 The Altar at Midnight by C. M. Cornbluth This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Greg Marguerite The Altar at Midnight by C. M. Cornbluth Doing something for humanity may be fine for humanity, but rough on the individual. He had quite a rumblosum on him for a kid, I thought at first, but when he moved closer to the light by the cash register to ask the bartender for a match or something, I saw it wasn't that. Not just the nose, broken veins on his cheeks, too, and the funny eyes. He must have seen me look because he slid back away from the light. The bartender shook my bottle of ale in front of me like a Swiss bell-ringer, so it foamed inside the green glass. �You ready for another, sir?� he asked. I shook my head. Down the bar he tried it on the kid. He was drinking Scotch and Wooder or something like that, and found out he could push him around. He sold him three Scotch and Wooders in ten minutes. When he tried for number four, the kid had his carriage up and said, �I�ll tell you when I�m ready for another, Jack.� But there wasn�t any trouble. It was almost nine, and the place began to fill up. The manager, a real hood type, stationed himself by the door to screen out the high school kids and give the big hello to the conventioneers. The girls came hurrying in, too, with their little makeup cases and their fancy hair piled up and their frozen faces with the perfect mouths drawn on them. One of them stopped to say something to the manager. Some excuse about something, and he said, �That�s all right. Get into the dressing room.� A three-piece band behind the drapes at the back of the stage began to make warm-up noises, and there were two bartenders keeping busy. Mostly it was beer, a mid-week crowd. I finished my ale and had to wait a couple of minutes before I could get another bottle. The bar filled up from the end near the stage because all the customers wanted a good, close look at the strippers for their fifty-cent bottles of beer. But I noticed that nobody sat down next to the kid, or if anybody did he didn�t stay long. You go out for some fun and the bartender pushes you around and nobody wants to sit next to you. I picked up my bottle and glass and went down on the stool to his left. He turned to me right away and said, �What kind of place is this, anyway?� The broken veins were all over his face, little ones, but so many, so close that they made his face look something like marbled rubber. The funny look in his eyes was it, the �trick� contact lenses. But I tried not to stare and not to look away. �It�s okay,� I said. �It�s a good show if you don�t mind a lot of noise from�. He stuck a cigarette into his mouth and poked the pack at me. �I�m a spacer,� he said, interrupting. I took one of his cigarettes and said, �Oh?� He snapped a lighter for the cigarettes and said, �Venus.� I was noticing that his pack of cigarettes on the bar had some kind of yellow sticker instead of the blue tax stamp. �Ain�t that a crock?� he asked. �You can�t smoke and they give you lighters for a souvenir. But it�s a good lighter.� On Mars last week they gave us all some cheap pen and pencil sets. �You get something every trip, huh?� I took a good long drink of ale and he finished his scotch and water. �Shoot!� You call a trip a �shoot.� One of the girls was working her way down the bar. She was going to slide onto the empty stool at his right and give him the business. But she looked at him first and decided not to. She curled around me and asked if I�d buy her a little old drink. I said no and she moved on to the next. I could kind of feel the young fellow quivering. When I looked at him he stood up. I followed him out of the dump. The manager grinned without thinking and said, �Goodnight, boys, to us.� The kid stopped in the street and said to me, �You don�t have to follow me around, pappy.� He sounded like one wrong word and I would get socked in the teeth. �Take it easy. I know a place where they won�t spit in your eye.� He pulled himself together and made a joke of it. �This I have to see� he said. �Near here?� A few blocks. We started walking. It was a nice night. �I don�t know this city at all� he said. �I�m from Covington, Kentucky. You do your drinking at home there. We don�t have places like this.� He meant the whole skid-row area. �It�s not so bad,� I said. �I spend a lot of time here.� �Is that a fact? I mean, down home a man your age would likely have a wife and children.� �I do. The hell with them.� He laughed like a real youngster and I figured he couldn�t even be twenty-five. He didn�t have any trouble with the broken curb stones in spite of his scotch and wooders. I asked him about it. �Sense of balance� he said. �You have to be tops for balance to be a spacer. You spend so much time outside in a suit. People don�t know how much. Punctures. And you aren�t worth a damn if you lose your point.� What�s that mean? �Oh, well it�s hard to describe. When you�re outside and you lose your point it means you�re all mixed up. You don�t know which way the can, that�s the ship, which way the can is. It�s having all that room around you. But if you have a good balance you feel a little tugging to the ship or maybe you just know which way the ship is without feeling it. Then you have your point and you can get the work done. There must be a lot that�s hard to describe. He thought that might be a crack and he clammed up on me. �You call this Ganty-town,� I said after a while. �It�s where the stove-up old railroad men hang out. This is the place.� It was the second week of the month before everybody�s pension check was all gone. Osweax was jumping. The grandsons of the pioneers were on the juke singing the man from Mars Yodel. An old patty shea was jiggling in the middle of the floor. He had a full saddle of beer in his right hand and his empty left sleeve was flapping. The kid balked at the screen door. �Too damn bright,� he said. I shrugged and went on in and he followed. We sat down at a table. �At Osweax you can drink at the bar if you want to, but none of the regulars do.� Patty jiggled over and said, �Welcome home, doc.� He�s a Liverpool Irishman. They talk like Scott, some say, but they sound almost like Brooklyn to me. �Hello, Patty. I brought somebody uglier than you. Now what do you say?� Patty jiggled around the kid in a half circle with his sleeve flapping and then flopped into a chair when the record stopped. He took a big drink from the saddle and said, �Can he do this?� Patty stretched his face into an awful grin that showed his teeth. He has three of them. The kid laughed and asked me, �What the hell did you drag me into here for?� Patty says he'll buy drinks for the house the day anybody uglier than him comes in. Osweax's wife waddled over for the order and the kid asked us what we'd have. I figured I could start drinking, so it was three double scotches. After the second round Patty started blowing about how they took his arm off without any anesthetics except a bottle of gin because the red-ball freight he was tangled up in couldn't wait. That brought some of the other old gimps over to the table with their stories. Blackie Bauer had been sitting in a boxcar with his legs sticking through the door when the train started with a jerk. Wham! The door closed. Everybody laughed at Blackie for being that dumb in the first place and he got mad. Sam Fireman has palsy. This week he was claiming he used to be a watchmaker before he began to shake. The week before he'd said he was a brain surgeon. A woman I didn't know, a real old boxcar bertha dragged herself over and began some kind of story about how her sister married a Greek, but she passed out before we found out what happened. Somebody wanted to know what was wrong with the kid's face. Bauer, I think it was, after he came back to the table. Compression and decompression, the kid said. You're all the time climbing into your suit and out of your suit. Inboard airs thin to start with. You get a few red lines. That's these ruptured blood vessels. And you say, The hell with the money. All you'll make is just one more trip. But, God, it's a lot of money for anybody my age. You keep saying that until you can't be anything but a spacer. The eyes are hard radiation scars. You like that all offer? Asked Aswiak's wife politely. All over, ma'am. The kid told her in a miserable voice. But I'm going to quit before I get a bowman head. I don't care, said Maggie Rorty. I think he's cute. Compared with— Patty began, but I kicked him under the table. We sang for a while, and then we told gags and recited limericks for a while. And I noticed that the kid and Maggie had wandered into the back room. The one with the latch on the door. Aswiak's wife asked me, very puzzled, Doc, why they do that flank by planets? It's the damn government, Sam Fireman said. Why not? I said, they got the bowman drive. Why the hell shouldn't they use it? Serves them right. I had a double scotch and added twenty years of it, and they found out a few things they didn't know. Red lines are only one of them. Twenty years more, and maybe they'll find out a few more things they didn't know. Maybe by the time there's a bathtub in every American home and an alcoholism clinic in every American town, they'll find out a whole lot of things they didn't know. And every American boy will be a pop-eyed, blood-rattled wreck like our friend here from riding the bowman drive. It's the damn government, Sam Fireman repeated. And what the hell did you mean by that remark about alcoholism? Patty said, real sore. Personally, I can take it or leave it alone. So we got to talking about that, and everybody there turned out to be people who could take it or leave it alone. It was maybe midnight when the kids showed at the