 The Native Soil by Alan E. Norse. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Native Soil by Alan E. Norse. Before the first ship from Earth made a landing on Venus, there was much speculation about what might be found beneath the cloud layers obscuring that planet's surface from the eyes of all observers. One school of thought maintained that the surface of Venus was a jungle, ranked with hot-house moisture, crawling with writhing fauna and man-eating flowers. Another group contended hotly that Venus was an arid desert of wind-carved sandstone, dry and cruel, whipping dust into clouds that sunlight could never penetrate. Others prognosticated an ocean-planet with little or no solid ground at all, populated by enormous serpents, waiting to greet the first earthlings with jaws agape. But nobody knew, of course. Venus was the planet of mystery. When the first earth-ship finally landed there, all they found was a great quantity of mud. There was enough mud on Venus to go all the way around, twice, with some left over. It was warm, wet, soggy mud, clinging and tenacious. In some places it was grey. In other places it was black. Elsewhere it was found to be varying shades of brown, yellow, green, blue and purple. But just the same. It was still mud. The sparse Venusian vegetation grew up out of it. The small Venusian natives lived down in it. The steam rose from it, and the rain fell on it, and that, it seemed, was that. The planet of mystery was no longer mysterious. It was just messy. People didn't talk about it anymore. But the technologists of Piper Pharmaceuticals Incorporated R&D Squad found a certain charm in the Venusian mud. They began sending cautious and very secret reports back to the home office when they discovered just what exactly was growing in that Venusian mud besides Venusian natives. The home office promptly bought up full exploratory and mining rights to the planet for a price that was a brazen steal. And then, in high excitement, began pouring millions of dollars into ships and machines bound for the muddy planet. The board of directors met hoots of derision with secret smiles as they rubbed their hands together softly. Special crews of psychologists were dispatched to Venus to contact the natives. They returned exuberant with test results that proved the natives were friendly, intelligent, cooperative, and resourceful, and the board of directors rubbed their hands more eagerly together and poured more money into the Piper Venusian installation. It took money to make money, they thought. Let the fools laugh. They wouldn't be laughing long. After all, Piper Pharmaceuticals Incorporated could recognize a goldmine when they saw one, they thought. Robert Kylund, special investigator and troubleshooter for Piper Pharmaceuticals Incorporated, made an abrupt and intimate acquaintance with the fabulous Venusian mud when the landing craft brought him down on that soggy planet. He had transferred from the great, bubble-shaped orbital transport ship to the sleek landing craft an hour before, bored and impatient with the whole proposition. He had no desire, whatever, to go to Venus. He didn't like mud, and he didn't like frontier projects. There had been nothing in his contact with Piper demanding that he travel to other planets in pursuit of his duties, and he had bulked at the assignment. He had even bulked at the staggering bonus check they offered him to help him get used to the idea. It was not until they had convinced him that only his own superior judgment, his razor-sharp mind and his extraordinarily shrewd powers of observation and insight could possibly pull Pharmaceuticals Incorporated out of the mud-hole they'd gotten themselves into, that he had reluctantly agreed to go. He wouldn't like a moment of it, but he'd go. Things weren't right on Venus, it seemed. The trouble was that millions were going in and nothing was coming out. The early promise of high-production figures had faltered, sagged, dwindled and vanished. Venus was getting to be an expensive project to have round, and nobody seemed to know just why. Now the pilot dipped the landing-craft in and out of the cloud-blanket, breaking the ship, falling closer and closer to the surface, as Kyland watched gloomily from the after-port. The lurching billows of clouds made him queasy. He opened his Piper sample case and popped a pill in his mouth. Then he gave his nose a squirt or two with his Piper Rhinovac nebulizer, just for good measure. Finally, far below him, the featureless grey surface skimmed by, a sparse, scraggly forest of twisted grey foliage sprang up at them. The pilot sided the landing-platform, checked with the control tower, and eased up for the final descent. He was a skillful pilot, with many landings on Venus to his credit. He bought the ship up on its tail and sat it down on the landing-platform for a perfect three-pointer as the jets rumbled to silence. Then, abruptly, they sank, landing-craft platform and all. The pilot buzzed control tower frantically as Kyland fought down panic. Sorry, said the control tower. Something must have gone wrong. They'd have them out in a jiffy. Good Lord, no, don't blast out again. There were a thousand natives in the vicinity. Just be patient, everything would be all right. They waited. Presently there were thumps and bangs as grapplers clanged on to the surface of the craft. Mud gurgled around them as they were hauled up and out with the sound of a giant sipping soup. A mud-encrusted hatchway flew open, and Kyland stepped down on a flimsy-looking platform below. Four small rodent-like creatures were attached to it by ropes. They heaved with a will and began paddling through the soupy mud dragging the platform and Kyland toward a row of low buildings near some stunted trees. As the creatures paused to puff and pant, the back half of the platform kept sinking into the mud. When they finally reached comparatively solid ground, Kyland was mud up to the hips and mad enough to blast off without benefit of landing-craft. He surveyed the Piper Venution installation, hardly believing what he saw. He had heard glowing descriptions of the board of directors. He had seen the architect's projections of fine modern buildings resting on waterproof buoys, neat boating channels to the mine sites, fine orange-painted dredge equipment, including the new Piper Axis Traction dredges that had been developed especially for the operation. It had sounded, in short, just the way a Piper installation ought to sound. But there was nothing here that resembled that. Kyland could see a group of little wooden shacks that looked as though they were ready at a moment's notice to sink with a gurgle into the mud. Off to the right, across a mud flat, one of the dredges apparently had done just that. A swarm of men and natives were hard at work dragging it up again. Control Tower was to the left, balanced precariously at a slight tilt and a sea of mud. The Piper Venution installation didn't look too much like a going concern. It looked far more like a ghost town in the latter stages of decay. Inside the administration shack, Kyland found a weary-looking man behind a desk, scribbling furiously at a pile of reports. Everything in the shack was splattered with mud. The crude desk and furniture was smeared. The papers had black speckles all over them. Even the man's face was splattered. His clothes encrusted with gobs of still-damp mud. In a corner, a young man was industriously scrubbing down the wall with a large brush. The man wiped mud off Kyland and jumped up with a gleam of hope in his tired eyes. Ah, wonderful! he cried. Great to see you, old man. You'll find all the papers and reports in order here. Everything ready for you. He brushed the papers away from him with a gesture of finality. Louie, get the landing-craft pilot and don't let him out of your sight. Tell him I'll be ready in twenty minutes. Hold it! said Kyland. Aren't you, Simpson? The man wiped mud off of his cheek and spat. He was tall and graying. Wait! Where do you think you're going? Aren't you relieving me? I am not. Oh, my! The man crumbled behind the desk as though his legs had just given away. I don't understand it. They told me I don't care what they told you, said Kyland shortly. I'm the troubleshooter, not an administrator. When the production figures begin to drop, I find out why. The production figures from this place have never gotten high enough to drop. This is supposed to be news to me, said Simpson. So you've got troubles. Friend, you're right about that. Well, we'll straighten them out, Kyland said smoothly. But first I want to see the foreman who put that wretched landing-platform together. Simpson's eyes became wary. Uh, you don't really want to see him. Yes, I think I do. When there's just such obvious incompetence, the time to correct it is now. Well, maybe we can go outside and see him. We'll see him right here. Kyland sank down on a bench near the wall. A tiny headache was developing. He found a capsule in his sample case and popped it into his mouth. Simpson looked sad and nodded to the orderly, who had stopped scrubbing the wall. Louie, you heard the man. But boss, Simpson stowled. Louie went to the door and whistled. Presently there was a splashing sound and a short gray creature patted in. His hind feet were four-toed webbed paddles. His legs were long and powerful like a kangaroo's. He was covered in thick gray fur, which dripped with thick black mud. He squeaked at Simpson, wiggling his nose. Simpson squeaked back sharply. Suddenly the creature began shaking his head in a slow rhythmic undulation. With a cry, Simpson dropped behind the desk. The orderly fell flat on the floor, covering his face with his arms. Kyland's eyes widened. Then he was sitting in a delusion of mud as the little Venusian shook himself until his fur stood straight out in all directions. Simpson stood up with a roar. I've told them a thousand times if I've told them once. He shook his head helplessly as Kyland wiped mud out of his eyes. This is the one you wanted to see. Kyland spluttered. Can it talk to you? It doesn't talk. It squeaks. Then ask it to explain why the platform it built didn't hold the landing craft. Simpson began whistling and squeaking at length to the little creature. Its shaggy tail crept between its legs, and it hung its head like a scolded puppy. He says he didn't know a landing craft was supposed to land on the platform. Simpson reported finally. He's sorry, he says. But he hasn't seen a landing craft before. Squeak, squeak. Oh, yes. Wasn't he told what the platform was being made for? Squeak, squeak. Of course. Then why didn't the platform stand up? Simpson sighed. Maybe he forgot what it was supposed to be used for in the course of building it. Maybe he never really did understand in the first place. I can't get questions like that across from him with this whistling. I doubt you'll ever find out what it was. Then fire him, said Kindland. We'll find some other—oh, no. I mean, let's not be hasty, said Simpson. I'd hate to have to fire this one for a while yet, and any right? Why? Because we've finally gotten across to him. At least, I think we have. Just how to take down a drudge tube. Simpson's voice was almost tearful. It's taken us months to teach him. If we fire him, we'll just have to start all over again with another one. Kindland stared at the Venusian, and then at Simpson. So, he said finally, I see. No, you don't, said Simpson with conviction. You don't even begin to see yet. You have to fight it for a few months before you really see. He waved the Venusian out the door and turned to Kindland with the burden of ten months' frustration in his voice. They're stupid, he said slowly. They are so incredibly stupid I could go screaming into this swamp every time I see one of them coming. Their stupidity is positively abysmal. Then why use them? Kindland spluttered. Because if we ever hope to mine anything in this miserable mud-hole, we've got to use them for it. There just isn't any other way. With Simpson leading, they donned waist-high waders with wide, flat, silicone-coated pans strapped to their feet and started out to inspect the installation. A crowd of a dozen or more