk. The woman stared frankly back at him with her clear blue eyes. Theguards on either side of her dug their nails into her arms, as wastheir custom with recalcitrant prisoners, but she took no notice. She had analyzed the minds of the three men. She could handle theinquisitor alone or the two guards alone, but not all three. If you aren't afraid of me, perhaps you'd be so kind as to send theguards out for a few minutes, she said, placing a hand on her hip. Ihave interesting information. So that was it. Buy her freedom by betraying fugitive Terrans. Well, hecould take the information and then kill her. He nodded curtly to theguards, and they walked out of the hut, exchanging sly winks with oneanother. Evelyn Kane crossed her arms across her chest and felt her broken ribgingerly. The inquisitor stared up at her in sadistic admiration. Hewould certainly be on hand for the execution. His anticipation was cutshort with a horrible realization. Under the paralyzing force of a mindgreater than his own, he reached beneath the desk and switched off therecorder. Who is the Occupational Commandant for this Sector, she askedtersely. This must be done swiftly before the guards returned. Perat, Viscount of Tharn, replied the man mechanically. What is the extent of his jurisdiction? From the center of the Terran globe, outward four hundred milesradius. Good. Prepare for me the usual visa that a woman clerk needs forpassage to the offices of the Occupational Commandant. The inquisitor filled in blanks in a stiff sheet of paper and stamped aseal at its bottom. You will add in the portion reserved for 'comments', the following:'Capable clerk. Others will follow as they are found available.' The man's pen scratched away obediently. Evelyn Kane smiled gently at the impotent, inwardly raging inquisitor.She took the paper, folded it, and placed it in a pocket in her blouse.Call the guards, she ordered. He pressed the button on his desk, and the guards re-entered. This person is no longer a prisoner, said the inquisitor woodenly.She is to take the next transport to the Occupational Commandant ofZone One. When the transport had left, neither inquisitor nor guards had anymemory of the woman. However, in the due course of events, therecording was gathered up with many others like it, boxed carefully,and sent to the Office of the Occupational Commandant, Zone One, forauditing. <doc-sep>Evelyn was extremely careful with her mental probe as she descendedfrom the transport. The Occupational Commandant would undoubtedlybe high-born and telepathic. He must not have occasion to suspect asimilar ability in a mere clerk. Fighting had passed this way, too, and recently. Many of the buildingswere still smoking, and many of the radions high above were eithershot out or obscured by slowly drifting dust clouds. The acrid odor ofradiation-remover was everywhere. She caught the sound of spasmodic small-arm fire. What is that? she asked the transport attendant. The Commandant is shooting prisoners, he replied laconically. Oh. Where did you want to go? To the personnel office. That way. He pointed to the largest building of the group—twostories high, reasonably intact. She walked off down the gravel path, which was stained here and therewith dark sticky red. She gave her visa to the guard at the door andwas admitted to an improvised waiting room, where another guard eyedher stonily. The firing was much nearer. She recognized the obscenecoughs of a Faeg pistol and began to feel sick. A woman in the green uniform of the Scythe auxiliary came in, whisperedsomething to the guard, and then told Evelyn to follow her. In the anteroom a grey cat looked her over curiously, and Evelynfrowned. She might have to get rid of the cat if she stayed here. Undercertain circumstances the animal could prove her deadliest enemy. The next room held a foppish little man, evidently a supervisor of somesort, who was studying her visa. I'm very happy to have you here, S'ria—ah——he looked at the visasuspiciously—S'ria Lyn. Do sit down. But, as I was just remarking toS'ria Gerek, here—he nodded to the other woman, who smiled back—Iwish the field officers would make up their august minds as to whetherthey want you or don't want you. Just why did they transfer you toH.Q.? She thought quickly. This pompous little ass would have to be givensome answer that would keep him from checking with the inquisitor. Itwould have to be something personal. She looked at the false black inhis eyebrows and sideburns, and the artificial way in which he hadcombed hair over his bald spot. She crossed her knees slowly, ignoringthe narrowing eyes of S'ria Gerek, and smoothed the back of her braidedyellow hair. He was studying her covertly. The men in the fighting zones are uncouth, S'ria Gorph, she saidsimply. I was told that you , that is, I mean— Yes? he was the soul of graciousness. S'ria Gerek began to dictateloudly into her mechanical transcriber. Evelyn cleared her throat, averted her eyes, and with some effort,managed a delicate flush. I meant to say, I thought I would be happierworking for—working here. So I asked for a transfer. S'ria Gorph beamed. Splendid. But the occupation isn't over, yet,you know. There'll be hard work here for several weeks yet, before wecut loose from the enemy globe. But you do your work well—winkingartfully—and I'll see that— He stopped, and his face took on a hunted look of mingled fear andanxiety. He appeared to listen. Evelyn tensed her mind to receive and deceive a mental probe. She wascertain now that the Zone Commandant was high-born and telepathic. Thechances were only fifty-fifty that she could delude him for any lengthof time if he became interested in her. He must be avoided if at allpossible. It should not be too difficult. He undoubtedly had a dozenpersonal secretaries and/or concubines and would take small interest inthe lowly employees that amused Gorph. Gorph looked at her uncertainly. Perat, Viscount of the Tharn Suns,sends you his compliments and wishes to see you on the balcony. Hepointed to a hallway. All the way through there, across to the otherwing. As she left, she heard all sound in the room stop. The transcribing andcalculating machines trailed off into a watchful silence, and she couldfeel the eyes of the men and women on her back. She noticed then thatthe Faeg had ceased firing. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What does it mean that the device given to Evelyn did not detonate in Stalemate In Space?

If the device exploded and all went according to the plan, both The Defender and The Invader would be destroyed immediately with all the people on board including Evelyn. Due to a technical break, Evelyn stayed alive and had to think of other ways to destroy the ships. The whole rest of the story is a sequence of events and encounters, accompanied by tricks and cunning, leading to this final aim. She is breaking free, gets trust of her enemies, and even kills her father for this great purpose of destroying their enemies. Every her action is carefully controlled in order to get to Perat and spy on the thoughts of his officers. As she doesn't have anyone left and is surrounded by enemies, she need the purpose to live, which is given by this broken exploder and her following inability to fulfill her task.

In what ways is the concept of obligation examined in Stalemate In Space? [SEP] <s>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALEMATE IN SPACE *** Stalemate In Space By CHARLES L. HARNESS Two mighty metal globes clung in a murderous death-struggle, lashing out with flames of poison. Yet deep in their twisted, radioactive wreckage the main battle raged—where a girl swayed sensuously before her conqueror's mocking eyes. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] At first there was only the voice, a monotonous murmur in her ears. Die now—die now—die now — Evelyn Kane awoke, breathing slowly and painfully. The top of thecubicle was bulging inward on her chest, and it seemed likely that arib or two was broken. How long ago? Years? Minutes? She had no way ofknowing. Her slender right hand found the oxygen valve and turned it.For a long while she lay, hurting and breathing helplessly. Die now—die now—die now — The votron had awakened her with its heart-breaking code message, andit was her duty to carry out its command. Nine years after the greatbattle globes had crunched together the mentors had sealed her in thistiny cell, dormant, unwaking, to be livened only when it was certainher countrymen had either definitely won—or lost. The votron's telepathic dirge chronicled the latter fact. She hadexpected nothing else. She had only to find the relay beside her cot, press the key that wouldset in motion gigantic prime movers in the heart of the great globe,and the conquerors would join the conquered in the wide and namelessgrave of space. But life, now doled out by the second, was too delicious to abandonimmediately. Her mind, like that of a drowning person, raced hungrilyover the memories of her past. For twenty years, in company with her great father, she had watched The Defender grow from a vast metal skeleton into a planet-sizedbattle globe. But it had not grown fast enough, for when the Scythianglobe, The Invader , sprang out of black space to enslave the buddingTerran Confederacy, The Defender was unfinished, half-equipped, andundermanned. The Terrans could only fight for time and hope for a miracle. The Defender , commanded by her father, Gordon, Lord Kane, hurleditself from its orbit around Procyon and met The Invader with giantfission torpedoes. And then, in an intergalactic proton storm beyond the Lesser MagellanicCloud, the globes lost their bearings and collided. Hordes of brute-menpoured through the crushed outer armor of the stricken Defender . The prone woman stirred uneasily. Here the images became unrealand terrible, with the recurrent vision of death. It had taken theScythians nine years to conquer The Defender's outer shell. Then hadcome that final interview with her father. In half an hour our last space port will be captured, he hadtelepathed curtly. Only one more messenger ship can leave TheDefender . Be on it. No. I shall die here. His fine tired eyes had studied her face in enigmatic appraisal. Thendie usefully. The mentors are trying to develop a force that willdestroy both globes in the moment of our inevitable defeat. If they aresuccessful, you will have the task of pressing the final button of thebattle. There's an off-chance you may survive, countered a mentor. We'realso working on a means for your escape—not only because you areGordon's daughter, but because this great proton storm will preventradio contact with Terra for years, and we want someone to escape withour secret if and when our experiments prove successful. But you must expect to die, her father had warned with gentlefinality. She clenched her fingernails vehemently into her palms and wrenchedherself back to the present. That time had come. With some effort she worked herself out of the crumpled bed and lay onthe floor of her little cubicle, panting and holding her chest withboth hands. The metal floor was very cold. Evidently the enemy torpedofissionables had finally broken through to the center portions of theship, letting in the icy breath of space. Small matter. Not by freezingwould she die. She reached out her hand, felt for the all-important key, and gasped indismay. The mahogany box containing the key had burst its metal bondsand was lying on its side. The explosion that had crushed her cubiclehad been terrific. With a gurgle of horror she snapped on her wrist luminar and examinedthe interior of the box. It was a shattered ruin. <doc-sep>Using the technique I had grasped from the Gool itself, I struck,stifling the outcry, invaded the fetid blackness and grappled theobscene gelatinous immensity of the Gool spy as it spasmed in a frenzyof xenophobia—a ton of liver writhing at the bottom of a dark well. I clamped down control. The Gool mind folded in on itself, gibbering.Not pausing to rest, I followed up, probed along my channel of contact,tracing patterns, scanning the flaccid Gool mind.... I saw a world of yellow seas lapping at endless shores of mud. Therewas a fuming pit, where liquid sulphur bubbled up from some innersource, filling an immense natural basin. The Gool clustered at itsrim, feeding, each monstrous shape heaving against its neighbors for amore favorable position. I probed farther, saw the great cables of living nervous tissue thatlinked each eating organ with the brain-mass far underground. I tracedthe passages through which tendrils ran out to immense caverns wheresmaller creatures labored over strange devices. These, my host's memorytold me, were the young of the Gool. Here they built the fleets thatwould transport the spawn to the new worlds the Prime Overlord haddiscovered, worlds where food was free for the taking. Not sulphuralone, but potassium, calcium, iron and all the metals—richesbeyond belief in endless profusion. No longer would the Gool tribecluster—those who remained of a once-great race—at a single feedingtrough. They would spread out across a galaxy—and beyond. But not if I could help it. The Gool had evolved a plan—but they'd had a stroke of bad luck. In the past, they had managed to control a man here and there, amongthe fleets, far from home, but only at a superficial level. Enough,perhaps, to wreck a ship, but not the complete control needed to send aman back to Earth under Gool compulsion, to carry out complex sabotage. Then they had found me, alone, a sole survivor, free from the clutterof the other mind-fields. It had been their misfortune to pick apsychodynamicist. Instead of gaining a patient slave, they had openedthe fortress door to an unseen spy. Now that I was there, I would seewhat I could steal. A timeless time passed. I wandered among patterns of white light andwhite sound, plumbed the deepest recesses of hidden Gool thoughts,fared along strange ways examining the shapes and colors of theconcepts of an alien mind. I paused at last, scanning a multi-ordinal structure of pattern withinpattern; the diagrammed circuits of a strange machine. I followed through its logic-sequence; and, like a bomb-burst, itsmeaning exploded in my mind. From the vile nest deep under the dark surface of the Gool world inits lonely trans-Plutonian orbit, I had plucked the ultimate secret oftheir kind. Matter across space. <doc-sep>Kelburn went to the projector. It would be easier if we knew all thestars in the Milky Way, but though we've explored only a small portionof it, we can reconstruct a fairly accurate representation of the past. He pressed the controls and stars twinkled on the screen. We'relooking down on the plane of the Galaxy. This is one arm of it as it istoday and here are the human systems. He pressed another control and,for purposes of identification, certain stars became more brilliant.There was no pattern, merely a scattering of stars. The whole MilkyWay is rotating. And while stars in a given region tend to remaintogether, there's also a random motion. Here's what happens when wecalculate the positions of stars in the past. Flecks of light shifted and flowed across the screen. Kelburn stoppedthe motion. Two hundred thousand years ago, he said. There was a pattern of the identified stars. They were spaced at fairlyequal intervals along a regular curve, a horseshoe loop that didn'tclose, though if the ends were extended, the lines would have crossed. Taphetta rustled. The math is accurate? As accurate as it can be with a million-plus body problem. And that's the hypothetical route of the unknown ancestor? To the best of our knowledge, said Kelburn. And whereas there arehumans who are relatively near and not fertile, they can always matewith those they were adjacent to two hundred thousand years ago ! The adjacency mating principle. I've never seen it demonstrated,murmured Taphetta, flexing his ribbons. Is that the only era thatsatisfies the calculations? Plus or minus a hundred thousand years, we can still get somethingthat might be the path of a spaceship attempting to cover arepresentative section of territory, said Kelburn. However, we haveother ways of dating it. On some worlds on which there are no othermammals, we're able to place the first human fossils chronologically.The evidence is sometimes contradictory, but we believe we've got thetime right. Taphetta waved a ribbon at the chart. And you think that where the twoends of the curve cross is your original home? We think so, said Kelburn. We've narrowed it down to several cubiclight-years—then. Now it's far more. And, of course, if it were afast-moving star, it might be completely out of the field of ourexploration. But we're certain we've got a good chance of finding itthis trip. It seems I must decide quickly. The Ribboneer glanced out thevisionport, where another ship hung motionless in space beside them.Do you mind if I ask other questions? Go ahead, Kelburn invited sardonically. But if it's not math, you'dbetter ask Halden. He's the leader of the expedition. Halden flushed; the sarcasm wasn't necessary. It was true that Kelburnwas the most advanced human type present, but while there weredifferences, biological and in the scale of intelligence, it wasn'tas great as once was thought. Anyway, non-humans weren't trained inthe fine distinctions that men made among themselves. And, higher orlower, he was as good a biologist as the other was a mathematician. Andthere was the matter of training; he'd been on several expeditions andthis was Kelburn's first trip. Damn it, he thought, that rated somerespect. The Ribboneer shifted his attention. Aside from the sudden illness ofyour pilot, why did you ask for me? We didn't. The man became sick and required treatment we can't givehim. Luckily, a ship was passing and we hailed it because it's fourmonths to the nearest planet. They consented to take him back and toldus that there was a passenger on board who was an experienced pilot. Wehave men who could do the job in a makeshift fashion, but the regionwe're heading for, while mapped, is largely unknown. We'd prefer tohave an expert—and Ribboneers are famous for their navigationalability. Taphetta crinkled politely at the reference to his skill. I had otherplans, but I can't evade professional obligations, and an emergencysuch as this should cancel out any previous agreements. Still, what arethe incentives? Sam Halden coughed. The usual, plus a little extra. We've copied theRibboneer's standard nature, simplifying it a little and adding a percent here and there for the crew pilot and scientist's share of theprofits from any discoveries we may make. I'm complimented that you like our contract so well, said Taphetta,but I really must have our own unsimplified version. If you want me,you'll take my contract. I came prepared. He extended a tightly boundroll that he had kept somewhere on his person. They glanced at one another as Halden took it. You can read it if you want, offered Taphetta. But it will takeyou all day—it's micro-printing. However, you needn't be afraid thatI'm defrauding you. It's honored everywhere we go and we go nearlyeverywhere in this sector—places men have never been. There was no choice if they wanted him, and they did. Besides, theintegrity of Ribboneers was not to be questioned. Halden signed. Good. Taphetta crinkled. Send it to the ship; they'll forward itfor me. And you can tell the ship to go on without me. He rubbed hisribbons together. Now if you'll get me the charts, I'll examine theregion toward which we're heading. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] In what ways is the concept of obligation examined in Stalemate In Space?

Evelyn, the main character, is an example of a person following and respecting her duty. As a daughter of the commander she was brought up with a role model during the war time. Her father commanded the ship, defending the whole nation, and she witnessed it for years. It taught her to understand the duty and therefore she refused to leave the ship when she had the opportunity and accepted the important task of exploding both ships and herself as well. No matter how scared she was, she was determined to fulfill the duty placed on her by her father and mentors, and for that reason she pressed the button. When it didn't work, she kept feeling the burden of duty on her and started thinking of other means to destroy the enemies to fulfill the task. Following her duty moved her forward through pain and danger, made her find the ways to achieve it. When she shot her father, she did it because she had to, she knew it was the only right way to reach her aim instead of giving up to emotions.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS? [SEP] <s> THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine August 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Now was the captain's chance to prove he knew less than the crew—all their lives hung upon it! There was nothing showing on the video screen. That was why we werelooking at it so analytically. Transphasia, that's what it is, Ordinary Spaceman Quade stated witha definite thrust of his angular jaw in my direction. You can take myword on that, Captain Gavin. Can't, I told him. I can't trust your opinion. I can't trust anything . That's why I'm Captain. You'll get over feeling like that. I know. Then I'll become First Officer. But look at that screen, sir, Quade said with an emphatic swing ofhis scarred arm. I've seen blank scanning like that before and youhaven't—it's your first trip. This always means transphasia—cortexdissolution, motor area feedback, the Aitchell Effect—call it anythingyou like, it's still transphasia. I know what transphasia is, I said moderately. It means anelectrogravitational disturbance of incoming sense data, rechannelingit to the wrong receptive areas. Besides the human brain, it alsoeffects electronic equipment, like radar and television. Obviously. Quade glanced disgustedly at the screen. Too obvious. This time it might not be a familiar condition of manyplanetary gravitational fields. On this planet, that blank kinescopemay mean our Big Brother kites were knocked down by hostile natives. You are plain wrong, Captain. Traditionally, alien races neverinterfere with our explorations. Generally, they are so alien to usthey can't even recognize our existence. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS?

Captain Gavin and Ordinary Spaceman Quade have an argument about the blank video screen during a space exploration mission. Quade claims it is a transphasia and Captain doubts it. When the dispute gets tense, the two of them go out to find the reason for the blackout. There they smell and taste the beauty. Suddenly, a streak of spice shoots and the captain feels pain. After another short fight the two decide to go back to the spacer. There the captain has a chat with First Officer Nagurski, an ex-captain, about making Gavin's relationship with the crew better. Quade joins, and next steps towards transphasia are discussed with the final decision of the captain to tear apart the ship as it is the only protection. Many disagree again, and Quade goes out somewhere alone without a cable. Gavin blames himself for not seeing Quade's intentions and plans to follow. The crew plans on fighting the noise with music outside and increasing smell and taste by drinking wine. After these preparations, a part of the crew moves out following the cable to search for Quade. Soon they find him lying in the dust with frostbite and heat prostration. Near the ship, lizard-like aliens stand in the crew's way. A short beating occurs, and soon the captain is talking to Quade in the infirmary about the past experience. Turns out the aliens were trying to help and desired to be colonized. Quade acknowledges his mistakes and loses his confidence, for which he is demoted by the captain.

What led to the conflict between the Captain and Quade in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS? [SEP] <s> THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine August 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Now was the captain's chance to prove he knew less than the crew—all their lives hung upon it! There was nothing showing on the video screen. That was why we werelooking at it so analytically. Transphasia, that's what it is, Ordinary Spaceman Quade stated witha definite thrust of his angular jaw in my direction. You can take myword on that, Captain Gavin. Can't, I told him. I can't trust your opinion. I can't trust anything . That's why I'm Captain. You'll get over feeling like that. I know. Then I'll become First Officer. But look at that screen, sir, Quade said with an emphatic swing ofhis scarred arm. I've seen blank scanning like that before and youhaven't—it's your first trip. This always means transphasia—cortexdissolution, motor area feedback, the Aitchell Effect—call it anythingyou like, it's still transphasia. I know what transphasia is, I said moderately. It means anelectrogravitational disturbance of incoming sense data, rechannelingit to the wrong receptive areas. Besides the human brain, it alsoeffects electronic equipment, like radar and television. Obviously. Quade glanced disgustedly at the screen. Too obvious. This time it might not be a familiar condition of manyplanetary gravitational fields. On this planet, that blank kinescopemay mean our Big Brother kites were knocked down by hostile natives. You are plain wrong, Captain. Traditionally, alien races neverinterfere with our explorations. Generally, they are so alien to usthey can't even recognize our existence. <doc-sep>Looks okay to me, I said. Quade passed a gauntlet over his faceplate.It's real. I can blur it with a smudged visor. When it blurs, it'ssolid. The landscape beyond the black corona left by our landing rockets wasunimpressive. The rocky desert was made up of silicon and iron oxide,so it looked much the same as a terrestrial location. Yellowish-whitesand ran up to and around reddish brown rock clawing into the pinksunlight. I don't understand it, Quade admitted. Transphasia hits you a foulas soon as you let it into the airlock. Apparently, Quade, this thing is going to creep up on us. Don't sound smug, Captain. It's pitty-pattying behind you too. The keening call across the surface of consciousness postponed my reply. The wail was ominously forlorn, defiant of description. I turned myhead around slowly inside my helmet, not even sure that I had heard it. But what else can you do with a wail but hear it? Quade nodded. I've felt this before. It usually hits sooner. Let'strace it. I don't like this, I admitted. It's not at all what I expected fromwhat you said about transphasia. It must be something else. It couldn't be anything else. I know what to expect. You don't. Youmay begin smelling sensations, tasting sounds, hearing sights, seeingtastes, touching odors—or any other combination. Don't let it botheryou. Of course not. I'll soothe my nerves by counting little shocks oflanolin jumping over a loud fence. Quade grinned behind his faceplate. Good idea. Then you can have it. I'm going to try keeping my eyes open andstaying alive. There was no reply. His expression was tart and greasy despite all his light talk, andI knew mine was the same. I tested the security rope between ourpressure suits. It was a taut and virile bass. We scaled a staccato of rocks, our suits grinding pepper against ourhides. The musk summit rose before us, a minor-key horizon with a shiftingtreble for as far as I could smell. It was primitive beauty that madeyou feel shocking pink inside. The most beautiful vista I had evertasted, it couldn't be dulled even by the sensation of beef broth undermy skin. Is this transphasia? I asked in awe. It always has been before, Quade remarked. Ready to swallow yourwords about this being something an old hand wouldn't recognize,Captain? I'm swallowing no words until I find out precisely how they tastehere. Not a bad taste. They're pretty. Or haven't you noticed? Quade, you're right! About the colors anyway. This reminds me of anilliscope recording from a cybernetic translator. It should. I don't suppose we could understand each other if it wasn'tfor our morphistudy courses in reading cross-sense translations ofCentauri blushtalk and the like. It became difficult to understand him, difficult to try talking in theface of such splendor. You never really appreciate colors until yousmell them for the first time. <doc-sep>I drew myself up to my full height—and noticed in irritation it wasstill an inch less than Quade's. I don't understand you men. Look atyourself, Quade. You've been busted to Ordinary Spaceman for just thatkind of thinking, for relying on tradition, on things that have workedbefore. Not only your thinking is slipshod, you've grown careless abouteverything else, even your own life. Just a minute, Captain. I've never been 'busted.' In the ExplorationService, we regard Ordinary Spaceman as our highest rank. With myhazard pay, I get more hard cash than you do, and I'm closer toretirement. That's a shallow excuse for complacency. Complacency! I've seen ten thousand wonders in twenty years of space,with a million variations. But the patterns repeat themselves. We learnto know what to expect, so maybe we can't maintain the reactionarycaution the service likes in officers. I resent the word 'reactionary,' Spaceman! In civilian life, I wasa lapidary and I learned the value of deliberation. But I never gottoo cataleptic to tap a million-dollar gem, which is more than mycontemporaries can say, many of 'em. Captain Gavin, Quade said patiently, you must realize that anoutsider like you, among a crew of skilled spacemen, can never be morethan a figurehead. Was this the way I was to be treated? Why, this man had deliberatelyinsulted me, his captain. I controlled myself, remembering thefamiliarity that had always existed between members of a crew workingunder close conditions, from the time of the ancient submarines and thefirst orbital ships. Quade, I said, there's only one way for us to find out which of usis right about the cause of our scanning blackout. We go out and find the reason. Exactly. We go. You and me. I hope you can stand my company. I'm not sure I can, he answered reluctantly. My hazard pay doesn'tcover exploring with rookies. With all due respect, Captain. I clapped him on the shoulder. But, man, you have just been tellingme all we had to worry about was common transphasia. A man with yourexperience could protect himself and cover even a rookie, under suchfamiliar conditions—right? Yes, sir, I suppose I could, Quade said, bitterly aware he had lostout somewhere and hoping that it wasn't the start of a trend. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What led to the conflict between the Captain and Quade in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS?