table again, looking kind of dazed. I was drunker than I ought to be by midnight, so I said I was going for a walk. He tagged along, and we wound up on a bench at Screwball Square. The soapboxers were still going strong. Like I said, it was a nice night. After a while a pot-bellied old auntie who didn't give a damn about the face sat down and tried to talk the kid into going to see some etchings. The kid didn't get it, and I led him over to hear the soapboxers before there was trouble. One of the orders was a mush-mouthed evangelist. And oh, my friends, he said, when I'd looked through the portal of the spaceship and beheld the wonder of the firmament. You're a stinking Yankee liar, the kid yelled at him. You say one damn more word about canned shooting, and I'll ram your spaceship down your lion throat. Where's your red lines if you're such a hot spacer? The crowd didn't know what he was talking about, but where's your red lines sounded good to them, so they heckled mush-mouth off of his box with it. I got the kid to a bench. The liquor was working in him all of a sudden. He simmered down after a while and asked, Doc, should I have given Ms. Rorty some money? I asked her afterward, and she said she'd admire to have something to remember me by, so I gave her my lighter. She seems to be real pleased with it, but I was wondering if maybe I embarrassed her by asking her right out. Like I told you back in Covington, Kentucky, we don't have places like that. Or maybe we did, and I just didn't know about them. But what do you think I should have done about Ms. Rorty? Just what you did, I told him. If they want money, they ask you for it first. Where you stayin'? YMCA, he said, almost asleep. Back in Covington, Kentucky, I was a member of the Y, and I kept up my membership. They have to let me in because I'm a member. Spacers have all kinds of trouble, Doc. Woman trouble, hotel trouble, family trouble, religious trouble. I was raised a Southern Baptist, but where's heaven anyway? I asked Dr. Chitwood last time home before the red lines got so thick, Doc. You aren't a minister of the gospel, are you? I hope I didn't say anything to offend you. No offense, son, I said. No offense. I walked him to the avenue and waited for a fleet cab. It was almost five minutes. The independents that rolled drunks dent the fenders of fleet cabs if they show up in skid row, and then the fleet drivers have to make reports on their own time to the company. It keeps them away, but I got one and dumped the kid in. The Y Hotel, I told the driver. Here's five. Help him in when you get there. When I walked through Screwball Square again, some college kids were yelling, Where's your red lines at old Charlie, the last of the wobblies? Old Charlie kept roaring, The hell with your red lines, I'm talking about atomic arms right up there. And he pointed at the moon. It was a nice night, but the liquor was dying in me. There was a joint around the corner, so I went in and had a drink to carry me to the club. I had a bottle there. I got into the first cab that came. Athletic club, I said. In the doghouse, huh? The driver said, and he gave me a big personality smile. I didn't say anything, and he started the car. He was right, of course. I was in everybody's doghouse. Some day I'd scare the hell out of Tom and Lease by going home and showing them what their daddy looked like. Down at the institute, I was in the doghouse. Oh, dear, everybody at the institute said to everybody, I'm sure I don't know what else the man. A lovely wife and two lovely grown children, and she had to tell him either you go or I go. And drinking. And this is rather subtle, but it's a well-known fact that neurotics seek out low company to compensate for their guilt feelings. The places he frequents. Dr. Francis Bowman, the man who made space flight a reality. The man who put the bomb base on the moon. Really, I'm sure I don't know what else him. The hell with the mall. End of The Altar at Midnight by C. M. Cornbluth. Taylor sat back in his chair, reading the morning newspaper. The warm kitchen and the smell of coffee blended with the comforts of not having to go to work. This was his rest period, the first for a long time, and he was glad of it. He folded the second section back, sighing with contentment. What is it, Mary said from the stove? They pasted Moscow again last night. Taylor nodded his head in approval, gave it a real pounding. One of those R. H. bombs. It's about time. He nodded again, feeling the full comfort of the kitchen, the presence of his plump, attractive wife, the breakfast dishes and coffee. This was relaxation. And the warning's was good, good and satisfying. He could feel a justifiable glow at the news, a sense of pride and personal accomplishment. After all, he was an integral part of the war program, not just another factory worker lugging a cart of scrap, but a technician, one of those who designed and planned the nerve trunk of the war. It says they have the new subs almost perfected. Wait until they get those going. He smacked his lips with anticipation. When they start shelling from underwater, the Soviets are sure going to be surprised. They're doing a wonderful job. Mary agreed vaguely. Do you know what we saw today? Our team is getting a leddie to show to the school children. I saw the leddie, but only for a moment. It's good for the children to see what their contributions are going for, don't you think? She looked around at him. A leddie, Taylor murmured. He put the newspaper slowly down. Well, make sure it's decontaminated properly. We don't want to take any chances. Oh, they always bathe them when they're brought down from the surface, Mary said. They wouldn't think of letting them down without the bath, would they? She hesitated, thinking back. Don, you know, it makes me remember. He nodded, I know. He knew what she was thinking. Once in the very first weeks of the war, before everyone had been evacuated from the surface, they had seen a hospital train discharging the wounded, people who had been showered with sleep. He remembered the way they had looked, the expression on their faces, or as much of their faces as was left. It had not been a pleasant sight. There had been a lot of that at first, in the early days, before the transfer to undersurface was complete. There had been a lot, and it hadn't been very difficult to come across it. Taylor looked up at his wife. She was thinking too much about it, the last few months, they all were. Forget it, he said. It's all in the past. There isn't anybody up there now but the leddies, and they don't mind. But just the same, I hope they're careful when they let one of them down here. If one was still hot, he laughed, pushing himself away from the table. Forget it. This is a wonderful moment. I'll be home for the next two shifts, nothing to do but sit around and take things easy. Maybe we can take in a show, okay? A show? Do we have to? I don't like to look at all the destruction, the ruins. Sometimes I see some place I remember, like San Francisco. They showed a lot of San Francisco, the bridge broken and falling into the water, and I got upset. I don't like to watch. But don't you want to know what's going on? No human beings are getting hurt, you know. But it's so awful, her face was set and strained. Please, Don, no. Don Taylor picked up his newspaper suddenly. All right, but there isn't a hell of a lot else to do, and don't forget, their cities are getting it even worse. She nodded. Taylor turned the rough, thin sheets of newspaper. His good mood had soured on him. What did she have to fret all the time? They were pretty well off, all things went. You couldn't expect to have everything perfect living under surface, with an artificial sun and artificial food. Naturally it was a strain, not seeing the sky or being able to go any place or see anything other than metal walls, great roaring factories, the plant yards, barracks. But it was better than being on the surface. And someday it would end and they could return. Nobody wanted to live this way, but it was necessary. He turned the page angrily, and the poor paper ripped. Damn it, the paper was getting worse quality all the time. Bad print, yellow tint. Well, they needed everything for the war program. He ought to know that. Wasn't he one of the planners? He excused himself and went into the other room. The bed was still unmade. They'd better get it in shape before the seventh-hour inspection. There was a one-unit fine. The vid phone rang. He halted. Who would it be? He went over and clicked it on. Taylor, the voice said, formed me into place. It was an old face, grey and grim. This is Moss. I'm sorry to bother you during rest period, but this thing has come up. He rattled papers. I want you to hurry over here. Taylor stiffened. What is it? There's no chance it could wait? The calm, great eyes were studying him, expressionless, undudging. If you want me to come down to the lab, Taylor grumbled, I suppose I can. I'll get my uniform. No, come as you are, and not to the lab. Meet me at second stage as soon as possible. It'll take you about a half hour using the fast car up. I'll see you there. The picture broke, and Moss disappeared. What was it? Mary said at the door. Moss, he wants me for something. I knew this would happen. Well, you didn't want to do anything anyhow. What does it matter? His voice was bitter. It's all the same every day. I'll bring you back something. I'm going up to second stage. Maybe I'll be close enough to the surface to don't, don't bring me anything, not from the surface. All right, I won't. But of all the irrational nonsense, she watched him pull on his boots without answering. Moss nodded, and Taylor fell in step with him as the older