Venusian natives swarmed happily around them like a pack of hounds. They were in and out of this steaming mud, circling and splashing, squeaking and shaking. They seemed to be having a real field day. Of course, Simpson was saying, since number four dredge shank last week, there isn't a wail of a lot of installation left for you to inspect. But you can see what there is, if you want. You mean number four dredge is the only one you've got to use? Kindland asked peevishly, according to my record you have five axis traction dredges, plus a dozen or more of the old kind. Ah, said Simpson, well, number one had its vacuum chamber corroded out a week after we started using dredging. Ran into a vein of stuff with 15% acid content, and it got chewed up something fierce. Number two sank without a trace, over there in the swamp someplace. He pointed across the black mud flats to a patch of sickly vegetation. The mudpups know where it is, they think, and I suppose they could go drag it up for us if we dared to take the time, but it would lose us a month, so what about number three and five? Oh, we still have them. They won't work without a major overhaul, though. Overhaul, they're brand new! They were. The mudpups didn't understand how to sluice them down properly after operations. When this gut gets out into the air, it hardens like cement. You ever see a cement mixer that hasn't been cleaned out after use after a few dozen times? That's number three and five. What about the old-style models? Half of them are out on commission, and the other half are holding the islands still. Islands? Those chunks of semi-solid ground we have administration built on? The chunk that keeps control tower in one place? Well, what were they going to do? Walk away? That's just about right. The first week we were in operation, we kept wondering why we had to travel farther every day to get the dredges. Then we realized solid ground on Venus isn't solid ground at all. It's just big chunks of denser stuff that floats on top of the mud like dumplings in a stew. But that was nothing compared to these other things. They had reached the vicinity of the salvage operation on number five dredge. To Kylind, it looked like a huge cylinder-type vacuum cleaner with a number of flexible hoses sprouting from the top. The whole machine was three-quarters submerged in clinging mud. Off to the right, a derrick floated hip deep in slime. Grapplers from it were clinging to the dredge, and the derrick was heaving and splashing like a trapped hippopotamus. All about the submerged machine were mud pups working like strange little beavers as the man supervising the operation wiped mud from his face and carried on a running line of curses, curses, whistles, and squeaks. Suddenly, one of the mud pups saw the newcomers. He let out a squeal, dropped his line in the mud and bounced up to the surface, dancing like a dervish on his broad-webbed feet as he stared in unabashed curiosity. A dozen or more followed his lead, squirming up and staring, shaking gobs of mud from their fur. No, no, the man supervising the operation screamed, Pull, you idiots, come back here, watch out! The derrick wobbled and let out a whine as steel cable sizzled out. Confused, the mud pups tore themselves away from the newcomers and turned back to their lines, but it was too late. Number five dredge trembled with a wet sucking sound and settled back into the mud. Blub, blub, blub. The supervisor crawled down from his platform and sloshed across to where Simpson and Kyland were standing. He looked like a man who had suffered the torment of the damned for twenty minutes too long. No more, he screamed in Simpson's face. That's all. I'm through. I'll pick up my pay any time you get it ready and I'll finish off my contract at home, but I'm through here. One solid week I work to teach these idiots what I want them to do, and you have to come along at the one moment all week when I really need their concentration. He glared his face purple. Concentration! I should hope for so much you've got to have a brain to have concentration. Barton, this is Kyland. Here's here from home office to solve all our problems. You mean he bought us an evacuation ship? No, he's going to tell us how to make this installation pay. Right, Kyland? Simpson's grin was something to see. Kyland scowled. What are you going to do with the dredge? Just leave it there? He asked angrily. No, I'm going to dig it out again, said Barton, after we take another week off to drum into those quarter-brained mud-hins just what we want them to do again and then persuade them to do it again and then hope against hope that nothing happens along to distract them again. Any suggestions? Simpson shook his head. Take a rest, Barton. Things will look brighter in the morning. Ever looks brighter in the morning, said Barton, as he sloshed angrily off toward the administration island. You see, said Simpson, or do you want to look around some more? Back in the administration shack, Kyland sprayed his throat with piper-fortified biostatic and took two tetracyline capsules from his sample case as he stared gloomily down at the little blob of blue-gray mud on the desk before him. The Venetian bonanza, the sole object of the multi-million-dollar piper-venetian installation, didn't look like much. It ran in veins deep beneath the surface. The R&D men struck it quite by accident in the first place, sampled it along with a dozen other kinds of Venetian mud, and found they had their hands on the richest mison-bearing bacterial growth since the days of New Jersey mud flats. The value of this stuff was incalculable. Twenty-first century Earth had not realized the degree to which it depends on its effective antibiotic products for maintenance of its health until the mutating immune bacterial strains began to outpace the development of new antibacterials. Early penicillin killed 96% of all organisms in its spectrum at first, but time and natural selection undid its work in three generations. Even the broad spectrum drugs were losing their effectiveness to a dangerous degree within decades of their introduction. And the new drugs, grown from Earth-born bacteria or synthesized in the laboratories, were too few and too weak to meet the burgeoning demands of humanity, until Venus. The bacteria indigenous to that planet were alien to Earth. Every attempt to transplant them had failed, but they grew with abandon the warm mud currents of Venus. Not all the mud was of value. Only the singular blue-gray stuff that lay before Kylind on the desk could produce the mycin-like tetrasiline derivative that was more powerful than the best of Earth-grown wide-spectrum antibiotics, with few, if any, of the unfortunate side-effects of the Earth products. The problem seemed simple. Find the mud in sufficient quantities for mining, dredge it up and transport it back to Earth to extract the drug. It was the first two steps of the operation that depended so heavily on the mud-acclimated natives of Venus for success. They were as much at home in the mud as they were in the dank, humid air above. They could distinguish one type of mud from another deep beneath the surface, and could carry a dredge tube down to a load of the blue-gray muck with unfailing accuracy of a homing pigeon. If only they could be made to understand just what they were expected to do. And that was where production ground down to a slow walk. The next few days were a nightmare of frustration for Kylind, as he observed with mounting horror the standard operating procedure of the installation. Min and mud-pups went to work once again to drag number five dredge out of the mud. It took five days of explaining, repeating, coaxing, and threatening to do it. But finally up it came, with mud kicked and hardened in its insides until it could never be used again. So they varied number six down, piecemeal, from this special orbital transport ship that had brought it. Only three landing-crafts sank during the process, and within two weeks, Simpson and Barton set bravely off with their dull-witted cohorts to tackle the swamp with a spanking of equipment. At last the delays were over. Of course, it took another week to get the actual dredging started. The mud-pups, who had been taught the excavation procedure previously, had either disappeared into the swamp or forgotten everything they'd ever been taught. Simpson had expected it, but it was enough to keep Kildred sleepless for three nights and drive his blood pressure to suicidal levels. At length, the blue-gray mud began billowing out of the dredge onto platforms built to receive it, and the transport ship was notified to stand by for loading. But by the time the ferry had landed, the platform with the load had somehow drifted free of the island and required a week-long expedition into the hinterland to track it down. On the trip back, they met a rainstorm that dissolved the blue-gray stuff into soup, which ran out between the slats of the platform and back into the mud again. They did get the platform back at any rate. Meanwhile, the dredge began sucking up green stuff that smelled of sewage instead of the blue-gray clay they sought, so the natives dove mudward to explore the direction of the vein. One of them got caught in a suction tube, causing a three-day delay while engineers dismantled the dredge to get him out. In reassembling, two of the dredge tubes got interlocked somehow, and the dredge burned out three generators trying to suck itself through, so to speak. That took another week to fix. Kylin buried himself in the administration shack, digging through records when the rain of confusion outside became too much to bear. He sent for Tarnier, the installation physician, biologist, and erstwhile, Venusian psychologist. Dr. Tarnier looked like the breathing soul of failure. Kylin had to steal himself to the wave of pity that swept through him at this side of the man. You're the one who tested these imbeciles originally, he demanded. Dr. Tarnier nodded. His face was seemed. His eyes lustrous. I tested him. God helped me, I tested him. How? Standard procedures, reaction time, mazes, conditioning, language, abstraction, numbers, association, the works. Standard for earthmen, I presume you mean. So what else? Piper didn't want to know if they were Einstein's or not. All they wanted was a passable level of intelligence. Give them natives with brains, and they might have to pay them something. They thought they were getting a bargain. Some bargain. Yeah. Only your tests say they're intelligent. As intelligence say, as a low normal human being without the benefit of any schooling or education, right? That's right, said the doctor weirdly, as though he had been through this mill again and again. Schooling and education don't enter it at all, of course. All we measured was potential, but the results said they had it. Then how do you explain the mess we've got out there? The tests were wrong. Or else they weren't applicable even on a basic level, or something I don't know. I don't even care much anymore. Well, I care. Plenty. Do you realize how much those creatures are costing us? If we ever do get this finished product on the market, it'll cost too much for anyone to buy. Dr. Tarnier spread his hands. Don't blame me, blame them. And then this so-called biological survey of yours. Kylan continue, warming to his subject. From a scientific man it's a prize. Anatomical description, limited because of absence of autopsy specimens. Apparently, have endoskeleton, but organization of the internal organs remain obscure. Thought to be mammalianoid. There's a fence sitter for you, but you can't be certain of this, because no young have been observed. Nor any females in gestation. Extremely gregarious, curious, playful, irresponsible, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Habitat under natural conditions. Uncertain. Diet. Uncertain. Social organization. Uncertain. Kylan threw down the paper with a snort. In short, the only thing we're certain of is that they're there. Very helpful, especially when every dime we have in this project depends on our teaching them how to count to three without help. Dr. Tarnier spread his hands again. Mr. Kylan, I am