 No Moving Parts. This is a LibreVox recording. All LibreVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibreVox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss. No Moving Parts. By Murray F. Yacco. Hansen was sitting at the control board in the single building on Communications Relay Station 43.4 SC when the emergency light flashed on for the first time in 200 years. With textbook recommended swiftness, he located the position of the ship sending the call, identified the ship and the name of its captain and made contact. This is Hansen on 43.4 SC. Put me through to Captain Fromer. Fromer here, said an incredible deep voice. What the devil do you want? What do I want? asked the astonished Hansen. It was you, sir, who sent the emergency call. I did no such thing, said Fromer with great certainty. But the light flashed. How long have you been out of school? Fromer asked. Almost a year, sir. But that doesn't change the fact that that you're imagining things and that you've been sitting on that asteroid hoping that something would happen to break the monotony. Now leave me the hell alone or I'll put you on report. Now look here, Hansen began, practically beside himself with frustration. I saw that emergency light the one. Maybe it was activated automatically when something went out of order on your ship. I don't allow emergencies on the Euclid Queen, said Fromer with growing anger. Now if you don't, Hansen spared himself the indignity of being cut off. He broke contact himself. He sighed, reached for the book and titled Emergency Procedure Rules and settled back in his chair. Fifteen minutes later, the emergency light flashed on for the second time in 200 years. With its red glow illuminating his freckled excited face, Hansen triumphantly placed another call to the Euclid Queen. This is Hansen on 43.4 SC. Let me speak to Captain Fromer, please. Er, the captain has asked me to contact you. I'm the navigator. I was just about to call you. We have a small problem that I'll speak to the captain. Hansen repeated grimly. Now see here. I'm perfectly capable of handling this situation. Actually, it's hardly even an emergency. You were, it seems, signaled automatically when. If you'll check your emergency procedures, Hansen said holding his thumb in the rulebook. You'll note that the relay station attended contacts the captain personally during all emergencies. Of course, if you want to violate, look, old man, said the navigator now sounding on the verge of tears. Try to realize the spot I'm in. Fromer has ordered me to handle this thing without his assistance. He seems to feel that you have a grudge of some kind. If you don't put me in touch with Captain Fromer in five minutes, I'll put through a call to sector headquarters. Hansen signaled off contact. If he knew nothing else about the situation, he knew that he had the upper hand. Five minutes later, Captain Fromer called him back. I am calling in accordance with emergency procedures, Fromer said between clenched teeth. The situation is this. We are reporting an emergency. What class emergency? Hansen interrupted. Class? As Fromer obviously caught off guard. Yes, Captain, there are three classes of emergency. Major class, which would include death and injury. Mechanical class, including malfunction of Hegler units and such. And general class. Yes, yes, of course. General class by all means, Fromer said hurriedly. You see, it's hardly even an emergency. We just, what is the nature of your trouble, Captain? Why, well, it seems that we were doing a preliminary landing procedure check. And yes, go on. Well, why, it seems we can't get the door open. It was Hansen's turn to be taken aback. You're pulling my leg, sir. I most certainly am not, Captain Fromer said emphatically. You really mean that you can't open the door? I'm afraid so. Something's wrong with the mechanism. Our technical staff has never encountered a problem like this. And they advise me that any attempted repair might possibly result in the opposite situation. You mean not being able to get the door closed? Precisely. In other words, we can't land. I see. Then I'm afraid there's nothing I can do except advise sector headquarters to send an emergency repair crew. Captain Fromer's side. I'm afraid so too. How long will it take for a message to get there with your transmitting equipment? Two days, Captain. At a guess, there'll be a ship alongside within the week. Are you maintaining your presupposition, I assume? Oh, we'll be here, all right, Fromer said bitterly. Then he cut contact. As the single occupant of a large asteroid with nothing but time and boredom on his hands, Hansen was enjoying the whole situation immensely. He allowed himself the luxury of several dozen fantasies in which his name was mentioned prominently in galaxy-wide reports of the episode. He imagined that Captain Fromer was also creating vivid accounts of quite another sort that would soon be amusing several hundred billion news-hungry citizens of the Federation. When the repair ship arrived, it came to Hansen's astonishment to the asteroid and not alongside Fromer's ship. He soon found out that there was someone else who shared the captain's embarrassment. I'm Bullert, said a tall, thin, mournful man. Mind if I sit? Help yourself. Hansen waved a hand toward the meager accommodations. He had no idea why a senior engineer was being so deferential, but he enjoyed the feeling of power. You're probably wondering about a lot of things, Bullert began sadly. Frankly, we don't have any ideas about how we can fix Captain Fromer's door. He waited to let that sink in. Then he continued. It took us three days back at the base to find out that when these ships were built, almost 500 years ago, nobody bothered to include detailed drawings of the door mechanism. But why? You certainly know how to build. We know how to build Star Clash ship, sure. We built a few in the past century or two. There's never been a need for replacement, really. These ships are designed to last forever. The original fleet was conceived to fill the system's needs for a full thousand years. But the doors on the few ships that have been built, how? The ships we built were exact duplicates of Captain Fromer's ship, except for the door. Bullert's long-faced, radiated despair. No one ever questioned why the door mechanism wasn't included in the original plans. We simply designed another type, a different type of door. Well, certainly you can find out how this particular door works, can't you? I hope so, Bullert said, wringing his hands. But we have a couple of other problems. Number one, Captain Fromer has an extremely important passenger on board. None other than his exalted Excellency, Arthagnabar. He is, or was, on his way home after concluding a treaty of friendship with the President of the Federation. Hanson managed the whistle. Furthermore, Bullert continued, his Excellency has to be home soon to get there in time for the mating season. This occurs once in a lifetime, I'm told, and this is his only chance to continue the ancestral rule. Wait a minute, Hanson said. Are you trying to say that you can't solve a simple problem like getting him home and getting him out of the ship? You can always cut it in two, can't you? These ships were made to last forever, Bullert explained. The hull is, of course, pseudo-met, but not the kind of pseudo-met used for other applications. In short, about the only way you'll get in that ship is to vaporize it. But can't you simply disassemble the door mechanism? My God, how complicated can it be? We're going to try to do just that, Bullert said without a trace of confidence. As far as the complication goes, let me say just this. It's full of moving parts. What are you getting at, Hanson asked? Just this. These ships are perfect mechanisms. There is hardly anything in them that could be called the moving part. Now, a door has to open and close. Sure, we devised a simple, safe way to do it a few hundred years after the original fleet was built. The men who designed the original door mechanism felt, perhaps, that it was incongruous to include it in the first place. Maybe that's why they threw away the plans. God knows it is incongruous. Look, here's a photo we took of one in a ship back to base. Hanson scanned the photograph. It was a meaningless jumble. He handed it back. Well, make yourself at home. I'm afraid that the only thing I can help with will be radio communication to Captain Frommership. Good enough, Bullert said. I'm expecting someone else tomorrow. After you bring him down, feel free to drop over and see me anytime. Bullert went back to his ship and Hanson went to bed. He dreamed of his exalted excellency, Arthagna Bar, growing angrier day by day as the time of mating came closer. In his dream, he suddenly came upon a magnificent solution to the problem, a solution involving a telepathic system of fertilization. He woke up before he had completely worked out the details. Bullert's friend arrived the same morning. He was a small, dark, active little man whom