man strode along. A series of loads were going up to the surface, blind cars clanking like autrex up the ramp, disappearing through the stage trap above them. Taylor watched the cars, heavy with tubular machinery of some sort, weapons new to him. Workers were everywhere, in the dark gray uniforms of the labour corps. Loading, lifting, shouting back and forth, the stage was deafening with noise. We'll go up away, Moss said, where we can talk. This is no place to give you details. They took an escalator up. The commercial lift fell behind them, and with it most of the crashing and booming. Soon they emerged onto an observation platform, suspended on the side of the tube. The vast tunnel leading to the surface, not more than half a mile above them now. Oh, my God! Taylor said, looking down into the tube involuntarily. It's a long way down. Moss laughed. Don't look. They opened a door and entered an office. Behind the desk, an officer was sitting. An officer of internal security. He looked up. I'll be right with you, Moss. He gazed at Taylor, studying him. You're a little ahead of time. This is Commander Franks. Moss said to Taylor. He was the first to make the discovery. I was notified last night. He tapped a parcel he carried. I was let in because of this. Franks frowned at him and stood up. We're going up to first stage. We can discuss it there. First stage? Taylor repeated nervously. The three of them went down a side passage to a small lift. I've never been up there. Is it all right? It's not radioactive, is it? You're like everyone else, Franks said. Old women afraid of burglars. No radiation leaks down to first stage. There's lead and rock. And what comes down the tube is bathed. What's the nature of the problem, Taylor asked? I'd like to know something about it. In a moment. They entered the lift and ascended. When they stepped out, they were in a hall of soldiers, weapons and uniforms everywhere. Taylor blinked in surprise. So this was first stage. The closest undersurface level to the top. After this stage, there was only rock, lead and rock, and the great tubes leading up like the burrows of earthworms. Lead and rock and above that where the tubes opened, the great expanse that no living being had seen for eight years. The vast endless ruin that had once been man's home. The place where he had lived eight years ago. Now the surface was a lethal desert of slag and rolling clouds. Endless clouds drifted back and forth, blotting out the red sun. Occasionally something metallic stirred, moving through the remains of a city, threading its way across the tortured terrain of the countryside. A leddie, a surface robot immune to the radiation, constructed with feverish haste in the last months before the Cold War became literally hot. Leddies crawling on the ground, moved over the oceans or through the skies in slender, blackened craft. Creatures that could exist where no life could remain. Metal and plastic figures that waged a war man had conceived, but which he could not fight himself. Human beings had invented war, invented and manufactured the weapons, even invented the players, the fighters, the actors of the war, but they themselves could not venture forth, could not wage it themselves. In all the worlds, in Russia, in Europe, America, Africa, no living human being remained. They were under the surface in the deep shelters that had been carefully planned and built, even as the first bombs began to fall. It was a brilliant idea, and the only idea that could have worked. Up above, on the ruined, blasted surface of what once been a living planet, the leddie crawled and scurried and fought man's war. And under surface, in the depths of the planet, human beings toiled endlessly to produce the weapons to continue the fight, month by month, year by year. First stage, Taylor said. A strange ache went through him, almost to the surface. But not quite, Moss said. Franks led them through the soldiers, over to one side, near the lip of the tube. In a few minutes, the lift will bring something down to us from the surface, he explained. You see, Taylor, every once in a while, security examines and interrogates the surface leddie, one that has been above for a time, to find out certain things. A bid call is sent up and contact is made with the field headquarters. We need this direct interview, we can't depend on bid screen contact alone. The leddies are doing a good job, but we want to make certain that everything is going the way we want it. Franks faced Taylor and Moss and continued. The lift will bring down a leddie from the surface, one of the A-class leddies. There's an examination chamber in the next room with a lead wall in the centre, so the interviewing officers won't be exposed to radiation. We find this easier than bathing the leddie. It's going right back up, it has a job to get back to. Two days ago, an A-class leddie was brought down and interrogated. I conducted the session myself. We were interested in a new weapon the Soviets have been using, an automatic mine that pursues anything that moves. Military had sent instructions up that the mine be observed and reported in detail. This A-class leddie was brought down with information. We learned a few facts from it, obtained the usual roll of film and reports, and then sent it back up. It was going out of the chamber, back to the lift, when a curious thing happened. At the time, I thought, Franks broke off, a red light was flashing. That downlift is coming, in order to some soldiers. Let's enter the chamber, the leddie will be along in a moment. An A-class leddie, Taylor said. I've seen them on the show screens making their reports. It's quite an experience, Moss said. They're almost human. They entered the chamber and sealed themselves behind the lead wall. After a time, the signal was flashed and Franks made a motion with his hands. The door beyond the wall opened. Taylor peered through his view slot. He saw something advancing slowly, a slender metallic figure moving on a tread. Its arm grips at rest by its sides. The figure halted and scanned the lead wall. It stood, waiting. We're interested in learning something, Franks said. Before I question you, do you have anything to report on surface conditions? No. The war continues. The leddie's voice was automatic and toneless. We're a little short of fast pursuit craft, a single seat type. We could also use some, that has all been noted. What I want to ask you is this. Our contact with you has been through vid screen only. We must rely on indirect evidence since none of us goes above. We can only infer what is going on. We never see anything ourselves. We have to take it all second hand. Some top leaders are beginning to think there is too much room for error. Error, the leddie asked. In what way? Our reports are checked carefully before they're sent down. We maintain constant contact with you. Everything of value is reported. Any new weapons, which the enemy is seen to employ, I realise that, Franks grunted behind his peep slot. But perhaps we should see it all for ourselves. Is it possible that there might be a large enough radiation free area for a human party to ascend to the surface? If a few of us were to come up in lead line suits, would we be able to survive long enough to observe conditions and watch things? The machine hesitated before answering. I doubt it. You can check air samples, of course, and decide for yourselves. But in the eight years since you left, things have continuously worsened. You cannot have any real idea of conditions up there. It has become difficult for any moving object to survive for long. There are many kinds of projectiles sensitive to movement. The new mind not only reacts to motion, but continues to pursue the object indefinitely, until it finally reaches it, and the radiation is everywhere. I see, Franks turned to Moss, his eyes narrowed, oddly. Well, that was what I wanted to know. You may go. The machine moved back towards its exit. It paused. Each month the amount of lethal particles in the atmosphere increases. The tempo of the war is gradually, I understand, Franks rose. He held out his hand and Moss passed him the package. One thing before you leave. I want you to examine a new type of metal shield material. I'll pass you a sample with the tong. Franks put the package in the toothed grip, and revolved the tong so that he held the other end. The package swung down to the leddie, which took it. They watched it unwrap the package and take the metal plate in its hands. The leddie turned the metal over and over. Suddenly it became rigid. All right, Franks said. He put his shoulder against the wall and a section slid aside. Taylor gasped. Franks and Moss were hurrying up to the leddie. Good God, Taylor said, but it's radioactive! The leddie stood, unmoving, still holding the metal. Soldiers appeared in the chamber. They surrounded the leddie and ran a counter across it carefully. Okay, sir, one of them said to Franks, it's as cold as a long winter evening. Good, I was sure, but I didn't want to take any chances. You see, Moss said to Taylor, this leddie isn't hot at all, yet it came directly from the surface, without even being bathed. But what does it mean? Taylor asked blankly. It may be an accident, Franks said. There's always the possibility that a given object might escape being exposed above, but this is the second time it's happened that we know of. There may be others. The second time? The previous interview was when we noticed it. The leddie was not hot. It was cold too, like this one. Moss took back the metal plate from the leddie's hands. He pressed the surface carefully and returned it to the stiff, unprotesting fingers. We shorted it out with this so we could get close