 All Cats Are Gray by Andre Norton. 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. All Cats Are Gray by Andre Norton. Under normal conditions, a whole person has a decided advantage over a handicapped one. But out in deep space, the normal may be reversed. For humans at any rate. Stina of the Spaceways. That sounds just like a corny title for one of the stellar veto spreads. I ought to know I've tried my hand at writing enough of them. Only this Stina was no glamour babe. She was as colorless as a lunar plant. Even the hair netled down to her skull had a sort of grayish cast. I never saw her but once draped in anything but a shapeless and baggy gray space all. Stina was strictly background stuff. And that's where she mostly spent her free hours. In the smelly, smoky background corners of any stellar port dive frequented by free spacers. If you really looked for her, you could spot her. Just sitting there listening to the talk. Listening and remembering. She didn't open her mouth often. But when she did, spacers had learned to listen. And the lucky few who heard her rare spoken words. These will never forget Stina. She drifted from port to port. Being an expert operator on the big calculators, she found jobs wherever she cared to stay for a time. And she came to be something like the master-minded machines she tended. Smooth, gray, without much personality of her own. But it was Stina who told Bub Nelson about the Joven moon rights. And her warning saved Bub's life six months later. It was Stina who identified the piece of stone Keen Clark was passing around a table one night, rightly calling it unworked slittite. That started a rush which made ten fortunes overnight for men who were down to their last jets. And last of all, she cracked the case of the Empress of Mars. All the boys who had profited by her queer store of knowledge and her photographic memory tried it one time or another to balance the scales. But she wouldn't take so much as a cup of canal water at their expense. Let alone the credits they tried to push on her. Bub Nelson was the only one who got around her refusal. It was he who brought her Bat. About a year after the Joven affair, he walked into the freefall one night and dumped Bat down on her table. Bat looked at Stina and growled. She looked calmly back at him and nodded once. From then on they traveled together. The thin gray woman and the big gray Tomcat. Bat learned to know the inside of more stellar bars than even most spacers visit in their lifetimes. He developed the liking for vernal juice, drank it neat and quick, right out of the glass. And he was always at home on any table where Stina elected to drop him. This is really the story of Stina, Bat, Cliff Moran, and the Empress of Mars. A story which is already a legend of the spaceways. And it's a damn good story, too. I ought to know having framed the first version of it myself. For I was there, right in the rile royal, when it all began on the night that Cliff Moran blew in, looking lower than an ant man's belly and twice as nasty. He'd had a spell of luck foul enough to twist a man into a slug snake, and we all knew that there was an attachment out for his ship. Cliff had fought his way up from the backcourts of Vennaport, lose his ship, and he'd slip back there to rot. He was at the snarling stage that night when he picked out a table for himself and set out to drink away his troubles. However, just as the first bottle arrived, so did a visitor. Stina came out of her corner. Bat curled around her shoulders, stole-wise, his favorite mode of travel. She crossed over and dropped down without invitation at Cliff's side. That shook him out of his sulks, because Stina never chose company when she could be alone. If one of the manstones on Ganymede had come stumping in, it wouldn't have made more of us look out of the corners of our eyes. She stretched out one long-fingered hand and set aside the bottle he had ordered and said only one thing. It's about time for the Empress of Mars to appear again. Cliff scowled and bit his lip. He was tough, tough as jet-lining. You have to be granted inside and out to struggle up from Vennaport to a ship command. But we could guess what was running through his mind at that moment. The Empress of Mars was just about the biggest prize a spacer could aim for, but in the fifty years she had been following her queer derelict orbit through space many men had tried to bring her in. And none had succeeded. A pleasure ship carrying untold wealth. She had been mysteriously abandoned in space by passengers and crew, none of whom had ever been seen or heard of again. At intervals thereafter she had been sighted, even boarded. Those who ventured into her either vanished or returned swiftly without any believable explanation of what they had seen, wanting only to get away from her as quickly as possible. But the man who could bring her in, or even strip her clean in space, that man would win the jackpot. All right, Cliff slammed his fist down on the table. I'll try even that. Stena looked at him much as she must have looked at that the day Bob Nelson brought him to her and nodded. That was all I saw. The rest of the story came to me in pieces months later and in another port half the system away. Cliff took off that night. He was afraid to risk waiting with a writ out that could pull the ship from under him. And it wasn't until he was in space that he discovered his passengers, Stena and Bat. We'll never know what happened then. I'm betting that Stena made no explanation at all. She wouldn't. It was the first time she had decided to cash in on her own tip and she was there. That was all. Maybe that point weighed with Cliff. Maybe he just didn't care. Anyway, the three were together when they sighted the Empress, riding, her dead lights gleaming, a ghost ship in night space. She must have been an eerie sight because her other lights were on too, in addition to the red warnings at her nose. She seemed alive, a flying Dutchman of space. Cliff worked his ship skillfully alongside and had no trouble in snapping magnetic lines to her lock. Some minutes later the three of them passed into her. There was still air in her cabins and corridors. Air that bore a faint corrupt taint which set back to sniffing greedily and could be picked up even by the less sensitive human nostrils. Cliff headed straight for the control cabin, but Stena and Bat went prowling. Closed doors were a challenge to both of them and Stena opened each as she passed, taking a quick look at what lay within. The fifth door opened on a room which no woman could leave without further investigation. I don't know who had been housed there when the Empress left port on her last lengthy cruise. Anyone