Hanson immediately disliked. Meet Dr. Chemus, Bullert said when Hanson dropped in on him. Dr. Chemus is a specialist in the history of technology. He thinks he knows how our cute little door mechanism is made. Can't say for sure, Chemus said, but I guess that those components are made of metal, real metal. I thought metal was used only in jewelry, Hanson said. Dr. Chemus grinned slyly. That's what most people think. Actually, refined metal of various types was used in large masses, foreign masses, for thousands of years. Historically speaking, the pseudo-mets are relatively new. It's difficult to imagine metal functioning as machinery, Hanson used. Can you say that this door mechanism has moving parts? Lots of them? Moving parts are nothing to be afraid of, Chemus said. Here, look at this. He put something small on the table, much in the manner of a young boy dropping a garter snake in the midst of the schoolgirls. Bullert and Hanson crowded around. Now, take turns, said Chemus sharply, and don't drop it. It's priceless, I assure you. The ancient wristwatch with its transparent back was passed from hand to hand. Brightening, little monster, isn't it? Bullert said. Those small round wheels are called gears, elucidated Chemus. One gear turns another, which turns another, and so on. I'd rather imagine that your door is operated on some similar principle. I seem to be the one who asks all the schoolboy questions, Hanson began. Would somebody tell me why Captain Prommer doesn't take his Excellency to his home planet, land the ship, and then let his technical staff tear off the door mechanism? We've gone through that, Bullert said, weirdly. Unfortunately, we need special tools, and there's no way to get them into the ship. Can I speak to Captain Prommer? Chemus asked. Right away, Hanson said. He pressed his hand in various patterns on his belt. This is Hanson. Let us talk to Captain Prommer, please. Prommer here. Who is it? Dr. Chemus speaking. How is your passenger? My passenger is fine, but he keeps telling me that he is very anxious to plant his seed. When can you get us out of here? Plant his seed, said Chemus. There's nothing salacious about this, I've been assured. He simply has a biological craving at this time in his life to plant his seed. I've got problems like that too, Bullert said, but I don't go around telling everybody. Stop clowning, Prommer Snep. You guys better find a way to fix this damn door, or you'll have a galactic war on your hands. Anybody have any ideas yet? We're sure that the door mechanism is made of metal, Chemus said, and the construction is probably based on the principle of a worm gear. A what? A worm gear, Captain, Chemus said patiently. It's an ancient metal device that was sometimes used for closing large doors. There's also the possibility that the door is closed and opened by dogs. These seem to have been used at least to operate doors of undersea crafts, although we're not quite certain about the function of dogs. The Captain maintained a stony silence. Also, Chemus continued, we have on earth, so to speak, a reference to a metal component called a babbit. Now see here, Captain Prommer Roard. Who do you think you're kidding with this talk about worms and dogs and rabbits? Babbits, Captain Babbits, perhaps a type of bearing. Anyway, we're at work on the problem, I assure you. Chemus motioned to Hanson that he was through talking. During the next three days, Hanson twice visited Bullard and Chemus. On each occasion, he found the two men in trance-like conditions ostensibly thinking through the problem that they had been assigned to solve. But more probably, Hanson guessed, brooding about the reaction of sector headquarters to their daily progress reports, which Hanson had been relaying for them. Hanson had only sympathy for the people back at sector headquarters. For if these two experts were the galaxy's two top troubleshooters, the Federation was not, as Hanson put it to himself, in very good shape to fight a war with 100 billion enraged citizens who worshipped his exalted Exitlency, Arthagna Bar, almost as much as they did his seed. Hanson went back to his reading, only to be interrupted with increasing frequency by message transmissions from an increasingly alarmed sector headquarters. Messages were addressed to Bullard and were bravely designed to disguise the sender's hysteria, while at the same time urging Bullard on to more magnificent efforts. A few messages, fairly representative of a state of affairs as time wore on, reflected an increasing suspicion on the part of sector headquarters that Chemus and Bullard, although certainly tops in their fields, were not tops enough. Sec headquarters, Bullard, calm relay, 43.4 SC. President would like estimate of when door will be open. You sure you can handle? Emphasize that political situation now getting touchy, repeat touchy, Arthagna Bar calling on president today to make demand that seed be planted on time. Sure you don't need more help? Commanding general, commanding general, no help needed. Making progress, assure president. Today found out metal in mechanism is very hard. In constant radio touch with promers. Passenger impatient but quieter, sleeps more now. This significant? Chemus developing theory of mechanism. Says we'll take time to work out. How much time we have? When was seed be planted? Bullard. Sec headquarters, Bullard, calm relay, 43.4 SC. Must have estimate when door opens. This is an order. Ambassador threatening war. Can't give deadline of seed planting time since subject very taboo. Our biologists say Arthagna Bar sleepy significant. May be preload to seeding time. Tell about chemostere in next communication. We'll evaluate here. Nice to know metal is hard. Keep up good work. Pressure here to send you help. President says whole federation praying for door to be fixed. Says to hurry up. Commanding general, commanding general. No estimate possible. Chemostere almost complete. States that mechanism built on principle of worm gear. Repeat, worm gear. Today instructed promers crew to jiggle moving parts of mechanism at random. Parts would not jiggle. Promers states that Arthagna Bar sleeps all time and color changes to blue and red on stomach. This significant? Bullard. Sec headquarters, Bullard, calm relay, 43.4 SC. Important, you amplify last message. Red and blue on stomach. Why Arthagna Bar undressed? Investigate. President orders help sent. Help on way. Repeat. Why Arthagna Bar undressed? Commanding general, commanding general. Promer advises tell you ships position has put Arthagna Bar in refrigerator. Chemostere. Sec headquarters, Chemostere. Calm relay, 43.4 SC. Take out of refrigerator. This is an order. Why undressed? Commanding general, commanding general. Bullard making model of my drawings ready soon. Arthagna Bar out of refrigerator as requested, but ships position very angry and wants to put back in. Color on stomach, pink and yellow with blue squares. This significant? Chemostere. It went on like this for several more days. Hansen, at first amused, was now alarmed and completely convinced that both chemist and Bullard were thoroughly useless. The messages were his only source of information since both experts were too immersed in their work. As his alarm grew, he decided that he might at least try to strike up a friendship with someone on board Captain Promer's sealed ship. Someone who might have something comforting to report. He called up the ship's navigator. This is Hansen. How are things going up there? What's that mean? Good or bad? It means, the navigator said while yawning, that things are falling apart rapidly. In fact, in a day or two, I don't think it'll make much difference whether or not they open that damn door. You care to fill me in? Why not? Said the navigator with the voice of a man who knows that it is too late for anything to matter. The members of the crew are divided into two factions. It appears that our physician has rallied half the crew to support his medical contention that our exalted passenger belongs in the refrigerator. The good captain, with some justice, one must admit, thinks that he is in command of the ship and prefers to believe that our thag-na-bar belongs out of the refrigerator. Who seems to be winning the argument? Argument? There's no argument, old man. It's open warfare. No weapons aboard, of course, but the two teams are grappling up and down the corridors and shuttling our exalted passenger in and out of the icebox about four times each hour. Quite a sight, really. Right now he's in the refrigerator, but the other team... Let me know who's ahead from time to time, will you? Hansen heard himself say. Glad to oblige, the navigator said, yawning again. Oh, incidentally. Have they sent for help yet? Hansen said with some surprise. Why? Yes. As a matter of fact, Sector Headquarters is sending some help. How did you know? Found a happen sooner or later, old man. When the going gets really tough, they always get around to sending a gypsy. Only way to get anything done, you know. I don't