Quade holds the captain in low regard, he believes to be much more experienced and knowledgeable and disagrees with Gavin's decisions. Therefore, Quade doesn't want to obey the captain and constantly confronts him. Gavin, in turn, wants to be obeyed and considers his position enough reason to ask for that. The captain is new to the crew and he doesn't try to get closer to it, while all the other members have known each other for a while. Moreover, the captain constantly takes risks and suggests new methods, in which the crew and Quade are not sure. Gavin also feels jealous as the crew respects Quade much more than the captain himself. Quade acts on his own according to what he considers right, and Gavin has to fight him for leadership and make him obey, not to lose charge. Their relationship changes when Gavin starts blaming himself for Quade's leave and possible death, considering his own jealousy the reason of neglect. When he saves Quade, the least also changes his mind because he recognizes the foolishness of his actions and the two come to an agreement.

How do Gavin and Nagurski's attitudes differ in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS? [SEP] <s> THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine August 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Now was the captain's chance to prove he knew less than the crew—all their lives hung upon it! There was nothing showing on the video screen. That was why we werelooking at it so analytically. Transphasia, that's what it is, Ordinary Spaceman Quade stated witha definite thrust of his angular jaw in my direction. You can take myword on that, Captain Gavin. Can't, I told him. I can't trust your opinion. I can't trust anything . That's why I'm Captain. You'll get over feeling like that. I know. Then I'll become First Officer. But look at that screen, sir, Quade said with an emphatic swing ofhis scarred arm. I've seen blank scanning like that before and youhaven't—it's your first trip. This always means transphasia—cortexdissolution, motor area feedback, the Aitchell Effect—call it anythingyou like, it's still transphasia. I know what transphasia is, I said moderately. It means anelectrogravitational disturbance of incoming sense data, rechannelingit to the wrong receptive areas. Besides the human brain, it alsoeffects electronic equipment, like radar and television. Obviously. Quade glanced disgustedly at the screen. Too obvious. This time it might not be a familiar condition of manyplanetary gravitational fields. On this planet, that blank kinescopemay mean our Big Brother kites were knocked down by hostile natives. You are plain wrong, Captain. Traditionally, alien races neverinterfere with our explorations. Generally, they are so alien to usthey can't even recognize our existence. <doc-sep>Nagurski brought out a pipe. He would have a pipe, I decided. No, not always. I was like you at first. Fresh from the cosmic energytest lab, suspicious of everything, trying to tell the old hands whatto do. But I learned that they are pretty smart boys; they know whatthey are doing. You can rely on them absolutely. I leaned forward, elbows on knees. Let me tell you a thing,Nagurski. Your trust of these damn-fool spacemen is why you are nolonger a captain. You can't trust anything out here in space, much lesshuman nature. Even I know that much! He was pained. If you don't trust the men, they won't trust you, Gav. They don't have to trust me. All they have to do is obey me or, byJupiter, get frozen stiff and thawed out just in time for court-marshalback home. Listen, I continued earnestly, these men aren't going tothink of me—of us , the officers, as their leaders. As far as thecrew is concerned, Ordinary Spaceman Quade is the best man on thisship. He is a good man, Nagurski said. You mustn't be jealous of hisstatus. The dog growled. He must have sensed what I almost did to Nagurski. Never mind that for now, I said wearily. What was your idea forgetting our exploration parties through this transphasia? There's only one idea for that, said Quade, ducking his long headand stepping through the connecting hatch. With the Captain'spermission.... Go ahead, Quade, tell him, Nagurski invited. There's only one way to wade through transphasia with anyreliability, Quade told me. You keep some kind of physical contactwith the spaceship. Parties are strung out on guide line, like we were,but the cable has to be run back and made fast to the hull. How far can we run it back? Quade shrugged. Miles. How many? We have three miles of cable. As long as you can feel, taste, see,smell or hear that rope anchoring you to home, you aren't lost. Three miles isn't good enough. We don't have enough fuel to changesites that often. You can't use the drive in a gravitational field, youknow. What else can we do, Captain? Nagurski asked puzzledly. You've said that the spaceship is our only protection fromtransphasia. Is that it? Quade gave a curt nod. Then, I told them, we will have to start tearing apart this ship. <doc-sep>There they are! Nagurski called. Quade's footsteps again, justbeyond that rocky ridge. The landscape was rich chocolate ice cream smothered with chocolatesyrup, caramel, peanuts and maple syrup, eaten while you smoked an old,mellow Havana. The footsteps were faint traces of whipped cream acrossthe dark, rich taste of the planet. I splashed some wine from my drinking tube against the roof of my mouthto sharpen my taste. It brought out the footsteps sharper. It also madethe landscape more of a teen-ager's caloric nightmare. The four of us pulled ourselves closer together by reeling in moreof our safety line. Farley and Hoffman, Nagurski and myself, we werecabled together. It gave us a larger hunk of reality to hold onto. Evenso, things wavered for me during a wisp of time. We stumbled over the ridge, feeling out the territory. It was a stickyjob crawling over a melting, chunk-style Hershey bar. I was thankfulfor the invigorating Sousa march blasting inside my helmet. Before thetape had cut in, kicked on by the decibel gauge, I had heard or feltsomething dark and ominous in the outside air. Yes, this is definitely the trail of Quail, Nagurski said soberly.This is serious business. I must ask whoever has been giggling onthis channel to shut up. Pardon me, Captain. You weren't giggling,sir? I have never giggled in my life, Nagurski. Yes, sir. That's what we all thought. A moment later, Nagurski added, Anyway, I just noticed it was myshelf—my, that is, self. The basso profundo performing Figaro on my headset climbed to agirlish shriek. A sliver of ice. This was the call Quade and I hadfirst heard as we were about to troop over a cliff. I dug in my heels. Take a good look around, boys, I said. What do you see? Quail, Nagurski replied. That's what I see. You, I said carefully, have been in space a long time. Look again. I see our old buddy, Quail. I took another slosh of burgundy and peered up ahead. It was Quade. Aman in a spacesuit, faceplate in the dust, two hundred yards ahead. Grudgingly I stepped forward, out of the shadow of the ridge.A hysterically screaming wind rocked me on my toes. We pushedon sluggishly to Quade's side, moving to the tempo of Pomp andCircumstance . Farley lugged Quade over on his back and read his gauges. The Quartermaster rose with grim deliberation, and hiccuped. Betterget him back to the spaceship fast. I've seen this kind of thingbefore with transphasia. His body cooled down because of the screamingwind—psychosomatic reaction—and his heating circuits compensated forthe cool flesh. The poor devil's got frostbite and heat prostration. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do Gavin and Nagurski's attitudes differ in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS?

Nagurski used to be a captain and Gavin is now, though their methods and thoughts about this position differ. Nagurski believes the crew must elect their leader, and if a captain guides the crew, this will happen. Gavin thinks such attitude will lead to anarchy. Moreover, Nagurski learned to trust his men in order to make them trust him. Gavin does not trust anyone in space and doesn't want his crew to trust him as well, simply obey. Gavin tries to adapt to the new conditions, acting creatively and according to situation, while Nagurski sticks to old patterns and rules. Nagurski is afraid to risk, he opposes taking apart the ship, being afraid to lose too many parts. Nagurski is neither afraid for Quade going out alone as he believes in the least, while the captain heads to save the man.

How does Quade's character develop throughout THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS? [SEP] <s> THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine August 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Now was the captain's chance to prove he knew less than the crew—all their lives hung upon it! There was nothing showing on the video screen. That was why we werelooking at it so analytically. Transphasia, that's what it is, Ordinary Spaceman Quade stated witha definite thrust of his angular jaw in my direction. You can take myword on that, Captain Gavin. Can't, I told him. I can't trust your opinion. I can't trust anything . That's why I'm Captain. You'll get over feeling like that. I know. Then I'll become First Officer. But look at that screen, sir, Quade said with an emphatic swing ofhis scarred arm. I've seen blank scanning like that before and youhaven't—it's your first trip. This always means transphasia—cortexdissolution, motor area feedback, the Aitchell Effect—call it anythingyou like, it's still transphasia. I know what transphasia is, I said moderately. It means anelectrogravitational disturbance of incoming sense data, rechannelingit to the wrong receptive areas. Besides the human brain, it alsoeffects electronic equipment, like radar and television. Obviously. Quade glanced disgustedly at the screen. Too obvious. This time it might not be a familiar condition of manyplanetary gravitational fields. On this planet, that blank kinescopemay mean our Big Brother kites were knocked down by hostile natives. You are plain wrong, Captain. Traditionally, alien races neverinterfere with our explorations. Generally, they are so alien to usthey can't even recognize our existence. <doc-sep>Looks okay to me, I said. Quade passed a gauntlet over his faceplate.It's real. I can blur it with a smudged visor. When it blurs, it'ssolid. The landscape beyond the black corona left by our landing rockets wasunimpressive. The rocky desert was made up of silicon and iron oxide,so it looked much the same as a terrestrial location. Yellowish-whitesand ran up to and around reddish brown rock clawing into the pinksunlight. I don't understand it, Quade admitted. Transphasia hits you a foulas soon as you let it into the airlock. Apparently, Quade, this thing is going to creep up on us. Don't sound smug, Captain. It's pitty-pattying behind you too. The keening call across the surface of consciousness postponed my reply. The wail was ominously forlorn, defiant of description. I turned myhead around slowly inside my helmet, not even sure that I had heard it. But what else can you do with a wail but hear it? Quade nodded. I've felt this before. It usually hits sooner. Let'strace it. I don't like this, I admitted. It's not at all what I expected fromwhat you said about transphasia. It must be something else. It couldn't be anything else. I know what to expect. You don't. Youmay begin smelling sensations, tasting sounds, hearing sights, seeingtastes, touching odors—or any other combination. Don't let it botheryou. Of course not. I'll soothe my nerves by counting little shocks oflanolin jumping over a loud fence. Quade grinned behind his faceplate. Good idea. Then you can have it. I'm going to try keeping my eyes open andstaying alive. There was no reply. His expression was tart and greasy despite all his light talk, andI knew mine was the same. I tested the security rope between ourpressure suits. It was a taut and virile bass. We scaled a staccato of rocks, our suits grinding pepper against ourhides. The musk summit rose before us, a minor-key horizon with a shiftingtreble for as far as I could smell. It was primitive beauty that madeyou feel shocking pink inside. The most beautiful vista I had evertasted, it couldn't be dulled even by the sensation of beef broth undermy skin. Is this transphasia? I asked in awe. It always has been before, Quade remarked. Ready to swallow yourwords about this being something an old hand wouldn't recognize,Captain? I'm swallowing no words until I find out precisely how they tastehere. Not a bad taste. They're pretty. Or haven't you noticed? Quade, you're right! About the colors anyway. This reminds me of anilliscope recording from a cybernetic translator. It should. I don't suppose we could understand each other if it wasn'tfor our morphistudy courses in reading cross-sense translations ofCentauri blushtalk and the like. It became difficult to understand him, difficult to try talking in theface of such splendor. You never really appreciate colors until yousmell them for the first time. <doc-sep>Feeling better? I asked Quade in the infirmary. He punched up his pillow and settled back. I guess so. But when Ithink of all the ways I nearly got myself killed out there.... How farhave you got in the tractors? I'm having the tractors torn down and the parts put back into thespaceship where they belong. We shouldn't risk losing them andgetting stuck here. Are you settling for a primary exploration? No. I think I had the right idea on your rescue party. You have tomeet and fight a planet on its own terms. Fighting confused sounds andtastes with music and wine was crude, but it was on the right track.Out there, we understood language because we were familiar with alienlanguages changed to other sense mediums by cybernetic translators.Using the translator, we can learn to recognize all confused data aseasily. I'm starting indoctrination courses. I doubt that that is necessary, sir, Quade said. Experiencedspacemen are experienced with transphasia. You don't have to worry. Inthe future, I'll be able to resist sensations that tell me I'm freezingto death—if my gauges tell me it's a lie. I examined his bandisprayed hide. I think my way of gaining experienceis less painful and more efficient. Quade squirmed. Yes, sir. One thing, sir—I don't understand how yougot me away from those aliens. The aliens were trying to help. They knew something was wrong and theywere prodding and probing. When the first tractor pulled up and the mengot out, they seemed to realize our own people could help us easierthan they could. I am not quite convinced that those babies just meant to help us allthe time. But they did! First, that call of theirs—it wasn't to lead us intodanger, but to warn us of the cliff, the freezing wind. They saw wewere trying to find out things about their world, so they even offeredus one of their own kind to study. Unfortunately, he was too much forus. They didn't give us their top man, of course, only the villageidiot. It's just as well. We aren't allowed to dissect creatures thatfar up the intelligence scale. But why should they want to help us? Quade demanded suspiciously. I think it's like Nagurski's dog. The dog came to him when it wantedsomebody to own it, protect it, feed it, love it. These aliens want Earthmen to colonize the planet. We came here, you see, same as the dogcame to Nagurski. Well, I've learned one thing from all of this, Quade said. I've beena blind, arrogant, cocksure fool, following courses that were good on some worlds, most worlds, but not good on all worlds. I'm nevergoing to be that foolhardy again. But you're losing confidence , Quade! You aren't sure of yourself anymore. Isn't confidence a spaceman's most valuable asset? The hell it is, Quade said grimly. It's his deadliest liability. In that case, I must inform you that I am demoting you to ActingExecutive Officer. Huh? Quade gawked. But dammit, Captain, you can't do that to me!I'll lose hazard pay and be that much further from retirement! That's tough, I sympathized, but in every service a chap gets brokenin rank now and then. Maybe it's worth it, Quade said heavily. Now maybe I've learned howto stay alive out here. I just hope I don't forget. I thought about that. I was nearly through with my first mission andI could speak with experience, even if it was the least amount ofexperience aboard. Quade, I said, space isn't as dangerous as all that. I clapped himon the shoulder fraternally. You worry too much! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Quade's character develop throughout THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS?

In the very beginning, Quade confronts the new captain in a challenging and harsh manner. Quade believes he knows everything better than the captain and neglects the least as he is a rookie. Quade goes out one on one with the captain to prove he was right about transphasia. When the two face it, Quade is trying to drag the captain towards transphasia, but has to follow the orders and return to the ship. He suggests to keep contact with the ship and run back the cable. His idea is declined and he recklessly goes out alone in a suit without the cable. There his senses are deceived and he is found lying in the dust and brought to the ship. Facing the aliens there, Quade approaches them and is beaten. He finds himself in an infirmary then and acknowledges his lack of judgement to the captain. He is demoted after and accepts this punishment.

What role does cohesion play in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS? [SEP] <s> THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine August 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Now was the captain's chance to prove he knew less than the crew—all their lives hung upon it! There was nothing showing on the video screen. That was why we werelooking at it so analytically. Transphasia, that's what it is, Ordinary Spaceman Quade stated witha definite thrust of his angular jaw in my direction. You can take myword on that, Captain Gavin. Can't, I told him. I can't trust your opinion. I can't trust anything . That's why I'm Captain. You'll get over feeling like that. I know. Then I'll become First Officer. But look at that screen, sir, Quade said with an emphatic swing ofhis scarred arm. I've seen blank scanning like that before and youhaven't—it's your first trip. This always means transphasia—cortexdissolution, motor area feedback, the Aitchell Effect—call it anythingyou like, it's still transphasia. I know what transphasia is, I said moderately. It means anelectrogravitational disturbance of incoming sense data, rechannelingit to the wrong receptive areas. Besides the human brain, it alsoeffects electronic equipment, like radar and television. Obviously. Quade glanced disgustedly at the screen. Too obvious. This time it might not be a familiar condition of manyplanetary gravitational fields. On this planet, that blank kinescopemay mean our Big Brother kites were knocked down by hostile natives. You are plain wrong, Captain. Traditionally, alien races neverinterfere with our explorations. Generally, they are so alien to usthey can't even recognize our existence. <doc-sep>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep>Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carriedthe case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared aplace of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put itdown carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gavehim, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been atleast as good as the first; he gagged. That's the stuff, all right, he said, swallowing hard. He countedout the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariouslybalanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his painat paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,and asked: You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now. Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking aboutfood at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry. It's only water we were short of, Harvey said apprehensively. We'vegot rations back at the ship. H-mph! the mayor grunted. Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcometo our hospitality. Your hospitality, said Harvey, depends on the prices you charge. Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying, answeredthe mayor promptly. What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here youcan't get anywhere else for any price. Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He sawnone. Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe, he said guardedly. Johnson immediately fell into the role of mine host. Come right in, gents, he invited. Right into the dining room. He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more orless private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was littlechance of company. Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen withtwo menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders. Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices werephenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, hegrinned, bowed and asked: Everything satisfactory, gents? Quite, said Harvey. We shall order. For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, theculinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the servicewas as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius playeddeftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian viotars , using his other twohands for waiting on the table. We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen, Harveywhispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in thekitchen, attending to the next course. He would make any societyhostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sumto women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire. Think of a fast one fast, Joe agreed. You're right. But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,complained Harvey. I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honestmerchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimateour check at a mere bucko twenty redsents. The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion. It's been a great honor, gents, he said. Ain't often I havevisitors, and I like the best, like you two gents. As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe andHarvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished ina yelp of horror. What the devil is this? he shouted.—How do you arrive at thisfantastic, idiotic figure— three hundred and twenty-eight buckos ! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does cohesion play in THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS?

Every conflict and dangerous mistake throughout the story was caused by the lack of unity among the characters. The confrontation between Gavin and Quade caused the two to go alone towards transphasia and put themselves in danger. Gavin's lack of desire to work on mutual trust with the crew caused their condemnation of his actions and disobedience during such ab dangerous mission. The mutual offenses and tense arguments between the captain and the crew turned the least to Quade's side. All of this led to Quade going out alone and approaching death, for what Gavin and the crew would blame the captain himself. The arguments between the captain and different members of the crew take a lot of time and the job is done unwillingly, making it not as productive as it could be. The final peace and cohesion, on the contrary, lead to saving Quade, dealing with the aliens and coming to an understanding.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in END AS A HERO? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>He was having a nightmare when he heard the voice, Hey. Wake up. Hey! He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minutehe was still having the nightmare. I just saw your doctor, Hendricks said. He says your treatment isover. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift. As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference. During the treatment, he had been unconscious or drugged, unable tothink. Now he could think clearly, but he could find no difference inhimself. He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be anafter-effect of all the sedatives he'd been given. And, he noticed whenhe looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken monthsand he had, between operations, been locked in his room. Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back.Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change:Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now,even when he tried, he succeeded in arousing only a mild hatred.They had toned down his capacity to hate, but not done away with italtogether. Come here and take a look at your public, said Hendricks. Joe went to the window. Three stories below, a large crowd had gatheredon the hospital steps: a band, photographers, television trucks,cameramen and autograph hunters. He'd waited a long time for this day.But now—another change in him— He put the emotion into words: I don't feel like a hero. Funny, but Idon't. Hero! Hendricks laughed and, with his powerful lungs, it soundedlike a bull snorting. You think a successful criminal is a hero? Youstupid— He laughed again and waved a hand at the crowd below them. You thinkthose people are down there because they admire what you did? They'redown there waiting for you because they're curious, because they'reglad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You'rean ex -criminal now, and because of your treatment, you'll never beable to commit another crime as long as you live. And that's the kindof guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and getyour autograph. Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he didunderstand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could seethe people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheerand shout and ask for his autograph. If he wasn't a hero, what washe ? <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in END AS A HERO?

Peter Granthan, a psychodynamicist, wakes up severely injured on a lifeboat after his spaceship Belshazzar has been mysteriously destroyed. He has no recollection of what has happened to him. He thinks to himself he must have been the first ever survivor to come into contact with a Gool, a fierce alien race who infiltrate and control people's minds. He makes a call to TSA headquarters back on Earth, who control the mission from the ground. On the other end is Ausar Kayle. Kayle asks Granthan what happened to the rest of the crew. Granthan relays how he got out. Kayle thinks that Granthan may be under the control of the Gool, and he may be the one who inadvertently caused the destruction of the ship. Kayle orders Granthan to stay in Orbit around Earth. Granthan knows that if he stays in orbit, there is sure to be a fleet of missiles on their way towards him. He decides to enter his own mind, in search of a Gool spy that may be tampering with it. He dives deep into his sub conscious. He looks into his memory, where he finds a Gool. He sees how it controlled him as he unknowingly made his way onto the lifeboat, escaping the burning ship. He follows the Gool, studying how it infiltrates minds and controls them as it goes. He reaches out to the Gool, infiltrating it's mind. Granthan takes control of the Gool's mind, inside of his own. He see's the Gool's home world. In it he finds the secret to Matter across space. He calls Kayle, explaining the information he has just found. Kayle doesn't believe Granthan, still thinking he is being controlled by the Gool. Granthan plans his course of re-entry. Now knowing the secret to the Gool's mind control, he uses the technique to convince various stations on Earth to allow him to land, and not raise suspicion. He eventually lands in the ocean, some distance outside Key West. Kayle realises Granthan has landed, and he readies the missiles. Granthan finds the man's mind who controls the missiles, enters it, and forces him to hit the self destruct button. He infiltrates a fisherman's mind, convincing him to take him to shore, while bombs are being dropped around them. He then gets a driver to take him to a rail yard. When he arrives at a train yard, he lays down to rest in the empty box car where he just fought a guard. While the train is stopped, he convinces a man to buy him food and water. The train is headed for New Orleans, and his plan is to raid the Delta National Labs. He arrives before dawn, and crawls out of the car.He gets a man to drive him into town, where he buys new clothes and hails a cab, who takes him to the Laboratories. They arrive, Granthan gets out of the car. The taxi driver drives away.