really curious can check back on the old photo-redge cards. But there was a lavish display of silks trailing out of two travel kits on the floor, a dressing table crowned with crystal and jeweled containers along with other lures for the female which drew Stena in. She was standing in front of the dressing table when she glanced into the mirror, glanced into it and froze. Over her right shoulder she could see the spider silk cover on the bed. Right in the middle of that sheer gossamer expanse was a sparkling heap of gems, the dumped contents of some jewel case. Bat had jumped to the foot of the bed and flattened out as cats will, watching those gems, watching them, and something else. Stena put out her hand blindly and caught up the nearest bottle. As she unstoppable it she watched the mirrored bed. A gemmed bracelet rose from the pile, rose in the air and tinkled its siren song. It was as if an idle hand played. Bat spat almost noiselessly, but he did not retreat. Bat had not yet decided on his course. She put down the bottle. Then she did something which perhaps few of the men she had listened to through the years could have done. She moved without hurry or sign of disturbance on a tour about the room. And although she approached the bed, she did not touch the jewels. She could not force herself to that. It took her five minutes to play out her innocence and unconcern. Then it was Bat who decided the issue. He leaped from the bed and escorted something to the door, remaining a careful distance behind. Then he mewed loudly twice. Stena followed him and opened the door wider. Bat went straight on down the corridor as intent as a hound on the warmest of scents. Stena strolled behind him, holding her pace to the unhurried gate of an explorer. What sped before them both was invisible to her, but Bat was never baffled by it. They must have gone into the control cabin almost on the heels of the unseen, if the unseen had heels, which there was good reason to doubt, for Bat crouched just within the doorway and refused to move on. Stena looked down the length of the instrument panels and officer's station seats to where Cliff Moran worked. On the heavy carpet her boots made no sound and he did not glance up, but sat humming through set teeth as he tested the tardy and reluctant responses to buttons which had not been pushed in years. To humanize they were alone in the cabin. But Bat still followed a moving something with his gaze, and it was something with which he at last made up his mind to distrust and dislike. For now even he took a step or two forward and spat. His loathing made plain by every raised hair along his spine. And in that same moment Stena saw a flicker. A flicker of vague outline against Cliff's hunched shoulders as if the invisible one had crossed the space between them. But why had it been revealed against Cliff and not against the back of one of the seats or against the panels, the walls of the corridor, or the cover of the bed where it had reclined and played with its loot? What could Bat see? The storehouse memory that had served Stena so well through the years clicked open a half-forgotten door. With one swift motion she toured loose her space-all and flung the baggy garment across the back of the nearest seat. Bat was snarling now, emitting the throaty rising cry that was his hunting song. But he was edging back, back toward Stena's feet, shrinking from something he could not fight but which he faced defiantly. If he could draw it after him, past that dangling space-all, he had to. It was their only chance. What the—Cliff had come out of his seat and was staring at them. What he saw must have been weird enough. Stena bare-armed and shouldered, her usually stiffly netled hair falling wildly down her back. Stena watching empty space with narrowed eyes and set mouth, calculating a single wild chance. Bat crouched on his belly, retreating from thin air step-by-step and wailing like a demon. Toss me, your blaster. Stena gave the order calmly, as if they still sat at their table in the Rigel Royal. And as quietly, Cliff obeyed. She caught the small weapon out of the air with a steady hand, caught and leveled it. Stay just where you are, she warned. Back, Bat! Bring it back! With a last throat-splitting screech of rage and hate, Bat twisted to safety between her boots. She pressed the thumb and forefinger firing at the space-alls. The material turned to powdery flakes of ash except for certain bits which still flapped from the scorched seat as if something had protected them from the force of the blast. Bat sprang straight up in the air with a scream that tore their ears. What! began Cliff again. Stena made a warning motion with her left hand. Wait! She was still tense, still watching Bat. The cat dashed madly around the cabin twice, looking crazily with white-ringed eyes and flecks of foam on his muzzle. Then he stopped abruptly in the doorway, stopped and looked back over his shoulder for a long silent moment. He sniffed delicately. Stena and Cliff could smell it now, too. A thick, oily stench which was not the usual odor left by an exploding blaster shell. Bat came back, treading daintily across the carpet, almost on the tips of his paws. He raised his head as he passed Stena and then he went confidently beyond to sniff. To sniff and spit twice at the unburned strips of the space hall. Having thus paid his respects to the late enemy, he sat down calmly and set to washing his fur with deliberation. Stena sighed once and dropped into the navigator's seat. Maybe now you'll tell me what in the hell's happened? Cliff exploded as he took the blaster out of her hand. Gray, she said daisily, it must have been gray, or I couldn't have seen it like that. I'm colorblind, you see. I can see only shades of gray. My whole world is gray. Like bats. His world is gray, too. All gray. But he's been compensated for he can see above and below our range of color vibrations, and apparently, so can I. Her voice quavered and she raised her chin with a new air Cliff had never seen before. A sort of proud acceptance. She pushed back her wandering hair, but she made no move to imprison it under the heavy net again. That is why I saw the thing when it crossed between us against your space-all. It was another shade of gray, an outline. So I put out mine and waited for it to show against that. It was our only chance, Cliff. It was curious at first, I think, and it knew we couldn't see it, which is why it waited to attack. But when bats' actions gave it away, it moved. So I waited to see that flicker against the space-all, and then I let him have it. It's really very simple. Cliff laughed a bit shakily. But what was this gray thing? I don't get it. I think it