know, Hansen said reluctantly. Why is it that everyone knows except me? What, please, is a gypsy? You're too young to know everything, old man, the navigator said. You're especially too young to know about one of the Federation's best-kept secrets. But you might as well, I suppose. The fact is that a gypsy is a generally vagrant, dirty, feeding, clever scoundrel who will not work, who has absolutely no respect for order or authority, who believes that our institutions are a feat and, but then why? Patience. Patience costs you the navigator utterly. If I am to reveal everything I know, I must do it in my own way. The description I just gave you is not necessarily true. It is simply the way that Sector Headquarters deals about gypsies. Common jealousy, really. It seems that, from time to time, our perfect little elactic society spawns men who don't care to be cast in the common mold. In short, there are a few men around with brains who don't think that it means very much to wear pretty uniforms or fancy titles. Uniforms like yours? Hansen asked. Precisely, the navigator said sadly. The truth of the matter is, of course, that I only play at being a navigator. I couldn't get this ship off course if I tried. The same is true with the four engineering officers who stand around watching the Hegler Drive units. They occasionally make a ceremonial adjustment, but beyond that, they simply stand around looking pretty. No moving parts, Hansen said. No moving brains, if you like. Anyway, a gypsy has, somewhere along the line, learned how to do things. They'll take an emergency call about once a year if they happen to feel like it. Then they charge about half a million credits. You mean they have an organization? Standard rates and haven't know, the navigator said. They hate anything that smells like organization. They don't even specialize in any certain kind of work. One year they'll be fascinated by sub-nucleonics. The next by horse racing. Very erratic. Can't keep attention on any one thing. Heard of one once who engaged in fishing and alcohol drinking. Brilliant mathematician, too. But he'd only take a call once every three years or so. For a half million credits a crack, eh? You could live pretty well for three years on that. Strangely enough, the navigator said thoughtfully. They don't really have any interest in money. If you'd ever met one, you'd know that the high fee is sort of a penalty they meet out to everyone else for being so dumb. Well, one thing for sure, Hansen said. If bullart and chemists are the cream of the crop, I'm on the side of the gypsies. Ah, youth, the navigator said. I, too, once had such dreams. We'll see about the dreams, Hansen said almost menacingly. I didn't spend six years in that damn school just to sit around in a pretty uniform for the rest of my life. Oh, you'll get used to it. In fact, you'll like it after a while. The home leaves. The fuss your friends will make over you when you step off the ship. The regular and automatic promotion in grade with the extra gold band added to your sleeve. The move from one outpost to an always larger installation, you'll never do much, of course. But why should you? After all, there aren't any moving parts. Hansen cut the communicator off. He stood there for a moment, feeling depressed and betrayed. Automatically, he reached down and flicked imaginary dust from his blue sleeve with its narrow, solitary gold band. Ten minutes later, the gypsies shipped the signal for landing. The man who walked into Hansen's control room was hardly the ogre he had been prepared for. He looked, Hansen was later reflected, like Santa Claus with muscles in place of the fat. Wearing an almost unheard of beard and dressed in rough clothes, he walked across the room and made short work of the usual formalities. Names candle, said the man. Where's those two phonies I'm supposed to replace? You'll have to go suit up and go back through the airlock, Hansen said, motioning to the door. They're in their ship. It's the one next to yours. Want me to tell them you're on your way over? Hell no, said candle grinning. I'll surprise him. Now, suppose you and me sit down and have a little chat. They sat, and candle pumped Hansen of everything he knew about the entire situation. An hour later, Hansen felt almost as if he'd been had. Is that all, he asked, weirdly? I got the facts, candle said. Now, let's go throw those experts out. It wasn't quite that simple. Neither Bullard nor Kemos had any intention of simply clearing out. Who the hell you think you are, Bullard said, to come on over here and order us off. We didn't even ask for help. And God knows you couldn't supply it anyway. Bullard, with evident distaste, ran his eyes up and down candle's clothing. Dr. Kemos had some ideas too. Letter of authority or no letter of authority, Kemos said, pointing a manicured forefinger at the paper and candle's hand. You'll ruin everything. You have no idea what you're up against. We spent weeks working this thing out. Candle grinning. What have you worked out? Why? Why we know that this is a metal double enveloping worm gear. Wrong candle said. It's a single enveloping worm gear. It's made of steel with an aluminum alloy wheel gear. And the two parts have corroded and stuck. The whole mechanism was originally designed for submarines. Kemos started to say something. Then turned and looked at Bullard for reassurance. He's crazy, Bullard said. He's making it up as he goes along. How can he possibly know what he's talking about? Why? There haven't been any submarines for centuries. I'm tired of playing games, Candle said, no longer grinning. The boy and I have work to do. You two are in the way. You'll only take up time if I have to work with you and show you what to do. I want you and your ship out of here in a half an hour. Who's going to make us, Bullard asked with great originality. I am, everybody turned around to see who else had entered the conversation. It was Hanson. I'm going to give you 15 minutes, not 30, Hanson said. Then I'm going to turn the grid power on at full intensity. You can either use it to take off or sit around and roast alive inside your ship. Candle turned and looked at Hanson with new respect. Okay, let's go back to your place. I've still got some things to figure out. Chemists was on the verge of hysteria. You're bluffing. You wouldn't dare. I'll report this. 15 minutes later, the ship had it for space. Back in Hanson's room, the two men ate a quick lunch, then sat at the table and talked about Candle's plans for opening the reluctant door. The way I figure it, Candle said, I think we can handle the whole thing by radio. Which reminds me, one of these days I'm going to build a telescreen that will transmit and receive through pseudo-met. Not too difficult, really. If you approach the problem, I better get Promer for you. Hanson said hurriedly. Promer here, said the bass voice. This is Candle. Let me talk to one of your so-called engineering officers. Who the hell? Shut up and go get them, Candle growled back. And one more yelp out of you and you'll stay in that ship till you rot. There was a pause, then Promer again. A meek Promer. My chief engineering officer is with me. Okay, now get this. Come to think of it, you better record it. Number one, by now you know which component is a wormgear. You will notice I'm quite certain that it engages a large, notched wheel. The reason the door will not move is because at the point where the two gears meet, some of the metal has oxidized. For possible use in future emergencies, I offer this explanation. The entire mechanism is subject to periodic vacuum when the airlock door is operated. In between times, the mechanism is in the ship's atmosphere. A condition of lower oxygen content thus obtains around the sealed area and such an area is anodic. In other words, corrodeable with respect to the surrounding areas in which oxygen has free access. Now, since this door has opened and closed successfully for about 500 years, it appears that there's a special reason why it suddenly refuses to function. At a guess, you would experience this condition of intense corrosion only when the aluminum in the wheel gear is exposed to something like sodium hydroxide and only at the point where it controls the wormgear. Now, has this ship landed recently within such an atmosphere? Three weeks ago, on Gorton IV, said the weak voice of the engineer, we landed to get some pictures of the cloud formations for souvenirs. We dropped on the edge of a large body of water because the view was better. Candle shook his head sadly and said, you could have avoided trouble by coming and over land instead of the water. The heat from the ship boiled the water which undoubtedly contained sodium carbonate and calcium hydroxide, presto, and the air was filled with clouds of sodium hydroxide. I suggest that you steer away from all such wicked places in the future. Of course, if you learn how to mine ore, smelt metal, machine components, first they'd have to discover fire and sit out of the corner of