What is the reason for Kayle's refusal to let Granthan return to Earth in END AS A HERO? [SEP] <s>I came out of it clear-headed but weak. My right leg was numb, butreasonably comfortable, clamped tight in a walking brace. I put upa hand and felt a shaved skull, with sutures. It must have been afracture. The left arm—well, it was still there, wrapped to theshoulder and held out stiffly by a power truss that would keep the scartissue from pulling up and crippling me. The steady pressure as thetruss contracted wasn't anything to do a sense-tape on for replaying atleisure moments, but at least the cabinet hadn't amputated. I wasn'tcomplaining. As far as I knew, I was the first recorded survivor of contact with theGool—if I survived. I was still a long way from home, and I hadn't yet checked on thecondition of the lifeboat. I glanced toward the entry port. It wasdogged shut. I could see black marks where my burned hand had been atwork. I fumbled my way into a couch and tried to think. In my condition—witha broken leg and third-degree burns, plus a fractured skull—Ishouldn't have been able to fall out of bed, much less make the tripfrom Belshazzar's CCC to the boat; and how had I managed to dog thatport shut? In an emergency a man was capable of great exertions. Butrunning on a broken femur, handling heavy levers with charred fingersand thinking with a cracked head were overdoing it. Still, I washere—and it was time to get a call through to TSA headquarters. I flipped the switch and gave the emergency call-letters Col. AusarKayle of Aerospace Intelligence had assigned to me a few weeks before.It was almost five minutes before the acknowledge came through fromthe Ganymede relay station, another ten minutes before Kayle's faceswam into view. Even through the blur of the screen I could see thehaggard look. Granthan! he burst out. Where are the others? What happened outthere? I turned him down to a mutter. Hold on, I said. I'll tell you. Recorders going? I didn't wait foran answer—not with a fifteen-minute transmission lag. I plowed on: Belshazzar was sabotaged. So was Gilgamesh —I think. I got out. Ilost a little skin, but the aid cabinet has the case in hand. Tell theMed people the drinks are on me. I finished talking and flopped back, waiting for Kayle's reply. On thescreen, his flickering image gazed back impatiently, looking as hostileas a swing-shift ward nurse. It would be half an hour before I wouldget his reaction to my report. I dozed off—and awoke with a start.Kayle was talking. —your report. I won't mince words. They're wondering at your role inthe disaster. How does it happen that you alone survived? How the hell do I know? I yelled—or croaked. But Kayle's voice wasdroning on: ... you Psychodynamics people have been telling me the Gool mayhave some kind of long-range telehypnotic ability that might make itpossible for them to subvert a loyal man without his knowledge. You'vetold me yourself that you blacked out during the attack—and came to onthe lifeboat, with no recollection of how you got there. This is war, Granthan. War against a vicious enemy who strike withoutwarning and without mercy. You were sent out to investigate thepossibility of—what's that term you use?—hyper-cortical invasion. Youknow better than most the risk I'd be running if you were allowed topass the patrol line. I'm sorry, Granthan. I can't let you land on Earth. I can't acceptthe risk. What do I do now? I stormed. Go into orbit and eat pills and hopeyou think of something? I need a doctor! Presently Kayle replied. Yes, he said. You'll have to enter aparking orbit. Perhaps there will be developments soon which will makeit possible to ... ah ... restudy the situation. He didn't meet myeye. I knew what he was thinking. He'd spare me the mental anguish ofknowing what was coming. I couldn't really blame him; he was doingwhat he thought was the right thing. And I'd have to go along andpretend—right up until the warheads struck—that I didn't know I'dbeen condemned to death. II I tried to gather my wits and think my way through the situation. Iwas alone and injured, aboard a lifeboat that would be the focus of aconverging flight of missiles as soon as I approached within batteryrange of Earth. I had gotten clear of the Gool, but I wouldn't survivemy next meeting with my own kind. They couldn't take the chance that Iwas acting under Gool orders. I wasn't, of course. I was still the same Peter Granthan,psychodynamicist, who had started out with Dayan's fleet six weeksearlier. The thoughts I was having weren't brilliant, but they weremine, all mine.... But how could I be sure of that? Maybe there was something in Kayle's suspicion. If the Gool were asskillful as we thought, they would have left no overt indications oftheir tampering—not at a conscious level. But this was where psychodynamics training came in. I had been reactinglike any scared casualty, aching to get home and lick his wounds. But Iwasn't just any casualty. I had been trained in the subtleties of themind—and I had been prepared for just such an attack. Now was the time to make use of that training. It had given me oneresource. I could unlock the memories of my subconscious—and see againwhat had happened. I lay back, cleared my mind of extraneous thoughts, and concentrated onthe trigger word that would key an auto-hypnotic sequence.... Sense impressions faded. I was alone in the nebulous emptiness of afirst-level trance. I keyed a second word, slipped below the mistysurface into a dreamworld of vague phantasmagoric figures milling intheir limbo of sub-conceptualization. I penetrated deeper, brokethrough into the vividly hallucinatory third level, where images ofmirror-bright immediacy clamored for attention. And deeper.... <doc-sep>You've got to listen to me, Kayle, I shouted. I know you think I'ma Gool robot. But what I have is too big to let you blow it up withouta fight. Matter transmission! You know what that can mean to us. Theconcept is too complex to try to describe in words. You'll have to takemy word for it. I can build it, though, using standard components, plusan infinite-area antenna and a moebius-wound coil—and a few otherthings.... I harangued Kayle for a while, and then sweated out his answer. I wasgetting close now. If he couldn't see the beauty of my proposal, myscreens would start to register the radiation of warheads any time now. Kayle came back—and his answer boiled down to no. I tried to reason with him. I reminded him how I had readied myselffor the trip with sessions on the encephaloscope, setting up thecross-networks of conditioned defensive responses, the shunt circuitsto the decoy pseudo-personality, leaving my volitional ego free. Italked about subliminal hypnotics and the resilience quotient of theego-complex. I might have saved my breath. I don't understand that psychodynamics jargon, Granthan, he snapped.It smacks of mysticism. But I understand what the Gool have done toyou well enough. I'm sorry. I leaned back and chewed the inside of my lip and thought unkindthoughts about Colonel Ausar Kayle. Then I settled down to solve theproblem at hand. I keyed the chart file, flashed pages from the standard index on thereference screen, checking radar coverages, beacon ranges, monitorstations, controller fields. It looked as though a radar-negative boatthe size of mine might possibly get through the defensive net with adaring pilot, and as a condemned spy, I could afford to be daring. And I had a few ideas. III The shrilling of the proximity alarm blasted through the silence. For awild moment I thought Kayle had beaten me to the punch; then I realizedit was the routine DEW line patrol contact. Z four-oh-two, I am reading your IFF. Decelerate at 1.8 geepreparatory to picking up approach orbit.... The screen went on droning out instructions. I fed them into theautopilot, at the same time running over my approach plan. The scoutwas moving in closer. I licked dry lips. It was time to try. I closed my eyes, reached out—as the Gool mind had reached out tome—and felt the touch of a Signals Officer's mind, forty thousandmiles distant, aboard the patrol vessel. There was a brief flurry ofstruggle; then I dictated my instructions. The Signals Officer punchedkeys, spoke into his microphone: As you were, Z four-oh-two. Continue on present course. At Oh-nineteenseconds, pick up planetary for re-entry and let-down. I blanked out the man's recollection of what had happened, caught hisbelated puzzlement as I broke contact. But I was clear of the DEW linenow, rapidly approaching atmosphere. Z four-oh-two, the speaker crackled. This is planetary control. I ampicking you up on channel forty-three, for re-entry and let-down. There was a long pause. Then: Z four-oh-two, countermand DEW Line clearance! Repeat, clearancecountermanded! Emergency course change to standard hyperbolic codeninety-eight. Do not attempt re-entry. Repeat: do not attempt re-entry! It hadn't taken Kayle long to see that I'd gotten past the outer lineof defense. A few more minutes' grace would have helped. I'd play itdumb, and hope for a little luck. Planetary, Z four-oh-two here. Say, I'm afraid I missed part of that,fellows. I'm a little banged up—I guess I switched frequencies on you.What was that after 'pick up channel forty-three'...? Four-oh-two, sheer off there! You're not cleared for re-entry! Hey, you birds are mixed up, I protested. I'm cleared all the way. Ichecked in with DEW— It was time to disappear. I blanked off all transmission, hit thecontrols, following my evasive pattern. And again I reached out— A radar man at a site in the Pacific, fifteen thousand miles away, rosefrom his chair, crossed the darkened room and threw a switch. The radarscreens blanked off.... For an hour I rode the long orbit down, fending off attack afterattack. Then I was clear, skimming the surface of the ocean a few milessoutheast of Key West. The boat hit hard. I felt the floor rise up,over, buffeting me against the restraining harness. I hauled at the release lever, felt a long moment of giddydisorientation as the escape capsule separated from the sinkinglifeboat deep under the surface. Then my escape capsule was bobbing onthe water. I would have to risk calling Kayle now—but by voluntarily giving myposition away, I should convince him I was still on our side—and I wasbadly in need of a pick-up. I flipped the sending key. This is Z four-oh-two, I said. I have an urgent report for ColonelKayle of Aerospace Intelligence. Kayle's face appeared. Don't fight it, Granthan, he croaked. Youpenetrated the planetary defenses—God knows how. I— Later, I snapped. How about calling off your dogs now? And sendsomebody out here to pick me up, before I add sea-sickness to my othercomplaints. We have you pinpointed, Kayle cut in. It's no use fighting it,Granthan. <doc-sep>I felt cold sweat pop out on my forehead. You've got to listen,Kayle, I shouted. I suppose you've got missiles on the way already.Call them back! I have information that can win the war— I'm sorry, Granthan, Kayle said. It's too late—even if I couldtake the chance you were right. A different face appeared on the screen. Mr. Granthan, I am General Titus. On behalf of your country, andin the name of the President—who has been apprised of this tragicsituation—it is my privilege to inform you that you will be awardedthe Congressional Medal of Honor—posthumously—for your heroic effort.Although you failed, and have in fact been forced, against your will,to carry out the schemes of the inhuman enemy, this in no way detractsfrom your gallant attempt. Mr. Granthan, I salute you. The general's arm went up in a rigid gesture. Stow that, you pompous idiot! I barked. I'm no spy! Kayle was back, blanking out the startled face of the general. Goodbye, Granthan. Try to understand.... I flipped the switch, sat gripping the couch, my stomach rising witheach heave of the floating escape capsule. I had perhaps five minutes.The missiles would be from Canaveral. I closed my eyes, forced myself to relax, reached out.... I sensed the distant shore, the hot buzz of human minds at work in thecities. I followed the coastline, found the Missile Base, flickedthrough the cluster of minds. — missile on course; do right, baby. That's it, right in the slot. I fingered my way through the man's mind and found the control centers.He turned stiffly from the plotting board, tottered to a panel to slamhis hand against the destruct button. Men fell on him, dragged him back. — fool, why did you blow it? I dropped the contact, found another, who leaped to the panel,detonated the remainder of the flight of six missiles. Then I withdrew.I would have a few minutes' stay of execution now. I was ten miles from shore. The capsule had its own power plant. Istarted it up, switched on the external viewer. I saw dark sea, theglint of star-light on the choppy surface, in the distance a glow onthe horizon that would be Key West. I plugged the course into thepilot, then leaned back and felt outward with my mind for the nextattacker. IV It was dark in the trainyard. I moved along the tracks in a stumblingwalk. Just a few more minutes, I was telling myself. A few moreminutes and you can lie down ... rest.... The shadowed bulk of a box car loomed up, its open door a blackersquare. I leaned against the sill, breathing hard, then reached insidefor a grip with my good hand. Gravel scrunched nearby. The beam of a flashlight lanced out, slippedalong the weathered car, caught me. There was a startled exclamation.I ducked back, closed my eyes, felt out for his mind. There was aconfused murmur of thought, a random intrusion of impressions from thecity all around. It was hard, too hard. I had to sleep— I heard the snick of a revolver being cocked, and dropped flat as agout of flame stabbed toward me, the imperative Bam! echoing betweenthe cars. I caught the clear thought: God-awful looking, shaved head, arm stuck out; him all right— I reached out to his mind and struck at random. The light fell, wentout, and I heard the unconscious body slam to the ground like a poledsteer. It was easy—if I could only stay awake. I gritted my teeth, pulled myself into the car, crawled to a darkcorner behind a crate and slumped down. I tried to evoke a personalityfraction to set as a guard, a part of my mind to stay awake and warnme of danger. It was too much trouble. I relaxed and let it all slidedown into darkness. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the reason for Kayle's refusal to let Granthan return to Earth in END AS A HERO?

Kayle does not allow Granthan to re-enter Earth because he has a suspicion that Granthan might be under the control of the Gool. When Grantahn escaped the burning Belshazzar, he blacked out. He has no recollection of the incident. Granthan can also offer no explanation to Kayle as to why the ship was destroyed, or what happened to the rest of his crew. It is mysterious that Granthan was able to escape, especially while being so badly injured. Kayle believes that the Gool might have been the one to infiltrate Granthan's mind, and sabotage the mission, saving Granthan's life so he could return as a host to Earth. This would then allow the Gool to have a spy on Earth during the ongoing war. Even when Granthan tries to explain to Kayle that he has broken into a Gool's mind, and found data that would win them the war, Kayle is not convinced. He believes that the Gool will try anything to allow it's host to land. Kayle readies the missiles in the direction of Granthan's ship. While it is obvious that Kayle likes Granthan, and feels deep sympathy for him, he cannot take the risk of letting a Gool onto planet Earth. Even when Granthan manages to get past initial security on his descent, Kayle orders Granthan to stop. When Granthan lands on Earth, Kayle sends missiles to his location to take him out. Kayle can't let Granthan free on planet Earth, the risk would be too big in the war between mankind and the Gools.

How does Granthan utilize the Gool's mind control technique to his benefit and gain knowledge in END AS A HERO? [SEP] <s>Using the technique I had grasped from the Gool itself, I struck,stifling the outcry, invaded the fetid blackness and grappled theobscene gelatinous immensity of the Gool spy as it spasmed in a frenzyof xenophobia—a ton of liver writhing at the bottom of a dark well. I clamped down control. The Gool mind folded in on itself, gibbering.Not pausing to rest, I followed up, probed along my channel of contact,tracing patterns, scanning the flaccid Gool mind.... I saw a world of yellow seas lapping at endless shores of mud. Therewas a fuming pit, where liquid sulphur bubbled up from some innersource, filling an immense natural basin. The Gool clustered at itsrim, feeding, each monstrous shape heaving against its neighbors for amore favorable position. I probed farther, saw the great cables of living nervous tissue thatlinked each eating organ with the brain-mass far underground. I tracedthe passages through which tendrils ran out to immense caverns wheresmaller creatures labored over strange devices. These, my host's memorytold me, were the young of the Gool. Here they built the fleets thatwould transport the spawn to the new worlds the Prime Overlord haddiscovered, worlds where food was free for the taking. Not sulphuralone, but potassium, calcium, iron and all the metals—richesbeyond belief in endless profusion. No longer would the Gool tribecluster—those who remained of a once-great race—at a single feedingtrough. They would spread out across a galaxy—and beyond. But not if I could help it. The Gool had evolved a plan—but they'd had a stroke of bad luck. In the past, they had managed to control a man here and there, amongthe fleets, far from home, but only at a superficial level. Enough,perhaps, to wreck a ship, but not the complete control needed to send aman back to Earth under Gool compulsion, to carry out complex sabotage. Then they had found me, alone, a sole survivor, free from the clutterof the other mind-fields. It had been their misfortune to pick apsychodynamicist. Instead of gaining a patient slave, they had openedthe fortress door to an unseen spy. Now that I was there, I would seewhat I could steal. A timeless time passed. I wandered among patterns of white light andwhite sound, plumbed the deepest recesses of hidden Gool thoughts,fared along strange ways examining the shapes and colors of theconcepts of an alien mind. I paused at last, scanning a multi-ordinal structure of pattern withinpattern; the diagrammed circuits of a strange machine. I followed through its logic-sequence; and, like a bomb-burst, itsmeaning exploded in my mind. From the vile nest deep under the dark surface of the Gool world inits lonely trans-Plutonian orbit, I had plucked the ultimate secret oftheir kind. Matter across space. <doc-sep>I came out of it clear-headed but weak. My right leg was numb, butreasonably comfortable, clamped tight in a walking brace. I put upa hand and felt a shaved skull, with sutures. It must have been afracture. The left arm—well, it was still there, wrapped to theshoulder and held out stiffly by a power truss that would keep the scartissue from pulling up and crippling me. The steady pressure as thetruss contracted wasn't anything to do a sense-tape on for replaying atleisure moments, but at least the cabinet hadn't amputated. I wasn'tcomplaining. As far as I knew, I was the first recorded survivor of contact with theGool—if I survived. I was still a long way from home, and I hadn't yet checked on thecondition of the lifeboat. I glanced toward the entry port. It wasdogged shut. I could see black marks where my burned hand had been atwork. I fumbled my way into a couch and tried to think. In my condition—witha broken leg and third-degree burns, plus a fractured skull—Ishouldn't have been able to fall out of bed, much less make the tripfrom Belshazzar's CCC to the boat; and how had I managed to dog thatport shut? In an emergency a man was capable of great exertions. Butrunning on a broken femur, handling heavy levers with charred fingersand thinking with a cracked head were overdoing it. Still, I washere—and it was time to get a call through to TSA headquarters. I flipped the switch and gave the emergency call-letters Col. AusarKayle of Aerospace Intelligence had assigned to me a few weeks before.It was almost five minutes before the acknowledge came through fromthe Ganymede relay station, another ten minutes before Kayle's faceswam into view. Even through the blur of the screen I could see thehaggard look. Granthan! he burst out. Where are the others? What happened outthere? I turned him down to a mutter. Hold on, I said. I'll tell you. Recorders going? I didn't wait foran answer—not with a fifteen-minute transmission lag. I plowed on: Belshazzar was sabotaged. So was Gilgamesh —I think. I got out. Ilost a little skin, but the aid cabinet has the case in hand. Tell theMed people the drinks are on me. I finished talking and flopped back, waiting for Kayle's reply. On thescreen, his flickering image gazed back impatiently, looking as hostileas a swing-shift ward nurse. It would be half an hour before I wouldget his reaction to my report. I dozed off—and awoke with a start.Kayle was talking. —your report. I won't mince words. They're wondering at your role inthe disaster. How does it happen that you alone survived? How the hell do I know? I yelled—or croaked. But Kayle's voice wasdroning on: ... you Psychodynamics people have been telling me the Gool mayhave some kind of long-range telehypnotic ability that might make itpossible for them to subvert a loyal man without his knowledge. You'vetold me yourself that you blacked out during the attack—and came to onthe lifeboat, with no recollection of how you got there. This is war, Granthan. War against a vicious enemy who strike withoutwarning and without mercy. You were sent out to investigate thepossibility of—what's that term you use?—hyper-cortical invasion. Youknow better than most the risk I'd be running if you were allowed topass the patrol line. I'm sorry, Granthan. I can't let you land on Earth. I can't acceptthe risk. What do I do now? I stormed. Go into orbit and eat pills and hopeyou think of something? I need a doctor! Presently Kayle replied. Yes, he said. You'll have to enter aparking orbit. Perhaps there will be developments soon which will makeit possible to ... ah ... restudy the situation. He didn't meet myeye. I knew what he was thinking. He'd spare me the mental anguish ofknowing what was coming. I couldn't really blame him; he was doingwhat he thought was the right thing. And I'd have to go along andpretend—right up until the warheads struck—that I didn't know I'dbeen condemned to death. II I tried to gather my wits and think my way through the situation. Iwas alone and injured, aboard a lifeboat that would be the focus of aconverging flight of missiles as soon as I approached within batteryrange of Earth. I had gotten clear of the Gool, but I wouldn't survivemy next meeting with my own kind. They couldn't take the chance that Iwas acting under Gool orders. I wasn't, of course. I was still the same Peter Granthan,psychodynamicist, who had started out with Dayan's fleet six weeksearlier. The thoughts I was having weren't brilliant, but they weremine, all mine.... But how could I be sure of that? Maybe there was something in Kayle's suspicion. If the Gool were asskillful as we thought, they would have left no overt indications oftheir tampering—not at a conscious level. But this was where psychodynamics training came in. I had been reactinglike any scared casualty, aching to get home and lick his wounds. But Iwasn't just any casualty. I had been trained in the subtleties of themind—and I had been prepared for just such an attack. Now was the time to make use of that training. It had given me oneresource. I could unlock the memories of my subconscious—and see againwhat had happened. I lay back, cleared my mind of extraneous thoughts, and concentrated onthe trigger word that would key an auto-hypnotic sequence.... Sense impressions faded. I was alone in the nebulous emptiness of afirst-level trance. I keyed a second word, slipped below the mistysurface into a dreamworld of vague phantasmagoric figures milling intheir limbo of sub-conceptualization. I penetrated deeper, brokethrough into the vividly hallucinatory third level, where images ofmirror-bright immediacy clamored for attention. And deeper.... <doc-sep>You've got to listen to me, Kayle, I shouted. I know you think I'ma Gool robot. But what I have is too big to let you blow it up withouta fight. Matter transmission! You know what that can mean to us. Theconcept is too complex to try to describe in words. You'll have to takemy word for it. I can build it, though, using standard components, plusan infinite-area antenna and a moebius-wound coil—and a few otherthings.... I harangued Kayle for a while, and then sweated out his answer. I wasgetting close now. If he couldn't see the beauty of my proposal, myscreens would start to register the radiation of warheads any time now. Kayle came back—and his answer boiled down to no. I tried to reason with him. I reminded him how I had readied myselffor the trip with sessions on the encephaloscope, setting up thecross-networks of conditioned defensive responses, the shunt circuitsto the decoy pseudo-personality, leaving my volitional ego free. Italked about subliminal hypnotics and the resilience quotient of theego-complex. I might have saved my breath. I don't understand that psychodynamics jargon, Granthan, he snapped.It smacks of mysticism. But I understand what the Gool have done toyou well enough. I'm sorry. I leaned back and chewed the inside of my lip and thought unkindthoughts about Colonel Ausar Kayle. Then I settled down to solve theproblem at hand. I keyed the chart file, flashed pages from the standard index on thereference screen, checking radar coverages, beacon ranges, monitorstations, controller fields. It looked as though a radar-negative boatthe size of mine might possibly get through the defensive net with adaring pilot, and as a condemned spy, I could afford to be daring. And I had a few ideas. III The shrilling of the proximity alarm blasted through the silence. For awild moment I thought Kayle had beaten me to the punch; then I realizedit was the routine DEW line patrol contact. Z four-oh-two, I am reading your IFF. Decelerate at 1.8 geepreparatory to picking up approach orbit.... The screen went on droning out instructions. I fed them into theautopilot, at the same time running over my approach plan. The scoutwas moving in closer. I licked dry lips. It was time to try. I closed my eyes, reached out—as the Gool mind had reached out tome—and felt the touch of a Signals Officer's mind, forty thousandmiles distant, aboard the patrol vessel. There was a brief flurry ofstruggle; then I dictated my instructions. The Signals Officer punchedkeys, spoke into his microphone: As you were, Z four-oh-two. Continue on present course. At Oh-nineteenseconds, pick up planetary for re-entry and let-down. I blanked out the man's recollection of what had happened, caught hisbelated puzzlement as I broke contact. But I was clear of the DEW linenow, rapidly approaching atmosphere. Z four-oh-two, the speaker crackled. This is planetary control. I ampicking you up on channel forty-three, for re-entry and let-down. There was a long pause. Then: Z four-oh-two, countermand DEW Line clearance! Repeat, clearancecountermanded! Emergency course change to standard hyperbolic codeninety-eight. Do not attempt re-entry. Repeat: do not attempt re-entry! It hadn't taken Kayle long to see that I'd gotten past the outer lineof defense. A few more minutes' grace would have helped. I'd play itdumb, and hope for a little luck. Planetary, Z four-oh-two here. Say, I'm afraid I missed part of that,fellows. I'm a little banged up—I guess I switched frequencies on you.What was that after 'pick up channel forty-three'...? Four-oh-two, sheer off there! You're not cleared for re-entry! Hey, you birds are mixed up, I protested. I'm cleared all the way. Ichecked in with DEW— It was time to disappear. I blanked off all transmission, hit thecontrols, following my evasive pattern. And again I reached out— A radar man at a site in the Pacific, fifteen thousand miles away, rosefrom his chair, crossed the darkened room and threw a switch. The radarscreens blanked off.... For an hour I rode the long orbit down, fending off attack afterattack. Then I was clear, skimming the surface of the ocean a few milessoutheast of Key West. The boat hit hard. I felt the floor rise up,over, buffeting me against the restraining harness. I hauled at the release lever, felt a long moment of giddydisorientation as the escape capsule separated from the sinkinglifeboat deep under the surface. Then my escape capsule was bobbing onthe water. I would have to risk calling Kayle now—but by voluntarily giving myposition away, I should convince him I was still on our side—and I wasbadly in need of a pick-up. I flipped the sending key. This is Z four-oh-two, I said. I have an urgent report for ColonelKayle of Aerospace Intelligence. Kayle's face appeared. Don't fight it, Granthan, he croaked. Youpenetrated the planetary defenses—God knows how. I— Later, I snapped. How about calling off your dogs now? And sendsomebody out here to pick me up, before I add sea-sickness to my othercomplaints. We have you pinpointed, Kayle cut in. It's no use fighting it,Granthan. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Granthan utilize the Gool's mind control technique to his benefit and gain knowledge in END AS A HERO?

While searching his mind, Granthan finds a Gool, using this technique on him. He watches as the Gool traces out the pattern in his subconscious, studies and remembers it. He uses this new found skill to infiltrate the Gool's mind. In it he sees the Gool's home world, along with the rest of its colony, and a piece of theory that could win the war for Earth. When Granthan returns to the physical world to share the good news with Kayle, he is dismissed, and sentenced to death. Granthan flies onto Earth, reaches out with his mind, finding a Signal Officer. He convinces the officer to let him pass. He then infiltrates the mind of a radar man, forcing him to switch off the radar screens. When Kayle decides to send a fleet of missiles to Granthan's location in the pacific, Granthan reaches out with his mind, finds two men working in the control centre, and forces them to hit the self-destruct button on the bombs, saving his life. To escape his life boat, Granthan coerces a fisherman into taking him onboard, where they narrowly miss bombs being dropped on them. He then forces a driver to take him into town, convincing him that he was going to buy groceries. Granthan arrives at the train yard and uses his new power to defeat a guard who recognises Granthan, with a gun cocked towards him. While the train is stopped, he orders a man to buy him food, water and cigarettes, which the man delivers to him. When his train arrives in New Orleans, he forces a driver to take him into town, quickly diminishing his curiosity. When the cab driver arrives at the laboratories, Granthan finally convinces the man to drive around the field, leading to an open gate, where Granthan exits the car.