was what made the Empress a derelict, something out of space maybe, or from another world somewhere. She waved her hands. It's invisible because it's a color beyond our range of sight. It must have stayed in here all these years. And it kills. It must, when its curiosity is satisfied. Swiftly she described the scene in the cabin and the strange behavior of the gempile which had betrayed the creature to her. Cliff did not return his blaster to its holster. Any more of them on board, do you think? He didn't look pleased at the prospect. Stina turned to Bat. He was paying particular attention to the space between two front toes in the process of a complete bath. I don't think so, but Bat will tell us if there are. He can see them clearly, I believe. But there weren't any more, and two weeks later, Cliff, Stina, and Bat brought the Empress into the Lunar Quarantine Station. And that is the end of Stina's story because, as we have been told, happy marriages need no chronicles. And Stina had found someone who knew of her gray world and did not find it too hard to share with her. Someone besides Bat. It turned out to be a real love match. The last time I saw her she was wrapped in a flame-red cloak from the looms of Rigel and wore a fortune in Joven Ruby's blazing on her wrists. Cliff was flipping a three-figure credit bill to a waiter, and Bat had a row of vernal juice glasses set up before him. Just a little family party out on the town. End of All Cats Are Grey by Andre Norton. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Today's reading by Tom Hackett, djhackett.newgrounds.com Beyond Lies the Wub by Philip K. Dick They had almost finished with the loading. Outside stood the Optus, his arms folded, his face sunken gloom. Captain Franco walked leisurely down the gangplank, grinning, What's the matter? he said. You're getting paid for all this. The Optus said nothing. He turned away, collecting his robes. The Captain put his boot on the hem of the robe. Just a minute, don't go off. I'm not finished. Oh, the Optus turned with dignity. I am going back to the village. He looked toward the animals and birds, being driven up the gangplank into the spaceship. I must organize new hunts. Franco lit a cigarette. Why not? You people can go out into the Veldt and track it all down again. But when we were on out halfway between Mars and Earth, the Optus went off, wordless. Franco joined the first mate at the bottom of the gangplank. As it came, he said, he looked at his watch. We got a good bargain here. The mate glanced at him, salivating. How do you explain that? What's the matter with you? We need it more than they do. I'll see you later, Captain. The mate threaded his way up the plank, between the long-legged Martian go birds into the ship. Franco watched him disappear. He was just starting up after him, up the plank toward the port, when he saw it. My God! He stood staring, his hands on his hips. Peterson was walking along the path, his face red, leading it by a string. I'm sorry, Captain! He said, tugging at the string. Franco walked toward him. What is it? The web stood sagging, its great body settling slowly. It was sitting down, its eyes half shut. A few flies buzzed about its flank, and it switched its tail. It sat. There was silence. It's a wub, Peterson said. I got it from a native for fifty cents. He said it was a very unusual animal. Very respected. This? Franco poked the great slope inside of the wub. It's a pig! A huge, dirty pig! Yes, sir. It's a pig. The natives call it a wub. A huge pig! Must weigh four hundred pounds! Franco grabbed it tough with a rough hair. The wub gassed, its eyes opened, small and moist. Then its great mouth twitched. A tear rolled down the wub's cheek and splashed on the floor. Maybe it's good to eat! Peterson said nervously. I'll soon find out, Franco said. The wub survived the take-off. Sound asleep in the hold of the ship. When they were out in space, and everything was running smoothly, Captain Franco baited his men and fetched the wub upstairs, so they might perceive what mannered beast it was. The wub grunted and wheezed, squeezing up the passageway. Come on! Jones grated, pulling at the rope. The wub twisted, rubbing its skin off on the smooth chrome walls. It burst into the ante room, tumbling down in a heap. The men leaped up. Lord! Friend said. What is it? Peterson says it's a wub, Jones said. It belongs to him. He kicked at the wub. The wub stood up on steadily, panting. What's the matter with it? The wub came over. Is it going to be sick? They watched. The wub rolled its eyes mournfully. It glanced around at the men. I think it's thirsty! Peterson said. He went to get some water. The friend shook his head. No wonder we had so much trouble taking off. I had to reset all my ballast calculations. Peterson came back with the water. The wub began to lap gratefully, splashing the men. Captain Franco appeared at the door. Let's have a look at it! He advanced, squinting critically. You got this for fifty cents? Yes, sir! Peterson said. It eats almost anything. I fed it on grain and it liked that. Then potatoes and mash and scraps from the table. And milk. It seems to enjoy eating. After it eats, it lies down and goes to sleep. I see, Captain Franco said. Now, as do its taste. That's the real question. I doubt if there's much point in fattening it up anymore. It seems fat enough to me already. Where's the cook? I want him here. I want to find out the wub stopped lapping and looked up at the captain. Really, Captain? The wub said. I suggest we talk of other matters. The room was silent. What was that? Franco said. Just now. The wub, sir? Peterson said. It spoke. They all looked at the wub. What did it say? What did it say? It suggested we talk about other things. Franco walked toward the wub. He went all around it, examining it from every side. And he came back over instead of the men. I wonder if there's a native inside it, said thoughtfully. Maybe we should open it up and have a look. Oh, goodness! The wub cried. Is that all you people can think of? Chilling and cutting? Franco cleansed his fist. Come out of there! Whoever you are, come out! Nothing stirred. The men stood together. Their faces blank, staring at the wub. The wub swished its tail. It belt suddenly. I beg your pardon. The wub said. I don't think there's anyone in there. I don't sit on a low voice. They all looked at each other. The cook came in. You wanted me, Captain? He said. What's this thing? This is a wub. Franco said. It's to be eaten. We measure it and figure out I think we should have a talk. The wub said. I'd like to discuss this with you, Captain, if I might. I can see that you and I do not agree on some basic issues. The Captain took a long