his mouth. You're catching on, son, Candle said out of the corner of his mouth. Now, gentlemen, to open the door, it will be necessary to break the corroded area apart. This is a large heavy mechanism as such things go. Since you have no tools heavy enough to batter the corroded area apart, you'll have to make some. How can we? Candle sighed. I wish I had time to teach you to think, but instead, you'll have to do as I tell you to do. I think you can probably make a battering ram out of water. You just don't interrupt, find and make a long cylindrical container, fill it with water and quick freeze it in your refrigerator. But they put our thag in a bar in the refrigerator again. Then I suggest you get them the hell out, Candle said. An hour later, 10 men smashed a half-ton cylinder of ice against the corroded junction of the two gears. Following Candle's instructions, they next supplied the ram to the door itself which smoothly swung open. You'll find, Candle explained, that the only damage will be the two missing teeth on the aluminum gear. Since only two teeth are ever in contact at any time, you can simply slide the gear forward and engage it at a point where the teeth are intact. You'll find, I'm quite sure, that your door will function properly. Also, Captain, don't pull out of here until I'm aboard. I think I'd like to bring it along an assistant too. An assistant? Hansen asked. Candle twirled the ends of his long white mustache. You, my lad, if you'd like to go along. He pulled a letter from his pocket and fanned the air with it. I'm in complete command of this expedition, at least until his exalted excellency gets home to plant his seed. Hansen's face glowed. I can't think of anything I'd rather do. Let's get a couple of messages off the sector headquarters and get on board the ship. It may not be a joy ride, Candle said thoughtfully. You probably haven't heard about it, but there have been a number of ship emergencies in the past few weeks. Your failures? No, at least none I've heard of, but at least two Heggler drives have stopped working in mid-space. But there's nothing to stop working. Candle's eyes twinkled. No moving parts, eh? Hansen readen. I hope I've outgrown that silly notion. Candle peered into Hansen's eyes. I'm sure you have. I'm sure that you will find out a lot more things for yourself. You're the kind. And we're going to need lots of your kind because failures. Failures of so-called perfect mechanisms are becoming more and more commonplace. Candle pointed to the emergency light on the traffic control panel. That light will be flashing with more and more frequency in the months to come. But not just a signal trouble in space. If I were a superstitious man, I'd think that the age of the perfect machine is about to be superseded by the age of the perfect failure. Mechanical failures that can't be explained on any level. I have several friends who've been in touch with me recently about, you think that it's time for a change? Candle smiled quickly. That's the idea. And the truth of the matter is that I am a superstitious man. I really believe, childishly, that the mechanics and motions of the galaxy may turn themselves upside down just to snap man out of his apathy and give him some work to do. Upside down turned out to be a good word. They boarded the big ship an hour later and were respectfully ushered into the presence of Captain Frommer and his staff. Where underway, Captain Frommer said, we'll be landing in nine days to deliver our Thagnabar home. How is he? Hansen asked. Frommer shrugged. He's been thought out, frozen, and thought out so many times. It's anybody's guess. Take a look for yourself. Someone pulled back a curtain to expose the recumbent, thawing, steamy form of his exalted excellency, our Thagnabar. Why is he undressed? Hansen asked. Funny, now that you mention it, Frommer said puzzled, why is he undressed? Fascinating. Dandest thing I've ever seen, Candle said. What's so fascinating, Frommer asked suspiciously, moving closer. His belly never saw anything like it. Those black squares keep appearing and disappearing. If I've ever seen a truly random pattern, it started right after they froze him the first time, Frommer said, Disconsolatably. Fascinating by heaven, said Candle, who was now down on his hands and knees. Look at the top sequence, random, yet physiological. I've got a friend on Bride and Three who'd trade anything for some photos of this. Get me some photo equipment, will you? Captain Frommer ran his hands through what was left of his hair. Get him some photo equipment, he said to no one in particular. And somebody make a truce with that idiot doctor, long enough to get me a sedative. About this time, the ship turned upside down. But there's no reason for it, the chief engineer said, running alongside Hansen and Candle. The ship can't turn upside down, everything is functioning perfectly. Really not interested, said Candle, running down the corridors, mile-long ceiling. Figure out something for yourself for a change. But what I can't understand, said Hansen, dutifully traveling alongside, is how you knew with such certainty how the door mechanism was made. Even if submarines were built like that, you'd have no way of knowing there haven't been any submarines in centuries. The hell you say, said Candle, increasing his pace. I built one five years ago, built one, what for? For the hell of it, and it was a damn good outfit, too. I found plans in an old museum and had the good sense not to improve on them. Always remember, boy, that something that really works can't be improved. That's when the submarine mechanism was adopted, not adapted for space. The so-called better way they're building them today is simply a disguise for the fact that most of the gas is gone from our technology. What happened to the submarine? Oh, I traded it to a friend for some falcons. You interested in falconry by any chance? Er, no, can't say that I am. You will be, Candle said prophetically, you'll succumb to every enthusiasm man has ever been deviled with. You're the type. It's a disease, boy, and the big symptom isn't just curiosity, but the kind of intense curiosity that turns you inside out, devours you, and ruins you for orthodoxy. Hansen had stopped listening. He was absorbed in trying to recall the pattern he had pressed on his radio belt. The pattern never taught to him when the ship had suddenly turned upside down. Hesitantly, he played with the notion that he had been thinking of the ship traveling upside down at the time he impressed the novel pattern on the belt. Now, could that have possibly... The man and boy disappeared down the ceiling, running at top speed to catch up as the rapidly vanishing form of Arthagna Bar was dragged and pulled relentlessly toward the refrigerator in a tug of war between the ship's wild divided crew. Fascinating, said Candle. His eyes glittering with their own peculiar madness remain riveted on the distant imperial belly. Never saw anything like it. This is the end of No Moving Parts by Murray F. Yako. Recording by Tom Weiss The Nothing Equation. 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 Daniele The Nothing Equation by Tom Godwin The space ships were miracles of power and precision. The man, who manned them, reached in endurance and courage. Every detail had been checked and double checked. Every detail except... The cruiser vanished back into hyperspace and he was alone in the observation bubble. Ten thousand light years beyond the galaxy's outermost sun. He looked out the windows at the gigantic sea of emptiness around him and wondered again what the danger had been that had so terrified the man before him. Of one thing, he was already certain. He would find that Flutting was waiting outside the bubble to kill him. The first bubble attendant had committed suicide and the second was mindless maniac on the earthbound cruiser, but it must have been something inside the bubble that had caused it or else they had imagined it all. He went across a small room, his magnetized soul loud on a thin metal floor in the bubble of silence. He sat down in the single chair, his weight very slight in the feeble artificial gravity and revealed the known facts. The bubble was a project of Earth Galactic Observation Bureau positioned there to gather data from observations that could not be made from within the galaxy. Since metallic mass affected the hypersensitive instruments the bubble had been made as small and light as possible. It was for that reason that it could accommodate only one attendant. The bureau had selected Horn as the bubble's first attendant and the cruiser left him there for his six months period of duty. When it made his schedule to return with his replacement he was found dead from a tremendous overdose of sleeping pills. On the table was his daily report log and his last entry made three months before. I haven't attended to the instruments for a long time because it hates us and doesn't want us here. It hates me the most of all and keeps trying to get into the