enough for a thorough check. It'll come back on in a second now. We'd better get behind the wall again. They walked back and the lead wall swung close behind them. The soldiers left the chamber. Two periods from now, Franks said softly, an initial investigating party will be ready to go surface-side. We're going up the tubing suits, up to the top, the first human party to leave under surface in eight years. It may mean nothing, Moss said, but I doubt it. Something's going on, something strange. The leddie told us no life could exist above without being roasted. The story doesn't fit. Taylor nodded. He stared through the peep-slot at the immobile metal figure. Already, the leddie was beginning to stir. It was bent in several places, dented and twisted, and its finish was blackened and charred. It was a leddie that had been up there a long time. It had seen war and destruction ruin so vast that no human being could imagine the extent. It had crawled and slunk in a world of radiation and death, a world when no life could exist. And Taylor had touched it. You're going with us, Franks said suddenly. I want you along. I think the three of us will go. Mary faced him with a sick and frightened expression. I know it. You're going to the surface, aren't you? She followed him into the kitchen. Taylor sat down, looking away from her. It's a classified project, he evaded. I can't tell you anything about it. You don't have to tell me, I know. I knew at the moment you came in, there was something on your face, something I hadn't seen there for a long, long time. It was an old look. She came toward him. But how can they send you to the surface? She took his face in her shaking hands, making him look at her. There was a strange hunger in her eyes. Nobody can live up there. Look! Look at this! She grabbed up a newspaper and held it in front of him. Look at this photograph. America, Europe, Asia, Africa. Nothing but ruins. We've seen it every day on the show screens, all destroyed, poisoned. And they're sending you up? Why? No living thing can get by out there, not even a weed or grass. They've wrecked the surface, haven't they? Haven't they? Taylor stood up. It's an order. I know nothing about it. I was told to report to join a scout party. That's all I know. He stood for a long time, staring ahead. Slowly he reached for the newspaper and held it up to the light. It looks real, he murmured. Ruins, deadness, slag. It's convincing. All the reports, photographs, films, even air samples. Yet we haven't seen it for ourselves. Not after the first months. What are you talking about? Nothing. He put the paper down. I'm leaving early after the next sleep period. Let's turn in. Mary turned away. Her face hard and harsh. Do what you want. We might just as well go up and get killed at once instead of dying so slowly. Slowly down here, like vermin in the ground. He had not realised how resentful she was. Were they all like that? How about the workers toiling in the factories day and night endlessly? The pale, stooped men and women plodding back and forth to work, blinking in the colourless light, eating synthetics. You shouldn't be so bitter, he said. Mary smiled a little. I'm bitter because I know you'll never come back. She turned away. I'll never see you again once you go up there. He was shocked. What? How can he say a thing like that? She did not answer. He awakened with the public newscaster screeching in his ears, shouting outside the building. Special news bulletin. Surface forces report enormous Soviet attack with new weapons, retreat of key groups, all work units report to factories at once. Taylor blinked, rubbing his eyes. He jumped out of bed and hurried to the vid phone. A moment later he was put through to mass. Listen, he said. What about this new attack? Is the project off? He could see Moss's desk covered with reports and papers. No, Moss said. We're going right ahead. Get over here at once. But don't argue with me. Moss held up a handful of surface bulletins crumpling them savagely. This is a fake. Come on. He broke off. Taylor dressed furiously, his mind in the days. Half an hour later, he leapt from a fast car and hurried up the stairs into the synthetics building. The corridors were full of men and women rushing in every direction. He entered Moss's office. There you are, Moss said, getting up immediately. Franks is waiting for us at the outgoing station. They went in a security car, the sirens screaming. Workers scattered out of their way. What about the attack? Taylor asked. Moss braced his shoulders. We're certain that we forced their hand. We brought the issue to a head. They pulled up at the station link of the tube and leapt out. A moment later, they were moving up at high speed toward the first stage. They emerged into a bewildering scene of activity. Soldiers were fastening on led suits, talking excitedly to each other, shouting back and forth. Guns were being given out, instructions passed. Taylor studied one of the soldiers. He was armed with the dreaded bender pistol, the new snub-nosed hand-weapon that was just beginning to come from the assembly line. Some of the soldiers looked a little frightened. I hope we're not making a mistake, Moss said, noticing his gaze. Franks came toward them. Here's the programme. The three of us are going up first, alone. The soldiers will follow in fifteen minutes. What are we going to tell the leddies, Taylor wordly asked? We'll have to tell them something. We want to observe the new Soviet attack, Franks smiled ironically. Since it seems to be so serious, we should be there in person to witness it. And then what, Taylor said. That'll be up to them. Let's go. In a small car, they went swiftly up the tube, carried by anti-grab beams from below. Taylor glanced down from time to time. It was a long way back, and getting longer each moment. He sweated nervously inside his suit, gripping his bender pistol with inexpert fingers. Why had they chosen him? Chance. Pure chance. Moss had asked him to come along as a department member. Then Franks had picked him out on the spur of the moment. And now they were rushing toward the surface faster and faster. A deep fear instilled in him for eight years throbbed in his mind. Radiation, certain death, a world blasted and lethal. Up and up the car went. Taylor gripped the sides and closed his eyes. Each moment they were closer. The first living creatures to go above the first stage. Up the tube, past the lead and rock, up to the surface. The phobic horror shook him in waves. It was death. They all knew that. Haven't they seen it in the films a thousand times? The cities, the sleet coming down, the rolling clouds. It won't be much longer, Franks said. We're almost there. The surface tower is not expecting us. I gave orders that no signal was to be sent. The car shut up, rushing furiously. Taylor's head spun. He hung on. His eyes shut. Up and up. The car stopped. He opened his eyes. There were in a vast room, fluorescent lit, a cavern filled with equipment and machinery, endless mounds of material piled in row after row. Among the stacks, leddies were working silently, pushing trucks and hand carts. Leddies, Moss said, his face was pale. Then were really on the surface. The leddies were going back and forth with equipment, moving the vast stores of guns and spare parts, ammunition and supplies that had been brought to the surface. And this was the receiving station for only one tube. There were many others scattered throughout the continent. Taylor looked nervously around him. They were really there, above ground, on the surface. This was where the war was. Come on, Frank said. A B-class guard is coming our way. They stepped out of the car. A leddie was approaching them rapidly. He coasted up in front of them and stopped, scanning them with its hand-weapon raised. This is security, Frank said. Have an A-class sent to me at once. The leddie hesitated. Other B-class guards were coming, scooting across the floor, alert and alarmed. Moss peered around. Obey, Frank said, in a loud commanding voice. You've been ordered. The leddie moved and certainly away from them. At the side of the building, a door slid back. Two A-class leddies appeared, coming slowly toward them. Each had a green stripe across its front. From the surface council, Frank's whispered tensely. This is above ground, all right? Get set. The two leddies approached warily. Without speaking, they stopped close by the men, looking them up and down. I'm Frank's of security. We've come from under service, in order to. This is incredible. One of the leddies interrupted him coldly. You know you can't live up here. The whole surface is lethal to you. You can't possibly remain on the surface. These suits will protect us, Frank said. In any case, it's not your responsibility. What I want is an immediate council meeting, so that I can acquaint myself with conditions, with the situation here. Can that be arranged? You humans can't survive up here. And the new Soviet attack is directed at this area. It is in considerable danger. We know that. Please assemble the council. Frank's looked around him at the vast room, lit by recessed lamps in the ceiling. An uncertain quality came into his voice. Is it night or day right now? Night, one of the A-class leddies said after a pause. Dawn is coming in about two hours. Frank's nodded. Frank's nodded. We'll remain here at least two hours then. As a concession to authentic mentality, would you please show us some place where we can observe the sun as it comes up? We would appreciate it. A stir went through the leddies. It is an unpleasant sight, one of the leddies said. You've seen the photographs. You know what you'll witness. Clouds of drifting particles blot out the