Can you tell me where the story END AS A HERO takes place? [SEP] <s>When she handed the card back, Joe fought an impulse to tear it topieces. He'd done that once and gone through a mountain of red tape toget another—everyone was required by law to carry a CPA ID card andshow it upon request. I'm sorry, the girl said. I didn't know you were a DCT. And who'll hire a guy with criminal tendencies? You know the score.When you try to get a job, they ask to see your ID before they eventell you if there's an opening or not. If your CPA ID says you're aDCT, you're SOL and they tell you there's no openings. Oh, I've hadseveral jobs ... jobs like all DCTs get. I've been a garbage man,street-cleaner, ditch-digger— On the other side of the room, the jukebox came to life with a roar anda group of teen-agers scrambled to the dance floor. Feeling safe from hidden microphones because of the uproar, he leanedacross the table and whispered in the girl's ear, That's what Iwant to hire you for. I want you to help me commit a crime. If I getconvicted of a crime, I'll be able to get a good job! The girl's lips formed a bright red circle. Say! You really got bigplans, don't you? He smiled at her admiration. It was something big to plan a crime.A civilization weary of murder, robbery, kidnapping, counterfeiting,blackmail, rape, arson, and drunkenness had originated the CPA—CrimePrevention Association. There were no longer any prisons—CPA officialshad declared loudly and emphatically that their job was to preventcrime, not punish it. And prevent it they did, with thousands ofingenious crime-prevention devices and methods. They had made crimealmost impossible, and during the previous year, only a few hundred menin the whole country had been convicted of criminal acts. No crime was ever punished. If a man was smart enough to killsomeone, for instance, he wasn't sent to prison to be punished; hewasn't punished at all. Instead, he was sent to a hospital where allcriminal tendencies were removed from his mind by psychologists, shocktreatments, encephalographic devices, a form of prefrontal lobotomy anda dozen other methods. An expensive operation, but since there were fewcriminals—only ten in New York during the past year—any city couldafford the CPA hospitals. The CPA system was, actually, cheaper than previous methods becauseit did away with the damage caused by countless crimes; did away withprisons and their guards, large police forces, squad cars and weapons. And, ironically, a man who did commit a crime was a sort of hero. Hewas a hero to the millions of men and women who had suppressed impulsesto kill someone, beat their mates, get drunk, or kick a dog. Not only ahero, but because of the CPA Treatment, he was—when he left one of theCPA hospitals—a thoroughly honest and hard-working individual ... aman who could be trusted with any responsibility, any amount of money.And therefore, an EX (a convicted criminal who received the treatmentwas commonly called an Ex because he was in the strictest sense of theword an Ex-criminal) ... an Ex was always offered the best jobs. Well, the girl said. I'm honored. Really. But I got a date at ten.Let's get it over with. You said it'd only take a few minutes. Okay. Let's go. <doc-sep>He was having a nightmare when he heard the voice, Hey. Wake up. Hey! He opened his eyes, saw Hendricks' ugly face and thought for a minutehe was still having the nightmare. I just saw your doctor, Hendricks said. He says your treatment isover. You can go home now. I thought I'd give you a lift. As Joe dressed, he searched his mind and tried to find some difference. During the treatment, he had been unconscious or drugged, unable tothink. Now he could think clearly, but he could find no difference inhimself. He felt more relaxed than he'd ever felt before, but that could be anafter-effect of all the sedatives he'd been given. And, he noticed whenhe looked in the mirror, he was paler. The treatment had taken monthsand he had, between operations, been locked in his room. Hendricks was standing by the window. Joe stared at the massive back.Deliberately goading his mind, he discovered the biggest change:Before, the mere sight of the man had aroused an intense hatred. Now,even when he tried, he succeeded in arousing only a mild hatred.They had toned down his capacity to hate, but not done away with italtogether. Come here and take a look at your public, said Hendricks. Joe went to the window. Three stories below, a large crowd had gatheredon the hospital steps: a band, photographers, television trucks,cameramen and autograph hunters. He'd waited a long time for this day.But now—another change in him— He put the emotion into words: I don't feel like a hero. Funny, but Idon't. Hero! Hendricks laughed and, with his powerful lungs, it soundedlike a bull snorting. You think a successful criminal is a hero? Youstupid— He laughed again and waved a hand at the crowd below them. You thinkthose people are down there because they admire what you did? They'redown there waiting for you because they're curious, because they'reglad the CPA caught you, and because they're glad you're an Ex. You'rean ex -criminal now, and because of your treatment, you'll never beable to commit another crime as long as you live. And that's the kindof guy they admire, so they want to see you, shake your hand and getyour autograph. Joe didn't understand Hendricks completely, but the part he didunderstand he didn't believe. A crowd was waiting for him. He could seethe people with his own eyes. When he left the hospital, they'd cheerand shout and ask for his autograph. If he wasn't a hero, what washe ? <doc-sep>It took half an hour to get through the crowd. Cameras clicked allaround him, a hundred kids asked for his autograph, everyone talked atonce and cheered, smiled, laughed, patted him on the back and cheeredsome more. Only one thing confused him during all the excitement: a white-hairedold lady with tears in her eyes said, Thank heaven it was only awatch. Thank heaven you didn't kill someone! God bless you, son. Andthen the old lady had handed him a box of fudge and left him in totalconfusion. What she said didn't make sense. If he had killed someone ratherthan stealing a watch, he would be even more of a hero and the crowdwould have cheered even louder. He knew: he had stood outside the CPAhospitals many times and the crowds always cheered louder when anex-murderer came out. In Hendricks' robot-chauffeured car, he ate the fudge and consoledhimself with the thought, People are funny. Who can understand 'em? Feeling happy for one of the few times in his life, he turned towardHendricks and said, Thanks for what you did. It turned out great. I'llbe able to get a good job now. That's why I met you at the hospital, Hendricks said. I want toexplain some things. I've known you for a long time and I know you'respectacularly dumb. You can't figure out some things for yourself andI don't want you walking around the rest of your life thinking I didyou a favor. Joe frowned. Few men had ever done him a favor and he had rarelythanked anyone for anything. And now ... after thanking the man who'ddone him the biggest favor of all, the man was denying it! You robbed Gralewski's apartment, Hendricks said. Gralewski is a CPAemployee and he doesn't live in the apartment you robbed. The CPA paysthe rent for that one and he lives in another. We have a lot of placeslike that. You see, it gives us a way to get rid of saps like youbefore they do real damage. We use it as a last resort when a DCT FirstClass won't take the free psycho treatment or— Well, it's still a favor. Hendricks' face hardened. Favor? You wouldn't know a favor if youstumbled over one. I did it because it's standard procedure for yourtype of case. Anyone can—free of charge—have treatment by the bestpsychologists. Any DCT can stop being a DCT by simply asking for thetreatment and taking it. But you wouldn't do that. You wanted to commita crime, get caught and be a hero ... an Ex . <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you tell me where the story END AS A HERO takes place?

The setting of this story changes as the plot develops. When we first meet Peter Granthan, he is onboard a lifeboat, which is fleeing the now destroyed starship Belshazzar. He travels within range of planet Earth, where, onboard the lifeboat, he dives into his mind. He enters the setting of his subconscious, which is stark and expansive. Granthan travels through the Gool's mind to its home world. It is described as being filled with yellow seas, reaching out to endless shores of mud. There are great pits, rising with steam, in which the gools feed. Each cable underground connects to a massive brain, which controls the species. After Granthan's trip to the Alien planet, he lands on Earth, in the Pacific ocean, just outside of Key West. He then moves onto a train yard, where he boards a train. The train stops in a rural area, where, using a host, Granthan goes into a local shop to buy food. He travels to New Orleans, where he arrives the next day. The area is swampy. He forces a driver to take him to a shappy, run down corner of the city, where he goes into a second hand clothes shop. Granthan then makes his way to the Delta National Laboratories, surrounded by a large field. He moves around the field in his taxi, before arriving at open gates to the Labs.

What is the objective of the Gool and who are they, as depicted in END AS A HERO? [SEP] <s>Using the technique I had grasped from the Gool itself, I struck,stifling the outcry, invaded the fetid blackness and grappled theobscene gelatinous immensity of the Gool spy as it spasmed in a frenzyof xenophobia—a ton of liver writhing at the bottom of a dark well. I clamped down control. The Gool mind folded in on itself, gibbering.Not pausing to rest, I followed up, probed along my channel of contact,tracing patterns, scanning the flaccid Gool mind.... I saw a world of yellow seas lapping at endless shores of mud. Therewas a fuming pit, where liquid sulphur bubbled up from some innersource, filling an immense natural basin. The Gool clustered at itsrim, feeding, each monstrous shape heaving against its neighbors for amore favorable position. I probed farther, saw the great cables of living nervous tissue thatlinked each eating organ with the brain-mass far underground. I tracedthe passages through which tendrils ran out to immense caverns wheresmaller creatures labored over strange devices. These, my host's memorytold me, were the young of the Gool. Here they built the fleets thatwould transport the spawn to the new worlds the Prime Overlord haddiscovered, worlds where food was free for the taking. Not sulphuralone, but potassium, calcium, iron and all the metals—richesbeyond belief in endless profusion. No longer would the Gool tribecluster—those who remained of a once-great race—at a single feedingtrough. They would spread out across a galaxy—and beyond. But not if I could help it. The Gool had evolved a plan—but they'd had a stroke of bad luck. In the past, they had managed to control a man here and there, amongthe fleets, far from home, but only at a superficial level. Enough,perhaps, to wreck a ship, but not the complete control needed to send aman back to Earth under Gool compulsion, to carry out complex sabotage. Then they had found me, alone, a sole survivor, free from the clutterof the other mind-fields. It had been their misfortune to pick apsychodynamicist. Instead of gaining a patient slave, they had openedthe fortress door to an unseen spy. Now that I was there, I would seewhat I could steal. A timeless time passed. I wandered among patterns of white light andwhite sound, plumbed the deepest recesses of hidden Gool thoughts,fared along strange ways examining the shapes and colors of theconcepts of an alien mind. I paused at last, scanning a multi-ordinal structure of pattern withinpattern; the diagrammed circuits of a strange machine. I followed through its logic-sequence; and, like a bomb-burst, itsmeaning exploded in my mind. From the vile nest deep under the dark surface of the Gool world inits lonely trans-Plutonian orbit, I had plucked the ultimate secret oftheir kind. Matter across space. <doc-sep>The immense orderly confusion of the basic memory level lay beforeme. Abstracted from it, aloof and observant, the monitoringpersonality-fraction scanned the pattern, searching the polydimensionalcontinuum for evidence of an alien intrusion. And found it. As the eye instantaneously detects a flicker of motion amid an infinityof static detail, so my inner eye perceived the subtle traces of theprobing Gool mind, like a whispered touch deftly rearranging my buriedmotivations. I focused selectively, tuned to the recorded gestalt. It is a contact, Effulgent One! Softly, now! Nurture the spark well. It but trembles at thethreshold.... It is elusive, Master! It wriggles like a gorm-worm in the eatingtrough! A part of my mind watched as the memory unreeled. I listened to thevoices—yet not voices, merely the shape of concepts, indescribablyintricate. I saw how the decoy pseudo-personality which I hadconcretized for the purpose in a hundred training sessions had foughtagainst the intruding stimuli—then yielded under the relentless thrustof the alien probe. I watched as the Gool operator took over the motorcenters, caused me to crawl through the choking smoke of the devastatedcontrol compartment toward the escape hatch. Fire leaped up, blockingthe way. I went on, felt ghostly flames whipping at me—and then thehatch was open and I pulled myself through, forcing the broken leg.My blackened hand fumbled at the locking wheel. Then the blast asthe lifeboat leaped clear of the disintegrating dreadnought—and theworld-ending impact as I fell. At a level far below the conscious, the embattled pseudo-personalitylashed out again—fighting the invader. Almost it eluded me then, Effulgent Lord. Link with this lowly one! Impossible! Do you forget all my teachings? Cling, though you expendthe last filament of your life-force! Free from all distraction, at a level where comprehension and retentionare instantaneous and total, my monitoring basic personality fractionfollowed the skillful Gool mind as it engraved its commands deep inmy subconscious. Then the touch withdrew, erasing the scars of itspassage, to leave me unaware of its tampering—at a conscious level. Watching the Gool mind, I learned. The insinuating probe—a concept regarding which psychodynamicists hadtheorized—was no more than a pattern in emptiness.... But a pattern which I could duplicate, now that I had seen what hadbeen done to me. Hesitantly, I felt for the immaterial fabric of the continuum, warpingand manipulating it, copying the Gool probe. Like planes of paper-thincrystal, the polyfinite aspects of reality shifted into focus, aligningthemselves. Abruptly, a channel lay open. As easily as I would stretch out my handto pluck a moth from a night-flower, I reached across the unimaginablevoid—and sensed a pit blacker than the bottom floor of hell, and aglistening dark shape. There was a soundless shriek. Effulgence! It reached out—touchedme! <doc-sep>I came out of it clear-headed but weak. My right leg was numb, butreasonably comfortable, clamped tight in a walking brace. I put upa hand and felt a shaved skull, with sutures. It must have been afracture. The left arm—well, it was still there, wrapped to theshoulder and held out stiffly by a power truss that would keep the scartissue from pulling up and crippling me. The steady pressure as thetruss contracted wasn't anything to do a sense-tape on for replaying atleisure moments, but at least the cabinet hadn't amputated. I wasn'tcomplaining. As far as I knew, I was the first recorded survivor of contact with theGool—if I survived. I was still a long way from home, and I hadn't yet checked on thecondition of the lifeboat. I glanced toward the entry port. It wasdogged shut. I could see black marks where my burned hand had been atwork. I fumbled my way into a couch and tried to think. In my condition—witha broken leg and third-degree burns, plus a fractured skull—Ishouldn't have been able to fall out of bed, much less make the tripfrom Belshazzar's CCC to the boat; and how had I managed to dog thatport shut? In an emergency a man was capable of great exertions. Butrunning on a broken femur, handling heavy levers with charred fingersand thinking with a cracked head were overdoing it. Still, I washere—and it was time to get a call through to TSA headquarters. I flipped the switch and gave the emergency call-letters Col. AusarKayle of Aerospace Intelligence had assigned to me a few weeks before.It was almost five minutes before the acknowledge came through fromthe Ganymede relay station, another ten minutes before Kayle's faceswam into view. Even through the blur of the screen I could see thehaggard look. Granthan! he burst out. Where are the others? What happened outthere? I turned him down to a mutter. Hold on, I said. I'll tell you. Recorders going? I didn't wait foran answer—not with a fifteen-minute transmission lag. I plowed on: Belshazzar was sabotaged. So was Gilgamesh —I think. I got out. Ilost a little skin, but the aid cabinet has the case in hand. Tell theMed people the drinks are on me. I finished talking and flopped back, waiting for Kayle's reply. On thescreen, his flickering image gazed back impatiently, looking as hostileas a swing-shift ward nurse. It would be half an hour before I wouldget his reaction to my report. I dozed off—and awoke with a start.Kayle was talking. —your report. I won't mince words. They're wondering at your role inthe disaster. How does it happen that you alone survived? How the hell do I know? I yelled—or croaked. But Kayle's voice wasdroning on: ... you Psychodynamics people have been telling me the Gool mayhave some kind of long-range telehypnotic ability that might make itpossible for them to subvert a loyal man without his knowledge. You'vetold me yourself that you blacked out during the attack—and came to onthe lifeboat, with no recollection of how you got there. This is war, Granthan. War against a vicious enemy who strike withoutwarning and without mercy. You were sent out to investigate thepossibility of—what's that term you use?—hyper-cortical invasion. Youknow better than most the risk I'd be running if you were allowed topass the patrol line. I'm sorry, Granthan. I can't let you land on Earth. I can't acceptthe risk. What do I do now? I stormed. Go into orbit and eat pills and hopeyou think of something? I need a doctor! Presently Kayle replied. Yes, he said. You'll have to enter aparking orbit. Perhaps there will be developments soon which will makeit possible to ... ah ... restudy the situation. He didn't meet myeye. I knew what he was thinking. He'd spare me the mental anguish ofknowing what was coming. I couldn't really blame him; he was doingwhat he thought was the right thing. And I'd have to go along andpretend—right up until the warheads struck—that I didn't know I'dbeen condemned to death. II I tried to gather my wits and think my way through the situation. Iwas alone and injured, aboard a lifeboat that would be the focus of aconverging flight of missiles as soon as I approached within batteryrange of Earth. I had gotten clear of the Gool, but I wouldn't survivemy next meeting with my own kind. They couldn't take the chance that Iwas acting under Gool orders. I wasn't, of course. I was still the same Peter Granthan,psychodynamicist, who had started out with Dayan's fleet six weeksearlier. The thoughts I was having weren't brilliant, but they weremine, all mine.... But how could I be sure of that? Maybe there was something in Kayle's suspicion. If the Gool were asskillful as we thought, they would have left no overt indications oftheir tampering—not at a conscious level. But this was where psychodynamics training came in. I had been reactinglike any scared casualty, aching to get home and lick his wounds. But Iwasn't just any casualty. I had been trained in the subtleties of themind—and I had been prepared for just such an attack. Now was the time to make use of that training. It had given me oneresource. I could unlock the memories of my subconscious—and see againwhat had happened. I lay back, cleared my mind of extraneous thoughts, and concentrated onthe trigger word that would key an auto-hypnotic sequence.... Sense impressions faded. I was alone in the nebulous emptiness of afirst-level trance. I keyed a second word, slipped below the mistysurface into a dreamworld of vague phantasmagoric figures milling intheir limbo of sub-conceptualization. I penetrated deeper, brokethrough into the vividly hallucinatory third level, where images ofmirror-bright immediacy clamored for attention. And deeper.... <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the objective of the Gool and who are they, as depicted in END AS A HERO?

The Gool are an evil Alien race, at war with planet Earth. They are a hive mind. Each being is an extension of a greater conscience. This conscience is hidden deep in their home world, a brain that connects to both the planet and its people. They are described as organs” to it. They can telepathically communicate with their leader through soundless thought. They have the ability to infiltrate the minds of their enemies, taking control over them and using them as hosts. This allows the species to sabotage missions, and create spies behind enemy lines. Their numbers have dwindled and what was once a great race, is now a mere colony. But they have plans to expand to newly discovered worlds, where they would replenish their numbers, and be mighty once again. They feed on minerals and metals. They could usually only take over certain minds, but never before like Granthan's. His mind was clear, out of the way of all the others, which made it easy for them to get their claws into him.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE SOUL EATERS? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> THE SOUL EATERS By WILLIAM CONOVER Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose ships were the scourge of the Void. But his luck had run its course, and now he was marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save himself from a menace weapons could not kill. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] And so, my dear , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase, I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by. Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's. The barbaric rhythms of the Congahua , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests. Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate. A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber. It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla. Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious Verbena , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian Bacca-glas , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote. His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly. Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there. <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in THE SOUL EATERS?

Dennis Brooke was drinking and watching a dancer along with rereading the last letter of Marla, his fiancee, who accepted a new assignment and left him. At the same time he was regretting being grounded and on bad terms with I.S.P. for a mistake. Suddenly, he felt danger and when the Mercurial dancer approached him, a Martian attempted an attack. After a short fight, Dennis overcame the Martian who turned out to possess a prohibited weapon and supposedly was a space pirate. After capturing the pirate, Dennis was called by I.S.P. commander and told that Marla and her whole spaceship traveling to Terra disappeared, supposedly captured by Koerber, the head of pirates. Dennis begged to be sent for the pirate leader and the commander gave him this chance. They watched a recording of Marla's spaceship zig-zagging and being attacked, which ended with a blank screen. Dennis immediately set out to space on a cruiser. After a long search without success, something appeared on the visa-screen and the crew prepared to board. Nevertheless, no survivors were found and the Captain, Dennis, was out of hope. Everyone left in silence the spot of the tragedy of the attacked spacer. Back on the ship, one of the crew, George Randall, gladly informed that an object was detected. The crew rushed for the object which indeed turned out to be a pirate craft trying to escape the persecutor. Koerber's ship was soon doomed and he caught Dennis' ship with a beam to follow. The ship crashed and the crew found itself in a place without any chance to escape from. The captain ordered to explore the place and see what happened to Koerber for sure, while others will be welding, and the crew reentered the ship.