bubble to kill me. I can hear it whenever I stop and listen and I know it won't be long. I'm afraid of it and I want to be asleep when it comes. But I'll have to make it soon because I have only 20 sleeping pills left and if... the sentence was never finished. According to the temperature recording instruments in the bubble his body sees radiating heat the same night. The bubble was cleaned, fumigated and inspected inside and out. No sign of any inimical entity or force could be found. Silverman was Horn's replacement. When the cruiser returned six months later bringing him green to be Silverman's replacement Silverman was completely insane. He bubbled about something that had been waiting outside the bubble to kill him but his nearest to a rational statement was to say once when asked for the undreathed thine what he had seen nothing you can really see it but you feel it watching you and you hear it trying to get in to kill you. One time I bumped the wall and for God's sake take me away from it take me back to Earth. Then he had tried to hide under the captain's desk and the ship's doctor had let him away. The bubble was minutely examined again and the cruiser employed every detector device it possessed to search surrounding space for light years in all directions. Nothing was found. When it was time for the new replacement to be transferred to the bubble he reported to captain's McDowell. Everything is very green, McDowell said. You are the next one. His shaggy grey eyebrows met in a scowl. It would be better if they would let me select the replacement instead of them. He flashed with a touch of resentment and said the puro found my intelligence and initiative or thought satisfactory. I know the characteristics you don't need. What they ought to have is somebody like one of my engine room rustballs too ignorant to get scared and too dumb to go nuts. Then we could get a same report six months from now instead of ravings of a maniac. I suggest, he said stiffly, that you reserve judgment until that time comes, sir. And that was all he knew about the danger, real or imaginary that had driven two men into insanity. He would have six months in which to find the answer. Six months means he looked at the chronometer and saw that 20 minutes had passed since he left the cruiser. Somehow it seemed much longer. He moved to light a cigarette and his metal soles scraped the floor with the same startling loudness he had noticed before. The bubble was as silent as a tomb. It was not much larger than a tomb, as fear 18 feet in diameter made of thin sheet steel and crisscrossed outside with narrow reinforcing girders. Keep the internal air pressure from rapturing it. The floor under him was six feet up from the sphere's bottom and the space beneath held the air regenerator and waste converter units, the storage batteries and the food cabinets. The compartment in which he sat contained chair, table and narrow cot, banks of dials, a remote control panel for operating the instruments mounted outside the hall, a microfilm projector and a pair of exercises springs attached to one wall. That was all. There was no means of communication since a hyperspace communicator would have affected the delicate instruments with these radiations. But there was a small microfilm library to go with the projector so that he should be able to pass away the time pleasantly enough. But it was not the fear of boredom that was behind the apprehension he could already feel touching at his mind. It had not been boredom that had turned horn into a suicide and silverman into something cracked sharply behind him like a gunshot in the stillness and he lived to his feet, willing to face it. It was only a metal reel of data tape that had dropped out of the spectrum analyzer into the storage tray. His heart was thumping fast and his attempt to laugh at his nervousness sounded hollow and mirthless. Something inside or outside the bubble had driven too many insane with his threat and now that he was irrevocably assailed in the bubble himself he could no longer dismiss the fear as products of their imagination. Both of them had been rational, intelligent men as carefully selected by the observation bureau as he had been. He sat in to search the bubble overlooking nothing. When he crawled down into the lower compartment he hastily then opened the longest blade of his knife before searching among the dark recesses down there. He found nothing, not even a speck of dust. Back in his chair again he began to doubt his first condition perhaps there really had been some kind of an invisible force or entity outside the bubble. Both Hall and Silverman had said that it had tried to get in to kill them they had been very definite about that part. There were six windows around the bubble's walls set there to enable their attendant to see all the outside mounted instruments and dials. He went to them to look out one by one and from all of them he saw the same vast emptiness that surrounded him. The galaxy, his galaxy, was so far away that its stars were like dust. In the other directions the empty Gulf was so wide that galaxies and clusters of galaxies were tiny feeble specks of light shining across it. All around him was a void so huge that galaxies were only specks in it. Who could know what forces or dangers might be waiting out there. A light blinked, reminding him it was time to attend his duties. The job required an hour and he was nervous and not yet hungry when he had finished. He went to the exercises springs on the wall and performed a workout that left him tired and sweating but which at least gave him a small appetite. The day passed and the next. He made another search of the bubble's interior with the same results as before. He felt almost sure then that there was nothing in the bubble with him. He established a routine of work past time and sleep that made the first week pass fairly comfortably but for the knowing worry in his mind that something invisible was lurking just outside the windows. Then one day he accidentally kicked the wall with his metal shoe-thip. It made a sound like that from kicking a tight scratch section of tin and it seemed to him that it gave a little from the impact as tin would do. He realized for the first time how thin it was, how deadly dangerously thin. According to the specification he had read it was only one sixteenth of an inch thick. It was as thin as a cardboard. He sat down with pencil and paper and began calculating. The bubble had a surface area of 146,500 square inches and the internal air pressure was 14 pounds to the square inch which meant that the thin metal skin contained a total pressure of 2,051,000 pounds the bubble in which he sat was a bomb waiting to explode the instant any section of the thin metal weakened. It was supposed to be an alloy so extremely strong that it had a high safety factor but he could not believe that any metal so thin could be so strong. It was alright for engineer sitting safely on earth to speak of high safety factors but his life depended upon the fragile war not cracking it made a lot of difference. The next day he thought he felt the hook to which the exercise spring was attached crack loose from where it was welded to the wall he inspected the base of the hook closely and there seemed to be a fine hairline fracture appearing around it he held his ear to it listening for any sound of a leak it was not leaking yet but it could commence doing so at any time he looked out the windows at the illimitable void that was waiting to absorb his pitiful little supply of air and he thought of the days he had howled and jerked at the springs with all his strength not realizing the damage he was doing there was a sick feeling in his stomach for the rest of the day and he returned again and again to examine the hairline around the hook the next day he discovered an even more serious threat the thin skin of the bubble had been spot welded to the outside the forcing girders such welding often created hard brittle spots that would soon crystallize from continued movement and there was a slight temperature difference in the bubble between his working and sleeping hours that would daily reproduce a contraction and expansion of the skin especially when he used a little cooking burner he quit using the burner for any purpose and began a daily inspection of every square inch of the bubble's walls marking with why choke all the welding spots that appear to be definitely weakened each day he found more to mark and soon the little white circles were scattered across the walls wherever he looked when he was not working at examining the walls he could feel the windows watching him like staring eyes out of self-defense he would have to go to them and step back at the emptiness space was alien, coldly deadly alien he was a tiniest part of life in a hostile sea of nothing and there was no one to help him the nothing outside was waiting day and night for the most infinitesimal leak or crack in the walls the nothing that had been waiting out there since