a mere mortal. In order to measure something, it has to stay the same long enough to get measured. In order to describe something, it has to hold still long enough to be observed. In order to form a logical opinion of the creature's mental capability, it has to demonstrate some perceptible mental capacity to start with. You can't get very far studying a creature's habitat and social structure when most of its habitating goes on under 20 feet of mud. How about the language? We get by with squeaks, whistles, and sign language. A sort of pigeon venution. They use a very complex system among themselves. The doctor pause, uncertainly. Anyways, it's hard to get too off with the pups. He burst out finally. They really seem to try hard when they can manage to keep their minds to it. Just stupid, carefree, happy-go-lucky kids, eh? Dr. Tarnier shrugged. Go away! said Kylan in disgust, and turned back to the reports with a sour taste in his mouth. Later he called the installation Comptroller. What do you pay the mudpups for their work? He wanted to know. Nothing? said the Comptroller. Nothing? We have nothing they can use. What would you give them? United Nation coins? They just try and eat it. How about something they can eat, then? Everything we feed them, they throw right back up, planetary incompatible. But there must be something you can use for wages, Kylan protested, something they want, something they'll work hard for. Well, they liked tobacco and pipes all right, but it interfered with their oxygen storage so they couldn't dive. That rolled out tobacco and pipes. They liked Turkish towels, too. But they spent all their time parading up and down in them, and slaying the ladies, and wouldn't work at all. That rolled out Turkish towels. They don't seem to care too much whether they're paid or not, though, as long as we're decent to them. They seem to like us, in a stupid sort of way. Just loving affectionate happy-go-lucky kids, I know. Go away!" Kylan growled and turned back to the reports. Except that there weren't any more reports that he hadn't read a dozen times, or more. Nothing that made sense, and nothing that offered a lead. Millions of hyper-dollars sunk into this project, and every one of them sitting there blinking at him expectantly. For the first time he wondered if there really was any solution to the problem. Stumbling blocks had been met and removed before. That was Kylan's job, and he knew how to do it. But stupidity could be a stumbling block that was all but insurmountable. Yet he couldn't throw off the nagging conviction that something more subtle than stupidity was involved. Then Simpson came in, cursing and sputtering and bellowing for Louie. Louie came, and Simpson started dictating a message for Relight to the transport ship. Special order, rush, repeat, rush, Simon graded, for immediate delivery Piper-Venution installation, one Piper-Axis traction dredge, previous specifications applicable. Kylan stared at him. Again, Simpson gritted his teeth. Again. Look. Blub, said Simpson. Blub, blub, blub. Slowly, Kylan stood up, glaring, first at Simpson, then at the little muddy creatures that were attempting to hide behind his waiters, looking so furlorn and chastise and wobagon. All right, Kylan said after a pregnant pause. That's all. You won't be needing to relay that order to this ship. Forget about number seven dredge. Just get your files in order and get a landing craft down here for me. The sooner, the better. Simpson's face lit up in pathetic eagerness. You mean we're going to leave? That is what I mean. The company's not going to like. The company ought to welcome us back with open arms. Kylan snarled. They should shower us with kisses. They should do somersaults for joy. That I'm not going to let them sink another half billion into the mud out here. They took a gamble and got cleaned. That's all. They'd be as stupid as your pals here if they kept coming back for more. He pulled on his waiters, brushing penitent mudpups aside as he started for the door. Send the natives back to their burrows or whatever they live in and get ready to close down. I've got to figure some way to make a report to the board that won't get us all fired. He slammed the door and started to cross to his quarters. Waiters going splat, splat in the mud. Half a dozen mudpups were following him. They seemed extraordinarily exuberant as they went diving and splashing in the mud. Kylan turned and roared at them, shaking his fist. They stopped short and then slunk off with their tails but even at that their squeaking sounded strangely like laughter to Kylan. In his quarters the light was so dim that he almost had his waiters off before he saw the upheaval. The little room was splattered from top to bottom with mud. His bunk was coated with slime. The walls dripped blue-gray goo. Across the room his wardrobe doors hung open as three muddy creatures rooted industriously in the leather case on the floor. Kylan let out a howl and threw himself across the room. His samples case. The mudpups scattered, squealing. Their hands were filled with capsules. Their muzzles were dripping with the white powder. Two went between Kylan's legs and threw the door, the third doe for the window with Kylan after him. The company man's hand closed on a slippery tail and he fell headlong across the muddy bed as the culprit literally slipped through his fingers. He sat up, wiping mud from his hair and surveying the damage. Bottles and boxes of medicaments were scattered all over the floor of the wardrobe covered with mud but unopened. Only one large box had been torn apart. Its contents ravaged. Kylan stared at it as things began clicking into place in his mind. He walked to the door, stared out across the steamy, glooming mudflats toward the lighted windows of the administration shack. Sometimes he mused. A man can get so close to something that he can't see the obvious. He stared at his samples case again. Sometimes stupidity works both ways and sometimes what looks like stupidity can really be something far more deadly. He licked his lips and flipped the telephone talker switch. After a misconnection or two he got control tower. Control tower said yes. They had a small exploratory scooter on hand. Yes, it could be controlled on a beam and fitted with cameras. But of course it was special equipment. Emergency use only. He cut them off and buzzed Simpson excitedly. Cancel all I said about leaving, I mean. Change of plans. Some things come up. No, don't order anything, but get one of those natives that it can understand your whistling and give him the word. Simpson bellowed over the wire. What word? What do you think you're doing? I may just be saving our skins. We won't know for a while. But however you manage it, tell them we're definitely not leaving Venus. Tell them they're all fired. We don't want them around anymore. The installation is off limits from here on in. And tell them we've devised a way to mine the load without them. Got that? Tell them the equipment will be arriving as soon as we can bring it down from the transport. Oh, now look. You want me to repeat that? Simpson sighed. All right, fine. I'll tell them. Then what? Then just don't bother me for a while. I'm going to be busy watching TV. An hour later Kyland was in control tower watching the pale screen as the little remote control explorer circled around installation. Three TV cameras were in operation as he settled down behind the screen. He told Sparks what he wanted to do and the ship whizzed off in the direction the mud pups raiders had taken. At first there was nothing but dreary mudflats sliding past the cameras watchful eyes. Then he picked up up a flicker of movement and the ship circled in lower for a better view. It was a group of natives, a large group. There must have been 50 of them working busily in the mud five miles away from the Piper installation. They didn't look so carefree and happy-go-lucky now. They looked very much like desperately busy mud pups with a job on their hand and they were so absorbed that they didn't even see the small craft moving above them. They worked in teams. Some were diving with small containers. Some were handling mines attached to the containers. Still others were carrying and dumping. They came up full, went down empty, came up full. The produce was heaped in a growing pile on a small, semi-solid island with a few scraggly trees on it. As they worked, the pile grew and grew. It only took a moment for Kylan to tell the color of the stuff was unmistakable. They were mining piles of blue-gray mud just as fast as they could mine it. With a gleam of satisfaction in his eye, Kylan snapped off the screen and nodded at Sparks to bring the cameras back. Then Q rang Simpson again. Did you tell them? Simpson's voice was uneasy. Yeah, yeah, I told them. They left in quite a hurry. Yes, I imagine they did. Where are your men now? Outworking on number six, trying to get it up. Better get them together and pack them over to control tower fast, said Kylan. I mean everybody. Every man in the installation. We may have this thing just about tied up if we can get out here soon enough. Kylan's chair gave a sudden lurch and sailed across the room, smashing into the wall. With a yelp, he struggled up the sloping floor. It reared and heaved over the other way, throwing Kylan and Sparks to the other wall, amid a heap of instruments. Through the window, they could see the gray mudflats careening wildly below them. It only took an instant to realize what was happening. Kylan shouted, Let's get out of here! And headed down the stairs, clinging to the railing for dear life. Control tower was sinking in the mud. They had moved faster than he had anticipated Kylan thought and snarled at himself all the way down to the landing platform below. He had hoped at least to have time to parley, to stop and discuss the wise and wherefores of the situation with the natives. Now, it was abundantly clear that any wise and wherefores that were likely to be discussed would be discussed later, and very possibly under twenty feet of mud. A stream of men were floundering out of administration shack, plowing through the mud with waders only half strapped on, as the line of low buildings began shaking and sinking into the morass. From the direction of number six dredge, another crew was heading for the tower. But the tower was rapidly growing shorter as the buoys that sustained it broke loose with ear-shattering crashes. Kylan caught sparks by the shoulder, shouting to be heard above the racket. The transport, did you get it? I think so. They're sending us a ferry? It should be on its way. Simon sloshed up, his face heavy with dismay. The dredges, they've cut loose the dredges, bothered the dredges, get your men collected and into the shelters. We'll have a ship here any minute. But what's happening? We are leaving, if we can make it before these carefree, happy-go-lucky kids here sink us in the mud. Dredges control tower and all. Out of the gloom above there was a roar and a streak of murky yellow as the landing-craft eased down through the haze. Only the top of the control tower was out of the mud now. The administration shack gave a lurch, sagging, as a dozen indistinct gray forms pulled and tugged at the supporting structure beneath it. Already a circle of natives was converging on the earthmen as they gathered near the landing-platform shelters. They're cutting loose the landing-platform! Somebody wailed. One of the lines broke loose with a resounding snap and the platform lurched. Then a dozen men dived through the mud to pull away the slippery writhing natives as they worked to cut through the remaining guys. Moments later the landing-craft was directly overhead and men and natives alike scattered as she sank down. The platform splintered and jolted under her weight, began skidding, then held firm to the two guy-ropes remaining. A horde of gray creatures hurled themselves on those lines as a hatchway opened above and a ladder dropped down. The men scurried up the ropes just as the plastic dome of the control tower sank with a gurgle. Kylan and Simpson paused at the bottom of the ladder, blinking at the scene of devastation around