light. Slag heaps are everywhere. The whole land is destroyed. For you it will be a staggering sight. Much worse than pictures and film can convey. However it may be, we'll stay here long enough to see it. Will you give the order to the council? Come this way. Reluctantly the two leddies coasted toward the wall of the warehouse. The three men trudged after them. Their heavy shoes ringing against the concrete. At the wall the two leddies paused. This is the entrance to the council chamber. There are windows in the chamber room, but it is still dark outside, of course. You'll see nothing right now, but in two hours open the door. Frank said. The door slid back. They went slowly inside. The room was small, a neat room with a round table in the centre, chairs ringing it. The three of them sat down silently, and the two leddies followed after them, taking their places. The other council members are on their way. They have already been notified, unaccumbing as quickly as they can. Again, I urge you to go back down. The leddies surveyed the three human beings. There is no way you can meet the conditions up here. Even we survive with some trouble ourselves. How can you expect to do it? The leader approached Frank's. This astonishes and perplexes us, it said. Of course we must do what you tell us, but allow me to point out that if you remain here, we know, Frank said impatiently. However, we intend to remain, at least until sunrise. If you insist, there was silence. The leddies seemed to be conferring with each other, although the three men heard no sound. For your own good, the leader said at last, you must go back down. We have discussed this, and it seems to us that you are doing the wrong thing for your own good. We are human beings, Frank said sharply. Don't you understand? We men, not machines. That is precisely why you must go back. This room is radioactive. All surface areas are. We calculate that your suits will not protect you for over 50 more minutes. Therefore, the leddies moved abruptly to the men, wheeling in a circle, forming a solid row. The men stood up. Taylor reached awkwardly for his weapon, his fingers numb and stupid. The men stood facing the silent metal figures. We must insist, the leader said, its voice without emotion. We must take you back to the tube and send you down on the next car. I am sorry, but it is necessary. What will we do? Moss said nervously to Franks. He touched his gun. Shall we blast them? Franks shook his head. All right, he said to the leader, we'll go back. He moved toward the door, motioning Taylor and Moss to follow him. They looked at him in surprise, but they came with him. The leddies followed them out into the great warehouse. Slowly they moved toward the tube entrance, none of them speaking. At the lip, Franks turned. We are going back because we have no choice. There are three of us and about a dozen of you. However, if, here comes the car, Taylor said. There was a grating sound from the tube. D-class leddies moved toward the edge to receive it. I am sorry, the leader said, but it is for your protection. We are watching over you, literally. You must stay below and let us conduct the war. In a sense, it has come to be our war. We must fight it as we see fit. The car rose to the surface. Twelve soldiers armed with bender pistols stepped from it and surrounded the three men. Moss breathed a sigh of relief. Well, this does change things. It came off just right. The leader moved back away from the soldiers. It studied them intently, glancing from one to the next, apparently trying to make up its mind. At last it made a sign to the other leddies. The coaster decide and a corridor was opened up toward the warehouse. Even now, the leader said, we could send you back by force, but it is evident that this is not really an observation party at all. These soldiers showed that you have much more in mind. This was all carefully prepared. Very carefully, Frank said. They closed in. How much more we can only guess. I must admit that we were taken unprepared. We felt utterly to meet the situation. Now force would be absurd, because neither side can afford to injure the other. We, because of the restrictions placed on us regarding human life, you because the war demands. The soldiers fired, quick and in fright. Moss dropped to one knee, firing up. The leader dissolved in a cloud of particles. On all sides, D and B-class leddies were rushing up, some with weapons, some with metal slats. The room was in confusion. Often the distance the siren was screaming. Frank's and Taylor were cut off from the others, separated from the soldiers by a wall of metal bodies. They can't fire back, Frank said calmly. This is another bluff. They've tried to bluff us all the way. He fired into the face of a leddie. The leddie dissolved. They can only try to frighten us, remember that. They went on firing, and leddie after leddie vanished. The room reeked with the smell of burning metal, the stink of fused plastic and steel. Taylor had been knocked down. He was struggling to find his gun, reaching wildly amongst metal legs, groping frantically to find it. His fingers strained, a handle swam in front of him. Suddenly something came down on his arm, a metal foot. He cried out. Then it was over. The leddies were moving away, gathering together off to one side. Only four of the surface council remained. The others were radioactive particles in the air. D-class leddies were already restoring order, gathering up partly destroyed metal figures and bits and removing them. Franks breathed a shuddering sigh. All right, he said. You can take us back to the windows. It won't be long now. The leddies separated, and the human group, Moss and Franks and Taylor and the soldiers, walked slowly across the room toward the door. They entered the council chamber. Already a faint touch of grey mitigated the blackness of the windows. Take us outside, Franks said impatiently. We'll see it directly, not in here. A door slid open. A chill blast of cold morning air rushed in, chilling them even through their lead suits. The men glanced at each other uneasily. Come on, Franks said, outside. He walked out through the door, the others following him. They were on a hill, overlooking the vast bowl of a valley. Dimly against the greying sky, the outline of mountains were forming, becoming tangible. It'll be bright enough to see in a few minutes, Moss said. He shuddered as a chilling wind caught him and moved around him. It's worth it, really worth it, to see this again after eight years. Even if it's the last thing we see. Watch, Franks snapped. They obeyed, silent and subdued. The sky was clear and clear, brightening each moment. Some place far off, echoing across the valley, a rooster crowed. A chicken, Taylor murmured, did you hear? Behind them, the leddies had come out and were standing silently, watching too. The grey sky turned to white and the hills appeared more clearly, light spread across the valley floor, moving toward them. God in heaven! Franks exclaimed. Trees? Trees and forests, a valley of plants and trees with a few roads winding among them. Farmhouses, a windmill, a barn, far down below them. Look, Moss whispered. Colour came into the sky, the sun was approaching, birds began to sing. Not far from where they stood, the leaves of a tree danced in the wind. Franks turned to the row of leddies behind them. Eight years, we were tricked. The water was clear and clear, there was no war. As soon as we left the surface, yes, an eight-class leddie admitted. As soon as you left, the war ceased. You're right, it was a hoax. You worked hard under surface, sending up guns and weapons, and we destroyed them as fast as they came up. But why? Taylor asked, dazed. He stared down at the vast valley below. Why? You created us, the leddie said, to pursue the war for you, while you human beings went below the ground in order to survive. But before we could continue the war, it was necessary to analyse it to determine what its purpose was. We did this, and we found that it had no purpose, except perhaps in terms of human needs. Even this was questionable. We investigated further. We found that human cultures passed through phases, each culture in its own time. As the culture ages and begins to lose its objectives, conflict arises within it between those who wish to cast it off and set up a new cultural pattern, and those who wish to retain the old with as little change as possible. At this point, a great danger appears. The conflict within threatens to engulf the society in self-war, group against group. The vital traditions may be lost, not merely altered or reformed, but completely destroyed in this period of chaos and anarchy. We have found many such examples in the history of humankind. It is necessary for this hatred within the culture to be directed outward toward an external group. So that the culture itself may survive its crisis. War is the result. War, to a logical mind, is absurd. But in terms of human needs, it plays a vital role, and it will continue until man has grown up enough so that no hatred lies within him. Taylor was listening intently. Do you think this time will come? Of course, it has almost arrived now. This is the last war. Man is almost united into one final culture, a world culture. At this point he stands continent against continent, one half of the world against the other half. Only a single step remains, the jump to a unified culture. Man has climbed slowly upward, tending always toward unification of his culture. It will not be long. But it has not come yet, and so the war had to go on to satisfy the last violent surge of hatred that man felt. Eight years have passed since the war began. In these eight years we have observed