time without beginning and would wait for time without end sometimes he would touch his finger to the wall and think death is out there, only one sixteenth of an inch away his first fears became a black and terrible conviction the bubble could not continue to resist the attack for long it had already lasted longer than it should have two million pounds of pressure wanted out and all the sucking nothing of intergalactic space wanted in and only a thin skin metal rotten with brittle welding spots stood between them it's wanted in the nothing wanted in he knew then that horn and silverman had not been insane it wanted in and someday it would get in when it did it would explode him and jerk out his guts and lungs not until that happened not until the nothing filled the bubble and encloses he just turned inside out body would it ever be content he had long since quit wearing the magnetized shoes afraid that the vibration of them would weaken the bubble still more and he began noticing sections where the bubble did not seem to be perfectly concave as though the rolling mill has pressed the metal too thin in places and it was welling out like an over-inflated balloon he could not remember when he had last attended to the instruments nothing was important but the danger that surrounded him he knew the danger was rapidly increasing because whenever he pressed his ear to the wall he could hear the almost inaudible tickings and vibrations as the bubble skins contracted or expanded and the nothing tapped and searched with his empty fingers for a flaw or a crack that it could tear into a leak but the windows were far the worst with the nothing staring in at him day and night there was no escape from it he could feel it watching him malignant and gloating even when he hid his eyes and his hands the time came when he could stand it no longer the cot had a blanket and he used that together with all his spare clothes to make a tent stretching from the table to the first instrument panel when he crawled under it, he found that a lower half of one window could still see him he used the clothes that he was wearing to finish the job and it was much better than hiding there in the concealing darkness where the nothing could not see him he did not mind going naked, the temperature regulators in the bubble never let it go too cold he had no conception of time from then on he emerged only when necessary to bring more food into his tent he could still hear the nothing tapping and sacking in its ceaseless search for a flaw and he made such emergencies as brief as possible wishing that he did not have to come out at all maybe if he could hide his tent for a long time and never make a sound it would get tired and go away sometimes he thought of the cruiser and wished they would come for him but most of the time he thought of the thing that was outside trying to get in to kill him when the strain became too great he would roll himself up in the position he had once occupied in his mother's womb and pretend he had never left earth it was easier there but always before very long the bubble would tick or whisper and he would freeze in terror thinking this time is coming in then one day suddenly two men were peering under his tent at him one of them said my god again and he wondered what he meant but they were very nice to him and help him put on his clothes later in the cruiser everything was hazy and they kept asking him what he was afraid of what was it what did you find he tried hard to think so he could explain it it was it was nothing what were you and horn and silverman afraid of what was it the voice demanded insistently I told you he said nothing they stared at him and the haziness cleared a little as he saw that he did not understand he wanted them to believe him because what he thought them was very true it wanted to kill us please can't you believe me it was waiting outside the bubble to kill us but they kept staring and he knew they didn't believe him they didn't want to believe him everything turned hazy again and he started to cry he was glad when the doctor took his hand to lead him away the bubble was carefully expected inside and out and nothing was found when it was time for the Green's replacement to be transferred to it larking report to Captain's McDowell everything is ready larking McDowell said you're the next one I wish we knew what the danger is he's called I still think one of my rustabouts from the engine room might give us a same report six months from now instead of the bublings we'll get from you he felt his face flush and he said stiffly I suggest sir that you not jump to conclusions until the time comes the cruiser vanished back into hyperspace and he was alone inside the observation bubble ten thousand light years beyond the galaxy's outer most sun he looked out the windows at the gigantic sea of emptiness around him and wondered again what the danger had been that had so terrified the man before him of one thing he was already certain he would find that nothing was waiting outside the bubble to kill him and of the nothing equation by Tom Godwin recording by Daniele, November 2008 the stalker and the stars 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 Jason Mills the stalker and the stars by Algidas Jonas Budris better known as Algis Budris and writing here under the name John A. Century know him? yes I know him, knew him that was twenty years ago everybody knows him now everybody who passed him on the street knows him everyone who went to the same schools or even to different schools in different towns knows him now ask them but I knew him I lived three feet away from him for a month and a half I shipped with him and called him by his first name what was he like what was he thinking sitting on the edge of his bunk with his jaw and his palm and his eyes on the stars what did he think he was after? well well I think he you know I think I never did know him after all not well not as well as some of those people who are writing the books about him seem to I couldn't really describe him to you he had a duffel bag in his hand and a packed air suit on his back the skin of his face had been dried out by ship's air burned by ultraviolet and broiled by infrared the pupils of his eyes had little cloudy specks in them where the cosmic rays had shot through them but his eyes were steady and his body was hard what did he look like he looked like a man it was after the war and we were beaten there used to be a school of thought among us that deployed our combativeness before we had ever met any people from off earth even you could hear people saying we were toughest, cruelest lifeform in the universe unfit to mingle with the gentler, wiser races in the stars and a sure bet to steal their galaxy and corrupt it forever where these people got their information I don't know we were beaten we moved out behind St. Taurus and Sirius and then we met the Jax, the Nauseaware, the Ludd we tried terrestrial know-how, we tried production miracles, we tried patriotism we tried damning the torpedoes and full speed ahead and we were smashed back like mayflies in the wind we died in droves and we retreated from the guttering fires of a dozen planets we dug in, we fought through the last ditch and we were dying on earth itself before Baker mutin' it shot Cope and surrendered the remainder of the human race to the wiser gentler races in the stars that way we lived that way we were permitted to carry on our little concerns and mind our manners the Jax and the Ludd and the Nauseaware returned to their own affairs and we knew they would leave us alone so long as we didn't bother them we liked it that way understand me, we didn't just accept it we didn't knuckle under with waiting murder in our hearts we liked it we were grateful just to be left alone again we were happy we hadn't been wiped out like the upstarts the rest of the universe thought us to be when they let us keep our own solar system and carry on a trickle of trade with the outside we appreciated it for the fantastically generous gift it was too many of our best men were dead for us to have any remaining claim on these things in their own right I know how it was I was there twenty years ago I was a little pudgy man with short breath and a high pitched voice I was a typical earthman we were out on a godforsaken landing field on Mars, McCreedy and I loading cargo aboard the Serenus McCreedy was first officer, I was second the stranger came walking up to us got a job, he asked, looking at McCreedy Mac looked him over he saw the same things I'd seen he shook his head not for you, the only thing we're short on is stalkers you wouldn't know, there's no such thing as a stalker anymore with automatic ships but the stranger knew what Mac meant Serenus had what they called an electronic drive she had to run with an evacuated engine room the leaking electricity would have broken any stray air down to all zone which eats metal and rots lungs so the engine room had the air pumped out of her and the stalkers who tended