time to answer. The wub waited, good-naturedly, licking the water from its channels. Come into my office. The Captain said at last. He turned and walked out of the room. The wub rose and patted after him. The men watched it go out. They heard it climbing the stairs. I wonder what the outcome will be? The cook said. Well, I'll be in the kitchen. Let me know as soon as you're here. Sure, John said. Sure. The wub eased itself down in the corner with a sigh. You must forgive me, it said. I'm afraid I'm addicted to various forms of relaxation. When one is as large as I, the Captain nodded impatiently. He sat down at his desk and folded his hands. All right, he said. Let's get started. You're a wub. Is that correct? The wub shrugged. I suppose so. That's what they call us, the natives, I mean. We have our own term. And you speak English. You've been in contact with earthmen before? No. Then how do you do it? Speak English? Am I speaking English? I'm not conscious of speaking anything in particular. I examined your mind. My mind. I studied the contents, especially the semantic warehouses I refer to it. I see. Captain said. Telepathy. Of course. We are a very old race. Wub said. Very old and very ponderous. It is difficult for us to move around. You can appreciate that anything so slow and heavy would be at the mercy of more agile forms of life. There was no use in our line on physical defenses. How could we win? Too heavy to run. Too soft to fight. Too good nature to hunt for game. How do you live? Plants. Vegetables. We can eat almost anything. We're very Catholic. Tolerant. Eclectic. Catholic. We live and let live. That's how we've gotten along. The wub, I'm the captain. And that's why I so violently objected to this business about having me boiled. I could see the image in your mind. Most of me in the frozen food locker. Some of me in a kettle. A bit of your pet cat. So you read minds. Captain said. How interesting. Anything else? I mean, what else can you do along those lines? A few odds and ends. The wub said, absolutely, staring around the room. A nice apartment you have here, captain. You keep it quite neat. I respect life forms that are tidy. Some Martian birds are quite tidy. They throw things out of their nest and sweeten them indeed, captain added. But to get back to the problem, and quite so, you spoke of dining on me. The taste, I am told, is good. A little fatty, but tender. But how can any lasting contact be established between your people and mine if you resort to such barbaric attitudes? Eat me. Rather you should discuss questions with me. Philosophy. It might interest you to know that we will be hard put to find something to eat for the next month. An unfortunate spoilage. I know. But wouldn't it be more in accord with your principles of democracy if we all drew strolls or something along that line? After all, democracy is to protect the minority from just such infringements. Now, if each of us cast one vote, the captain walked to the door. That's to you, he said. He opened the door. He opened his mouth. He stood frozen, his mouth wide, his eyes staring. His fingers still on the knob. The web watched him. Presently it padded out of the room, edging past the captain. It went down the hall, deep in meditation. The room was quiet. So you see, the web said, we have a common myth. Your mind contains many familiar myth symbols. Ishtar, Odysseus. Peterson sat silently, staring at the floor. He shifted in his chair. Go on. He said, please, go on. I find in your Odysseus a figure common to the mythology of most subconscious races. As I interpret it, Odysseus wanders as an individual, aware of himself as such. This is the idea of separation. Of separation from family and country. A process of individuation. But Odysseus returns to his home. Peterson looked out the port window at the stars. Endless stars, burning intently in the empty universe. Finally, he goes home. As must all creatures. The moment of separation is a temporary period. A brief journey of the sword. Begins, it ends. The wanderer returns to land and race. The door opened. The web stopped, turning its great head. Captain Franco came into the room. The men behind him. They hesitated at the door. Are you all right? Frank said. Do you mean me? Peterson said, surprised. Why me? Franco lowered his gun. Come over here. He said to Peterson. Get up and come here. There was silence. Go ahead. The web said, who doesn't matter? Peterson stood up. What for? It's an order. Peterson walked to the door. French caught his arm. What's going on? Peterson rents loose. What's the matter with you? Captain Franco moved toward the web. The web looked up from where it lay in the corner, pressed against the wall. It is interesting, the web said, that you are obsessed with the idea of eating me. I wonder why. Get up, Franco said. If you wish. The web rose, grunting. Be patient. It is difficult for me. It stood, gasping. It's tongue-blowing foolishly. Shoot it now! French said, for God's sake! Peterson exclaimed. Jones turned to him quickly, his eyes gray with fear. You didn't see him. Like a statue standing there, his mouth open. We hadn't come down. He'd still be there. Who? The captain? Peterson stared around. But he's all right now. They looked at the web, standing in the middle of the room. It's great chest rising and falling. Come on! Franco said, out of the way. And then pulled aside toward the door. You are quite afraid, aren't you? The web said. Have I done anything to you? I am against the idea of hurting. All I have done is try to protect myself. Can you expect me to rush eagerly to my death? I am a sensible being like yourselves. I was curious to see your ship learn about you. I suggested to the native, the gun jerked. See? I thought so. The web settled down, panting. It put its paw out, pulling its tail around it. It is very warm, the web said. I understand that we are close to the jets. Atomic power. You have done many wonderful things with it, technically. Apparently your scientific hierarchy is not equipped to solve moral, ethical. Franco turned in the men, crowding behind them, wide-eyed, silent. I'll do it. You can watch. French nodded. Try to hit the brain. It's no good for eating. Don't hit the chest. If the rib cage shatters, we'll have to pick bones out. Listen, Peterson said, licking his lips. Has it done anything? What harm has it done? I'm asking you. And anyhow it's still mine. You have no right to shoot it. It doesn't belong to you. Franco raised his gun. I'm going out. John said, his face white and sick. I don't want to see it. Me too. French said. And then straggled out, murmuring. Peterson lingered at the door. He was talking to me about mess. He said. He wouldn't hurt anyone. He went