unnoted important changes going on in the minds of men. Fatigue and disinterest we have seen are gradually taking the place of hatred and fear. The hatred is being exhausted gradually over a period of time. But for the present the hoax must go on, at least for a while longer. You are not ready to learn the truth. You would want to continue the war. But how did you manage it? Mars asked. All the photographs, the samples, the damaged equipment. Come over here. The lady directed them toward a long low building. Work goes on constantly, whole staffs laboring to maintain a coherent and convincing picture of a global war. They entered the building. Leddies were working everywhere, pouring over tables and desks. Examining this project here, the A-class lady said. Two ladies were carefully photographing something, an elaborate model on a tabletop. It is a good example. The men grouped around trying to see. It was a model of a ruined city. Taylor studied it in silence for a long time. At last he looked up. It's San Francisco, he said in a live voice. This is a model of San Francisco, destroyed. I saw this on the vid-screen. Pipe down to us. The bridges were hit. Yes, notice the bridges. The laddie traced the ruin span with his metal finger. A tiny spider web, almost invisible. You have no doubt seen photographs of this many times, and of the other tables in this building. San Francisco itself is completely intact. We restored it soon after you left, rebuilding the parts that have been damaged at the start of the war. The work of manufacturing news goes on all the time in this particular building. We are very careful to see that each part fits in with all the other parts. Much time and effort are devoted to it. Franks touched one of the tiny metal buildings, lying half in ruins. So this is what you spend your time doing, making model cities and then blasting them. No, we do much more. We are caretakers, watching over the whole world. The owners have left for a time, and we must see that the cities are kept clean, that decays prevented, that everything is kept oiled and in running condition. The gardens, the streets, the water mains, everything must be maintained as it was eight years ago, so that when the owners return, they will not be displeased. We want to be sure that they will be completely satisfied. Franks tapped Moss on the arm. Come over here, he said in a low voice. I want to talk to you. He led Moss and Taylor out of the building, away from the LEDs, outside on the hillside. The soldiers followed them. The sun was up and the sky was turning blue. The air smelled sweet and good, the smell of growing things. Taylor removed his helmet and took a deep breath. I haven't smelled that smell for a long time, he said. Listen, Frank said, his voice low and hard. We must get back down at once. There's a lot to get started on. All this can be turned to our advantage. What do you mean, Moss asked? It's a certainty that the Soviets have been tricked, too. Same as us, but we have found out. That gives us an edge over them. I see, Moss nodded. We know, but they don't. Their surface council has sold out the same as ours. It works against them the same way. But if we could, with a hundred top-level men, we could take over again, restore things as they should be. It would be easy. Moss touched him on the arm. An A-class leddie was coming from the building towards them. We've seen enough, Frank said, raising his voice. All this is very serious. It must be reported below and a study made to determine our policy. The leddies said nothing. Franks waved to the soldiers. Let's go. He started toward the warehouse. Most of the soldiers had removed their helmets. Some of them had taken their lead suits off, too, and were relaxing comfortably in their cotton uniforms. They stared around them, down the hillside at the trees and bushes at the vast expanse of green, the mountains and the sky. Look at the sun, one of the murmured. It sure is bright as hell, another said. We're going back down, Frank said, falling by twos and follow us. Relictantly, the soldiers regrouped. The leddies watched without emotion, as the men marched slowly back toward the warehouse. Franks and Moss and Taylor led them across the ground, glancing alertly at the leddies as they walked. They entered the warehouse. D-class leddies were loading material and weapons onto surface carts. Cranes and derricks were working busily everywhere. The work was done with efficiency, but without hurry or excitement. The men stopped watching. Leddies operating the little carts, moved past them, signaling silently to each other. Guns and parts were being hoisted by magnetic cranes and lowered gently onto waiting carts. Come on, Franks said. He turned toward the lip of the tube. A row of D-class leddies were standing in front of it, immobile and silent. Franks stopped, moving back. He looked around, and A-class leddie was coming toward him. Tell them to get out of the way, Franks said. He touched his gun. You had better move them. Time passed, an endless moment without measure. The men stood, nervous and alert, watching the row of leddies in front of them. As you wish, the A-class leddie said. It signalled, and the D-class leddies moved into life. They stepped slowly aside. Moss breathed a sigh of relief. I'm glad that's over, he said to Franks. Look at them all. Why don't they try to stop us? They must know what we're going to do. Franks laughed. Stop us? You saw what happened when they tried to stop us before. They can't. They're only machines. We built them so that they can't lay hands on us, and they know that. His voice trailed off. The men stared at the tube entrance. Around them, the leddies watched, silent and impassive. Their metal faces expressionless. For a long time, the men stood without moving. At last, Taylor turned away. Good God, he said. He was numb without feeling of any kind. The tube was gone. It was sealed shut, fused over. Only a dull surface of cooling metal greeted them. The tube had been closed. Franks turned, his face pale and vacant. The A-class leddie shifted. As you can see, the tube has been shut. We were prepared for this. As soon as all of you were on the surface, the order was given. If you had gone back when we asked you, you would now be safely down below. We had to work quickly, because it was such an immense operation. But why, most demanded angrily? Because it is unthinkable that you should be allowed to resume the war. With all the tubes sealed, it will be many months before forces from below can reach the surface, let alone organize a military program. By that time, the cycle will have entered its last stages. You will not be so perturbed to find your world intact. We had hoped that you would be under surface when the ceiling occurred. Your presence here is a nuisance. When the Soviets broke through, we were able to accomplish their ceiling without the Soviets. They broke through. Several months ago, they came up unexpectedly to see why the war had not been won. We were forced to act with speed. At this moment, they are desperately attempting to cut new tubes to the surface to resume the war. We have, however, been able to seal each new one as it appears. The leddie regarded the three men calmly. We're cut off, Moss said trembling. We can't get back. What will we do? How did you manage to seal the tube so quickly? Franks asked the leddie. We've been up here only two hours. Bombs are placed just above the first stage of each tube for such emergencies. They are heat bombs. They fuse lead and rock. Gripping the handle of his gun, Franks turned to Moss and Taylor. What do you say? We can't go back, but we can do a lot of damage, the fifteen of us. We have bender guns. How about it? He looked around. The soldiers had wandered away again, back toward the exit of the building. They were standing outside, looking at the valley in the sky. A few of them were carefully climbing down the slope. Would you care to turn over your suits and guns? The A-class leddie asked politely. The suits are uncomfortable, and you'll have no need for weapons. The Russians have given up theirs, as you can see. Fingers tensed on triggers. Four men in Russian uniforms were coming toward them from an aircraft that they suddenly realized had landed silently some distance away. Let them have it! Frank shouted. They are unarmed, said the laddie. We brought them here so you could begin peace talks. We have no authority to speak for our country, Moss said stiffly. We do not mean diplomatic discussions, the laddie explained. There will be no more. The working out of daily problems of existence will teach you how to get along in the same world. It will not be easy, but it will be done. The Russians halted, and they faced each other with raw hostility. I am Colonel Borodoy, and I regret giving up our guns, the senior Russian said. You could have been the first Americans to be killed in almost eight years. Or the first Americans to kill, Frank's corrected. No one would know of it except yourselves, the laddie pointed out. It would be useless heroism. Your real concern should be surviving on the surface. We have no food for you. Taylor put his gun in its holster. They've done a neat job of neutralizing us, damn them. I propose we move into a city, start raising crops with the help of some laddies, and generally make ourselves comfortable. Drawing his lips tight over his teeth, he glared at the A-class laddie. Until our families can come up from under surface, it's going to be pretty lonesome. But we'll have to manage. If I may make a suggestion, said another Russian uneasily. We tried living in a city. It is too empty. It is also too hard to maintain for so few people. We finally settled in the