the dials and set the cathode attitudes had to wear suits smelling themselves for twelve hours at a time and standing a good chance of cooking where they sat when the drive arched Serenus was an ugly old tub at that we were the better of the two interstellar freighters the human race had left you're bound over the border aren't you? McCreedy nodded that's right but I'll stalk McCreedy looked over toward me and frowned I shrugged my shoulders helplessly I was a little afraid of the stranger too the trouble was the look of him it was the look you saw in the boys back on earth where the veterans of the war sat and stared down into their glasses waiting for night to fall so they could go out into the alleys and have drunken fights among themselves but he had brought that look to Mars to the landing field and out here there was something disquieting about it he'd caught Max look and turned his head to me I'll stalk he repeated I didn't know what to say McCreedy and I, almost all of the men in the merchant marine hadn't served in the combat arms we had freighted suppliers and we had seen ships dying on the runs we'd had our own brushes with commerce raiders and we'd known enough men who joined the combat forces but very few of the men came back and the war this man had fought hadn't been the same as ours he'd commanded a fighting ship somewhere and come to grips with things we simply didn't know about the mark was on him but not on us I couldn't meet his eyes okay by me I mumbled at last as some McCreedy's mouth turned down at the corners but he couldn't again say the man any more than I could McCreedy wasn't a mumbling man so he said angrily okay bucker you'll stalk go and sign on thanks the stranger walked quietly away he wrapped her hand around the cable on a cargo hook and rode into the hold on top of some freight Max spat on the ground and went back to supervising his end of the loading I was busy with mine and it wasn't until we'd gotten the Serenus loaded and buttoned up that Mack and I even spoke to each other again then we talked about the trip we didn't talk about the stranger Daniels the third had signed him on and moved him into the empty bunker above mine we slept all in a bunch on the Serenus officers and crew even so we had to sleep in shifts with the ship's designers giving 90% of her space to cargo and 8% to power and control that left very little for the people who were crammed in anywhere they could be I said empty bunk what I meant was empty during my sleep shift that meant he and I'd be sharing work shifts me up in the control blister parked in the soft chair and him down in the engine room broiling in a suit for 12 hours but I ate with him, used the head with him you can call that rubbing elbows with greatness if you want to he was a very quiet man quiet in the way he moved and talked when we were both climbing into our bunks that first night I introduced myself and he introduced himself then he heaved himself into his bunk, rolled over on his side fixed his straps and fell asleep he was always friendly toward me but he must have been very tired that first night I often wonder what kind of life he'd lived after the war what he'd done that made him different from the men who simply grew older in the bars I wonder now if he really did do anything different in an odd way I like to think that one day he'd come to Earth Mars on a day that seemed like all the rest to him when it began he suddenly looked up with some new thought put down his glass and walked straight to the Earth Mars shuffle field he might have come from any town on Earth don't believe the historians too much don't pay too much attention to the Chamber of Commerce plaques when a man's name becomes public property strange things happen to the facts it was McCready who first found out what he'd done during the war I've got to explain about McCready he takes his opinions fast and strong he's a good man is or was I haven't seen him for a long while but he liked things simple McCready said the duffel bag broke loose and floated into the middle of the bunk room during acceleration he opened it to see who's it was when he found out he closed it up and strapped it back in its place at the foot of the stalker's bunk McCready was my relief on the bridge when he came up he didn't relieve me right away he stood next to my chair and looked out through the ports captain leave any special instructions in the order book he asked just the usual keep a tight watch and proceed cautiously that new stalker, Mac said yeah? I knew there was something wrong with him he's got an old marine uniform in his duffel I didn't say anything Mac glanced over at me well I don't know I didn't I couldn't say I was surprised it had to be something like that about the stalker the mark was on him, as I've said it was the marines that did Earth's best dying it had to be they were trained to be the best we had and they believed in their training they were the ones who slashed back the deepest when the other side hit us they were the ones who sallied out into the doomed spaces between the stars and took the war to the other side as well as any human force could ever hope to they were always the last to leave an abandoned position if Earth had been giving medals to members of her forces in the war every man in the corps would have had the Medal of Honor two or three times over posthumously I don't believe there were ten of them left alive when Cope was shot Cope was one of them they were a kind of human being, neither McCreedy nor I could hope to understand you don't know, Mac said it's there, in his duffel damn it, we're going out to trade with his sworn enemies why do you suppose he wanted to sign on? why do you suppose he's so eager to go? you think he's going to try to start something? think, that's exactly what he's going for one last big ally fight, one last brawl when they cut him down suppose they'll stop with him, they'll kill us and then they'll go in and stamp Earth flat, you know it as well as I do I don't know, Mac, I said go easy I could feel the knots in my stomach I didn't want any trouble not from the stalker, not from Mac none of us wanted trouble, not even Mac but he'd cause it to get rid of it if you follow what I mean about his kind of man Mac hit the viewport with his fist easy, easy, nothing's easy I hate this life, he said in a murderous voice I don't know why I keep signing on Mars to Centaurus and back and forth in an old rust tub that's going to blow herself up, one of these Daniels called me on the phone from communications turn up your intercom volume, he said the stalker's jamming the circuit I kick the select to switch over and this is what I got although we were at a million per and the air was getting thick the captain said cheer up brave boys, he was singing he had a terrible voice but he could carry a tune and he was hammering it out at the top of his lungs it was the last cruise of the Venus by God you should have seen as the pipes were full of whiskey and just to make things risky the jets were, the crew were chuckling into their own chess phones I could hear Daniels trying to cut him off but he kept going I started laughing myself no one's supposed to jam an intercom but it made the crew feel good when the crew feels good the ship runs right and had been a long time since they've been happy he went on for another 20 minutes then his voice thinned out and I heard him cough a little Daniels he said get a relief down here for me jump to it he said the last part in a master's voice Daniels didn't ask questions he sent a man on his way down he'd been singing the stalker had he'd been singing while he worked with one arm dead one sleeve ripped open and badly patched because the fabric was slippery with blood there'd been a flash over in the drivers by the time his relief got down there he had the insulation back on and the drive was purring along the way it should have been it hadn't even missed a beat he went down to sick bear got the arm wrapped and would have gone back on shift if Daniels had led him those of us who were going off shift he'd been with the theramin in the mess compartment he didn't know how to play it and it sounded like a dog howling sing will you somebody yelled he grinned and went back to the good ship Venus it wasn't good but it was loud from that we went to Starways, Farways and Barways and the Freefall song somebody started I left her behind for you and that got us off into sentimental things the way these sessions would sometimes wind up when spacemen were far from home but not since the war we all seemed to realise together we stopped and looked at each other and we all began drifting out of the mess compartment and maybe it got to him too it may explain something he and I were the last to leave we went to the bunk room and he stopped in the middle of taking off his shirt he stood there looking out the porthole I forgot I was there I heard him reciting something softly under his breath and I stepped a little closer this is what it was the rockets