them. Stupid, you say, said Kylan Tevely, better get up there before the control tower went. But everything gone. Wrong again, everything saved. Kylan urged the administrator up the ladder and sighed with relief as the hatch clanged shut. The jets bloomed and sprayed boiling mud far and wide as the landing-craft lifted soggily out of the mire and roared for the clouds above. Kylan wiped sweat from his forehead and sank back on his cot with a shutter. We should be so stupid, he said. I must admit, he said later, to a weary and mystified Simpson that I didn't expect him to move so fast. But when you've decided in your mind that somebody's really pretty stupid, it's hard to adjust that idea that maybe he isn't all of a sudden. We should have been much more suspicious of Dr. Tarnier's test. It's true they weren't designed for venusians, but they were designed to assess intelligence and intelligence is into quality that's influenced by environment or species. It's either there or it isn't and the good doctor told us unequivocally that it was there. But their behavior even that should have tipped us off. There is a very fine line dividing incredible stupidity and incredible stubbornness. It's often a tough differential to make. I didn't spot it until I found them wolfing down the tetracyline capsules in my samples case. Then I began to see the implications. Those mud-pups were stubbornly and tenaciously determined to drive the Peter Visution installation off venus permanently by fair means or foul. They didn't care how. They just wanted it off. But why? We weren't hurting them. There's plenty of mud on venus. Ah, but not so much of the blue-gray stuff we were after, perhaps. Suppose a spaceship settled down in a wheat field in Kansas along about harvesting time and started loading wheat into the hold. I suppose the farmer wouldn't mind too much. After all, there's plenty of vegetation on earth. They're growing the stuff. For all their worth, said Kylind. Lord knows what sort of metabolism uses tetracyline for food. But they are growing mud that yields an incredibly rich concentration of antibiotic, their native food. They grow it to harvest it, live on it. Even the way they shake whenever they come the mud is a giveaway. What better way to seed their crop far and wide? We were mining away the staff of life, my friend. You can't really blame them for objecting. Well, if they think they can drive us off that way, they're going to have to get that brilliant intelligence of theirs into action, Simpson said ominously. We'll bring enough equipment down there to mine them out of house and home. Why? said Kylind. After all, they're mining it themselves a lot more efficiently than we ever could do it. And with Piper warehouses back on earth full of old, useless antibiotics they can't sell for peanuts? No. I don't think we'll mine anything when a simple trade arrangement will do just as well. He sank back in his cot, staring dreamily through the port, as the huge orbital transport loomed large ahead of them. He found his throat spray and dosed himself liberally in preparation for his return to civilization. Of course, the natives are going to be wondering what kind of idiots they're dealing with to sell them pure refined extract of the Suvian beef steak in return for raw chunks of unrefined native soil. But I think we can afford to just let them wonder for a while. End of The Native Soil by Alan Edward Norris. This is a liver box recording. All liver box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit liverbox.org. An Ounce of Cure by Alan E. Norris. The doctor's office was shiny and modern. Behind the desk the doctor smiled down at James Wheatley through thick glasses. Now then what seems to be the trouble? Wheatley have been palpitating for five days straight at the prospect of coming here. I know it's silly he said but I've been having pain in my toe. Indeed said the doctor. While now how long have you had this pain my man? About six months now I'd say. Just now and then you know. It's never really been bad until last week. You see I see said the doctor. Getting worse all the time you say. Wheatley wiggled the painful toe reflectively. Well you might say that you see when I first how old did you say you were Mr. Wheatley? 55 55 the doctor leafed through the medical record on his desk. But this is incredible. You haven't had a check up in almost ten years. I guess I haven't said Wheatley apologetically. I've been feeling pretty well until feeling well the doctor stared in horror but my dear fellow no check ups since January 1963 we aren't in the middle ages you know this is 1972 well of course of course you may be feeling well enough but that doesn't mean everything is just the way it should be and now you see you're having pains in your toes one toe said Wheatley the little one on the right it seemed to me one toe today perhaps said the doctor heavily but tomorrow he heaved a sigh how about your breathing lately been growing short of breath when you hurried upstairs well I have been bothered a little I thought so heart pound when you run for the subway feel tired all day pains in your coughs when you walk fast yes occasionally I Wheatley looked worried and rubbed his toe on the chair leg you know the 55 is a dangerous age said the doctor gravely do you have a cough heartburn after dinner prop up on pillows at night just as I thought I know check up in 10 years he sighed again I suppose I should have seen to it Wheatley admitted but you see it's just my toe my dear fellow your toe is a part of you it doesn't just exist down there all by itself if your toe hurts there must be a reason Wheatley looked more worried than ever there must I thought perhaps you could just give me a little something to stop the pain the doctor looked shocked well of course I could do that but that's not getting at the root of the trouble is it that's just treating symptoms medieval quackery medicine has advanced a long way since your last check up my friend and even treatment has its dangers did you know the more people died last year of asperin poisoning than of cyanide poisoning Wheatley wiped his forehead I dear me I never realized we have to think about these things said the doctor no the problem here is to find out why you have a pain in your toe it could be inflammatory maybe a tumor perhaps it could be a functional maybe vascular perhaps you could take my blood pressure or something Wheatley offered well of course I could but that isn't really my field you know it wouldn't really mean anything if I did it but there's nothing to worry about we have a fine hypertensive men at the diagnostic clinic the doctor checked the appointment book on his desk now if we could see you there next Monday morning at 9 very interesting x-rays said the young doctor with the red hair very interesting see the shadow in the duodenal cap see the prolonged emptying time and I've never seen such beautiful pylorospasm this is my toe Mr. Wheatley edging toward the doctors it seemed he had been waiting for a very long time toe oh no said the red hair doctor no that's the orthopedic radiologist's job I'm a gastrointestinal man myself upper Dr. Schult here is lower the red hair doctor turned back to his consultation with Dr. Schult Mr. Wheatley rubbed his pillow and waited presently another doctor came by he looked very grave and he sat down beside Wheatley tell me Mr. Wheatley have you had an orthodiogram lately no an EKG no fluoroartogram I don't think so the doctor looked even graver the way muttering to himself in a few moments he came back with two more doctors no question in my mind that it's Cardio McGalley he was saying but had him failed should know he's the best left ventricle man in the city excellent paper in the AMA journal last July the inadequacies of modern orthodiogram techniques in demonstrating minimal left ventricular hypertrophy a brilliant study simply brilliant now this patient he glanced toward Wheatley and his voice dropped to a mumble presently two of the men nodded and one walked over to Wheatley cautiously as though afraid he might suddenly vanish now there's nothing to be worried about Mr. Wheatley he said we're going to have you fixed up time at all just a few more studies now if you could see me involve clinic tomorrow afternoon at three Wheatley nodded nothing serious I hope serious? oh no dear me you mustn't worry everything is going to be alright the doctor said well I that is my toe is still bothering me some it's not nearly as bad but I wondered if maybe you dawn broke in the doctor's face give you something for it well now we aren't therapeutic men you understand always best to let the expert handle the problem in his own field he paused stroking his chin for a moment tell you what we'll do Dr. Epstein is one of the finest therapeutic men in the city he could take care of you and a jiffy if we can't arrange an appointment with him after you see me tomorrow Mr. Wheatley was laid to the mitral valve clinic the next day because he had gone to the aortic valve clinic by mistake but finally he found the right waiting room a few hours later he was being thumbed, photographed and listened to substances were popped into his right arm and withdrawn from his left arm as he marveled at the brilliance of modern medical techniques where finished he had been seen by both the mitral men and the aortic men as well as the great arteries men and the peripheral capillary bad men therapeutic men happened to be an Atlantic city at a convention and the rheumatologist was on vacation so Wheatley was sent to the functional clinic instead always have to rule out these things, the doctors agreed wouldn't do much good to give you medicine if your trouble isn't organic now would it? the psycho neuroticist studied his sex life while the psychosociologist examined his social milieu then they conferred for a long time three days later he was waiting in the hallway downstairs again had some met in a huddle words and phrases slipped out from time to time as his discussion drew heated no doubt in my mind that it's a but we can't ignore the endocrine implications doctor you're perfectly right though cause bit and bender at the university might be able to answer the question no better pituitary osmore receptorologist in the city a tubular function men should look at these kidneys first he's 55 you know has anyone studied his filtration fraction? might be a peripheral vascular specificity factor after a while James Wheatley rose from the bench and slipped out the door limping slightly as he went the room was small and dusky with heavy Turkish drapes obscuring the dark hallway beyond a suggestion of incense hung in the air in due course a gaunt swore the men in mustache and turban appeared through the curtains and bowed solemnly you come with that problem? he asked in a slight accent as a matter of fact yes James Wheatley said hesitantly you see I've been having a pain in my right little toe end of an ounce of cure PR Oblom this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Joseph Kellogg PR Oblom by Alan Edward Norse the letter came down the slot too early that morning to be the regular mail run Pete Greenwood eyed the new Philly photo-cancel with a dreadful premonition the letter said Peter, can you come east chop chop urgent? Gerdzon's problem getting to be a PR Oblom need expert icebox salesman to get gators out of hair fast yes? math boys hot on this so hot please come Tommy Pete tossed the letter down the gulper with a sigh he had lost a bet to himself because it had come three days later than he expected but it had come all the same just as it always did when Tommy Hines got himself into a hole not that he didn't like Tommy Tommy was a good PR man as PR men go he just didn't know his own depth PR Oblom in a beady Gerdzon's eye what Tommy needed right now was a bazooka battalion not a PR man Pete settled back in the eastbound rocket jet with a sigh of resignation he was just dozing off when the fat lady up the aisle let out a scream a huge reptilian head had materialized out of nowhere and was hanging in air peering about uncertainly a scaly green body followed four feet away complete with long razor talons heavy