What is Dennis' opinion of Marla in THE SOUL EATERS? [SEP] <s> THE SOUL EATERS By WILLIAM CONOVER Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose ships were the scourge of the Void. But his luck had run its course, and now he was marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save himself from a menace weapons could not kill. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] And so, my dear , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase, I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by. Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's. The barbaric rhythms of the Congahua , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests. Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate. A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber. It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla. Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious Verbena , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian Bacca-glas , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote. His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly. Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there. <doc-sep>The stern, white haired I.S.P. Commander behind the immense Aluminildesk, frowned slightly as Dennis Brooke entered. He eyed the six footfour frame of the Captain before him with a mixture of feelings, asif uncertain how to begin. Finally, he sighed as if, having come to adecision, he were forcing himself to speak: Sit down, Dennis. I've sent for you, despite your grounding, fortwo reasons. The first one you already know—your capture of one ofKoerber's henchmen—has given us a line as to his present orbit ofpiracy, and the means of a check on his activities. But that's notreally why I've brought you here. He frowned again as if what he hadto say were difficult indeed. Marla Starland, your fiancee, accepted an assignment we offered her—adelicate piece of work here on Terra that only a very beautiful, andvery clever young lady could perform. And, he paused, grimacing,somewhere between Venus and Terra, the interplanetary spacer bringingher and several other passengers, began to send distress signals.Finally, we couldn't contact the ship any more. It is three daysoverdue. All passengers, a cargo of radium from Venus worth untoldmillions, the spacer itself—seem to have vanished. Dennis Brooke's space-tanned features had gone pale. His large hazeleyes, fringed with auburn lashes, too long for a man, were bright slitsthat smouldered. He stood silent, his hands clenched at his sides,while something cold and sharp seemed to dig at his heart with cruelprecision. Marla! He breathed at last. The thought of Marla in the powerof Koerber sent a wave of anguish that seared through him like anatom-blast. Commander, Dennis said, and his rich baritone voice had depths ofemotion so great that they startled Commander Bertram himself—andthat grizzled veteran of the I.S.P., had at one time or another knownevery change of torture that could possibly be wrung on a human soul.Commander, give me one ... one chance at that spawn of unthinkablebegetting! Let me try, and I promise you ... in his torture, Denniswas unconsciously banging a knotted fist on the chaste, satiny surfaceof the priceless desk, I promise you that I will either bring youKoerber, or forfeit my life! Commander Bertram nodded his head. I brought you here for thatpurpose, son. We have reached a point in our war with Koerber, wherethe last stakes must be played ... and the last stake is death! He reached over and flipped up the activator on a small telecast seton his desk; instantly the viso-screen lighted up. You'll now seea visual record of all we know about the passenger spacer that leftVenus with passengers and cargo, as far as we could contact the vesselin space. This, Dennis, the Commander emphasized his words, is yourchance to redeem yourself! He fell silent, while the viso-screen beganto show a crowded space port on Venus, and a gigantic passenger spacerup-tilted in its cradle. <doc-sep>With a wrenching turn that almost threw them out of control, Dennismaneuvered to avoid the beam. Again Koerber's beam lashed out, as hesank lower into the looming mass, and again Dennis anticipating themaneuver avoided it. George Randall! He shouted desperately into the speaker. Cut alljets in the rocket room! Hurry, man! He banked again and then zoomedout of the increasing gravity trap. Randall! I've got to use the magnetic repulsion plates.... Cut all thejets! But there was no response. Randall's screen remained blank. ThenKoerber's lashing magnetic beam touched and the I.S.P. ship was caught,forced to follow the pirate ship's plunge like the weight at the end ofa whiplash. Koerber's gunners sent one parting shot, an atom-blast thatshook the trapped cruiser like a leaf. Beneath them, growing larger by the second, a small world rushed up tomeet them. The readings in the Planetograph seemed to have gone crazy.It showed diameter 1200 miles; composition mineral and radio-active.Gravity seven-eighths of Terra. It couldn't be! Unless perhaps thisunknown planetoid was the legendary core of the world that at one timewas supposed to have existed between Jupiter and Mars. Only that couldpossibly explain the incredible gravity. And then began another type of battle. Hearing the Captain's orders toRandall, and noting that no result had been obtained, Scotty Byrneshimself cut the jets. The Magnetic Repulsion Plates went into action,too late to save them from being drawn, but at least they could preventa crash. Far in the distance they could see Koerber's ship precedingthem in a free fall, then the Planetoid was rushing up to engulf them. III The atmosphere was somewhat tenuous, but it was breathable, provideda man didn't exert himself. To the silent crew of the I.S.P. Cruiser,the strange world to which Koerber's magnetic Beam had drawn them,was anything but reassuring. Towering crags jutted raggedly againstthe sky, and the iridescent soil of the narrow valley that walled inthe cruiser, had a poisonous, deadly look. As far as their eyes couldreach, the desolate, denuded vista stretched to the horizon. Pretty much of a mess! Dennis Brooke's face was impassive as heturned to Scotty Byrnes. What's your opinion? Think we can patch herup, or are we stuck here indefinitely? Scotty eyed the damage. The atom-blast had penetrated the hull intothe forward fuel chambers and the armor had blossomed out like flowerpetals. The crash-landing had not helped either. Well, there's a few beryloid plates in the storage locker, Captain,but, he scratched his head ruminatively and shifted his precious cud. But what? Speak up man! It was Tom Jeffery, his nerves on edge, hisordinarily gentle voice like a lash. But, you may as well know it, Scotty replied quietly. That partingshot of Koerber's severed our main rocket feed. I had to use theemergency tank to make it down here! For a long moment the four men looked at each other in silence. DennisBrooke's face was still impassive but for the flaming hazel eyes. Tomtugged at the torn sleeve of his I.S.P. uniform, while Scotty gazedmournfully at the damaged ship. Dallas Bernan looked at the long,ragged line of cliffs. I think we got Koerber, though, he said at last. While Tom was doinga job of navigation, I had one last glimpse of him coming down fastand out of control somewhere behind those crags over there! To hell with Koerber! Tom Jeffery exploded. You mean we're stuck inthis hellish rock-pile? Easy, Tom! Captain Brooke's tones were like ice. On his pale,impassive face, his eyes were like flaming topaz. Where's Randall? Probably hiding his head under a bunk! Dallas laughed with scorn. Hiscontemptuous remark voiced the feelings of the entire crew. A man whofailed to be at his battle-station in time of emergency, had no placein the I.S.P. Considering the gravity of this planetoid, Dennis Brooke saidthoughtfully, it's going to take some blast to get us off! Maybe we can locate a deposit of anerioum or uranium or something forour atom-busters to chew on! Scotty said hopefully. He was an eternaloptimist. Better break out those repair plates, Dennis said to Scotty. Tom,you get the welders ready. I've got a few entries to make in the logbook, and then we'll decide on a party to explore the terrain and tryto find out what happened to Koerber's ship. I must know, he said in alow voice, but with such passion that the others were startled. A figure appeared in the slanting doorway of the ship in time to hearthe last words. It was George Randall, adjusting a bandaged foreheadbumped during the crash landing. Captain ... I ... I wanted ... he paused unable to continue. You wanted what? Captain Brooke's voice was terse. Perhaps youwanted to explain why you weren't at your battle station? Sir, I wanted to know if ... if I might help Scotty with the weldingjob.... That wasn't at all what he'd intended to say. But somehow thewords had stuck in his throat and his face flushed deep scarlet. Hiscandid blue eyes were suspiciously brilliant, and the white bandagewith its crimson stains made an appealing, boyish figure. It softenedthe anger in Brooke's heart. Thinking it over calmly, Dennis realizedthis was the youngster's first trip into the outer orbits, and bettermen than he had cracked in those vast reaches of space. But there hadbeen an instant when he'd found Randall cowering in the rocket-room, inthe grip of paralyzing hysteria, when he could cheerfully have wrunghis neck! Certainly, Randall, he replied in a much more kindly tone. We'llneed all hands now. Thank you, sir! Randall seemed to hesitate for a moment, opened hismouth to speak further, but feeling the other's calculating gaze uponhim, he whirled and re-entered the ship. But for him we wouldn't be here! Dallas exclaimed. Aagh! He shookhis head in disgust until the several folds of flesh under his chinshook like gelatin. Cowards are hell! He spat. Easy, Dallas, Randall's a kid, give 'im a chance. Dennis observed. You Captain ... you're defending 'im? Why you had a greater stake inthis than we, and he's spoiled it for you! Yep, Dennis nodded. But I'm still keeping my senses clear. No feudson my ship. Get it! The last two words cut like a scimitar. Dallas nodded and lowered his eyes. Scotty shifted his cud and spata thin stream of juice over the iridescent ground. One by one theyre-entered the cruiser. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is Dennis' opinion of Marla in THE SOUL EATERS?

Marla used to be a fiancee of Dennis, but she broke up with him and left for an assignment. Her poignant last letter pained Dennis, but he kept rereading it, delving into drinks, dancers and images of Marla. This condition even caused him to fail his commander and be grounded. The break up left a huge void in Dennis and he had no desire to see other women. The news of her disappearance made Dennis pale and silent, he felt extreme pain, which was soon accompanied by anger towards Koerber. Dennis desired to rush that very second to search for Marla and bring Koerber, risking his own life. All the time without success Dennis was slowly losing hope, and when he didn't find any survivors, he was silent and devastated with the loss of hope to find Marla.

Why did the Martian man target Dennis in THE SOUL EATERS? [SEP] <s> THE SOUL EATERS By WILLIAM CONOVER Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose ships were the scourge of the Void. But his luck had run its course, and now he was marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save himself from a menace weapons could not kill. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] And so, my dear , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase, I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by. Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's. The barbaric rhythms of the Congahua , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests. Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate. A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber. It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla. Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious Verbena , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian Bacca-glas , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote. His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly. Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there. <doc-sep>Leaping to one side, impervious to the fall of the dancer, he avoidedthe murderous rush of the Martian youth, then he wheeled swiftly andplanted a sledge-hammer blow in that most vulnerable spot of allMartians, the spot just below their narrow, wasp-like waist, and as theMartian half-doubled over, he lefted him with a short jab to the chinthat staggered and all but dropped him. The Martian's violet eyes were black with fury now. He staggered backand sucked in air, his face contorted with excruciating pain. But hewas not through. His powerful right shot like a blast straight forDennis' chest, striking like a piston just below the heart. Dennis tookit, flat-footed, without flinching; then he let his right ride overwith all the force at his command. It caught the Martian on the jaw andspun him like a top, the pale, imperious face went crimson as he slowlysagged to his knees and rolled to the impeccable mosaics of the floor. Dennis, breathing heavily, stood over him until the internationalpolice arrived, and then he had the surprise of his life. Upon search,the police found a tiny, but fatal silvery tube holstered under hisleft arm-pit—an atomic-disintegrator, forbidden throughout theinterplanetary League. Only major criminals and space pirates stillwithout the law were known to possess them. Looks like your brawl has turned out to be a piece of fool's luck,Brooke! The Police Lieutenant favored Dennis with a wry smile. IfI'm not mistaken this chap's a member of Bren Koerber's pirate crew.Who else could afford to risk his neck at the International, and havein his possession a disintegrator? Pity we have no complete recordson that devil's crew! Anyway, we'll radio the I.S.P., perhaps theyhave details on this dandy! He eyed admiringly the priceless Martianembroideries on the unconscious Martian's tunic, the costly border ofred, ocelandian fur, and the magnificent black acerine on his finger. Dennis Brooke shrugged his shoulders, shoulders that would have put toshame the Athenian statues of another age. A faint, bitter smile curvedhis generous mouth. I'm grounded, Gillian, it'd take the capture ofKoerber himself to set me right with the I.S.P. again—you don't knowBertram! To him an infraction of rules is a major crime. Damn Venus!He reached for his glass of Verbena but the table had turned overduring the struggle, and the glass was a shattered mass of gleaming Bacca-glas shards. He laughed shortly as he became conscious of thevenomous stare of the Mercurian Dancer, of the excited voices of theguests and the emphatic disapproval of the Venusian proprietor whowas shocked at having a brawl in his ultra-expensive, ultra-exclusivePalace. Better come to Headquarters with me, Dennis, the lieutenant saidgently. We'll say you captured him, and if he's Koerber's, thecredit's yours. A trip to Terra's what you need, Venus for you is ahoodoo! <doc-sep>The stern, white haired I.S.P. Commander behind the immense Aluminildesk, frowned slightly as Dennis Brooke entered. He eyed the six footfour frame of the Captain before him with a mixture of feelings, asif uncertain how to begin. Finally, he sighed as if, having come to adecision, he were forcing himself to speak: Sit down, Dennis. I've sent for you, despite your grounding, fortwo reasons. The first one you already know—your capture of one ofKoerber's henchmen—has given us a line as to his present orbit ofpiracy, and the means of a check on his activities. But that's notreally why I've brought you here. He frowned again as if what he hadto say were difficult indeed. Marla Starland, your fiancee, accepted an assignment we offered her—adelicate piece of work here on Terra that only a very beautiful, andvery clever young lady could perform. And, he paused, grimacing,somewhere between Venus and Terra, the interplanetary spacer bringingher and several other passengers, began to send distress signals.Finally, we couldn't contact the ship any more. It is three daysoverdue. All passengers, a cargo of radium from Venus worth untoldmillions, the spacer itself—seem to have vanished. Dennis Brooke's space-tanned features had gone pale. His large hazeleyes, fringed with auburn lashes, too long for a man, were bright slitsthat smouldered. He stood silent, his hands clenched at his sides,while something cold and sharp seemed to dig at his heart with cruelprecision. Marla! He breathed at last. The thought of Marla in the powerof Koerber sent a wave of anguish that seared through him like anatom-blast. Commander, Dennis said, and his rich baritone voice had depths ofemotion so great that they startled Commander Bertram himself—andthat grizzled veteran of the I.S.P., had at one time or another knownevery change of torture that could possibly be wrung on a human soul.Commander, give me one ... one chance at that spawn of unthinkablebegetting! Let me try, and I promise you ... in his torture, Denniswas unconsciously banging a knotted fist on the chaste, satiny surfaceof the priceless desk, I promise you that I will either bring youKoerber, or forfeit my life! Commander Bertram nodded his head. I brought you here for thatpurpose, son. We have reached a point in our war with Koerber, wherethe last stakes must be played ... and the last stake is death! He reached over and flipped up the activator on a small telecast seton his desk; instantly the viso-screen lighted up. You'll now seea visual record of all we know about the passenger spacer that leftVenus with passengers and cargo, as far as we could contact the vesselin space. This, Dennis, the Commander emphasized his words, is yourchance to redeem yourself! He fell silent, while the viso-screen beganto show a crowded space port on Venus, and a gigantic passenger spacerup-tilted in its cradle. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Why did the Martian man target Dennis in THE SOUL EATERS?

Dennis was forced to fight back and exit his state of stagnation, caused by being grounded at work and left by fiancee. When he overcame the enemy, the least turned out to be a space pirate, bearing a prohibited weapon. That way Dennis stopped and imprisoned a criminal, who turned out to possess useful information about Koerber's present activities. This helpful action, together with Dennis' personal interest in success of the mission and his skills of a spacer, made the commander give Dennis a chance to redeem himself. For that reason Dennis was sent to search for Koerber and he set out for the adventure.

"What is Dennis' profession and how does he experience his treatment in the workplace?" [SEP] <s> THE SOUL EATERS By WILLIAM CONOVER Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose ships were the scourge of the Void. But his luck had run its course, and now he was marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save himself from a menace weapons could not kill. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] And so, my dear , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase, I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by. Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's. The barbaric rhythms of the Congahua , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests. Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate. A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber. It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla. Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious Verbena , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian Bacca-glas , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote. His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly. Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there. <doc-sep>Leaping to one side, impervious to the fall of the dancer, he avoidedthe murderous rush of the Martian youth, then he wheeled swiftly andplanted a sledge-hammer blow in that most vulnerable spot of allMartians, the spot just below their narrow, wasp-like waist, and as theMartian half-doubled over, he lefted him with a short jab to the chinthat staggered and all but dropped him. The Martian's violet eyes were black with fury now. He staggered backand sucked in air, his face contorted with excruciating pain. But hewas not through. His powerful right shot like a blast straight forDennis' chest, striking like a piston just below the heart. Dennis tookit, flat-footed, without flinching; then he let his right ride overwith all the force at his command. It caught the Martian on the jaw andspun him like a top, the pale, imperious face went crimson as he slowlysagged to his knees and rolled to the impeccable mosaics of the floor. Dennis, breathing heavily, stood over him until the internationalpolice arrived, and then he had the surprise of his life. Upon search,the police found a tiny, but fatal silvery tube holstered under hisleft arm-pit—an atomic-disintegrator, forbidden throughout theinterplanetary League. Only major criminals and space pirates stillwithout the law were known to possess them. Looks like your brawl has turned out to be a piece of fool's luck,Brooke! The Police Lieutenant favored Dennis with a wry smile. IfI'm not mistaken this chap's a member of Bren Koerber's pirate crew.Who else could afford to risk his neck at the International, and havein his possession a disintegrator? Pity we have no complete recordson that devil's crew! Anyway, we'll radio the I.S.P., perhaps theyhave details on this dandy! He eyed admiringly the priceless Martianembroideries on the unconscious Martian's tunic, the costly border ofred, ocelandian fur, and the magnificent black acerine on his finger. Dennis Brooke shrugged his shoulders, shoulders that would have put toshame the Athenian statues of another age. A faint, bitter smile curvedhis generous mouth. I'm grounded, Gillian, it'd take the capture ofKoerber himself to set me right with the I.S.P. again—you don't knowBertram! To him an infraction of rules is a major crime. Damn Venus!He reached for his glass of Verbena but the table had turned overduring the struggle, and the glass was a shattered mass of gleaming Bacca-glas shards. He laughed shortly as he became conscious of thevenomous stare of the Mercurian Dancer, of the excited voices of theguests and the emphatic disapproval of the Venusian proprietor whowas shocked at having a brawl in his ultra-expensive, ultra-exclusivePalace. Better come to Headquarters with me, Dennis, the lieutenant saidgently. We'll say you captured him, and if he's Koerber's, thecredit's yours. A trip to Terra's what you need, Venus for you is ahoodoo! <doc-sep>The stern, white haired I.S.P. Commander behind the immense Aluminildesk, frowned slightly as Dennis Brooke entered. He eyed the six footfour frame of the Captain before him with a mixture of feelings, asif uncertain how to begin. Finally, he sighed as if, having come to adecision, he were forcing himself to speak: Sit down, Dennis. I've sent for you, despite your grounding, fortwo reasons. The first one you already know—your capture of one ofKoerber's henchmen—has given us a line as to his present orbit ofpiracy, and the means of a check on his activities. But that's notreally why I've brought you here. He frowned again as if what he hadto say were difficult indeed. Marla Starland, your fiancee, accepted an assignment we offered her—adelicate piece of work here on Terra that only a very beautiful, andvery clever young lady could perform. And, he paused, grimacing,somewhere between Venus and Terra, the interplanetary spacer bringingher and several other passengers, began to send distress signals.Finally, we couldn't contact the ship any more. It is three daysoverdue. All passengers, a cargo of radium from Venus worth untoldmillions, the spacer itself—seem to have vanished. Dennis Brooke's space-tanned features had gone pale. His large hazeleyes, fringed with auburn lashes, too long for a man, were bright slitsthat smouldered. He stood silent, his hands clenched at his sides,while something cold and sharp seemed to dig at his heart with cruelprecision. Marla! He breathed at last. The thought of Marla in the powerof Koerber sent a wave of anguish that seared through him like anatom-blast. Commander, Dennis said, and his rich baritone voice had depths ofemotion so great that they startled Commander Bertram himself—andthat grizzled veteran of the I.S.P., had at one time or another knownevery change of torture that could possibly be wrung on a human soul.Commander, give me one ... one chance at that spawn of unthinkablebegetting! Let me try, and I promise you ... in his torture, Denniswas unconsciously banging a knotted fist on the chaste, satiny surfaceof the priceless desk, I promise you that I will either bring youKoerber, or forfeit my life! Commander Bertram nodded his head. I brought you here for thatpurpose, son. We have reached a point in our war with Koerber, wherethe last stakes must be played ... and the last stake is death! He reached over and flipped up the activator on a small telecast seton his desk; instantly the viso-screen lighted up. You'll now seea visual record of all we know about the passenger spacer that leftVenus with passengers and cargo, as far as we could contact the vesselin space. This, Dennis, the Commander emphasized his words, is yourchance to redeem yourself! He fell silent, while the viso-screen beganto show a crowded space port on Venus, and a gigantic passenger spacerup-tilted in its cradle. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] "What is Dennis' profession and how does he experience his treatment in the workplace?"

Dennis works as an I.S.P. captain. His commander Bertram calls him son and is compassionate for the los of Marla. The commander values him and estimates as the best spacer. The Police Lieutenant is also friendly towards Dennis and willing to help him redeem, by saying that Dennis captured the pirate. Dennis' crew on the mission after Koerber heard the stories about the Captain and all were curious but silent, as if they were touched by his tragedy. The crew was loyal and trusted the captain. Dennis was sympathetic and full of humanity towards the young George Randall who failed the crew as it was his first mission. This action was a surprise for other members but none protested.

In what location does THE SOUL EATERS occur? [SEP] <s> THE SOUL EATERS By WILLIAM CONOVER Firebrand Dennis Brooke had one final chance to redeem himself by capturing Koerber whose ships were the scourge of the Void. But his luck had run its course, and now he was marooned on a rogue planet—fighting to save himself from a menace weapons could not kill. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] And so, my dear , Dennis detected a faint irony in the phrase, I'mafraid I can offer no competition to the beauties of five planets—oris it six? With regret I bow myself out, and knowing me as you do,you'll understand the futility of trying to convince me again. Anyway,there will be no temptation, for I'm sailing on a new assignment I'veaccepted. I did love you.... Good-by. Dennis Brooke had lost count of the times he'd read Marla's lastletter, but every time he came to these final, poignant lines, theynever failed to conjure a vision of her tawny loveliness, slender asthe palms of Venus, and of the blue ecstasy of her eyes, wide with aperpetual wonder—limpid as a child's. The barbaric rhythms of the Congahua , were a background of annoyancein Dennis' mind; he frowned slightly as the maneuvers of the Mercuriandancer, who writhed among the guests of the notorious pleasure palace,began to leave no doubt as to her intentions. The girl was beautiful,in a sultry, almost incandescent sort of way, but her open promise lefthim cold. He wanted solitude, somewhere to coordinate his thoughtsin silence and salvage something out of the wreck of his heart, notto speak of his career. But Venus, in the throes of a gigantic boomupon the discovery of radio-active fields, could offer only onesolitude—the fatal one of her swamps and virgin forests. Dennis Brooke was thirty, the time when youth no longer seems unending.When the minor adventures of the heart begin to pall. If the loss ofMarla left an aching void that all the women of five planets could notfill, the loss of Space, was quite as deadly. For he had been grounded.True, Koerber's escape from the I.S.P. net had not quite been hisfault; but had he not been enjoying the joys of a voluptuous JovianChamber, in Venus' fabulous Inter-planetary Palace, he would have beenready for duty to complete the last link in the net of I.S.P. cruisersthat almost surrounded the space pirate. A night in the Jovian Chamber, was to be emperor for one night. Everydream of a man's desire was marvelously induced through the skilful useof hypnotics; the rarest viands and most delectable drinks appeared asif by magic; the unearthly peace of an Olympus descended on a man'ssoul, and beauty ... beauty such as men dreamed of was a warm realityunder the ineffable illumination of the Chamber. It cost a young fortune. But to pleasure mad, boom-ridden Venus, afortune was a bagatelle. Only it had cost Dennis Brooke far more than asheaf of credits—it had cost him the severe rebuff of the I.S.P., andmost of his heart in Marla. Dennis sighed, he tilted his red, curly head and drank deeply of theinsidious Verbena , fragrant as a mint garden, in the tall frostyglass of Martian Bacca-glas , and as he did so, his brilliant hazeleyes found themselves gazing into the unwinking, violet stare of ayoung Martian at the next table. There was a smouldering hatred inthose eyes, and something else ... envy, perhaps, or was it jealousy?Dennis couldn't tell. But his senses became instantly alert. Dangerbrought a faint vibration which his superbly trained faculties couldinstantly denote. His steady, bronzed hand lowered the drink, and his eyes narrowedslightly. Absorbed in trying to puzzle the sudden enmity of thisMartian stranger, he was unaware of the Mercurian Dancer. The latterhad edged closer, whirling in prismatic flashes from the myriadsemi-precious stones that studded her brief gauze skirt. And now, ina final bid for the spacer's favor she flung herself in his lap andtilted back invitingly. Some of the guests laughed, others stared in plain envy at thehandsome, red-haired spacer, but from the table across, came thetinkling sound of a fragile glass being crushed in a powerful hand,and a muffled Martian curse. Without warning, the Martian was on hisfeet with the speed of an Hellacorium, the table went crashing to oneside as he leaped with deadly intent on the sprawled figure of DennisBrooke. A high-pitched scream brought instant silence as a Terran girlcried out. Then the Martian's hand reached out hungrily. But Dennis wasnot there. <doc-sep>Bbulas slid the ornate headdress over his antennae, which, alreadygilded and jeweled, at once seemed to become a part of it. He lookedpretty damn silly, Skkiru thought, at the same time conscious of hisown appearance—which was, although picturesque enough to delightromantic Terrestrial hearts, sufficiently wretched to charm the mosthardened sadist. Hurry up, Skkiru, Bbulas said. They mustn't suspect the existence ofthe city underground or we're finished before we've started. For my part, I wish we'd never started, Skkiru grumbled. What waswrong with our old culture, anyway? That was intended as a rhetorical question, but Bbulas answered itanyway. He always answered questions; it had never seemed to penetratehis mind that school-days were long since over. I've told you a thousand times that our old culture was too much likethe Terrans' own to be of interest to them, he said, with affectedweariness. After all, most civilized societies are basically similar;it is only primitive societies that differ sharply, one from theother—and we have to be different to attract Earthmen. They're prettychoosy. You've got to give them what they want, and that's what theywant. Now take up your post on the edge of the field, try to lookhungry, and remember this isn't for you or for me, but for Snaddra. For Snaddra, Larhgan said, placing her hand over her anterior heartin a gesture which, though devout on Earth—or so the fictapes seemedto indicate—was obscene on Snaddra, owing to the fact that certainessential organs were located in different areas in the Snaddrath thanin the corresponding Terrestrial life-form. Already the Terrestrialinfluence was corrupting her, Skkiru thought mournfully. She had beensuch a nice girl, too. We may never meet on equal terms again, Skkiru, she told him, with along, soulful glance that made his hearts sink down to his quiveringtoes, but I promise you there will never be anyone else for me—andI hope that knowledge will inspire you to complete cooperation withBbulas. If that doesn't, Bbulas said, I have other methods of inspiration. All right, Skkiru answered sulkily. I'll go to the edge of thefield, and I'll speak broken Inter-galactic, and I'll forsake my normalhabits and customs, and I'll even beg . But I don't have to like doingit, and I don't intend to like doing it. All three of Larhgan's eyes fuzzed with emotion. I'm proud of you,Skkiru, she said brokenly. Bbulas sniffed. The three of them floated up to ground level in atriple silence. <doc-sep>III From a billion miles away, from a bourne unguessable thousands oflight-years distant, came the faint, far whisper of a voice. Nearer andnearer it came, and ever faster, till it throbbed upon Chip's eardrumswith booming savagery. —coming to, now. Good! We'll soon find out— Chip opened his eyes, too dazed, at first, to understand the situationin which he found himself. Gone was the familiar control-turret of the Chickadee , gone the bulger into which he had so hastily clambered. Helay on the parched, rocky soil of a—a something. A planetoid, perhaps.And he was surrounded by a motley crew of strangers: scum of all theplanets that circle the Sun.... Then recollection flooded back upon him, sudden and complete. Thechase ... the call of the fateful Lorelei ... the crash! New strength,born of anger, surged through him. He lifted his head. My—my companions? he demanded weakly. The leader of those who encircled him, a mighty hulk of a man, massiveof shoulder and thigh, black-haired, with an unshaven blue jaw,raven-bright eyes and a jutting, aquiline nose like the beak of a hawk,loosed a satisfied grunt. Ah! Back to normal, eh, sailor? Damn near time! Climbing to his feet sent a swift wave of giddiness through Chip—buthe managed it. He fought down the vertigo which threatened to overwhelmhim, and confronted the big man boldly. What, he stormed, is the meaning of this? The giant stared at him for a moment, his jaw slack. Then hisraven-bright eyes glittered; he slapped a trunklike thigh and guffawedin boisterous mirth. Hear that? he roared to his companions. Quite a guy, ain't he?'What's the meanin' o' this?' he asks! Game little fightin' cock, hey?Then he sobered abruptly, and a grim light replaced the amusement inhis eyes. Here was not a man to be trifled with, Chip realized. Histone assumed a biting edge. The meanin' is, my bucko, he answeredmirthlessly, that you've run afoul o' your last reef. Unless you havea sane head on your shoulders, and you're willing to talk fast andstraight! Talk? Don't stall. We've already unloaded your bins. We found it. And a nicehaul, too. Thanks for lettin' us know it was on the way. The burly onechuckled coarsely. We'd have took it, anyway, but you helped mattersout by comin' to us. Johnny Haldane had been right, then. Chip remembered his friend'sominous warning. —if your message was intercepted, you may haveplayed into the hands of— He said slowly, Then you are theLorelei's men? The who? Never mind that, bucko, just talk. That ekalastron—where didit come from? And it occurred to Warren suddenly that although the big man did holdthe whip hand, he was still not in possession of the most importantsecret of all! While the location of the ekalastron mine remained asecret, a deadlock existed. And if I won't tell—? he countered shrewdly. Why, then, sailor— The pirate leader's hamlike fists tightened, anda cold light glinted in his eyes—why, then I guess maybe I'll have tobeat it out o' you! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] In what location does THE SOUL EATERS occur?