most modern village we could find. Here in this country, a third Russian blurted. We have much to learn from you. The Americans abruptly found themselves laughing. You probably have a thing or two to teach us yourselves, said Taylor generously, though I can't imagine what. The Russian colonel grinned. Would you join us in our village? It would make our work easier and give us company. Your village? snapped franks. It's American, isn't it? It's ours. The laddies stepped between them. When our plans are completed, the term will be interchangeable. Ours will eventually mean mankind's. It pointed at the aircraft which was warming up. The ship is waiting. Will you join each other in making a new home? The Russians waited while the Americans made up their minds. I see what the laddies mean about diplomacy becoming outmoded, Frank said at last. People who work together don't need diplomats. They solve their problems on the operational level, instead of at a conference table. The laddie led them toward the ship. It is the goal of history, unifying the world, from family to tribe to city-state to nation to hemisphere. The direction has been toward unification. Now the hemispheres will be joined and... Taylor stopped listening and glanced back at the location of the tube. Mary was under surface there. He hated to leave her, even though he couldn't see her again until the tube was unsealed. But then he shrugged and followed the others. If this tiny amalgam of former enemies was a good example, it wouldn't be too long before he and Mary and the rest of humanity would be living on the surface like rational human beings, instead of blindly hating moles. It has taken thousands of generations to achieve, the Eclasadi concluded. Hundreds of centuries of bloodshed and destruction, but each war was a step toward uniting mankind. And now the end is in sight, a world without war. And even that is only the beginning of a new stage of history. The conquest of space, read Colonel Borodoy. The meaning of life, Moss added. Eliminating hunger and poverty, said Taylor. The leddie opened the door of the ship. All that and more. How much more? We cannot foresee it any more than the first man who formed a tribe could foresee this day, but it will be unimaginably great. The door closed and the ship took off toward their new home. End of The Defenders by Philip K. Dick Recording by Megan Argo Foundling on Venus by John and Dorothy D. Corsay This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Greg Marguerite Foundling on Venus by John and Dorothy D. Corsay The Foundling could not have been more than three years old, yet he held a secret that was destined to bring joy to many unhappy people. Unlike Gaul, the North continent of Venus is divided into four parts. No Caesar has set foot here, either, nor shall one. For the dank, stinging, caustic air swallows up the lives of men, and only Venus may say, I conquered. This is colonized Venus, where one may walk without the threat of sudden death, except from other men. The most bitterly fought for, the dearest, bloodiest, most worthless land in the solar system. Separated by men into east and west at the center of the Twilight Zone, the division across the continent is the irregular jagged line of Mud River, springing from the Great Serpent Range. The African Republic holds one quarter, which the Negroes exploit as best they can, encumbered by filter masks and protective clothing. The Asians still actually try to colonize their quarter, while the Venetian primitives neither help nor hinder the bitter game of power politics, secret murder, and misery. Most of all, misery. The men from Mars understand this better, for their quarter is a penal colony, sleepy-eyed, phlegmatic Martians, self-condemned for minute violations of their incredible and complex mores. Without guards, save themselves, will return to the subterranean cities, complex philosophies, and cool dry air of Mars when they have declared their own sentences to be at an end. Meanwhile they labor to extract the wealth of Venus without the bitterness and hate, without the savagery and fear of their neighbors. Hence they are regarded by all with the greatest suspicion. The Federated States, after their fashion, plunder the land and send screaming ships to North America laden with booty and with men grown suddenly rich, and with men who will never care for riches or anything else again. These are the fortunate dead. The rest are received into the sloppy breast of Venus, where even a tombstone or marker is swallowed in a few short weeks, and they die quickly on Venus, and often. From the arbitrary point where the four territories met, new Reno flung its sprawling dirty carcass over the muddy soil, and roared and hooded endlessly, laughed with the rough boisterousness of miners and spacemen, rang with the brittle, brassy laughter of women following a trade older than new Reno. It clanged and shouted and bellowed so loudly that quiet sobbing was never heard. But a strange sound hung in the air, the crying of a child. A tiny child, a boy, he sat begrimmed by mud at the edge of the street, where an occasional ground car flung fresh contamination on his small form, until he became almost indistinguishable from the muddy street. His whimpering changed to prolonged, wailing sobs. He didn't turn to look at any of the giant passers-by, nor did they even notice him. But finally one passer-by stopped. She was young and probably from the Federated States. She was not painted, nor was she well-dressed. She had nothing to distinguish her, except that she had stopped. Oh, my! she breathed, bending over the tiny form. You poor thing! Where's your mama? The little figure rubbed its face, looked at her blankly, and heaved a long, shuttering sigh. I can't leave you sitting here in the mud. She pulled out a handkerchief and tried to wipe away some of the mud and then helped him up. His clothes were rags, his feet bare. She took him by the hand, and as they walked along, she talked to him. But he seemed not to hear. Soon they reached the dirty, plastic front of the elite café. Once through the double portal she pulled the respirator from her face. The air inside was dirty and smelly, but it was breathable. People were eating noisily, boisterously, with all the lusty, unclean, young life that was Venus. They clamored, banged, and threw things for no reason other than to throw them. She guided the little one past the tables filled with people and into the kitchen. The door closed with a bang, shutting out much of the noise from the big room. Gingerly she sat him down on a stool, and with detergent and water she began removing the mud. His eyes were horribly red-rimmed. It's a wonder you didn't die out there, she murmured. Poor little thing. Hey, are you going to work or aren't you, Jane? A voice boomed. A large, ruddy man in white had entered the kitchen, and he stood frowning at the girl. Women weren't rare on Venus, and she was only a waitress. What in blue blazes is that? He pointed to the child. He was outside, the girl explained. Sitting in the street, he didn't have a respirator. The ruddy man scowled at the boy speculatively. His lungs all right? He isn't coughing much, she replied. But what are you going to do with him? The man asked Jane. I don't know, she said. Something. Tell the patrol about him, I guess. The beefy man hesitated. It's been a long time since I've seen a kid this young on Venus. They always ship him home. Could have been dumped. Maybe his parents left him here on purpose. The girl flinched. He grunted disgustedly, his face mirroring his thoughts. Stringy hair, plain face, and soft as a Venus slime, clear through. He shrugged. Anyway, he's got to eat. He looked at the small figure. Want to eat, kid? Would you like a glass of milk? He opened the refrigerator, took out a plastic bottle, and poured milk in a glass. Chubby hands reached out for the glass. There. That's better, the cook said. Pete will see that you get fed all right. He turned to the girl. Could he belong to someone around here? Jane shook her head. I don't know. I've never seen him before. Well, he can stay in the kitchen while you work the shift. I'll watch him. She nodded, took an apron down from a hook, and tied it around her waist. Then she padded the sober-faced youngster on his tousled head and left. The beefy man studied the boy. I think I'll put you over there, he said. He lifted him stool and all, and carried him across the kitchen. You can watch through that panel, see? That's Jane in there. She'll come back and forth, pass right by here. Is that all right? The little one nodded. Oh! Pete raised his eyebrows. So you do know what I'm saying. He watched the child for a few minutes, then turned his attention to the range. The rush hour was on, and he soon forgot the little boy on the stool. Whenever possible, during the lunch hour, Rush Jane stopped to smile and talk to the child. Once she asked, Don't you know where your mama and daddy are? He just stared at her, unblinking, his big eyes soft and sad looking. The girl studied him for a moment, then she picked up a cookie and gave it to him. Can you tell me your name? She asked, hopefully. His lips parted. Cookie crumbs fell off his chin and from the corners of his mouth, but he spoke no words. She sighed, turned, and went out to the clattering throng with laden plates of food. For a while Jane was so busy she almost forgot the young one, but finally people began to linger more over their food. The clinking of dishes grew quieter and Pete took time for a cup of coffee. His sweating face was haggard. He stares solemnly at the little boy and shook his head. Shouldn't be such things as kids, he muttered, nothing but a pain in the