hind legs and a whiplash tail with a needle at the end for a moment the creature floated upside down legs thrashing then the head and body joined executed a horizontal pirouette and settled gently to the floor like an eight foot circus balloon two rows down a small boy let out a muffled howl and tried to bury himself in his mother's coat collar an indignant wail arose from the fat lady someone behind Pete groaned aloud and quickly retired behind a newspaper the creature coughed apologetically terribly sorry he said in a coarse rumble so difficult to control you know terribly sorry his voice trailed off as he lumbered down the aisle towards the empty seat next to Pete the fat lady gasped and an angry murmur ran up and down the cabin sit down Pete said to the creature relax cheer for a reception these days eh you don't mind said the creature not at all Pete tossed his briefcase on the floor at a distance the huge beast had looked like a nightmare combination of large alligator and small tyrannosaurus now at close range Pete could see that the scales were actually tiny wrinkles of satiny green fur he knew of course that the goods were mammals docile peace loving mammals Tommy's PR blast had declared him fatically but with one of them sitting about a foot away Pete had to fight down a wave of horror and revulsion the creature was most incredibly ugly great yellow pouches hung down below flat reptilian eyes and a double row of long curved teeth littered sharply in spite of himself Pete gripped the seat as the Gerdzinth breathed at him wetly through damp nostrils miss gauged said Pete the Gerdzinth nodded sadly it's horrible of me but I just can't help it I always miss gauged last time it was the chantsle of St. John's Cathedral I was nearly stampeded in mourning prayer he paused to catch a breath what an effort the energy barrier frightfully hard to make the jump broke off sharply staring at the window dear me are we going east I'm afraid so friend oh dear I wanted Florida well you seem to have drifted through into the wrong airplane said Pete why Florida the Gerdzinth looked at him reproachfully the wives of course better and they mustn't be disturbed you know of course said Pete in their condition I'd forgotten and I'm told that things have been somewhat unpleasant in the east just now said the Gerdzinth Pete thought of Tommy red-faced and frantic beating off hordes of indignant citizens so I hear he said how many more of you are coming through oh not many not many at all only the wives half million or so and their spouses of course the creature clicked his talons nervously we haven't much more time you know only a few more weeks a few months at the most if we couldn't have stopped over here I just don't know what we'd have done think nothing of it said Pete indulgently it's been great having you the passengers within earshots stiffened glaring at Pete the fat lady was whispering indignantly to her seek companion junior at half emerged from his mother's collar he was busy sticking his tongue out at the Gerdzinth the creature shifted uneasily really I think perhaps Florida would be better going to try it again now don't rush off said Pete oh I don't mean to rush it's been lovely but already the Gerdzinth was beginning to fade out try four miles down and a thousand miles southeast said Pete the creature gave him a toothy smile nodded once and grew more indistinct in another five seconds the seat was quite empty back grinning to himself as the angry rumble rose around him like a wave he was a public relations man to the core but right now he was off duty he chuckled to himself and the passengers avoided him like the plague all the way to New Philly but as he walked down the gangway to hail a cab he wasn't smiling so much he was wondering just how high Tommy was hanging him this time the lobby of the public relations bureau was swarming like an upturned ant hill when Pete parked from the taxi he could almost smell the desperate tension of the place he fought his way past scurry and clerks and preoccupied poll takers toward the executive elevators in the rear on the newly finished 17th floor he found Tommy Hines pacing the corridor like an expectant young father Tommy had lost weight since Pete had last seen him his ready face was paler, his hair thin and ragged as though chunks had been torn out from time to time he saw Pete step off the elevator and ran forward with open arms I thought you'd never get here he groaned when you didn't call I was afraid you'd let me down me said Pete I'd never let down a pal the sarcasm didn't dent Tommy he led Pete through the anti-room into the plush director's office bouncing about excitedly his words tumbling out like a waterfall he looked as though one gentle shove might send him yodeling down Market Street in his under drawers Pete relax I'm not going to leave for a while your girl screamed something about a senator as we came in did you hear her Tommy gave a violent start senator oh dear he flipped a desk switch what senator is that senator Stokes the girl said weirdly he had an appointment he's ready to have you fired all I need now is a senator Tommy said what does he want guess said the girl oh that's what I was afraid of can you keep him there don't worry about that said the girl he's growing roots they swept around him last night and dusted him off this morning his appointment was for yesterday remember remember of course I remember senator Stokes something about a riot in Boston he started to flip the switch then added see if you can get Charlie down here with his giz he turned back to Pete with a frantic light in his eye good old Pete just in time just 11th hour reprieve have a drink have a cigar do you want my job it's yours just speak up I failed to see said Pete why you just had to drag me all the way from LA to have a cigar I've got work to do selling movies right said Tommy check to people who don't want to buy them right in a manner of speaking said Pete testily exactly said Tommy considering some of the movies you've been selling you should be able to sell anything to anybody any time at any price please movies are getting better by the day yes I know and the Gurdzinth are getting worse by the hour they're coming through in battalions a thousand a day the more Gurdzinth come through the more they act as though they own the place not nasty or anything it's that infernal politeness that people hate most I think can't get them mad can't get them into a fight but they do anything they please and go anywhere they please and if the people don't like it the Gurdzinth just go right ahead anyway Pete pulled out his lip any violence Tommy gave him a long look so far we've kept it out of the papers but there have been some incidents didn't hurt the Gurdzinth a bit they have personal protective force fields around them a little point they didn't bother to tell us about anybody who tries anything fancy gets thrown like a bolt of lightning hit him rumors are getting wild people saying they can't get killed and they're just moving in to stay Pete nodded slowly are they? I wish I knew I mean for sure the Psych-Docs say no the Gurdzinth agreed to leave at a specified time and something in their cultural background makes them stick strictly to their arguments but that's just what the Psych-Docs think they've been wrong they've been known to be wrong in the appointed time Tommy spread his hands helplessly if we knew, you'd still be in LA roughly 6 months and 4 days plus or minus a month for the time differential that's strictly tentative according to the math boys it's a parallel universe one of several thousand already explored according to the Gurdzinth scientists working with Charlie Carnes most of the parallels are analogous and we happen to be analogous to the Gurdzinth a point we've omitted from our PR blasts they have an 8 planet system around a hot sun it's going to get lots hotter any day now Pete's eyes widened Nova? apparently nobody knows how they predicted it but they did spotted it coming several years ago so they've been romping through parallel after parallel trying to find one they can migrate to they found one sort of a desperation choice it's cold and arid and full of impassable mountain chains with an uphill fight they can make it support a fraction of their population Tommy shook his head helplessly they picked a very sensible system for getting a good strong Gurdzinth population on the new parallel as fast as possible the males were picked for brains, education, ability, and adaptability the females were chosen largely according to how pregnant they were Pete grinned Gurdzinth and utero are something poetic about it just one hitch said Tommy the girls can't gestate in that climate at least not until they've been there long enough to get their glands adjusted it seems they have just the right climate here for gestating Gurdzinth even better than at home so they came begging for permission to stop here on the way through to rest and paturiate so earth becomes a glorified incubator Pete got to his feet thoughtfully this is all very touching, he said but it just doesn't wash if the Gurdzinth is so unpopular with the masses why did we let them here in the first place? he looked narrowly at Tommy to be very blunt, what's the parking fee? plenty said Tommy heavily that's the trouble you see the fee is so high earth just can't afford to lose it Charlie Karnes will tell you why Charlie Karnes for math section was an intense skeleton of a man with a long jaw and long white coat drooping over his shoulders like a shroud in his arms he clutched a small black box it's the parallel universe business of course he said to Pete with Tommy beaming over his shoulder the Gurdzinth can cross through they've been able to do it for a long time according to our figuring this must involve complete control of mass, space and dimension all three and time comes into one of the three we aren't sure which the mathematician set the black box on the desktop and released the lid like a jack in the box two small white plastic spheres popped out and began chasing each other about in the air six inches above the box presently a third sphere rose up from the box and joined the fun Pete watched it with his jaw sagging until his head began to spin no wires? strictly no wires said Charlie glumly no nothing he closed the box at the click this is one of their children's toys and theoretically it can't work among other things it takes no gravity to operate Pete sat down rubbing his chin yes he said I'm beginning to see they're teaching you this? Tommy said they're trying to he's been working for weeks with their top mathematicians him and a dozen others how many computers have you burned out Charlie? four there's a differential factor and we can't spot it they have the equations alright it's a matter of translating them into constants that make sense but we haven't cracked the differential and if you do then what? Charlie took a deep breath we'll have interdimensional control a practical, utilizable trans matter we'll have no gravity which means the greatest advance in power utilization since fire was discovered it might give us an opening to a concept of time travel that makes some kind of sense and power if there's an energy differential of any magnitude he shook his head sadly we'll also know the time differential said Tommy hopefully and how long the Gerdson gestation period will be it's a fair exchange said Charlie we keep them until all the girls have their babies they teach us the ABCs of space, mass, and dimension Pete nodded that is, if he can make the people put up with them for another six months or so Tommy sighed in a word yes so far he's gotten nowhere at a thousand miles an hour I can't do it the cosmetician wailed hurling himself down on a chair and burying his face in his hands I failed, failed! the Gerdson sitting on the stool looked regretfully from the cosmetician to the public relations man I say, I am sorry his coarse voice trailed off as he peeled a long strip of cake make-up off his satiny green face Pete Greenwood stared at the cosmetician sobbing in the chair what's eating him? professional pride said Tommy he can take twenty years off