The story starts on Venus, in a pleasure palace where Dennis is trying to distract himself from his ex-fiancee and being grounded on his job. After an attack followed by Dennis' victory, he proceeds Headquarters with the police and soon enters the I.S.P. commander's office. From there he immediately sets off to space on a ship, searching for days through the space for any signs of pirates or the disappeared spaceship. The first stop is the remnants of transport lacking any use. The second is a detected pirate spaceship, which the crew starts to follow. The setting of the chase remains in space, and after being engulfed by a Planetoid, the crew find itself in a strange world. The setting was rocky and looked deadly. Only desolate vista was seen around.

Can you give me a brief summary of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> MacKENZIE didn't seem to be taking any notes, or paying any specialattention to the answers Ish was giving to his casual questions. But thequestions fell into a pattern that was far from casual, and Ish couldsee the small button-mike of a portable tape-recorder nestling under theman's lapel. Been working your own way for the last seventeen years, haven't you?MacKenzie seemed to mumble in a perfectly clear voice. Ish nodded. How's that? The corners of Isherwood's mouth twitched, and he said Yes for therecorder's benefit. Odd jobs, first of all? Something like that. Anything I could get, the first few months. AfterI was halfway set up, I stuck to garages and repair shops. Out at the airports around Miami, mostly, wasn't it? Ahuh. Took some of your pay in flying lessons. Right. MacKenzie's face passed no judgements—he simply hunched in his chair,seemingly dwarfed by the shoulders of his perfectly tailored suit, hisstubby fingers twiddling a Phi Beta Kappa key. He was a spare man—onlya step or two away from emaciation. Occasionally, he pushed a tiredstrand of washed-out hair away from his forehead. Ish answered him truthfully, without more than ordinary reservations.This was the man who could ground him He was dangerous—red-letterdangerous—because of it. No family. Ish shrugged. Not that I know of. Cut out at seventeen. My father wasmaking good money. He had a pension plan, insurance policies. No need toworry about them. Ish knew the normal reaction a statement like that should have brought.MacKenzie's face did not go into a blank of repression—but it stillpassed no judgements. How's things between you and the opposite sex? About normal. No wife—no steady girl. Not a very good idea, in my racket. MacKenzie grunted. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright in his chair, and swungtoward Ish. His lean arm shot out, and his index finger was aimedbetween Isherwood's eyes. You can't go! Ish was on his feet, his fists clenched, the blood throbbing in histemple veins. What! he roared. MacKenzie seemed to collapse in his chair. The brief commanding burstwas over, and his face was apologetic, Sorry, he said. He seemedgenuinely abashed. Shotgun therapy. Works best, sometimes. You can go,all right; I just wanted to get a fast check on your reactions anddrives. Ish could feel the anger that still ran through him—anger, and morefear than he wanted to admit. I'm due at a briefing, he said tautly.You through with me? MacKenzie nodded, still embarrassed. Sorry. Ish ignored the man's obvious feelings. He stopped at the door to send aparting stroke at the thing that had frightened him. Big gun in thepsychiatry racket, huh? Well, your professional lingo's slipping, Doc.They did put some learning in my head at college, you know. Therapy,hell! Testing maybe, but you sure didn't do anything to help me! I don't know, MacKenzie said softly. I wish I did. Ish slammed the door behind him. He stood in the corridor, jamming afresh cigarette in his mouth. He threw a glance at his watch. Twelvehours, twenty-two minutes, and four days to go. Damn! He was late for the briefing. Odd—that fool psychiatrist hadn'tseemed to take up that much of his time. He shrugged. What difference did it make? As he strode down the hall, helost his momentary puzzlement under the flood of realization thatnothing could stop him now, that the last hurdle was beaten. He wasgoing. He was going, and if there were faint echoes of Marty! ringingin the dark background of his mind, they only served to push him faster,as they always had. Nothing but death could stop him now. <doc-sep>By chance, a mobile television unit was at that moment on the BeltParkway, returning from having seen off a prime minister at IdlewildAirport. This unit was at once diverted to Canarsie, where it took up aposition across the street from the scene of carnage and went to workwith a Zoomar lens. In the meantime, Mister Higgins had barricaded himself in his house,firing at anything that moved. The two cameramen in the mobile unit worked their hearts out. Oneconcentrated on the movements of the police and firemen and neighborsand ambulance attendants, while the other used the Zoomar lens tosearch for Mr. Higgins. He found him occasionally, offering the at-homeaudience brief glimpses of a stocky balding man in brown trousers andundershirt, stalking from window to window on the second floor of thehouse. The show lasted for nearly an hour. There were policemen everywhere,and firemen everywhere, and neighbors milling around down at thecorner, where the police had roped the block off, and occasionally Mr.Higgins would stick his rifle out a window and shoot at somebody. Thepolice used loudspeakers to tell Higgins he might as well give up, theyhad the place surrounded and could eventually starve him out anyway.Higgins used his own good lungs to shout obscenities back and challengeanyone present to hand-to-hand combat. The police fired tear gas shells at the house, but it was a windy dayand all the windows in the Higgins house were either open or broken.Higgins was able to throw all the shells back out of the house again. The show lasted for nearly an hour. Then it ended, suddenly anddramatically. Higgins had showed himself to the Zoomar lens again, for the purpose ofshooting either the camera or its operator. All at once he yelped andthrew the rifle away. The rifle bounced onto the porch roof, slithereddown to the edge, hung for a second against the drain, and finally fellbarrel first onto the lawn. Meanwhile, Higgins was running through the house, shouting like awounded bull. He thundered down the stairs and out, hollering, to fallinto the arms of the waiting police. They had trouble holding him. At first they thought he was actuallytrying to get away, but then one of them heard what it was he wasshouting: My hands! My hands! They looked at his hands. The palms and the palm-side of the fingerswere red and blistering, from what looked like severe burns. There wasanother burn on his right cheek and another one on his right shoulder. Higgins, thoroughly chastened and bewildered, was led away for burnointment and jail. The television crew went on back to Manhattan. Theneighbors went home and telephoned their friends. On-duty policemen had been called in from practically all of theprecincts in Brooklyn. Among them was Detective-Sergeant WilliamStevenson. Stevenson frowned thoughtfully at Higgins as that unhappyindividual was led away, and then strolled over to look at the rifle.He touched the stock, and it was somewhat warm but that was all. He picked it up and turned it around. There, on the other side of thestock, burned into the wood, were the crudely-shaped letters, TheScorpion. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you give me a brief summary of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS?

William Manet is working in atmosphere seeder station 131-47 on Mars. He is completely alone, but doesn't fear loneliness, he welcomes it, and the idea that it might drive him mad one day. His job is to wait, looking out at the expanse of nothingness around him. He is an overseer, to prepare the atmosphere for colonization. One day, Manet thinks he sees a spaceship land near his station. He puts on his pressure suit and heads out to see what it is. As he walks towards it, he finds himself in a rustic log cabin, where a lean, tall man stands, waiting for him. The man calls himself Trader Tom, and offers him a very interesting service. He tells Manet that he will give him a special credit card that will allow him to purchase anything he can think of. Manet's estate would cover the cost, and when Manet asks the man what would happen if he had no estate, Trader Tom simply says that this is a risk that he, and his business, take. Trader Tom asks what would Manet like, to which he replies: to not be alone. Manet signs some paperwork and is given the credit card. Manet is given a box, it is called LIFO, the socialisation kit. The box contains various items from a person's lifetime. On top is a book entitled The Making Of Friends and Others''. It orders the user to find the modifier, which Manet cannot locate. He goes to work anyway, on making his first friend with the tools inside the kit. His first friend he creates is named Ronald. He seems sweet at first but his incessant optimism and lack of intelligence finally becomes too much for Manet. Manet decides to lock Ronald in a room away from him. He is stuck on this planet for the next eighteen years, and will need some kind of company. He goes to work on creating his second companion, a girl. Veronica is sweet, she talks kindly to Manet, and throws herself at him, which he swerves. Manet thinks her to be even more stupid than Ronald, and ends up striking her, which he finds he enjoys. He locks her in the same room as Ronald. Manet once again goes back to the box, and goes to the last page of the handbook, entitled, The Final Model. He creates this new being, whom he calls Victor. Victor jumps to life, and into the kit, destroying the item that Manet now realises was the modifier. Vitor explains to Manet that he is his enemy. He is just as intelligent as Manet, and is his designated adversary. Now that the modifier is destroyed, Manet will have no way to ever alter Veronica or Ronald, and will be stuck with the same silly, innocent people as he grows old. Manet will be bored for eighteen years. Manet replies to Victor, explaining, now that he has an enemy, he will never be bored.

In what location does the story take place? [SEP] <s> IT WAS A DULL, ROUTINE LITTLE WORLD. IT DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A CITY. EVERYTHING IT HAD WAS IN THE GARDEN BY R. A. LAFFERTY [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The protozoic recorder chirped like a bird. Not only would there belife traces on that little moon, but it would be a lively place. Sothey skipped several steps in the procedure. The chordata discerner read Positive over most of the surface. Therewas spinal fluid on that orb, rivers of it. So again they omittedseveral tests and went to the cognition scanner. Would it show Thoughton the body? Naturally they did not get results at once, nor did they expect to; itrequired a fine adjustment. But they were disappointed that they foundnothing for several hours as they hovered high over the rotation. Thenit came—clearly and definitely, but from quite a small location only. Limited, said Steiner, as though within a pale. As though there werebut one city, if that is its form. Shall we follow the rest of thesurface to find another, or concentrate on this? It'll be twelve hoursbefore it's back in our ken if we let it go now. Let's lock on this one and finish the scan. Then we can do the rest ofthe world to make sure we've missed nothing, said Stark. There was one more test to run, one very tricky and difficult ofanalysis, that with the Extraordinary Perception Locator. This wasdesigned simply to locate a source of superior thought. But this mightbe so varied or so unfamiliar that often both the machine and thedesigner of it were puzzled as to how to read the results. The E. P. Locator had been designed by Glaser. But when the Locatorhad refused to read Positive when turned on the inventor himself,bad blood developed between machine and man. Glaser knew that he hadextraordinary perception. He was a much honored man in his field. Hetold the machine so heatedly. The machine replied, with such warmth that its relays chattered, thatGlaser did not have extraordinary perception; he had only ordinaryperception to an extraordinary degree. There is a difference , themachine insisted. It was for this reason that Glaser used that model no more, but builtothers more amenable. And it was for this reason also that the ownersof Little Probe had acquired the original machine so cheaply. And there was no denying that the Extraordinary Perception Locator (orEppel) was a contrary machine. On Earth it had read Positive on anumber of crack-pots, including Waxey Sax, a jazz tootler who could noteven read music. But it had also read Positive on ninety per cent ofthe acknowledged superior minds of the Earth. In space it had been asound guide to the unusual intelligences encountered. Yet on Suzuki-Miit had read Positive on a two-inch-long worm, only one of them out ofbillions. For the countless identical worms no trace of anything at allwas shown by the test. So it was with mixed expectations that Steiner locked onto the areaand got a flick. He then narrowed to a smaller area (apparently oneindividual, though this could not be certain) and got very definiteaction. Eppel was busy. The machine had a touch of the ham in it, andassumed an air of importance when it ran these tests. Finally it signaled the result, the most exasperating result it everproduces: the single orange light. It was the equivalent of the shrugof the shoulders in a man. They called it the You tell me light. So among the intelligences there was at least one that might beextraordinary, though possibly in a crackpot way. It is good to beforewarned. <doc-sep>She was not only trying to get me to commit nonconformity, but makingheretical remarks besides. I awoke that time and half-expected a Deaconto pop out of the tube and turn his electric club upon me. And I heard the voice nearly every night. It hammered away. What if you do fail? Almost anything would be better than themiserable existence you're leading now! One morning I even caught myself wondering just how I'd go about thisidea of hers. Wondering what the first step might be. She seemed to read my thoughts. That night she said, Consult the cybsin the Govpub office. If you look hard enough and long enough, you'llfind a way. Now, on this morning of the seventeenth day in the ninth month,I ate my boiled egg slowly and actually toyed with the idea. Ithought of being on productive status again. I had almost lost myfanatical craving to be useful to the State, but I did want to bebusy—desperately. I didn't want to be despised any more. I didn'twant to be lonely. I wanted to reproduce myself. I made my decision suddenly. Waves of emotion carried me along. I gotup, crossed the room to the directory, and pushbuttoned to find thelocation of the nearest Govpub office. I didn't know what would happen and almost didn't care. II Like most important places, the Govpub Office in Center Four wasunderground. I could have taken a tunnelcar more quickly, but it seemedpleasanter to travel topside. Or maybe I just wanted to put this off abit. Think about it. Compose myself. At the entrance to the Govpub warren there was a big director cyb, aplate with a speaker and switch. The sign on it said to switch it onand get close to the speaker and I did. The cyb's mechanical voice—they never seem to get the th soundsright—said, This is Branch Four of the Office of GovernmentPublications. Say, 'Publications,' and/or, 'Information desired,' asthoroughly and concisely as possible. Use approved voice and standardphraseology. Well, simple enough so far. I had always rather prided myself on myknack for approved voice, those flat, emotionless tones that indicateefficiency. And I would never forget how to speak Statese. I said,Applicant desires all pertinent information relative assignment,change or amendment of State Serial designations, otherwise generallyreferred to as nomenclature. There was a second's delay while the audio patterns tripped relays andbrought the memory tubes in. Then the cyb said, Proceed to Numbering and Identity section. Consultalphabetical list and diagram on your left for location of same. Thanks, I said absent-mindedly. I started to turn away and the cyb said, Information on tanks ismilitary information and classified. State authorization for— I switched it off. <doc-sep>She didn't answer; she kept her eyes straight ahead and I saw the faintspot of color on her cheek. I had a sudden impulse to ask her to meet me after hours at oneof the rec centers. If it had been my danger alone, I might have,but I couldn't very well ask her to risk discovery of a haphazard,unauthorized arrangement like that and the possibility of going to thepsycho-scan. We came to a turn in the corridor and something happened; I'm not surejust how it happened. I keep telling myself that my movements were notactually deliberate. I was to the right of her. The turn was to theleft. She turned quickly, and I didn't, so that I bumped into her,knocking her off balance. I grabbed her to keep her from falling. For a moment we stood there, face to face, touching each other lightly.I held her by the arms. I felt the primitive warmth of her breath. Oureyes held together ... proton ... electron ... I felt her tremble. She broke from my grip suddenly and started off again. After that she was very business-like. We came finally to the controls of Bank 29 and she stood before themand began to press button combinations. I watched her work; I watchedher move. I had almost forgotten why I'd come here. The lights blinkedon and off and the typers clacked softly as the machine sorted outinformation. She had a long printed sheet from the roll presently. She frowned atit and turned to me. You can take this along and study it, she said,but I'm afraid what you have in mind may be—a little difficult. She must have guessed what I had in mind. I said, I didn't think itwould be easy. It seems that the only agency authorized to change a State Serialunder any circumstances is Opsych. Opsych? You can't keep up with all these departments. The Office of Psychological Adjustment. They can change you if you gofrom a lower to higher E.A.C. I don't get it, exactly. As she spoke I had the idea that there was sympathy in her voice. Justan overtone. Well, she said, as you know, the post a person isqualified to hold often depends largely on his Emotional AdjustmentCategory. Now if he improves and passes from, let us say, Grade 3 toGrade 4, he will probably change his place of work. In order to protecthim from any associative maladjustments developed under the old E.A.C,he is permitted a new number. I groaned. But I'm already in the highest E.A.C.! It looks very uncertain then. Sometimes I think I'd be better off in the mines, or onMarscol—or—in the hell of the pre-atomics! She looked amused. What did you say your E.A.C. was? Oh, all right. Sorry. I controlled myself and grinned. I guess thiswhole thing has been just a little too much for me. Maybe my E.A.C.'seven gone down. That might be your chance then. How do you mean? If you could get to the top man in Opsych and demonstrate that yournumber has inadvertently changed your E.A.C., he might be able tojustify a change. By the State, he might! I punched my palm. Only how do I get to him? I can find his location on the cyb here. Center One, the capital, fora guess. You'll have to get a travel permit to go there, of course.Just a moment. She worked at the machine again, trying it on general data. The printedslip came out a moment later and she read it to me. Chief, Opsych, wasin the capital all right. It didn't give the exact location of hisoffice, but it did tell how to find the underground bay in Center Onecontaining the Opsych offices. We headed back through the passageway then and she kept well ahead ofme. I couldn't keep my eyes from her walk, from the way she walked witheverything below her shoulders. My blood was pounding at my templesagain. I tried to keep the conversation going. Do you think it'll be hard toget a travel permit? Not impossible. My guess is that you'll be at Travbur all daytomorrow, maybe even the next day. But you ought to be able to swing itif you hold out long enough. I sighed. I know. It's that way everywhere in Northem. Our motto oughtto be, 'Why make it difficult when with just a little more effort youcan make it impossible?' <doc-sep></s> [SEP] In what location does the story take place?

The story takes place on Mars. Manet is the sole occupant of the Atmosphere Seeder Station 131-47. There is nothing to be seen in any direction far beyond the horizon. Mars is described like a blank canvas. It is a boring, desolate place, which only adds to Manet's feelings of loneliness and boredom. Manet crosses from his station to Trader Tom's starship at the beginning of the story. The inner compartment of the ship is like that of a log cabin. There is a slate fireplace with black and orange log charring. The fireplace holds a crackling fire. Manet moves through different rooms in his station throughout the story. When Manet first gets the box, he puts it by a transparent wall in one of the rooms of the station. He moves from his bedroom, the file room, the tube way, to communication, to an area where he plays chess with Ronald, to the solarium, to another room where he eventually locks both Ronald and Veronica.

What kind of connection exists between Ronald and Manet in the story of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS? [SEP] <s>Manet didn't open the box. He let it fade quietly in the filtered butstill brilliant sunlight near a transparent wall. Manet puttered around the spawning monster, trying to brush the coppertaste of the station out of his mouth in the mornings, talking tohimself, winking at Annie Oakley, and waiting to go mad. Finally, Manet woke up one morning. He lay in the sheets of his bunk,suppressing the urge to go wash his hands, and came at last to theconclusion that, after all the delay, he was mad. So he went to open the box. The cardboard lid seemed to have become both brittle and rotten. Itcrumbled as easily as ideals. But Manet was old enough to remember theboxes Japanese toys came in when he was a boy, and was not alarmed. The contents were such a glorious pile of junk, of bottles from oldchemistry sets, of pieces from old Erector sets, of nameless things andunremembered antiques from neglected places, that it seemed too good tohave been assembled commercially. It was the collection of lifetime. On top of everything was a paperbound book, the size of the Reader'sDigest , covered in rippled gray flexiboard. The title was stamped inblack on the spine and cover: The Making of Friends . Manet opened the book and, turning one blank page, found the titlein larger print and slightly amplified: The Making of Friends andOthers . There was no author listed. A further line of informationstated: A Manual for Lifo, The Socialization Kit. At the bottom ofthe title page, the publisher was identified as: LIFO KIT CO., LTD.,SYRACUSE. The unnumbered first chapter was headed Your First Friend . Before you go further, first find the Modifier in your kit. Thisis vital . He quickly riffled through the pages. Other Friends, Authority, ACompanion .... Then The Final Model . Manet tried to flip past thissection, but the pages after the sheet labeled The Final Model werestuck together. More than stuck. There was a thick slab of plastic inthe back of the book. The edges were ridged as if there were pages tothis section, but they could only be the tracks of lame ants. Manet flipped back to page one. First find the Modifier in your kit. This is vital to your entireexperiment in socialization. The Modifier is Part #A-1 on the MasterChart. He prowled through the box looking for some kind of a chart. Therewas nothing that looked like a chart inside. He retrieved the lid andlooked at its inside. Nothing. He tipped the box and looked at itsoutside. Not a thing. There was always something missing from kits.Maybe even the Modifier itself. He read on, and probed and scattered the parts in the long box. Hestudied the manual intently and groped out with his free hand. The toe bone was connected to the foot bone.... The Red King sat smugly in his diagonal corner. The Black King stood two places away, his top half tipsy in frustration. The Red King crabbed sideways one square. The Black King pounced forward one space. The Red King advanced backwards to face the enemy. The Black King shuffled sideways. The Red King followed.... Uselessly. Tie game, Ronald said. Tie game, Manet said. Let's talk, Ronald said cheerfully. He was always cheerful. Cheerfulness was a personality trait Manet had thumbed out for him.Cheerful. Submissive. Co-operative. Manet had selected these factors inorder to make Ronald as different a person from himself as possible. The Korean-American War was the greatest of all wars, Ronald saidpontifically. Only in the air, Manet corrected him. Intelligence was one of the factors Manet had punched to suppress.Intelligence. Aggressiveness. Sense of perfection. Ronald couldn't knowany more than Manet, but he could (and did) know less. He had seen tothat when his own encephalograph matrix had programmed Ronald's feeder. There were no dogfights in Korea, Ronald said. I know. The dogfight was a combat of hundreds of planes in a tight area, thelast of which took place near the end of the First World War. Theaerial duel, sometimes inaccurately referred to as a 'dogfight' was notseen in Korea either. The pilots at supersonic speeds only had time forsingle passes at the enemy. Still, I believe, contrary to all experts,that this took greater skill, man more wedded to machine, than theleisurely combats of World War One. I know. Daniel Boone was still a crack shot at eight-five. He was said to bewarm, sincere, modest, truthful, respected and rheumatic. I know. <doc-sep>Ronald's cries grew louder as Manet marched Veronica through thecorridor. Hear that? he inquired, smiling with clenched teeth. No, darling. Well, that was all right. He remembered he had once told her to ignorethe noise. She was still following orders. Come on, Bill, open up the hatch for old Ronald, the voice carriedthrough sepulchrally. Shut up! Manet yelled. The voice dwindled stubbornly, then cut off. A silence with a whisper of metallic ring to it. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Maybe because he secretly tookcomfort in the sound of an almost human voice echoing through thestation. Manet threw back the bolt and wheeled back the hatch. Ronald looked just the same as had when Manet had seen him last. Hishands didn't seem to have been worn away in the least. Ronald's lipsseemed a trifle chapped. But that probably came not from all theshouting but from having nothing to drink for some months. Ronald didn't say anything to Manet. But he looked offended. You, Manet said to Veronica with a shove in the small of the back,inside, inside. Ronald sidestepped the lurching girl. Do you know what I'm going to do with you? Manet demanded. I'm goingto lock you up in here, and leave you for a day, a month, a year,forever! Now what do you think about that? If you think it's the right thing, dear, Veronica said hesitantly. You know best, Willy, Ronald said uncertainly. Manet slammed the hatch in disgust. Manet walked carefully down the corridor, watching streamers ofhis reflection corkscrewing into the curved walls. He had to walkcarefully, else the artery would roll up tight and squash him. But hewalked too carefully for this to happen. As he passed the File Room, Ronald's voice said: In my opinion,William, you should let us out. I, Veronica said, honestly feel that you should let me out, Bill,dearest. Manet giggled. What? What was that? Do you suggest that I take youback after you've been behind a locked door with my best friend? He went down the corridor, giggling. He giggled and thought: This will never do. <doc-sep>Manet knew it all. He had heard it all before. He was so damned sick of hearing about Korean air battles, DanielBoone, the literary qualities of ancient sports fiction magazines,the painting of Norman Rockwell, New York swing, ad nauseum . What anarrow band of interests! With the whole universe to explore in thoughtand concept, why did he have to be trapped with such an unoriginalhuman being? Of course, Ronald wasn't an original human being. He was a copy. Manet had been interested in the Fabulous Forties—Lt. Hoot Gibson,Sam Merwin tennis stories, Saturday Evening Post covers—when he hadfirst learned of them, and he had learned all about them. He had firmopinions on all these. He yearned for someone to challenge him—to say that Dime Sports hadbeen nothing but a cheap yellow rag and, why, Sewanee Review , therehad been a magazine for you. Manet's only consolidation was that Ronald's tastes were lower than hisown. He patriotically insisted that the American Sabre Jet was superiorto the Mig. He maintained with a straight face that Tommy Dorsey was abetter band man than Benny Goodman. Ronald was a terrific jerk. Ronald, Manet said, you are a terrific jerk. Ronald leaped up immediately and led with his right. Manet blocked it deftly and threw a right cross. Ronald blocked it deftly, and drove in a right to the navel. The two men separated and, puffing like steam locomotives passing thediesel works, closed again. Ronald leaped forward and led with his right. Manet stepped inside the swing and lifted an uppercut to the ledge ofRonald's jaw. Ronald pinwheeled to the floor. He lifted his bruised head from the deck and worked his reddened mouth.Had enough? he asked Manet. Manet dropped his fists to his sides and turned away. Yes. Ronald hopped up lightly. Another checkers, Billy Boy? No. Okay. Anything you want, William, old conquerer. Manet scrunched up inside himself in impotent fury. Ronald was maddeningly co-operative and peaceful. He would even get ina fist fight to avoid trouble between them. He would do anything Manetwanted him to do. He was so utterly damned stupid. Manet's eyes orbitted towards the checkerboard. But if he were so much more stupid than he, Manet, why was it thattheir checker games always ended in a tie? <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What kind of connection exists between Ronald and Manet in the story of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS?