outside. Franco walked toward the wub. The wub looked up slowly. It swallowed. A very foolish thing. Said, I'm sorry that you want to do it. There was a parable that your savior related. It stopped, staring at the gun. Can you look me in the eye and do it? The wub said. Can you do that? The captain gazed out. I can look you in the eye. He said. Back on the farm we had hogs. Dirty razorback hogs. I can do it. Staring down at the wub. Into the gleaming moist eyes. He pressed the trigger. The taste was excellent. They sent glumly around the table. Some of them hardly eat him at all. The only one who seemed to be enjoying himself was Captain Franco. More. He said looking around. More. And some wine perhaps. Not me. The friend said. I think I'll go back to the chart room. Me too. Jones stood up pushing his chart back. I'll see you later. The captain watched them go. Some of the others excused themselves. What he supposed the matter is. Captain said. He turned to Peterson. Peterson sat staring down at its plate. At the potatoes. The green peas. And at the thick slab of tender warm meat. He opened his mouth. No sound came. The captain put his hand on Peterson's shoulder. It is only organic matter now. He said. The life essence is gone. Yeat. Spooning up the gravy with some bread. I myself love to eat. It is one of the great things that a living creature can enjoy. Eating. Resting. Meditation. Discussing things. Peterson nodded. Two more men got up and went out. The captain drank some water inside. Well. He said. I must say that this was a very enjoyable meal. All the reports I had heard were quite true. The taste of Wub. Very fine. But I was prevented from enjoying this pleasure in times past. He dabbed at his lips with his napkin and leaned back in his chair. Peterson stared dejectedly at the table. The captain watched him intently. He leaned over. Come, come. He said. Cheer up. Let's discuss things. He smiled up. As I was saying before I was interrupted, the role of Odysseus in the mess, Peterson jerked up staring. To go on, the captain said, Odysseus, as I understand him, end of Beyond the Lies of the Wub by Philip K. Dick, recorded by Tom Hackett, djhackett.newgrounds.com. 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 Ted Ryan. The gallery by Raj Phillips. Aunt Matilda needed him desperately. But when he arrived, she did not want him, and neither did anyone else in his hometown. I was in the midst of the fourth draft of my doctorate thesis when Aunt Matilda's telegram came. It could not have come at a worse time. The deadline for my thesis was four days away, and there was a minimum of five days of hard work to do on it yet. I was working around the clock. If it had been a telegram informing me of her death, I could not have taken time out to attend the funeral. If it had been a telegram saying she was at death's door, I'm very much afraid I would have had to call the hospital and order them to keep her alive a few days longer. Instead, it was a tersely worded appeal. Arthur, stop. Come at once. Stop. Am in terrible trouble. Stop. Do not phone. Stop. Aunt Matilda. So there was nothing else for me to do. I laid the telegram aside and kept on working on my thesis. That is not as heartless as it might seem. I simply could not imagine Aunt Matilda in terrible trouble. The end of the world I could imagine, but not Aunt Matilda in trouble. She was the classic, flat-chested, ageless spinster living alone in the midst of her dustless brick-a-brack and spode in a framehouse of the same vintage as herself at the edge of the classic small town of Sumac near the southwest corner of Wisconsin. I had visited her for two days over a year ago, and she looked exactly the same as she had when I stayed with her when I was six all summer. There was no question but she would someday attend my funeral when I died of old age, and she would still look the same as always. There was no conceivable trouble of terrestrial origin that could touch her or would want to as it turned out I was right in that respect. I was right in another respect, too. After finishing my thesis I became a PhD on schedule, and if I had abandoned all that and rushed to Sumac the moment I received the telegram, it could not have materially altered the outcome of things. And Aunt Matilda, hanging on the wall of my study, knitting things for the Red Cross, will attest to that. You, of course, might argue about her being there. You might even insist that I am hanging on her wall instead. And I would have to agree with you, since it all depends on the point of view and as I sit here typing I can look up and see myself hanging on her wall. But perhaps I had better begin at the beginning, when with my thesis behind me I arrived on the 415 milk run as they call the train that stops on its way past Sumac, I was in a very disturbed state of mind as anyone who ever turned in a doctorate thesis can well imagine. For the life of me I couldn't be sure whether I had used Symbol or Token on line 7, sheet 23 of my thesis, and it was a bad habit of mine to unconsciously interchange them unpredictably. And I knew that Dr. Walters could very well vote against acceptance of my thesis on that ground alone. Also, I had thought of a much better opening sentence to my thesis and was having to use willpower to keep from rushing back to the university to ask permission to change it. I had practically no sleep during the 14 hour run and what sleep I did have had been interrupted by violent starts of waking with a conviction that this or that error in the initial draft of my thesis had not been corrected by the final draft. And then of course I would have to think the thing through and recall when I had made the correction before I could go back to sleep. So I was a wreck, mentally if not physically, when I stepped off the train onto the wooden depot platform that had certainly been built in the Pleistocene era with my ox blood two-suitter firmly clutched in my left hand. With snorts of steam and the loud clanking of loose drives the train got underway, its whistle wailing mournfully as the last empty coach car sped past me and retreated into the distance. As I stood there my brain tingling with weariness and listened to the absolute silence of the town triumph over the last distant wail of the train whistle. I became aware that something about sumac was different. What it was I didn't know. I stood where I was a moment longer trying to analyze it. In some indefinable way everything looked unreal. That was as close as I could come to it and of course having pinned it down that far I at once dismissed it as a trick of the mind produced by tiredness. I began walking. The planks of the platform were certainly real enough. I