the face of any woman in Hollywood getting to first base with Gorgeous over there this is only one thing we've tried he added as they moved on down the quarter you should see the field reports we've tried selling the advances Earth will have, the wealth, the power no dice the man on the street reads our PR blasts and then looks up to see one of the nasty things staring over his shoulder at the newspaper so you can't make them beautiful Pete, can't you make them cute? with those teeth? those eyes? how about the jolly company approach? tried it, there's nothing jolly about them they pop out of nowhere, anywhere in church, in bedrooms in rush hour traffic through Lincoln Tunnel look! Pete peered out the window with the traffic jam below Carl's were snarled up for blocks on either side of the intersection a squad of traffic cops were converging angrily on the center of the mess where a stream of green reptilian figures seemed to be popping out of the street and lumbering through the jammed autos like General Sherman tanks ulcers said Tommy city traffic isn't enough of a mess as it is and they don't do anything about it they apologize profusely but they keep coming through the two started on for the office things are getting to the breaking point the people are wearing thin from sheer annoyance to say nothing of the nightmares the kids are having and the trouble with women fainting the signal light on Tommy's desk was a flashing scarlet he dropped into a chair with a sigh and flipped a switch ok what is it now just another senator said a furious male voice Mr. Heinz my arthritis is beginning to win this fight are you going to see me now or aren't you yes yes come right in Tommy turned white Senator Stokes he muttered had completely forgotten the senator didn't seem to like being forgotten he walked into the office disdainfully at the PR man and sank to the edge of a chair leaning on his umbrella you have just lost your job he said to Tommy with an icy edge to his voice you may not have heard about it yet but you can take my word for it I personally will be delighted to make the necessary arrangements but I doubt if I'll need to there are at least 100 senators in Washington who are ready to press for your dismissal Mr. Heinz and there's been some off the record talk about a lynching nothing official of course Senator Senator be hanged we want somebody in this office who can manage to do something do something you think I'm a magician I can just make them vanish what do you want me to do the senator raises eyebrows needn't shout Mr. Heinz I'm not the least interested in what you do my interest is focused completely on a collection of 5000 letters telegrams and visa phone calls I've received in the past three days alone my constituents Mr. Heinz are making themselves clear if the Guardsons do not go I go that would never do of course murmured Pete the senator gave Pete a cold clinical look who is this person yes Tommy an assistant on the job Tommy said quickly a very excellent PR man the senator sniffed audibly full of ideas no doubt brimming said Pete enough ideas to get your constituents off your neck for a while at least indeed indeed said Pete Tommy how fast can you get a PR blast to penetrate how much medium do you control plenty Tommy gulped how fast can you sample response and analyze it we can have prelims six hours after the PR blast Pete if you have an idea tell us Pete stood up facing the senator everything else has been tried but it seems to me an important factor has been missed one that will take your constituents by the ears he looked at Tommy pityingly you've tried to make them lovable but they aren't lovable they aren't even passively attractive there's one thing that they are though at least half of them Tommy's jaw sag pregnant he said now see here said the senator if you're trying to make a fool out of me to my face sit down and shut up said Pete if there's one thing the man on the street is here is my friend it's motherhood we've got several hundred thousand pregnant Gerds in just waiting for all the little Gerds in to arrive and nobody's given them a side glance he turned to Tommy get some copyright is down here get a Gerds in the obstetrician or two we're going to put together a PR blast that would twang the people's heartstrings like a billion harps color was back in Tommy's cheeks the senator was forgotten as it doesn't intercom switches began snapping we'll need TV hookups and plenty of newscast space he said eagerly maybe a few photographs do you suppose maybe baby Gerds in they're lovable they probably look like salamanders said Pete but tell the people anything you want if we're going to get across the sanctity of Gerds in motherhood my friend anything goes it's genius shortled Tommy sheer genius if it sells the senator added dubiously it'll sell Pete said the question is for how long the planning revealed the mark of genius nothing sudden harsh or crude but slowly in a radio comment here or a newspaper story there the emphasis began to shift from Gerds in general to Gerds in as mothers a Rutgers professor found his TV discussion on motherhood as an experience suddenly shifted from 6 30 Monday evening to 10 30 Saturday night copy rolled by the ream from Tommy's office refined copy hypersensitively edited copy finding its way into the light of day through devious channels three days later a Gerds in the miscarriage threatened and was averted it was only a page four item but it was a beginning determined movements to expel the Gerds and faltered trembled within decision the Gerds in their ugly they frighten little children they were a trifle over bearing in their insufferable stubborn lightness but in a civilized world you just couldn't turn expectant mothers out in the rain not even expectant Gerds in mothers by the second week the blast was going at full tilt in the public relations bureau building machines worked on into the night as questionnaires came back spot candid films and street corner interview tapes ran through the projectors on a 24 hour schedule Tommy Heinz grew thinner and thinner while Pete nursed sharp post-prandial stomach pains why don't people respond to me asked plaintively on the morning the third week started haven't they got any feelings the blast is washing over them like a wave and there they sit he punched the private wire to analysis for the fourth time that morning he got a man with a egg ridden look in his eye how soon you want right yesterday's rushes what do you think I want any sign of a lag not a hint last night's panel drew like a magnet the D-date tag he suggested has them by the nose how about the president's talk the man from analysis grinned he should be campaigning Tommy mopped his forehead with his shirt sleeve okay now listen we need a special run on all response data we have for tolerance levels got that how soon can we have it analysis shook his head we could only make a guess with the data so far okay Tommy make a guess give us three hours said analysis you've got 30 minutes get going turning back to Pete Tommy rubbed his hands eagerly starting to sell boy I don't know how strong or how good but it's starting to sell with the tolerance levels to tell us how long we can expect this program to quiet things down we can give Charlie a deadline to crack his differential factor or it's the axe for Charlie he chuckled to himself and paced the room in an overflow energy and see it now open shafts instead of elevators quick hop to Honolulu for an afternoon on the beach and back in time for supper 100 miles to the gallon for the Sunday driver when people begin seeing what the Guards in there giving us they'll welcome them with open arms said Pete well why won't they the people just didn't trust us that was all what does the man in the street know about trans matters nothing but give him one try to take it away sure sure said Pete sounds great just a little bit too great Tommy blinked at him too great are you crazy not crazy just getting nervous Pete jammed his hands into his pockets do you realize where we're standing in this thing we're out on a limb way out fighting for time time for Charlie and his gang to crack the puzzle time for the Guards and girls to gestate but what are we hearing from Charlie Pete Charlie can't just that's right said Pete nothing is what we're hearing from Charlie you've got no trans matter no no g no power nothing except a whole lot of Gerds in and more coming through just as fast as they can I'm beginning to wonder what the Gerds in are giving us well they can't gestate forever maybe not but I still have a burning desire to talk to Charlie something tells me they're going to be gestating a little too long they put through the call but Charlie wasn't answering sorry the operator said nobody's gotten through there for three days three days cried Tommy what's wrong is he dead couldn't be they burned out two more machines yesterday said the operator killed the switchboard for 20 minutes get him on the wire Tommy said that's orders yes sir but first I want you in analysis analysis was a shambles paper and tape piled knee deep on the floor the machines clattered wildly coughing out reams of paper to be gulped up by other machines in a corner office they found the analysis man pale but jubilant the program Tommy said how's it going you can count on the people staying happy for at least another five months analysis hesitated an instant if they see some baby Gerds in at the end of it all there was a dead silence in the room baby Gerdsom Tommy said finally that's what I said that's what the people are buying that's what they'd better get Tommy swallowed hard and if it happens to be six months analysis drew a finger across his throat Tommy and Pete looked at each other and Tommy's hands were shaking I think he said we'd better find Charlie Kongs right now math section was like a tomb the machines were silent in the office at the end of the room they found an unshave and Charlie gulping a cup of coffee with a very smug looking Gerdsom the coffee pot was flowing gently about six feet above the desk so were the Gerdsom then Charlie Charlie Tommy howled we've been trying to get to you for hours the operator I know I know Charlie waved a hand disjointedly I told her to go away I told the rest of the crew to go away too then you cracked the differential Charlie tipped an imaginary hat toward the Gerdsom Spike cracked it he said Spike is sort of a Gerdsom genius he tossed a coffee cup over his shoulder and ricocheted into graceful slow motion against the far wall now why don't you go away too Tommy turned purple we've got five months he said do you hear me if they aren't going to have their babies in five months we're dead men Charlie chuckled he says he figured the babies to come in about three months right Spike not that it'll make any much difference to us Charlie sank slowly down to the desk he wasn't laughing anymore we're never going to see any Gerdsom babies it's going to be a little too cold for that the energy factor he mumbled nobody thought of that except him passing should have though long ago two completely independent universes obviously two energy systems incompatible we were dealing with mass, space, and dimension but the energy differential was the important one what about the energy we're loaded with it supercharged, packed to the breaking point and way beyond Charlie scribbled frantically on the desk pad look took energy for them to come through immense quantities of energy everyone that came through upset the balance distorted our whole energy pattern and they knew from the start that the differential was all on their side a million of them unbalances four billion of us all they needed to overload us completely was time for enough crossings and we gave it to them Pete said slowly, his face green like a rubber ball with a dent in the side push in one side, the other side pops out and we're the other side when any day now, maybe any minute Charlie spread his hands helplessly oh, it won't be bad at all Spike here was telling me mean temperature and only 39 below zero lots of good clean snow thousands of nice jagged mountain peaks a lovely place really just a little too cold for Guardsom