Ronald is Manet's first self-made friend. He constructs him using the parts he finds in the LIFO kit, and follows the manual to put him together properly. Their relationship seems jovial enough at first. They play chess together. Ronald eliminates the loneliness that Manet feels for a short time. Manet had purposely made Ronald to be cheerful, submissive and co-operative. Manet wanted Ronald to be as different to himself as he could be. Manet enjoys the fact that Ronald is not as intelligent as him. They talk about various wars, and Daniel Boone. After a while though, Manet becomes incensed by Ronalds endless, mindless droning about these same topics. Manet begins to fight Ronald, to which Ronald participates, only to please his creator. He is so fed up with Ronald eventually that he locks him in a room, and doesn't let him out.

What is the function of the modifier in HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS? [SEP] <s>Pouring and tumbling through the Lifo kit, consulting the manualdiligently, Manet concluded that there weren't enough parts left in thebox to go around. The book gave instructions for The Model Mother, The Model Father, TheModel Sibling and others. Yet there weren't parts enough in the kit. He would have to take parts from Ronald or Veronica in order to makeany one of the others. And he could not do that without the Modifier. He wished Trader Tom would return and extract some higher price fromhim for the Modifier, which was clearly missing from the kit. Or to get even more for simply repossessing the kit. But Trader Tom would not be back. He came this way only once. Manet thumbed through the manual in mechanical frustration. As he didso, the solid piece of the last section parted sheet by sheet. He glanced forward and found the headings: The Final Model . There seemed something ominous about that finality. But he had paida price for the kit, hadn't he? Who knew what price, when it came tothat? He had every right to get everything out of the kit that hecould. He read the unfolding page critically. The odd assortment ofill-matched parts left in the box took a new shape in his mind andunder his fingers.... Manet gave one final spurt from the flesh-sprayer and stood back. Victor was finished. Perfect. Manet stepped forward, lifted the model's left eyelid, tweaked his nose. Move! Victor leaped back into the Lifo kit and did a jig on one of theflesh-sprayers. As the device twisted as handily as good intentions, Manet realizedthat it was not a flesh-sprayer but the Modifier. It's finished! were Victor's first words. It's done! Manet stared at the tiny wreck. To say the least. Victor stepped out of the oblong box. There is something you shouldunderstand. I am different from the others. They all say that. I am not your friend. No? No. You have made yourself an enemy. Manet felt nothing more at this information than an esthetic pleasureat the symmetry of the situation. It completes the final course in socialization, Victor continued. Iam your adversary. I will do everything I can to defeat you. I have all your knowledge. You do not have all your knowledge. If you letyourself know some of the things, it could be used against you. It ismy function to use everything I possibly can against you. When do you start? I've finished. I've done my worst. I have destroyed the Modifier. What's so bad about that? Manet asked with some interest. You'll have Veronica and Ronald and me forever now. We'll neverchange. You'll get older, and we'll never change. You'll lose yourinterest in New York swing and jet combat and Daniel Boone, and we'llnever change. We don't change and you can't change us for others. I'vemade the worst thing happen to you that can happen to any man. I'veseen that you will always keep your friends. <doc-sep>Manet didn't open the box. He let it fade quietly in the filtered butstill brilliant sunlight near a transparent wall. Manet puttered around the spawning monster, trying to brush the coppertaste of the station out of his mouth in the mornings, talking tohimself, winking at Annie Oakley, and waiting to go mad. Finally, Manet woke up one morning. He lay in the sheets of his bunk,suppressing the urge to go wash his hands, and came at last to theconclusion that, after all the delay, he was mad. So he went to open the box. The cardboard lid seemed to have become both brittle and rotten. Itcrumbled as easily as ideals. But Manet was old enough to remember theboxes Japanese toys came in when he was a boy, and was not alarmed. The contents were such a glorious pile of junk, of bottles from oldchemistry sets, of pieces from old Erector sets, of nameless things andunremembered antiques from neglected places, that it seemed too good tohave been assembled commercially. It was the collection of lifetime. On top of everything was a paperbound book, the size of the Reader'sDigest , covered in rippled gray flexiboard. The title was stamped inblack on the spine and cover: The Making of Friends . Manet opened the book and, turning one blank page, found the titlein larger print and slightly amplified: The Making of Friends andOthers . There was no author listed. A further line of informationstated: A Manual for Lifo, The Socialization Kit. At the bottom ofthe title page, the publisher was identified as: LIFO KIT CO., LTD.,SYRACUSE. The unnumbered first chapter was headed Your First Friend . Before you go further, first find the Modifier in your kit. Thisis vital . He quickly riffled through the pages. Other Friends, Authority, ACompanion .... Then The Final Model . Manet tried to flip past thissection, but the pages after the sheet labeled The Final Model werestuck together. More than stuck. There was a thick slab of plastic inthe back of the book. The edges were ridged as if there were pages tothis section, but they could only be the tracks of lame ants. Manet flipped back to page one. First find the Modifier in your kit. This is vital to your entireexperiment in socialization. The Modifier is Part #A-1 on the MasterChart. He prowled through the box looking for some kind of a chart. Therewas nothing that looked like a chart inside. He retrieved the lid andlooked at its inside. Nothing. He tipped the box and looked at itsoutside. Not a thing. There was always something missing from kits.Maybe even the Modifier itself. He read on, and probed and scattered the parts in the long box. Hestudied the manual intently and groped out with his free hand. The toe bone was connected to the foot bone.... The Red King sat smugly in his diagonal corner. The Black King stood two places away, his top half tipsy in frustration. The Red King crabbed sideways one square. The Black King pounced forward one space. The Red King advanced backwards to face the enemy. The Black King shuffled sideways. The Red King followed.... Uselessly. Tie game, Ronald said. Tie game, Manet said. Let's talk, Ronald said cheerfully. He was always cheerful. Cheerfulness was a personality trait Manet had thumbed out for him.Cheerful. Submissive. Co-operative. Manet had selected these factors inorder to make Ronald as different a person from himself as possible. The Korean-American War was the greatest of all wars, Ronald saidpontifically. Only in the air, Manet corrected him. Intelligence was one of the factors Manet had punched to suppress.Intelligence. Aggressiveness. Sense of perfection. Ronald couldn't knowany more than Manet, but he could (and did) know less. He had seen tothat when his own encephalograph matrix had programmed Ronald's feeder. There were no dogfights in Korea, Ronald said. I know. The dogfight was a combat of hundreds of planes in a tight area, thelast of which took place near the end of the First World War. Theaerial duel, sometimes inaccurately referred to as a 'dogfight' was notseen in Korea either. The pilots at supersonic speeds only had time forsingle passes at the enemy. Still, I believe, contrary to all experts,that this took greater skill, man more wedded to machine, than theleisurely combats of World War One. I know. Daniel Boone was still a crack shot at eight-five. He was said to bewarm, sincere, modest, truthful, respected and rheumatic. I know. <doc-sep>The prospect was frightful. Victor smiled. Aren't you going to denounce me for a fiend? Yes, it is time for the denouncement. Tell me, you feel that now youare through? You have fulfilled your function? Yes. Yes. Now you will have but to lean back, as it were, so to speak, and seeme suffer? Yes. No. Can't do it, old man. Can't. I know. You're too human, toolike me. The one thing a man can't accept is a passive state, a stateof uselessness. Not if he can possibly avoid it. Something has to behappening to him. He has to be happening to something. You didn't killme because then you would have nothing left to do. You'll never killme. Of course not! Victor stormed. Fundamental safety cut-off! Rationalization. You don't want to kill me. And you can't stopchallenging me at every turn. That's your function. Stop talking and just think about your miserable life, Victor saidmeanly. Your friends won't grow and mature with you. You won't makeany new friends. You'll have me to constantly remind you of youruselessness, your constant unrelenting sterility of purpose. How's thatfor boredom, for passiveness? That's what I'm trying to tell you, Manet said irritably, his socialmanners rusty. I won't be bored. You will see to that. It's yourpurpose. You'll be a challenge, an obstacle, a source of triumph everyfoot of the way. Don't you see? With you for an enemy, I don't need afriend! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the function of the modifier in HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS?

When Manet first looks into the LIFO kit, there are a number of strange objects inside. On the top of the box is a manual on how to create these new beings, designed for companionship. In the manual, it clearly states that it is of the utmost importance to first find the modifier in the kit. It could be seen in the first part of the master chart. The only problem was, the master chart is missing. Without the master chart, Manet has no way of knowing what the modifier looked like. He decides to create these companions without it regardless. It only becomes clear what the modifier is used for towards the end of the story. When Victor is created, he immediately leaps inside the box, smashing up something Manet thinks to be a flesh sprayer. When it is destroyed, Manet finally realises that it is in fact, the Modifier. Victor explains the modifier's purpose. The modifier is used to change the artificial beings. They are created based on the creator's likes and dislikes. But, as Manet matures, and he grows out of his initial preferences, he would have the modifier to change his companions to fit his new preferences. With this gone, he is stuck with the same Ronald, Veronica and Victor for the next eighteen years.

In what way is Manet's insanity depicted in the narrative of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS? [SEP] <s>Manet didn't open the box. He let it fade quietly in the filtered butstill brilliant sunlight near a transparent wall. Manet puttered around the spawning monster, trying to brush the coppertaste of the station out of his mouth in the mornings, talking tohimself, winking at Annie Oakley, and waiting to go mad. Finally, Manet woke up one morning. He lay in the sheets of his bunk,suppressing the urge to go wash his hands, and came at last to theconclusion that, after all the delay, he was mad. So he went to open the box. The cardboard lid seemed to have become both brittle and rotten. Itcrumbled as easily as ideals. But Manet was old enough to remember theboxes Japanese toys came in when he was a boy, and was not alarmed. The contents were such a glorious pile of junk, of bottles from oldchemistry sets, of pieces from old Erector sets, of nameless things andunremembered antiques from neglected places, that it seemed too good tohave been assembled commercially. It was the collection of lifetime. On top of everything was a paperbound book, the size of the Reader'sDigest , covered in rippled gray flexiboard. The title was stamped inblack on the spine and cover: The Making of Friends . Manet opened the book and, turning one blank page, found the titlein larger print and slightly amplified: The Making of Friends andOthers . There was no author listed. A further line of informationstated: A Manual for Lifo, The Socialization Kit. At the bottom ofthe title page, the publisher was identified as: LIFO KIT CO., LTD.,SYRACUSE. The unnumbered first chapter was headed Your First Friend . Before you go further, first find the Modifier in your kit. Thisis vital . He quickly riffled through the pages. Other Friends, Authority, ACompanion .... Then The Final Model . Manet tried to flip past thissection, but the pages after the sheet labeled The Final Model werestuck together. More than stuck. There was a thick slab of plastic inthe back of the book. The edges were ridged as if there were pages tothis section, but they could only be the tracks of lame ants. Manet flipped back to page one. First find the Modifier in your kit. This is vital to your entireexperiment in socialization. The Modifier is Part #A-1 on the MasterChart. He prowled through the box looking for some kind of a chart. Therewas nothing that looked like a chart inside. He retrieved the lid andlooked at its inside. Nothing. He tipped the box and looked at itsoutside. Not a thing. There was always something missing from kits.Maybe even the Modifier itself. He read on, and probed and scattered the parts in the long box. Hestudied the manual intently and groped out with his free hand. The toe bone was connected to the foot bone.... The Red King sat smugly in his diagonal corner. The Black King stood two places away, his top half tipsy in frustration. The Red King crabbed sideways one square. The Black King pounced forward one space. The Red King advanced backwards to face the enemy. The Black King shuffled sideways. The Red King followed.... Uselessly. Tie game, Ronald said. Tie game, Manet said. Let's talk, Ronald said cheerfully. He was always cheerful. Cheerfulness was a personality trait Manet had thumbed out for him.Cheerful. Submissive. Co-operative. Manet had selected these factors inorder to make Ronald as different a person from himself as possible. The Korean-American War was the greatest of all wars, Ronald saidpontifically. Only in the air, Manet corrected him. Intelligence was one of the factors Manet had punched to suppress.Intelligence. Aggressiveness. Sense of perfection. Ronald couldn't knowany more than Manet, but he could (and did) know less. He had seen tothat when his own encephalograph matrix had programmed Ronald's feeder. There were no dogfights in Korea, Ronald said. I know. The dogfight was a combat of hundreds of planes in a tight area, thelast of which took place near the end of the First World War. Theaerial duel, sometimes inaccurately referred to as a 'dogfight' was notseen in Korea either. The pilots at supersonic speeds only had time forsingle passes at the enemy. Still, I believe, contrary to all experts,that this took greater skill, man more wedded to machine, than theleisurely combats of World War One. I know. Daniel Boone was still a crack shot at eight-five. He was said to bewarm, sincere, modest, truthful, respected and rheumatic. I know. <doc-sep> HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by WEST [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every lonely man tries to make friends. Manet just didn't know when to stop! William Manet was alone. In the beginning, he had seen many advantages to being alone. It wouldgive him an unprecedented opportunity to once and for all correlateloneliness to the point of madness, to see how long it would take himto start slavering and clawing the pin-ups from the magazines, to beginteaching himself classes in philosophy consisting of interminablelectures to a bored and captive audience of one. He would be able to measure the qualities of peace and decide whetherit was really better than war, he would be able to get as fat and asdirty as he liked, he would be able to live more like an animal andthink more like a god than any man for generations. But after a shorter time than he expected, it all got to be a tearingbore. Even the waiting to go crazy part of it. Not that he was going to have any great long wait of it. He was alreadytalking to himself, making verbal notes for his lectures, and he hadcut out a picture of Annie Oakley from an old book. He tacked it up andwinked at it whenever he passed that way. Lately she was winking back at him. Loneliness was a physical weight on his skull. It peeled the flesh fromhis arms and legs and sandpapered his self-pity to a fine sensitivity. No one on Earth was as lonely as William Manet, and even William Manetcould only be this lonely on Mars. Manet was Atmosphere Seeder Station 131-47's own human. All Manet had to do was sit in the beating aluminum heart in the middleof the chalk desert and stare out, chin cupped in hands, at the flat,flat pavement of dirty talcum, at the stars gleaming as hard in theblack sky as a starlet's capped teeth ... stars two of which were moonsand one of which was Earth. He had to do nothing else. The wholegimcrack was cybernetically controlled, entirely automatic. No one wasneeded here—no human being, at least. The Workers' Union was a pretty small pressure group, but it didn'ttake much to pressure the Assembly. Featherbedding had been carefullyspecified, including an Overseer for each of the Seeders to honeycombMars, to prepare its atmosphere for colonization. They didn't give tests to find well-balanced, well-integrated peoplefor the job. Well-balanced, well-integrated men weren't going toisolate themselves in a useless job. They got, instead, William Manetand his fellows. The Overseers were to stay as long as the job required. Passenger fareto Mars was about one billion dollars. They weren't providing commuterservice for night shifts. They weren't providing accommodationsfor couples when the law specified only one occupant. They weren'tproviding fuel (at fifty million dollars a gallon) for visits betweenthe various Overseers. They weren't very providential. But it was two hundred thousand a year in salary, and it offeredwonderful opportunities. It gave William Manet an opportunity to think he saw a spaceship makinga tailfirst landing on the table of the desert, its tail burning asbright as envy. <doc-sep>Pouring and tumbling through the Lifo kit, consulting the manualdiligently, Manet concluded that there weren't enough parts left in thebox to go around. The book gave instructions for The Model Mother, The Model Father, TheModel Sibling and others. Yet there weren't parts enough in the kit. He would have to take parts from Ronald or Veronica in order to makeany one of the others. And he could not do that without the Modifier. He wished Trader Tom would return and extract some higher price fromhim for the Modifier, which was clearly missing from the kit. Or to get even more for simply repossessing the kit. But Trader Tom would not be back. He came this way only once. Manet thumbed through the manual in mechanical frustration. As he didso, the solid piece of the last section parted sheet by sheet. He glanced forward and found the headings: The Final Model . There seemed something ominous about that finality. But he had paida price for the kit, hadn't he? Who knew what price, when it came tothat? He had every right to get everything out of the kit that hecould. He read the unfolding page critically. The odd assortment ofill-matched parts left in the box took a new shape in his mind andunder his fingers.... Manet gave one final spurt from the flesh-sprayer and stood back. Victor was finished. Perfect. Manet stepped forward, lifted the model's left eyelid, tweaked his nose. Move! Victor leaped back into the Lifo kit and did a jig on one of theflesh-sprayers. As the device twisted as handily as good intentions, Manet realizedthat it was not a flesh-sprayer but the Modifier. It's finished! were Victor's first words. It's done! Manet stared at the tiny wreck. To say the least. Victor stepped out of the oblong box. There is something you shouldunderstand. I am different from the others. They all say that. I am not your friend. No? No. You have made yourself an enemy. Manet felt nothing more at this information than an esthetic pleasureat the symmetry of the situation. It completes the final course in socialization, Victor continued. Iam your adversary. I will do everything I can to defeat you. I have all your knowledge. You do not have all your knowledge. If you letyourself know some of the things, it could be used against you. It ismy function to use everything I possibly can against you. When do you start? I've finished. I've done my worst. I have destroyed the Modifier. What's so bad about that? Manet asked with some interest. You'll have Veronica and Ronald and me forever now. We'll neverchange. You'll get older, and we'll never change. You'll lose yourinterest in New York swing and jet combat and Daniel Boone, and we'llnever change. We don't change and you can't change us for others. I'vemade the worst thing happen to you that can happen to any man. I'veseen that you will always keep your friends. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] In what way is Manet's insanity depicted in the narrative of HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS?

When we first meet William Manet, he thinks it is inevitable that he will go insane, and even welcomes it. He would get fat and dirty and he would become animalistic and create a god complex for himself. He quickly slips into madness in his isolation, making notes for lectures to give to no one in particular, a picture of Annie Oakley, winking at him on more than one occasion. The idea of madness is also brought up in the illusive character of Trader Tom. It is not clear whether he or his spaceship are real at all, when it is said that Manet Thinks he sees the ship one day. There is no definitive answer as to how he gets onto the ship, or who or what Trader Tom works for. When Manet finishes the glass of whiskey, it becomes instantly clean, like he had never drank from it. His ship is also very strange, with a fireplace in it. We can later see Manet's madness in his violent outbursts. We first see him beat up Ronald, and then Veronica. His madness is truly shown when he exclaims that he should have started beating women much sooner. It is unclear throughout the whole story whether any of this took place in the real world, or whether it was all in Manet's head.

Can you provide a summary of the storyline in AMBITION? [SEP] <s>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep> He had but one ambition, one desire: to pilot the first manned rocket to the moon. And he was prepared as no man had ever prepared himself before.... DESIRE NO MORE by Algis Budrys ( illustrated by Milton Luros ) Desire no more than to thy lot may fall.... —Chaucer <doc-sep> UNBORN TOMORROW BY MACK REYNOLDS Unfortunately , there was onlyone thing he could bring backfrom the wonderful future ...and though he didn't want to... nevertheless he did.... Illustrated by Freas Betty looked up fromher magazine. She saidmildly, You're late. Don't yell at me, Ifeel awful, Simon toldher. He sat down at his desk, passedhis tongue over his teeth in distaste,groaned, fumbled in a drawer for theaspirin bottle. He looked over at Betty and said,almost as though reciting, What Ineed is a vacation. What, Betty said, are you goingto use for money? Providence, Simon told herwhilst fiddling with the aspirin bottle,will provide. Hm-m-m. But before providingvacations it'd be nice if Providenceturned up a missing jewel deal, say.Something where you could deducethat actually the ruby ring had gonedown the drain and was caught in theelbow. Something that would netabout fifty dollars. Simon said, mournful of tone,Fifty dollars? Why not make it fivehundred? I'm not selfish, Betty said. AllI want is enough to pay me thisweek's salary. Money, Simon said. When youtook this job you said it was the romancethat appealed to you. Hm-m-m. I didn't know mostsleuthing amounted to snoopingaround department stores to check onthe clerks knocking down. Simon said, enigmatically, Nowit comes. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Can you provide a summary of the storyline in AMBITION?

Maitland, a militant engineer specialized in atomic rocket motors, awakes one night to a strange sound in his room. He blacks out and awakes again, this time in a room that isn't his. He takes in his surroundings and notices a prairie and a river outside his window, and within his room a door to exit which he cannot open. As Maitland wonders helplessly, a man by the name of Swarts enters his room. Swarts tells Maitland that he is here to participate in a series of psychological tests, assuring him that he is not interested in any secret intelligence related to his career. Swarts leads Maitland to his laboratory, where a cot stands in the center of the room under a ceiling of electric cables. Maitland resists initially, wary of the extent Swarts would go to in order for him to comply; however, Swarts manages to get Maitland onto the cot by force. He then reveals his main objective, which is figuring out why Maitland has a passion and longing to go to the Moon. Later that evening, Maitland meets a girl, later referred to as Ingrid Ching, who silently brings him a meal. He stares outside his window, trying to piece together where he could be, when he notices the presence of Venus in the sky as an evening star and comes to the realization that he has traveled to the future. Bewildered, Maitland is eager to learn more about the advancements of society, namely the status of man's trip to space. He asks Ching, who refuses to answer, and is then brought back to Swarts' lab. Maitland, determined to have his questions answered, rebels against Swarts' following tests through mental resistance. Becoming frustrated, Swarts tells Maitland that they are in the year A.D 2634, and that Ching would answer remaining questions if he complied with the tests. Agreeing, Ching visits Maitland that evening, and indulges him in the history of the human race up to this point, including stories of the Afrikanders, who dominated technological advancements and ruled the global empire, and how the world eventually transformed into one race. Maitland asks Ching whether humans have been able to go to space yet, and she is perplexed. She tells him that though she doesn't think it would be impossible, it has not been done, and she wonders why such a thing would be desired. Ching explains that the world is no longer in an age of technology, but an age of understanding humans and cultures within their world. Maitland is defeated; he cannot comprehend how there is no interest in traveling to space, realizing that his lifelong goal has become unattainable.