neck. Jane came through the door. It gets worse all the time, she groaned. She turned to the little boy. Did you have something to eat? I didn't know what to fix for him, Pete said. How about some beef stew? Do you think he'll go for that? Jane hesitated. I—I don't know. Try it. Pete ladled up a bowl of steaming stew. Jane took it and put it on the table. She took a bit on a spoon, blew on it, then held it out. The child opened his mouth. She smiled and slowly fed him the stew. How old do you think he is, Pete asked. The girl hesitated, opened her mouth, but said nothing. About two and a half, I'd guess, Pete answered himself. Maybe three. Jane nodded and he turned back to cleaning the stove. Don't you want some more stew? Jane asked as she offered the small one another spoonful. The little mouth didn't open. Guess you've had enough, she said, smiling. Pete glanced up. Why don't you leave now, Jane? You're going to have to see the patrol about that kid. I—I can take care of things here. She stood, thinking for a moment. Can I use an extra respirator? You can't take him out of here without one, Pete replied. He opened a locker and pulled out a transparent face-piece. I think this'll tighten down enough to fit his face. She took it and walked over to the youngster. His large eyes had followed all her movements and he drew back slightly as she held out the respirator. It won't hurt, she coaxed. You have to wear it. The air outside stings. The little face remained steady, but the eyes were fearful as Jane slid the transparent mask over his head and tightened the elastic. It pulsed slightly with his breathing. Better wrap him in this, Pete suggested pulling a Doroplast jacket out of a locker. Air's tough on skin. The girl nodded, pulling on her own respirator. She stepped quickly into her Doroplast suit and tied it. Thanks a lot, Pete, she said, her voice slightly muffled. See you tomorrow. Pete grunted as he watched her wrap the tiny form in the jacket, lift it gently in her arms, then push through the door. The girl walked swiftly up the street. It was quieter now, but in a short time the noise and stench and garishness of new Reno would begin rising to another cacophonous climax. The strange pair reached a wretched metal structure with an eschew sign reading, El Grande Hotel. Jane hurried through the double portals. The swish of air flapping her outer garments as the air conditioning unit fought savagely to keep out the rival atmosphere of the planet. There was no one at the desk and no one in the lobby. It was a forlorn place, musty and damp. Venus humidity seemed to eat through everything, even metal, leaving it limp, faded, and stinking. She hesitated, looking at the visophone, then impulsively pulled a chair over out of the line of sight of the viewing plate and gently set the little boy on it. She pulled the respirator from her face, pressed the button under the blank visophone disk. The plate lit up and hummed faintly. Petrol office, Jane said. There was a click and a middle-aged square-faced man with blue-coated shoulders appeared. Petrol office, he repeated. This is Jane Grande. I work at the elite café. Has anyone lost a little boy? The patrolman's eyebrows raised slightly. Little boy, did you find one? Well, I—I—I saw one earlier this evening, she faltered. He was sitting at the edge of the street and I took him into the café and fed him. Well, there aren't many children in town, he replied. Let's see. He glanced at a record sheet. No. Nones reported missing. He with you now? Uh, no. He shook his head again, still looking downward. He said slowly. His parents must have found him. If he was wandering, we'd have picked him up. There is a family that live around there who have a ten-year-old kid who wanders off once in a while. Blonde, stutters a little. Was it him? Well, I— She began. She paused. Said firmly, No. Well, we don't have any reports on lost children. Haven't had for some time. If the boy was lost, his parents must have found him. Thank you for calling. He broke the connection. Jane stood, staring at the blank plate. No one had reported a little boy missing. In all the maddening confusion that was new Reno, no one had missed a little boy. She looked at the small bundle, walked over and slipped off his respirator. I should have told you the truth, she murmured to him softly, but you're so tiny and helpless, poor little thing. He looked up at her, then around the lobby, his brown eyes resting on first one object, then another. His little chin began to quiver. The girl picked him up and stroked his hair. Don't cry, she soothed. Everything's going to be all right. She walked down a hall, fumbling inside her coveralls for a key. At the end of the hall, she stopped, unlocked a door, and carried him inside. As an afterthought, she locked the door, still holding the small bundle in her arms. Then she placed him on the bed, removed the jacket, and threw it on a chair. I don't know why I should go to all this trouble, she said, removing her protective coveralls. I'll probably get picked up by the patrol, but somebody's got to look after you. She sat down beside him. Aren't you even a bit sleepy? He smiled a little. Maybe now you can tell me your name, she said. Don't you know your name? His expression didn't change. She pointed to herself. Jane! Then she hesitated, looked downward for a moment. Janna, I was called before I came here. The little face looked up at her. The small mouth opened. Janna! It was half whisper, half whistle. That's right, she replied, stroking his hair. My, but your throat must be sore. I hope you won't be sick from breathing too much of that awful air. She regarded him quizzically. You know, I've never seen many little boys. I don't quite know how to treat one. But I know you should get some sleep. She smiled and reached over to take off the rags. He pulled away suddenly. Don't be afraid, she said reassuringly. I wouldn't hurt you. He clutched the little ragged shirt tightly. Don't be afraid, she repeated soothingly. I'll tell you what. You lie down and I'll put this blanket over you, she said, rising. Will that be all right? She laid him down and covered the small form with a blanket. He lay there, watching her with his large eyes. You don't look very sleepy, she said. Perhaps I had better turn the light down. She did so, slowly, so as not to alarm him. But he was silent, watchful, never taking his eyes from her. She smiled and sat down next to him. Now I'll tell you a story, and then you must go to sleep, she said softly. He smiled, just a little smile, and she was pleased. Fine, she cried. Well, once upon a time there was a beautiful planet, not at all like this one. There were lovely flowers and cool running streams, and it only rained once in a while. You'd like it there, for it's a very nice place. But there were people there who liked to travel, to see strange places and new things, and one day they left in a great big ship. She paused again frowning and thought. Well, they traveled a long, long way and saw many things. Then one day something went wrong. Her voice was low and soft. It had the quality of a dream, the texture of a zephyr. But the little boy was still wide awake. Something went very, very wrong, and they tried to land so they could fix it, but when they tried to land they found they couldn't, and they fell and just barely managed to save themselves. The big beautiful ship was all broken. Well, since they couldn't fix the ship at all now, they set out on foot to find out where they were and to see if they could get help. Then they found that they were in a land of great big giants, and the people were very fierce. The little boy's dark eyes were watching her intently, but she went on, hardly noticing. So they went back to the broken ship and tried to decide what to do. They couldn't get in touch with their home because the radio part of the ship was all broken up. And the giants were horrible and wanted everything for themselves and were cruel and mean and probably would have hurt the poor shipwrecked people if they had known they were there. So do you know what they did? They got some things from this ship, and they went and built a giant. And they put little motors inside and things to make it run and talk so that the giants wouldn't be able to tell that it wasn't another giant just like themselves. She paused, straightening slightly. And then they made a space inside the giant where somebody could sit and run this big giant and talk and move around. And the giants wouldn't ever know that she was there. They made it a she. In fact, she was the only person who could do it because she could learn to talk all sorts of languages. That's what she could do best. So she went out in the giant suit and mingled with the giants and worked just like they did. But every once in a while she'd go back to the others, bringing them things they needed. And she would bring back news. That was their only hope, news of a ship which might be looking for them, which might take them home. She broke off. I wonder what the end of the story will be? She murmured. For some time she had not been using English. She had been speaking in a soft fluid language unlike anything ever heard on Venus. But now she had stopped speaking entirely. After a slight pause, another voice spoke. In the same melodious alien tongue it said, I think I know the end of the story. I think someone has come for you, poor people, and is going to take you home. She gasped, for she realized it had not been her voice. Her artificial eyes watched, stunned, as the little boy began peeling off a skin-tight, flexible baby-faced mask, revealing underneath the face of a little man. End of, Foundling on Venus, by John and Dorothy D'Corsay.