they thought earth was much nicer for them, whispered Tommy for them, Charlie said end of PR Oddland by Alan Edward Norris second sight LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by Captain Allegra second sight by Alan Edward Norris note the following excerpts from Amy Ballantyne's journal have never actually been written down at any time before her account of impressions and events has been kept in organized fashion in her mind for at least nine years even she is not certain when she started but it must be understood that certain inaccuracies in transcription could not possibly have been avoided in the excerpting attempted here the editor Tuesday 16 May Lambertson got back from Boston about two this afternoon he was tired I don't think I've ever seen Lambertson so tired it was more than just exhaustion too maybe anger frustration, I couldn't be sure it seemed more like defeat than anything else and he went straight from the copter to his office without even stopping off at the lab at all it's good to have him back though not that I haven't had a nice enough rest with Lambertson gone Dakin took over the reins for the week but Dakin doesn't really count poor man it's such a temptation to twist him up and get him all confused that I didn't do any real work all week with Lambertson back I'll have to get down to the grind again but I'm still glad he's here I never thought I'd miss him so for such a short time away but I wish he'd gotten a rest if he ever rests and I wish I knew why he went to Boston in the first place certainly he didn't want to go I wanted to read him and find out but I don't think I'm supposed to know yet Lambertson didn't want to talk he didn't even tell me he was back even though he knew I'd catch him five miles down the road I can do that now with Lambertson distance doesn't seem to make so much difference anymore if I just ignore it so all I got was bits and snatches on the surface of his mind something about me and Dr. Custer and a nasty little man called errands or barons or something I've heard of him somewhere but I can't pin it down right now I'll have to dig that out later I guess but if he saw Dr. Custer why doesn't he tell me about it Wednesday, 17 May it was errands that he saw in Boston and now I'm sure that something's going wrong I know that man I remember him from a long time ago back when I was still at Bardsley long before I came here to the study center he was the consulting psychiatrist and I don't think I could ever forget him even if I tried that's why I'm sure something very unpleasant is going on Lambertson saw Dr. Custer too but the director sent him to Boston because errands wanted to talk to him I wasn't supposed to know anything about it but Lambertson came down to dinner last night he wouldn't even look at me the skunk I fixed him I told him I was going to peek and then I read him in a flash before he could shift his mind to Boston traffic or something he knows I can't stand traffic I only picked up a little but it was enough there was something very unpleasant that I didn't quite get they were in his office Lambertson had said I don't think she's ready for it and I'd never try to talk her into it at this point why can't you people get it through your heads that she's a child and a human being not some kind of laboratory animal that's been the trouble all along everybody's been so eager to grab and nobody's given her a rich thing in return errands was smooth very sad and reproachful I got a clear picture of him balding mean little eyes and a smug self-righteous little face Michael after all she's 23 years old she's certainly out of diapers by now but she's only had two years of training aimed at teaching her anything well there's no reason that that should stop is there be reasonable Michael we certainly agree that you've done a wonderful job with the girl and naturally you're sensitive about others working with her but when you consider that public taxes are footing the bill I'm sensitive about others exploiting her that's all I tell you I won't push her and I wouldn't let her come up here even if she agreed to do it she shouldn't be tampered with for another year or two at least Lambertson was angry and bitter now three days later he was still angry and you're certain that your concern is entirely professional whatever errands meant it wasn't nice Lambertson caught it and oh my chart slapping down on the table door slamming swearing from mild patient Lambertson can you imagine? and then later no more anger just disgust and defeat that was what hit me when he came back yesterday he couldn't hide it no matter how he tried well no wonder he was tired I remember Aaron's alright he wasn't so interested in me back in those days wild one he called me we haven't the time or the people to handle anything like this in a public institution we have to handle her the way we'd handle any other defective she may be a plus defective instead of a minus defective but she's as crippled as if she were deaf and blind good old Aaron's that was years ago when I was barely 13 before Dr. Custer got interested and started ophthalmoscoping and testing me before I had ever heard of Lambertson or the study center for that matter before anybody had done anything but feed me and treat me like some kind of peculiar animal or something well I'm glad it was Lambertson that went to Boston and not me for Aaron's sake and if Aaron's tries to come down here to work with me he's gonna be wasting his time because I'll lead him all around Robin Hood's barn and get him so confused he'll wish he'd stayed home but I can't help but wonder just the same am I a cripple like Aaron said does being sigh high mean that? I don't think so but what does Lambertson think? sometimes when I try to read Lambertson I'm the one that gets confused I wish I could tell what he really thinks Wednesday night I asked Lambertson tonight what Dr. Custer had said he wants to see you next week he told me but Amy he didn't make any promises he wasn't even hopeful but his letter he said the study showed that there wasn't any anatomical defect Lambertson leaned back and lit his pipe shaking his head at me he's aged 10 years this past week everybody thinks so he's lost weight and he looks as if he hasn't slept at all Custer's afraid that it isn't a question of anatomy Amy but what is it then for heaven's sake? he doesn't know he says it's not very scientific but it may just be that what you don't use you lose oh but that's silly I chewed my lip granted but he thinks that there's a chance of course there's a chance and you know he'll do everything he can it's just that neither of us wants you to get your hopes up it wasn't much but it was something Lambertson looked so beat I didn't have the heart to ask him what Aaron's wanted even though I know he'd like to get it off his chest maybe tomorrow will be better I spent the day with Charlie Dakin in the lab and did a little work for a change I've been disgustingly lazy and poor Charlie thinks it's all his fault Charlie reads like a 20 point type 90% of the time and I'm afraid he knows it I can tell just exactly when he stops paying attention to business and starts paying attention to me and then all of a sudden he realizes I'm reading him and it flusters him for the rest of the day I wonder why does he really think I'm shocked or surprised or insulted poor Charlie I guess I must be good enough looking I can read it from almost every fellow that comes near me I wonder why I mean why me and not Marjorie over in the main office she's a sweet girl but she never gets a second look from the guys there must be some fine differential point I'm missing somewhere but I don't think I'll ever understand it I'm not gonna press Lambertson but I hope he opens up tomorrow he's got me scared silly by now he has a lot of authority around here but other people are paying the bills and when he's frightened about something it can't help but frighten me Thursday, 18 May we went back to reaction testing in the lab with Lambertson today that study is almost finished as much as anything I work on is ever finished which isn't very much the test had two goals to clock my stimulus response pattern in comparison to normals and to find out just exactly when I pick up any given thought signal from the person I'm reading it isn't a matter of developing speed I'm already so fast to respond that it doesn't mean too much from anybody else's standpoint and I certainly don't need any training there but where along the line do I pick up a thought impulse do I catch it at its inception do I pick up the thought formulation or just the final crystallized pattern Lambertson thinks I'm with it right from the start and that some training in those lines would be worth my time of course we didn't find out not even with the ingenious little random firing device that Dacken designed for the study with this gadget, neither Lambertson nor I know what impulse the box is going to throw at him he just throws a switch and it starts coming he catches it, reacts I catch it from him and react and we compare reaction times this afternoon it had us driving up a hill and sent a ten-ton truck rolling down on us out of control I had my flash on two seconds before Lambertson did of course but our reaction times are standardized so when we corrected for my extra speed we knew that I must have caught the impulse about 0.07 seconds after he did crude of course but not nearly fast enough and we can't reproduce on a stable basis Lambertson says that's as close as we can get without cortical probes and that's where I put my foot down I may have a gold mine in this head of mine but nobody is going to put burr holes through my skull in order to tap it not for a while yet that's unfair of course because it sounds as if Lambertson were trying to force me into something and he isn't I've read him about that and I know he wouldn't allow it let's learn everything else we can learn without it first he says later if you want to go along with it maybe but right now you're not competent to decide for yourself he may be right but why not why does he keep acting as if I'm a child am I really? with everything and I mean everything coming into my mind for the past 23 years haven't I learned enough to make decisions for myself? Lambertson says of course everything has been coming in it's just that I don't know what to do with it all but somewhere along the line I have to reach a maturation point of some kind it scares me sometimes because I can't find an answer to it and the answer might be perfectly horrible I don't know where it may end what's worse I don't know what point it has reached right now how much difference is there between my mind and Lambertson's I'm sigh high and he isn't granted but is there more to it than that? people like Aaron's think so they think it's a difference between human function and something else and that scares me because it just isn't true I'm as human as anybody else but somehow it seems that I'm the one who has to prove it I wonder if I ever will that's why Dr. Kester has to help me everything hangs on that I'm to go up to Boston next week for final studies and testing if Dr. Kester can do something what a difference that'll make maybe then I could get out of this whole frightening mess put it behind me and forget about it with just the sigh alone I don't think I ever can Friday 19 May today Lambertson broke down and told me what it was that Aaron's had been proposing it was worse than I thought it would be the man had hit on the one thing that I'd been afraid of for so long he wants you to work against normals Lambertson said he swallowed the latency hypothesis whole he thinks that everybody must have a latent sigh potential and that all that is needed to drag it into the open is a powerful stimulus from someone with full blown sigh powers well I said do you think so who knows Lambertson slammed his pencil down on the desk angrily no I don't think so but what does that mean not a thing it certainly doesn't mean I'm right nobody knows the answer not me nor Aaron's nor anybody and Aaron's wants to use you to find out I nodded slowly I see so I'm to be used as a sort of refined electrical