circled the depot without going in and started walking in the direction of Amatildas which was only a short eight blocks from the depot as I had known since I was six. The feeling of the unreality of my surroundings persisted and with it came another feeling of an invisible pressure against me. Almost a resentment. Not only from the people but from the houses and even the trees. Slowly I began to realize that it couldn't be entirely my imagination. Most of the dozen or so people I passed knew me and I remembered suddenly that every other time I had come to Amatildas they had stopped to talk to me and had had to make some excuse to escape them. Now they were behaving differently. They would look at me absently as they might at any stranger walking from the direction of the depot. Then their eyes would light up with recognition and they would open their lips to greet me with hearty welcome. Then as though they just thought of something they would change and they would just say hello Arthur and continue on past me. It didn't take me long to conclude that this strange behavior was probably caused by something in connection with Amatildas. Had she perhaps been named as correspondent in the divorce of the local minister had she of all people had a child out of wedlock. Things in a small town can be deadly serious so by the time her familiar frame house came into view down the street I was ready to keep a straight face and reserve my chuckles for the privacy of her guest room. It would be a new experience to find Amatildas guilty of any human frailty. It was slightly impossible but I had prepared myself for it. And that first day her behavior convinced me I was right in my conclusion. She appeared in the doorway as I came up the front walk. She was breathing hard and as though she had been running and there was a dust streak on the side of her thin face. Hello Arthur, she said when I came up on the porch. She shook my hand as limply as always and gave me a reluctant duty pack on the cheek and then backed into the house to give me room to enter. I glanced around the familiar surroundings waiting for her to blurt out the cause of her telegram and feeling a little guilty about not having come at once. I felt the loneliness inside her more than I ever had before. There was a terror way back in her eyes. You look tired, Arthur, she said. Yes, I said, glad of the opportunity she had given me to explain. I had to finish my thesis and I had to get it in by last night. Two solid years of hard work and it had to be done or the whole thing was for nothing. That's why I couldn't come four days ago and you seemed quite insistent that I shouldn't call. I smiled to let her know that I remembered about party lines in a small town. It's just as well, she said, and while I was trying to decide what the antecedent of her remark was, she said, you can go back on the morning train. You mean the trouble is over, I said, relieved? Yes, she said, but she had hesitated. It was the first time I had ever seen her tell a lie. You must be hungry, she rushed on. Put your suitcase in the kitchen, wash up. She turned her back to me and hurried into the kitchen. I was hungry. The memory of her homey cooking did it. I glanced around the front room, nothing had changed, I thought. Then I noticed the framed portrait of my father and his three brothers, hanging where the large print of a basket of fruit used to hang. The basket of fruit picture was where the portrait should have been and it was entirely too big a picture for that spot. I would never have thought Aunt Matilda could tolerate anything out of proportion and the darker area of the wallpaper where the fruit picture had prevented fading stood out like a sore thumb. I looked around the room for other changes. The boat picture that had hung to the right of the front door was not there. On the floor under where it should have been I caught the flash of light from a shard of glass. Next to it the drape framing of the window was not hanging right. On impulse I went over and peeked behind the drape. There leaning against the wall was the boat picture with fragments of splintered glass still in it. From the evidence it appeared that Aunt Matilda had either been trying to hang the picture where it belonged or taking it down and it had slipped out of her hands and fallen and she had hidden it behind the drape and hastily swept up the broken glass. But why? Even granting that Aunt Matilda might behave in such an erratic fashion which was obvious from the evidence I couldn't imagine a sensible reason. It occurred to me faciously that she might have gone in for pictures of muscle men and seeing me coming up the street she had rushed them into hiding and brought out the old pictures. That could account for the evidence except for one thing I hadn't tallied. She could not possibly have seen me earlier than 60 seconds before I came up the front walk. Still the telegrapher at the depot could have called her when I was here when he saw me get off the train. I shrugged the matter off and went to the guest room. It too was the same as always except for one thing a picture. It was a color photograph of the church taken from the street. The picture was in a frame but without glass hanging over it and was about 18 inches wide and 30 high. It was a very good picture, very, very, very life-like. There was a car parked at the curb in front of the church and someone inside the car smoking a cigarette. And it was so real I would have sworn I could see the streamer of smoke rising from the cigarette moving. The odor of good food came from the kitchen reminding me to get busy. I opened my two-sooter and took out my toilet kit and went to the bathroom. I shaved, brushed my teeth, combed my hair. Afterwards I popped into my room just for a second to put my toilet kit on the dresser and hurried to the dining room. Something nagged at the back of my mind all the time I was eating. After dinner Aunt Matilda suggested I'd better get some sleep. I couldn't argue I was already asleep on my feet. Her fried chicken and creamed gravy and mashed potatoes had been an opiate. I didn't even bother to hang up my clothes. I slipped into the heaven of comfort of the bed and closed my eyes and the next minute it was morning. Getting out of bed I stopped in mid-motion. The picture of the church was no longer on the wall and as I stared at the blank spot where it had been the thing that nagged me during dinner last night finally leaped into consciousness. When I had dashed into the room and out again last night on the way to the dining room I had glanced briefly at the picture and something had been different about it. Now I knew what had been different. The car had no longer been in