rise against the skies slowly in sunlight gleaming with silver hue upon the blue and the universe where it's dreaming for men must go where the flame winds blow the gas clouds softly plating where stars are spun and worlds begun and men will find them waiting the song that roars where the rocket soars is the song of the stellar flame the dreams of man and galactic span are equal and much the same what was he thinking of? make your own choice I think I came close to knowing him at that moment but until human beings turned telepath no man can be sure of another he shook himself like a dog out of cold water and got into his bunk I got into mine and after a while I fell asleep I don't know what McCready may have told the skipper about the stalker or if he tried to tell him anything the captain was the senior ticket holder in the merchant service and a good man in his day he kept mostly to his cabin and there was nothing McCready could do on his own authority nothing simple that is and the stalker had saved the ship and I think what kept anything from happening between McCready and the stalker or anyone else in the stalker was that it would have meant trouble in the ship trouble confined to our little percentage of the ship's volume could seem like something much more important than the fate of the human race it may not seem that way to you but as long as no one began anything we could all get along we could have a good trip McCready worried I'm sure I worried sometimes but nothing happened when we reached Alpha Centaurus and sat down at the trading field on the second planet it was the same as the other trips we'd made and the same kind of landfall a good factor came out of this post after we'd waited for a while and gave us our permit to disembark there was a jeck ship at the other end of the field loaded with the cargo we were getting in exchange for our hold full of goods we had the usual things wine, music tapes, furs and the like the jecks have been giving us light machinery lately probably we'd get two or three more lords and then they'd begin giving us something else but I found that this trip wasn't quite the same I found myself looking over at the Factor's post and I realised for the first time that the Ludd hadn't built it it was a leftover from the old colonial human government then the city on the horizon men had built it the touch of our architecture was on every building I wonder why it had never occurred to me that this was so it made the landfall different from all the others somehow and gave a new face to the entire planet Mac and I and some of the other crewmen went down on the field to handle the unloading Jecks on self-propelled cargo lifts jockey dumbungers scooping up the lords as we unhooked the slings bringing cases of machinery from their own ships they sat atop their vehicles lean and aloof dashing in whirling shooting across the field to their ship and back like wild horsemen on the plains of earth paying us no notice we were almost through when Mac suddenly grabbed my arm look! the stalker was coming down on one of the cargo slings he stood upright his booted feet planted wide one arm curled up over his head and around the hoist cable he was in his dusty brown marine uniform the scarlet collar tabs bright as blood at his throat his mergers insignia glittering at his shoulders the battle stripes on his sleeves the Jecks stopped their lifts they knew that uniform they sat up in their saddles and watched him come down when the sling touched the ground he jumped off quietly and walked towards the nearest Jeck they all followed him with their eyes we've got to stop him! Mac said and both of us started toward him his hands were both in plain sight one holding his duffel-bike which was swelled out with the bulk of his air-suit he wasn't carrying a weapon of any kind he was walking casually taking his time Mac and I had almost reached him when a Jeck with insignia on his coveralls suddenly jumped down from his lift and came forward to meet him it was an odd thing to see the stalker and the Jeck who did not stand as tall McCready and I stepped back the Jeck was cold black his scales glittering in the cold sunlight his hatchet face inscrutable he stopped when the stalker was a few paces away the stalker stopped too all the Jecks were watching him and paying no attention to anything else the field might as well have been empty except for those two they'll kill him they'll kill him right now McCready whispered they ought to have if I'd been a Jeck I would have thought that uniform was a death warrant but the Jeck spoke to him are you entitled to wear that? I was at this planet in 39 I was closer to your homeworld the year before that, the stalker said I was captain of a destroyer if I'd had a cruiser's range I would have reached it he looked at the Jeck where were you? I was here when you were here I want to speak to your ship's captain alright, I'll drive you over the stalker nodded and they walked over to his vehicle together they drove away toward the Jeck's ship alright, let's get back to work another Jeck said to McCready and myself and we went back to unloading cargo the stalker came back to our ship that night without his duffel bag he found me and said I'm signing off the ship going with the Jecks McCready was with me he said loadly what do you mean you're going with the Jecks I signed on their ship the stalker said stalking, they've got a micro nuclear drive it's been a while since I worked with one but I think I'll make out alright even with the screwball where they've got it set up huh? the stalker shrugged ships are ships and physics is physics no matter where you go I'll make out what kind of deal did you make with them what do you think you're up to the stalker shook his head no deal I signed on as a crewman I'll do a crewman's work for a crewman's wages I thought I'd wander around a while it ought to be interesting he said on a Jeck's ship anybody's ship when I get to their home world I'll probably ship out with some people from farther on why not? it's on his work McCreedy had no answer to that but I said what? he looked at me as if he couldn't understand what might be bothering me but I think perhaps he could nothing I said and that was that except McCreedy was always a sourer man from that time up to as long as I knew him afterwards we took off in the morning the stalker had already left on the Jeck's ship and it turned out he'd trained an apprentice boy to take his place it was strange how things became different for us little by little after that it was never anything you could put your finger on but the Jecks began taking more goods and giving us things we needed when we told them we wanted them after a while Serenus was going a little deeper into Jeck territory and when she wore out the two replacements led us trade with the Lud II then it was the Nozoware and other people beyond them and things just got better for us somehow we heard about our stalker occasionally he shipped with the Lud and the Nozoware and some people beyond them getting along going to all kinds of places pay no attention to the precise red lines you see on the star maps nobody knows exactly what path he wandered from people to people nobody could he just kept signing on with whatever ship was going deeper into the galaxy going farther and farther he messed with green shipmates and blue ones one and two and three heads tails, six legs after all ships are ships and they've all got to have something to push them along if a man knows his business why not a man can live on all kinds of food if he wants to get used to it and any non-toxic atmosphere will do as long as there's enough oxygen in it I don't know what he did to make things so much better for us I don't know if he did anything but stalk their ships and I suppose fix them when they were in trouble I wonder if he sang dirty songs in that bad voice of his to people who couldn't possibly understand what the songs were about all I know is for some reason those people slowly began treating us with respect we changed too I think I'm not the same man I was I think not altogether the same I'm a captain now with master's purpose and you won't find me in my cabin very often there's a kind of joy in standing on a bridge looking out at the stars you're moving toward I wonder if it might have kept my old captain out of that place he died in finally if he tried it so I don't know the older I get the less I know the thing people remember the stalker for the thing that makes him famous and I think annoys him I'm fairly sure he's only incidental to what he really did if he did anything if he meant to I wish I could be sure of the exact answer he found in the bottom of that last glass at the bar before he worked his passage to Mars and the Serenus and began it all so I can't say what he ought to be famous for but I suppose it's enough to know for sure that he was the first living being ever to travel all the way around the galaxy the end end of The Stalker and the Stars by Algis Buntress recording by