stimulator I said well I guess you know what you can tell Aaron's he was silent and I couldn't read him then he looked up Amy I'm not sure we can tell him that I stared at him you mean you think he could force me he says you're a public charge that as long as you have to be supported and cared for they have the right to use your faculties and he's right on the first point you are a public charge you have to be sheltered and protected so much as a mile outside these walls you'd never survive and you know it I sat stunned but Dr. Custer Dr. Custer is trying to help but he hasn't succeeded so far if he can then it would be a different story but I can't stall much longer Amy Aaron's has a powerful argument you're scy high you're the first full-fledged, wide-open freewheeling scy high that's ever appeared in human history the first in the past have shown potential maybe but nothing they could ever learn to control you've got control you're fully developed you're here and you're the only one there is oh so I happen to be unlucky I snapped my genes got mixed up that's not true and you know it Lambertson said we know your chromosomes better than your face they're the same as anyone else's there's no gene difference none at all when you're gone you'll be gone and there's no reason to think that your children will have any more scy potential than Charlie Dakin has something was building up in me that I couldn't control any longer you think I should go with Aaron's I said Dully he hesitated I'm afraid you're going to have to sooner or later Aaron's has some latents up in Boston he's certain that they're latents he's talked to the directors down here he's convinced them that you could work with his people draw them out you could open the door to a whole new world for human beings I lost my temper then it wasn't just Aaron's or Lambertson or Dakin or any of the others it was all of them dozens of them compounded year upon year upon year now listen to me for a minute I said have any of you ever considered what I wanted in this thing ever have any of you given that one single thought just once one time when you were so sick of thinking great thoughts for humanity that you let another thought leak through have you ever thought about what kind of a shuffle I've had since all this started well you'd better think about it right now Amy you know I don't want to push you listen to me Lambertson my folks got rid of me fast when they found out about me did you know that they hated me because I scared them it didn't hurt me too much because I thought I knew why they hated me I could understand it and I went off to Bardsley without even crying they were gonna come see me every week but you know how often they managed to make it not once after I was off their hands and then at Bardsley Aaron's examined me and decided that I was a cripple he didn't know anything about me then but he thought sigh was a defect and that was as far as it went I did what Aaron's wanted me to do at Bardsley never what I wanted just what they wanted years and years of what they wanted and then you came along and I came to the study center and did what you wanted it hurt him and I knew it I guess that was what I wanted to hurt him and to hurt everybody he was shaking his head staring at me Amy be fair I've tried you know how hard I've tried tried what to train me yes but why to give me better use of my sigh faculties yes why did you do it for me is that really why you did it or was that just another phony front like all the rest of them in order to use me to make me a little more valuable to have around he slapped my face so hard it jolted me I could feel the awful pain and hurt in his mind as he stared at me and I sensed the stinging in his palm that matched the burning in my cheek and then something fell away in his mind and I saw something I had never seen before he loved me that man incredible isn't it he loved me me who couldn't call him anything but Lambertson who couldn't imagine calling him Michael to say nothing of Mike just Lambertson who did this or Lambertson who thought that but he could never tell me he had decided that I was too helpless I needed him too much I needed love but not the kind of love Lambertson wanted to give so that kind of love had to be hidden concealed suppressed I needed the deepest imaginable understanding but it had to be utterly unselfish understanding anything else would be taking advantage of me so a barrier had to be built a barrier that I should never penetrate and that he should never be tempted to break down Lambertson had done that for me it was all there suddenly so overwhelming it made me gasp from the impact I wanted to throw my arms around him instead I sat down in the chair shaking my head helplessly I hated myself then I had hated myself before but never like this if I could only go somewhere I said someplace where nobody knew me where I could just live by myself for a while and shut the doors shut out the thoughts and pretend for a while just pretend that I'm perfectly normal I wish you could Lambertson said but you can't you know that not unless Custer can really help we sat there for a while then I said let Aaron's come down let him bring anybody he wants with him I'll do what he wants until I see Custer that hurt too but it was different it hurt both of us together not separately anymore and somehow it didn't hurt so much that way Monday 22 May Aaron's drove down from Boston this morning with a girl named Mary Bolton and we went to work I think I'm beginning to understand how a dog can tell when someone wants to kick him and doesn't quite dare I could feel the back of my neck prickle when that man walked into the conference room I was hoping he might have changed since the last time I saw him he hadn't but I had I wasn't afraid of him anymore just awfully tired of him after he'd been here about ten minutes but that girl I wonder what sort of story he'd told her she couldn't have been more than sixteen and she was terrorized at first I thought it was Aaron's she was afraid of but that wasn't so it was me it took us all morning just to get around that the poor girl could hardly make herself talk she was shaking all over when they arrived we took a walk around the grounds alone and I read her bit by bit a feeler here a planted suggestion there just getting her used to the idea and trying to reassure her after a while she was smiling she thought the lagoon was lovely and by the time we got back to the main building she was laughing talking about herself beginning to relax then I gave her a full blast quickly only a moment or two don't be afraid I hate him yes but I won't hurt you for anything let me come in don't fight me we've got to work as a team it shook her she turned white and almost passed out for a moment then she nodded slowly I see she said it feels as if it's way inside deep inside that's right it won't hurt I promise she nodded again let's go back now I think I'm ready to try we went to work I was as blind as she was at first there was nothing there at first not even a flicker of brightness then probing deeper something responded only a hint a suggestion of something powerful deep and hidden but where what was her strength where was she weak I couldn't tell we started on dice crude of course but as good a tool as any dice are no good for measuring anything but that was why I was there I was the measuring instrument the dice were only reactors sensitive enough two balsam cubes tossed from a box with only gravity to work against I showed her first picked up her mind as the dice popped out let her through it take one at a time the red one first work on it see now we try both once more watch it all right now she sat frozen in the chair she was trying the sweat stood out on her forehead Erin sat tense smoking his fingers twitching as he watched the red and green cubes bounce on the white backdrop Lambertson watched too but his eyes were on the girl not the cubes it was hard work bit by bit she began to grab whatever I had felt in her mind seemed to leap up I probed her amplifying it trying to draw it out it was like wading through knee deep mud sticky sluggish resisting I could feel her excitement growing and bit by bit my grip easing her out baiting her all right I said that's enough she turned to me wide eyed I did it Erin's was on his feet breathing heavily it worked it worked not very well but it's there all she needs is time and help and patience but it worked Lambertson do you know what that means it means that I was right it means others can have it just like she has it he rubbed his hands together we can arrange a full time lab for it and work on three or four latents simultaneously it's a wide open door Michael can't you see what it means Lambertson nodded and gave me a long look yes I think I do I'll start arrangements tomorrow not tomorrow you'll have to wait until next week why because Amy would prefer to wait that's why Erin's looked at him and then at me peevishly finally he shrugged if you insist we'll talk about it next week I said I was so tired I could hardly look up at him I stood up and smiled at my girl poor kid I thought so excited and eager about it now and not one idea in the world of what she was walking into certainly Erin's would never be able to tell her later when they were gone Lambertson and I walked down towards the lagoon it was a lovely cool evening the ducks were down at the water's edge every year there was a mother duck herding a line of ducklings down the shore and into the water they never seemed to go where she wanted them to and she would fuss and chatter waddling back time and again to prod the reluctant ones out into the pool we stood by the water's edge in silence for a long time then Lambertson kissed me it was the first time he had ever done that we could go away I whispered in his ear we could run out on Erin's and the study center and everyone just go away somewhere he shook his head slowly Amy don't we could I'll see Dr. Custer and he'll tell me he can help I know he will I won't need the study center anymore or any other place or anybody but you he didn't answer and I knew there wasn't anything he could answer not then Friday, 26 May yesterday we went to Boston to see Dr. Custer and now it looks as if it's all over now even I can't pretend that there's anything more to be done next week Erin's will come down and I'll go to work with him just the way he has it planned he thinks we have three years of work ahead of us before anything can be published before he can really be sure we have brought a latent into full use of his sigh potential maybe so I don't know maybe in three years I'll find some way to make myself care one way or the other but I'll do it anyway because there's nothing else to do there was no anatomical defect Dr. Custer was right about that the eyes are perfect beautiful gray eyes he says and the optic nerves and auditory nerves are perfectly functional the defect isn't there it's deeper too deep to ever change it what you no longer use you lose was what he said apologizing because he couldn't explain it any better it's like a price tag perhaps long ago before I knew anything at all the sigh was so strong it started compensating bringing in more and more from other minds such a wealth of rich clear interpreted visual and auditory impressions that there was never any need for my own and because of that certain hookups never got hooked up that's only a theory of course but there isn't any other way to explain it but am I wrong to hate it? more than anything else in the world I want to see Lambertson see him smile and light his pipe hear him laugh I want to know what color really is what music really sounds like unfiltered through somebody else's ears I want to see a sunset just once just once I want to see that mother duck take her ducklings down to the water but I never will instead I see and hear things nobody else can and the fact that I am stone blind and stone deaf shouldn't make any difference after all I've always been that way maybe next week I'll ask Aaron's what he thinks about it it should be interesting to hear what he says End of Second Sight by Edward Allen Norse Recording by Cap Millegra