front of the church. I lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of the bed. I thought about that picture and simply could not bring myself to believe the accuracy of that fleeting impression. Aunt Matilda had slipped into my room and removed the picture while I was slept. That was obvious. Why had she done that? The fleeting impression that I couldn't be positive about would give her a sensible reason. I studied by memory of that picture as I had closely studied it. It had been a remarkable picture the more I recalled its details the more remarkable it became. I couldn't remember any surface gloss or graining to it but of course I had not been looking for such things. Only an expert photographer would notice or recognize such technical details. My thoughts turned in the direction of Aunt Matilda and her telegram. Her source of income I knew was her part of the estate of my grandfather and amounted to something like $30,000. I knew that she was terrified of touching one cent of the capital and lived well within the income from good sound stocks. I took her telegram out of the pocket of my coat which was hanging over the back of a chair. Come at once, stop. I'm in terrible trouble. The only kind of terrible trouble Matilda could be in was if some swindler talked her out of some of her capital and that definitely would not be easy to do. I grinned to myself at the recollection of her worrying herself sick over what would happen to her if there was a revolution and the new government refused to honor the old government bonds. Things began to make sense. Her telegram then those pictures moved around in the front room and the one she had forgotten to hide in the guest room. If the other pictures were anything like it I could see how Aunt Matilda might cash in on part of her securities and invest in what she thought was a sure thing. But sure things are only as good as the people in control of them. Many a sure thing has been lost to the original investors by stupid decisions leading to bankruptcy and many a seemingly sure thing has fleeced a lot of innocent victims. Slowly as I thought it out I became sure that that was what had happened. Then why Aunt Matilda's about face hiding the pictures and telling me to go back to Chicago? Had she threatened whoever was behind this and gotten her money back or had she become convinced that her financial venture was sound? In either case why was she trying to keep me from knowing about the pictures? I made up my mind whether Aunt Matilda liked it or not I was going to stay until I got to the bottom of things. What Aunt Matilda evidently didn't realize was that no inventor who really had something waste time trying to find backing in a place like sumac. Getting dressed I decided the first on the agenda that first on the agenda would be to find where Aunt Matilda had hidden those pictures and to get a good look at them. That was simpler than I expected it to be. When I came out of my room I stuck my head in the kitchen doorway and said good morning to her and she leaped to her feet to get some breakfast ready for me. It was obvious that she was anxious to get me fed and out of the house. Then I simply took the two steps past the bathroom door to the door to her bedroom and went in. The pictures were stacked against the side of her dresser the one of the church was the first one. It was on its side. With a silent whistle of amazement I bent down to watch it. The car was not parked at the curb in it but there were several children walking along obviously on their way to school and they were walking Moving I picked up the picture. It was as heavy as it should be but not more. A faint whisper of sound seemed to come from it. I put my ear closer and heard the children's voices. I explored with my ear close to the surface and found that the voices were loudest when my ear was closest to the one talking as though the voices came out of the picture directly from the images. All it needed to be perfect was a volume control somewhere. I searched and found it behind the upper right corner of the picture I twisted it very slowly and the voices became louder. I turned it back to the position it had been in. The next picture was of the railroad depot. The telegrapher and baggage clerk were going around the side of the depot towards the tracks. A freight train was rushing through the picture. Even as I watched it in the picture I heard the wail of a train whistle in the distance and it was coming from outside across town. That freight train was going through town right now. I put the pictures back the way they had been and stole softly from Aunt Matilda's bedroom to the bathroom and closed the door. No wonder Aunt Matilda invested in this thing I said to my image in the mirror as I shaved. Picture TV would make all other TV receivers obsolete. Color TV at that. And some new principle in stereophonic sound. What about the fact that neither picture had been plugged into an outlet? Probably run by batteries. What about the lack of weight? Obviously a new TV principle was involved. Maybe it required fewer circuits and less power. What about the broadcasting and the cameras? Permanently set up? What about the broadcast channels? There had been 10 or 12 pictures I had only looked at two. Was each a different scene, 12 different broadcasting stations in sumac? It had me dizzy. Probably the new TV principle was so simple that all that could be taken care of without millions of dollars worth of equipment. A new respect for Aunt Matilda grew in me. She had latched on to a moneymaker. It didn't hurt to know that I was her favorite nephew either. With my PhD in physics and my aunt as one of the stockholders I could probably land a good job with the company. What a deal! By the time I finished shaving, I was whistling. I was still whistling when I went into the kitchen for breakfast. You'll have to hurry, Arthur, and Matilda said, your train leaves in 45 minutes. I'm not leaving, I said cheerfully. I went over to the bright breakfast nook and sat down and took a cautious sip of coffee. I grunted my approval of it and looked around toward Aunt Matilda's smiling. She was staring at me with wide eyes. She looked as haggard as though she had just heard she had a week to live. But you must go, she croaked, as though not going were unthinkable. Nonsense, you old fox, I said. I know a good thing as well as you do. I want to get a job with that outfit. She came toward me with a wild expression on her face. Get out, she screamed. Get out of my house. I won't have it. You catch that train and get out of town, do you hear? But Aunt Matilda, I protested. In the end, I had to get out or she would have had a stroke. She was shaking like a leaf. Her