What is the backdrop of the story AMBITION? [SEP] <s> He had but one ambition, one desire: to pilot the first manned rocket to the moon. And he was prepared as no man had ever prepared himself before.... DESIRE NO MORE by Algis Budrys ( illustrated by Milton Luros ) Desire no more than to thy lot may fall.... —Chaucer <doc-sep> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep>Huge as a primitive nuclear reactor, the great electronic brain loomedabove the knot of hush-voiced men. It almost filled a two-story room inthe Thinkers' Foundation. Its front was an orderly expanse of controls,indicators, telltales, and terminals, the upper ones reached by a chairon a boom. Although, as far as anyone knew, it could sense only the informationand questions fed into it on a tape, the human visitors could notresist the impulse to talk in whispers and glance uneasily at the greatcryptic cube. After all, it had lately taken to moving some of itsown controls—the permissible ones—and could doubtless improvise ahearing apparatus if it wanted to. For this was the thinking machine beside which the Marks and Eniacs andManiacs and Maddidas and Minervas and Mimirs were less than Morons.This was the machine with a million times as many synapses as the humanbrain, the machine that remembered by cutting delicate notches in therims of molecules (instead of kindergarten paper-punching or the ConeyIsland shimmying of columns of mercury). This was the machine that hadgiven instructions on building the last three-quarters of itself. Thiswas the goal, perhaps, toward which fallible human reasoning and biasedhuman judgment and feeble human ambition had evolved. This was the machine that really thought—a million-plus! This was the machine that the timid cyberneticists and stuffyprofessional scientists had said could not be built. Yet this was themachine that the Thinkers, with characteristic Yankee push, had built. And nicknamed, with characteristic Yankee irreverence andgirl-fondness, Maizie. Gazing up at it, the President of the United States felt a chordplucked within him that hadn't been sounded for decades, the dark andshivery organ chord of his Baptist childhood. Here, in a strange sense,although his reason rejected it, he felt he stood face to face withthe living God: infinitely stern with the sternness of reality, yetinfinitely just. No tiniest error or wilful misstep could ever escapethe scrutiny of this vast mentality. He shivered. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the backdrop of the story AMBITION?

The majority of the story takes place in the cell that Maitland is kept in by Swarts. The room is unconventional, according to Maitland, with no sharp edges, lines, or corners. Instead, the room is rounded, mostly made of smooth metal and plastic. There is no knob or latch on his door, and his window is made of a plastic so transparent it looks invisible. Because Maitland cannot leave his room, his observation of the outside is limited to what is through his window; the land outside is lush, with a rich prairie, an ocean, and a river. He has a view of the vast sky, and at night is able to see the stars. The other location that Maitland experiences in the story is Swarts' lab, which looks similar to an ordinary lab, with familiar electronics and machinery.

What role does space play in the narrative of AMBITION? [SEP] <s>Most of the cousins gasped as the truth began to percolate through. I knew from the very beginning, Conrad finished, that I didn'thave to do anything at all. I just had to wait and you would destroyyourselves. I don't understand, Bartholomew protested, searching the faces of thecousins closest to him. What does he mean, we have never existed?We're here, aren't we? What— Shut up! Raymond snapped. He turned on Martin. You don't seemsurprised. The old man grinned. I'm not. I figured it all out years ago. At first, he had wondered what he should do. Would it be better tothrow them into a futile panic by telling them or to do nothing? Hehad decided on the latter; that was the role they had assigned him—towatch and wait and keep out of things—and that was the role he wouldplay. You knew all the time and you didn't tell us! Raymond spluttered.After we'd been so good to you, making a gentleman out of you insteadof a criminal.... That's right, he snarled, a criminal! An alcoholic,a thief, a derelict! How do you like that? Sounds like a rich, full life, Martin said wistfully. What an exciting existence they must have done him out of! But then, hecouldn't help thinking, he—he and Conrad together, of course—had donethem out of any kind of existence. It wasn't his responsibility,though; he had done nothing but let matters take whatever course wasdestined for them. If only he could be sure that it was the bettercourse, perhaps he wouldn't feel that nagging sense of guilt insidehim. Strange—where, in his hermetic life, could he possibly havedeveloped such a queer thing as a conscience? Then we've wasted all this time, Ninian sobbed, all this energy, allthis money, for nothing! But you were nothing to begin with, Martin told them. And then,after a pause, he added, I only wish I could be sure there had beensome purpose to this. He didn't know whether it was approaching death that dimmed his sight,or whether the frightened crowd that pressed around him was growingshadowy. I wish I could feel that some good had been done in letting you bewiped out of existence, he went on voicing his thoughts. But I knowthat the same thing that happened to your worlds and my world willhappen all over again. To other people, in other times, but again. It'sbound to happen. There isn't any hope for humanity. One man couldn't really change the course of human history, he toldhimself. Two men, that was—one real, one a shadow. Conrad came close to the old man's bed. He was almost transparent. No, he said, there is hope. They didn't know the time transmitterworks two ways. I used it for going into the past only once—just thisonce. But I've gone into the future with it many times. And— hepressed Martin's hand—believe me, what I did—what we did, you andI—serves a purpose. It will change things for the better. Everythingis going to be all right. <doc-sep> He had but one ambition, one desire: to pilot the first manned rocket to the moon. And he was prepared as no man had ever prepared himself before.... DESIRE NO MORE by Algis Budrys ( illustrated by Milton Luros ) Desire no more than to thy lot may fall.... —Chaucer <doc-sep> THE FROZEN PLANET By Keith Laumer [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It is rather unusual, Magnan said, to assign an officer of your rankto courier duty, but this is an unusual mission. Retief sat relaxed and said nothing. Just before the silence grewawkward, Magnan went on. There are four planets in the group, he said. Two double planets,all rather close to an unimportant star listed as DRI-G 33987. They'recalled Jorgensen's Worlds, and in themselves are of no importancewhatever. However, they lie deep in the sector into which the Soettihave been penetrating. Now— Magnan leaned forward and lowered his voice—we have learnedthat the Soetti plan a bold step forward. Since they've met noopposition so far in their infiltration of Terrestrial space, theyintend to seize Jorgensen's Worlds by force. Magnan leaned back, waiting for Retief's reaction. Retief drewcarefully on his cigar and looked at Magnan. Magnan frowned. This is open aggression, Retief, he said, in case I haven't mademyself clear. Aggression on Terrestrial-occupied territory by an alienspecies. Obviously, we can't allow it. Magnan drew a large folder from his desk. A show of resistance at this point is necessary. Unfortunately,Jorgensen's Worlds are technologically undeveloped areas. They'refarmers or traders. Their industry is limited to a minor role intheir economy—enough to support the merchant fleet, no more. The warpotential, by conventional standards, is nil. Magnan tapped the folder before him. I have here, he said solemnly, information which will change thatpicture completely. He leaned back and blinked at Retief. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What role does space play in the narrative of AMBITION?

Throughout the story, Maitland shows his passion and knowledge for space; it defines him as a character and helps him in figuring out certain aspects of his situation. Maitland's passion for space is first introduced when Swarts asks him about going to the Moon. Maitland is taken aback by this question, and Swarts knows that the idea is extremely important to him; in fact, Maitland's dream of going to the Moon is the whole reason why he is experiencing these tests. Later on, space is significant in helping Maitland come to a realization. As he stares out the window trying to gauge where in the world he is located, he notices that Venus, his favorite planet, is in the sky during the evening, when back at the Reservation, it was a morning star. Maitland's knowledge of constellations and planets leads him to realize that he must have traveled into the future. Once Maitland realizes this, his main question is about space travel, and whether humans have achieved it. Once he learns that it has not been attempted or achieved, Maitland's motivation is lost; space was the driving force in his life and career, and space travel not being possible left him hopeless.

How do Maitland and Ching's relationship evolve in the story AMBITION? [SEP] <s>I really haven't the time to waste talking irrelevancies, Swarts saida while later. Honestly. Maitland, I'm working against a time limit.If you'll cooperate, I'll tell Ching to answer your questions.' Ching? Ingrid Ching is the girl who has been bringing you your meals. Maitland considered a moment, then nodded. Swarts lowered the projectorto his eyes again, and this time the engineer did not resist. That evening, he could hardly wait for her to come. Too excited to sitand watch the sunset, he paced interminably about the room, sometimeswhistling nervously, snapping his fingers, sitting down and jitteringone leg. After a while he noticed that he was whistling the same themeover and over: a minute's thought identified it as that exuberantmounting phrase which recurs in the finale of Beethoven's NinthSymphony. He forgot about it and went on whistling. He was picturing himselfaboard a ship dropping in toward Mars, making planetfall at SyrtisMajor; he was seeing visions of Venus and the awesome beauty of Saturn.In his mind, he circled the Moon, and viewed the Earth as a huge brightglobe against the constellations.... Finally the door slid aside and she appeared, carrying the usual trayof food. She smiled at him, making dimples in her golden skin andrevealing a perfect set of teeth, and put the tray on the table. I think you are wonderful, she laughed. You get everything youwant, even from Swarts, and I have not been able to get even a littleof what I want from him. I want to travel in time, go back to your 20thCentury. And I wanted to talk with you, and he would not let me. Shelaughed again, hands on her rounded hips. I have never seen him soirritated as he was this noon. Maitland urged her into the chair and sat down on the edge of the bed.Eagerly he asked, Why the devil do you want to go to the 20th Century?Believe me, I've been there, and what I've seen of this world looks alot better. She shrugged. Swarts says that I want to go back to the Dark Age ofTechnology because I have not adapted well to modern culture. Myself,I think I have just a romantic nature. Far times and places look moreexciting.... How do you mean— Maitland wrinkled his brow—adapt to modernculture? Don't tell me you're from another time! Oh, no! But my home is Aresund, a little fishing village at the headof a fiord in what you would call Norway. So far north, we are muchbehind the times. We live in the old way, from the sea, speak the oldtongue. <doc-sep> AMBITION By WILLIAM L. BADE Illustrated by L. WOROMAY [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction October 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] To the men of the future, the scientific goals of today were as incomprehensible as the ancient quest for the Holy Grail! There was a thump. Maitland stirred, came half awake, and opened hiseyes. The room was dark except where a broad shaft of moonlight fromthe open window fell on the foot of his bed. Outside, the residentialsection of the Reservation slept silently under the pale illuminationof the full Moon. He guessed sleepily that it was about three o'clock. What had he heard? He had a definite impression that the sound had comefrom within the room. It had sounded like someone stumbling into achair, or— Something moved in the darkness on the other side of the room. Maitlandstarted to sit up and it was as though a thousand volts had shorted hisbrain.... This time, he awoke more normally. He opened his eyes, looked throughthe window at a section of azure sky, listened to the singing of birdssomewhere outside. A beautiful day. In the middle of the process ofstretching his rested muscles, arms extended back, legs tensed, hefroze, looking up—for the first time really seeing the ceiling. Heturned his head, then rolled off the bed, wide awake. This wasn't his room! The lawn outside wasn't part of the Reservation! Where the labs andthe shops should have been, there was deep prairie grass, then a greenocean pushed into waves by the breeze stretching to the horizon. Thiswasn't the California desert! Down the hill, where the liquid oxygenplant ought to have been, a river wound across the scene, almost hiddenbeneath its leafy roof of huge ancient trees. Shock contracted Maitland's diaphragm and spread through his body.His breathing quickened. Now he remembered what had happened duringthe night, the sound in the darkness, the dimly seen figure, andthen—what? Blackout.... Where was he? Who had brought him here? For what purpose? He thought he knew the answer to the last of those questions. Asa member of the original atomic reaction-motor team, he possessedinformation that other military powers would very much like to obtain.It was absolutely incredible that anyone had managed to abduct him fromthe heavily guarded confines of the Reservation, yet someone had doneit. How? <doc-sep>Huge as a primitive nuclear reactor, the great electronic brain loomedabove the knot of hush-voiced men. It almost filled a two-story room inthe Thinkers' Foundation. Its front was an orderly expanse of controls,indicators, telltales, and terminals, the upper ones reached by a chairon a boom. Although, as far as anyone knew, it could sense only the informationand questions fed into it on a tape, the human visitors could notresist the impulse to talk in whispers and glance uneasily at the greatcryptic cube. After all, it had lately taken to moving some of itsown controls—the permissible ones—and could doubtless improvise ahearing apparatus if it wanted to. For this was the thinking machine beside which the Marks and Eniacs andManiacs and Maddidas and Minervas and Mimirs were less than Morons.This was the machine with a million times as many synapses as the humanbrain, the machine that remembered by cutting delicate notches in therims of molecules (instead of kindergarten paper-punching or the ConeyIsland shimmying of columns of mercury). This was the machine that hadgiven instructions on building the last three-quarters of itself. Thiswas the goal, perhaps, toward which fallible human reasoning and biasedhuman judgment and feeble human ambition had evolved. This was the machine that really thought—a million-plus! This was the machine that the timid cyberneticists and stuffyprofessional scientists had said could not be built. Yet this was themachine that the Thinkers, with characteristic Yankee push, had built. And nicknamed, with characteristic Yankee irreverence andgirl-fondness, Maizie. Gazing up at it, the President of the United States felt a chordplucked within him that hadn't been sounded for decades, the dark andshivery organ chord of his Baptist childhood. Here, in a strange sense,although his reason rejected it, he felt he stood face to face withthe living God: infinitely stern with the sternness of reality, yetinfinitely just. No tiniest error or wilful misstep could ever escapethe scrutiny of this vast mentality. He shivered. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do Maitland and Ching's relationship evolve in the story AMBITION?

Maitland and Ching hold no significant reservations about each other upon meeting; they had no more interaction than Ching bringing him meals and leaving. As the story progresses, and Ching is able to answer Maitland's questions about the world they are in, she shares a bit about herself. Trust is built between the two as Ching shares her knowledge of global history, and Maitland learns that like his passion for space travel, Ching has a passion for time travel, specifically back to the 20th century, where Maitland is from. Though Ching has to break the news to Maitland that space travel has not been done, she attempts to comfort him through explanations and consolation. While by the end of the story, Ching and Maitland are not exactly friends, they have both confided in each other and have learned a lot about the other.

What types of equipment and devices does Swarts utilize in the narrative of AMBITION? [SEP] <s>After that outlandish cell, Swarts' laboratory looked rathercommonplace. There was something like a surgical cot in the center, anda bench along one wall supported several electronics cabinets. A coupleof them had cathode ray tube screens, and they all presented a normalcomplement of meters, pilot lights, and switches. Cables from them ranacross the ceiling and came to a focus above the high flat cot in thecenter of the room. Lie down, Swarts said. When Maitland hesitated, Swarts added,Understand one thing—the more you cooperate, the easier things willbe for you. If necessary, I will use coercion. I can get all my resultsagainst your will, if I must. I would prefer not to. Please don't makeme. What's the idea? Maitland asked. What is all this? Swarts hesitated, though not, Maitland astonishedly felt, to evade ananswer, but to find the proper words. You can think of it as a liedetector. These instruments will record your reactions to the tests Igive you. That is as much as you need to know. Now lie down. Maitland stood there for a moment, deliberately relaxing his tensedmuscles. Make me. If Swarts was irritated, he didn't show it. That was the first test,he said. Let me put it another way. I would appreciate it a lot ifyou'd lie down on this cot. I would like to test my apparatus. Maitland shook his head stubbornly. I see, Swarts said. You want to find out what you're up against. He moved so fast that Maitland couldn't block the blow. It was to thesolar plexus, just hard enough to double him up, fighting for breath.He felt an arm under his back, another behind his knees. Then he was onthe cot. When he was able to breathe again, there were straps acrosshis chest, hips, knees, ankles, and arms, and Swarts was tightening aclamp that held his head immovable. Presently, a number of tiny electrodes were adhering to his temples andto other portions of his body, and a minute microphone was clinging tothe skin over his heart. These devices terminated in cables that hungfrom the ceiling. A sphygmomanometer sleeve was wrapped tightly aroundhis left upper arm, its rubber tube trailing to a small black boxclamped to the frame of the cot. Another cable left the box and joinedthe others. So—Maitland thought—Swarts could record changes in his skinpotential, heartbeat, and blood pressure: the involuntary responses ofthe body to stimuli. The question was, what were the stimuli to be? Your name, said Swarts, is Robert Lee Maitland. You are thirty-fouryears old. You are an engineer, specialty heat transfer, particularlyas applied to rocket motors.... No, Mr. Maitland, I'm not going toquestion you about your work; just forget about it. Your home town isMadison, Wisconsin.... You seem to know everything about me, Maitland said defiantly,looking up into the hanging forest of cabling. Why this recital? I do not know everything about you—yet. And I'm testing theequipment, calibrating it to your reactions. He went on, Yourfavorite recreations are chess and reading what you term sciencefiction. Maitland, how would you like to go to the Moon ? Something eager leaped in Maitland's breast at the abrupt question, andhe tried to turn his head. Then he forced himself to relax. What doyou mean? Swarts was chuckling. I really hit a semantic push-button there,didn't I? Maitland, I brought you here because you're a man who wantsto go to the Moon. I'm interested in finding out why . <doc-sep>Lexington stared at his cup without touching it for a long while. Thenhe continued with his narrative. I suppose it's all my own fault. Ididn't detect the symptoms soon enough. After this plant got workingproperly, I started living here. It wasn't a question of saving money.I hated to waste two hours a day driving to and from my house, and Ialso wanted to be on hand in case anything should go wrong that themachine couldn't fix for itself. Handling the cup as if it were going to shatter at any moment, he tooka gulp. I began to see that the machine could understand the writtenword, and I tried hooking a teletype directly into the logic circuits.It was like uncorking a seltzer bottle. The machine had a funnyvocabulary—all of it gleaned from letters it had seen coming in, andreplies it had seen leaving. But it was intelligible. It even displayedsome traces of the personality the machine was acquiring. It had chosen a name for itself, for instance—'Lex.' That shook me.You might think Lex Industries was named through an abbreviation ofthe name Lexington, but it wasn't. My wife's name was Alexis, and itwas named after the nickname she always used. I objected, of course,but how can you object on a point like that to a machine? Bear in mindthat I had to be careful to behave reasonably at all times, because themachine was still learning from me, and I was afraid that any tantrumsI threw might be imitated. It sounds pretty awkward, Peter put in. You don't know the half of it! As time went on, I had less and less todo, and business-wise I found that the entire control of the operationwas slipping from my grasp. Many times I discovered—too late—thatthe machine had taken the damnedest risks you ever saw on bids andcontracts for supply. It was quoting impossible delivery times onsome orders, and charging pirate's prices on others, all without anyobvious reason. Inexplicably, we always came out on top. It would turnout that on the short-delivery-time quotations, we'd been up againststiff competition, and cutting the production time was the only way wecould get the order. On the high-priced quotes, I'd find that no oneelse was bidding. We were making more money than I'd ever dreamed of,and to make it still better, I'd find that for months I had virtuallynothing to do. It sounds wonderful, sir, said Peter, feeling dazzled. It was, in a way. I remember one day I was especially pleased withsomething, and I went to the control console to give the kicker buttona long, hard push. The button, much to my amazement, had been removed,and a blank plate had been installed to cover the opening in the board.I went over to the teletype and punched in the shortest message I hadever sent. 'LEX—WHAT THE HELL?' I typed. The answer came back in the jargon it had learned from letters it hadseen, and I remember it as if it just happened. 'MR. A LEXINGTON, LEXINDUSTRIES, DEAR SIR: RE YOUR LETTER OF THE THIRTEENTH INST., I AMPLEASED TO ADVISE YOU THAT I AM ABLE TO DISCERN WHETHER OR NOT YOU AREPLEASED WITH MY SERVICE WITHOUT THE USE OF THE EQUIPMENT PREVIOUSLYUSED FOR THIS PURPOSE. RESPECTFULLY, I MIGHT SUGGEST THAT IF THEPUSHBUTTON ARRANGEMENT WERE NECESSARY, I COULD PUSH THE BUTTON MYSELF.I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS WOULD MEET WITH YOUR APPROVAL, AND HAVE TAKENSTEPS TO RELIEVE YOU OF THE BURDEN INVOLVED IN REMEMBERING TO PUSH THEBUTTON EACH TIME YOU ARE ESPECIALLY PLEASED. I SHOULD LIKE TO TAKE THISOPPORTUNITY TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR INQUIRY, AND LOOK FORWARD TO SERVINGYOU IN THE FUTURE AS I HAVE IN THE PAST. YOURS FAITHFULLY, LEX'. <doc-sep>Swarts came half an hour later, and Maitland began his plannedoffensive. What year is this? Swarts' steely eyes locked with his. You know what the date is, hestated. No, I don't. Not since yesterday. Come on, Swarts said patiently, let's get going. We have a lot toget through this morning. I know this isn't 1950. It's probably not even the 20th Century.Venus was a morning star before you brought me here. Now it's anevening star. Never mind that. Come. Wordlessly, Maitland climbed to his feet, preceded Swarts to thelaboratory, lay down and allowed him to fasten the straps and attachthe instruments, making no resistance at all. When Swarts startedsaying a list of words—doubtlessly some sort of semantic reactiontest—Maitland began the job of integrating csc 3 x dx in his head.It was a calculation which required great concentration and frequenttracing back of steps. After several minutes, he noticed that Swartshad stopped calling words. He opened his eyes to find the other manstanding over him, looking somewhat exasperated and a little baffled. What year is this? Maitland asked in a conversational tone. We'll try another series of tests. It took Swarts nearly twenty minutes to set up the new apparatus. Helowered a bulky affair with two cylindrical tubes like the twin stacksof a binocular microscope over Maitland's head, so that the lenses atthe ends of the tubes were about half an inch from the engineer'seyes. He attached tiny clamps to Maitland's eyelashes. These will keep you from holding your eyes shut, he said. You canblink, but the springs are too strong for you to hold your eyelids downagainst the tension. He inserted button earphones into Maitland's ears— And then the show began. He was looking at a door in a partly darkened room, and there werefootsteps outside, a peremptory knocking. The door flew open,and outlined against the light of the hall, he saw a man with atwelve-gauge shotgun. The man shouted, Now I've got you, youwife-stealer! He swung the shotgun around and pulled the trigger.There was a terrible blast of sound and the flash of smokelesspowder—then blackness. With a deliberate effort, Maitland unclenched his fists and tried toslow his breathing. Some kind of emotional reaction test—what was thecountermove? He closed his eyes, but shortly the muscles around themdeclared excruciatingly that they couldn't keep that up. Now he was looking at a girl. She.... Maitland gritted his teeth and fought to use his brain; then he had it. He thought of a fat slob of a bully who had beaten him up one dayafter school. He remembered a talk he had heard by a politician who hadall the intelligent social responsibility of a rogue gorilla, but nomore. He brooded over the damnable stupidity and short-sightedness ofSwarts in standing by his silly rules and not telling him about thisnew world. Within a minute, he was in an ungovernable rage. His muscles tightenedagainst the restraining straps. He panted, sweat came out on hisforehead, and he began to curse. Swarts! How he hated.... The scene was suddenly a flock of sheep spread over a green hillside.There was blood hammering in Maitland's temples. His face felt hot andswollen and he writhed against the restraint of the straps. The scene disappeared, the lenses of the projector retreated from hiseyes and Swarts was standing over him, white-lipped. Maitland swore athim for a few seconds, then relaxed and smiled weakly. His head wasstarting to ache from the effort of blinking. What year is this? he asked. All right, Swarts said. A.D. 2634. Maitland's smile became a grin. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What types of equipment and devices does Swarts utilize in the narrative of AMBITION?

Swarts uses different technology for his various tests. In the first, he uses electrodes and cables placed in various spots on Maitland's body, meant to record how Maitland responds and reacts to various stimuli. These include heart monitors, blood pressure recorders, and measurements of brain activity. Swarts uses similar technology in the next test to record Maitland's reactions, with a few additions. Firstly, he introduces gadgets attached to Maitland's eyelashes that keep him from closing his eyes. He also attaches lenses and a projector to Maitland's eyes to display different scenes to him.