skin modelled, her eyes wild, as I went down the front steps with my bag. You get that train, do you hear? It was the last thing she screamed at me as I hurried toward Main Street. However, I had no intention of leaving town with Aunt Matilda upset that way. I'd let her have time to cool off and then come back. Meanwhile, I'd try to get to the bottom of things. A thing as big as wall TV in full colour and stereophonic sound must be the talk of the town. I'd find out where they had their office and go talk to them. Like that would be the best thing I could ever hope to find and getting in on the ground floor. It surprised me that Aunt Matilda could be so insanely greedy. I shook my head in wonder, it didn't figure. I had breakfast at the hotel café and made a point of telling the waitress who knew me that it was my second breakfast and that I had intended to catch the morning train back to Chicago, but maybe I wouldn't. After I finished eating, I asked if it would be OK to leave my suitcase behind the counter while I looked around a bit. She showed me where to put it, so it would be out of the way. When I paid for my breakfast, I half turned away and then turned back, casually. Oh, by the way, I said, where's this wall TV place? This what, she said? You know, I said, colour TV like a picture you hang on the wall. All the colour faded from her face. Her eyes went past me, staring. I turned in the direction she was staring and on the wall above the plate glass front of the café was a picture. That is, there was a picture frame and a pair of dark glasses that took up most of the picture with the lower part of a forehead and the upper part of a nose. I had noticed it once while I was eating and had assumed it was a display ad for sunglasses. Now I looked at it more closely, but could not detect movement in it. It still looked like an ad for sunglasses. I don't know what you're talking about. I heard the waitress say her voice edged with fear. Huh? I said, turning my head back to look at her. Oh well, never mind. I left the café with every outward appearance of casual innocence, but inside I was beginning to realise for the first time the possibilities and the danger that could lie in the use of this new TV development. That had been a big brother is watching you set up back there in the café, except that it had been a girl instead of a man judging from the style of the sunglasses and the smoothness of the nose and the forehead. I had wondered about the broadcasting end of things. Now I knew. That had been the TV eye and somewhere there was a framed picture hanging on the wall, bringing in everything that took place in the café, including everything that was said, everything I had said too. It was an ominous feeling. Aunt Matilda almost had a stroke trying to get me out of town. Now I knew why. She was caught in this thing and wanted to save me. Four days ago she had probably not fully realised the potentiality for evil of the invention, but by the time I showed up she knew it. Well she was right. This was not something for me to tackle. I would keep up my appearance of not suspecting anything and catch that train Aunt Matilda wanted me to catch. From way out in the country came the whistle of the approaching milk run, the train that would take me back to Chicago. In Chicago I would go to the FBI and I would tell them the whole thing. They wouldn't believe me of course, but they would investigate. If I had any further than sumac it would be a simple matter to stop it. I'd hurry back to the café and get my suitcase and tell the waitress I decided to catch the train after all. I turned around. Only I didn't turn around. That's as nearly as I could describe it. I did turn around, I know I did, but the town turned around with me and the sun and the clouds and the countryside. So maybe I only thought I turned around. When I tried to stop walking it was different. I simply could not stop walking. Nothing was in control of my mind. It was more like stepping on the brakes and the brakes not responding. I gave up trying. More curious about what was happening than alarmed. I walked two blocks along Main Street. Ahead of me I saw a sign. It was the only new sign I had seen in sumac. In ornate neon script it said Portraits by Lana. I don't know whether my feet took me inside independently of my mind or not because I was sure that this was the place and I wanted to go anyway. Not much had been done to modernize the interior of the shop. I remembered the last time I had been here it had been a stamp collector headquarters run by Mr. Mason and his wife. The counter was still there but instead of stamp displays it held a variety of standard portraits such as you can see in any portrait studio. None of the TV portraits were on display here. The same bell that used to tinkle when I came into the stamp store tinkled in back of the partition when I came in. A moment later the curtain in the doorway of the partition parted and a girl came out. How can I describe her? In appearance she was any one of a thousand smartly dressed brunettes that weighed on you in quality photograph studios and yet she wasn't. She was as much above that in cut as in the average smartly dressed girl is above a female alcoholic after a 10 day drunk. She was perfect. Too perfect. She was the type of girl a man would dream of meeting some day but if he ever did he would run like hell because he never hoped to live up to any such perfection. You have come to have your portrait taken. She asked. I am Lana. I thought you already had my portrait I said. Didn't you get it from that eye in the hotel cafe? It's not the same thing Lana said. Through an eye you remain a variable in the Mantram complex. It takes the camera to fix you so that you are an iconic and variant in the Mantram. She smiled and half turned toward the curtain she had come through. Would you step this way please? She invited. How much will it cost I said? Not moving. Nothing of course she said. Terrestrial money is of no use to me since you have nothing I would care to buy. And don't be alarmed no harm will come to you or anyone else. A fleeting expression of concern came over her face. I realized that many of the people of Sumac are quite alarmed but that is to be expected of people uneducated enough to still be superstitious. I went past her through the curtain. Behind the partition I expected to see out of this world scientific equipment stacked to the ceiling. Instead there was only a portrait camera on a tripod. It had a long bellows and would take a plate the same size as that picture of the church I had seen. You see Lana said it's just a camera. She smiled disarmingly. I went toward it casually and suddenly I stopped as though another mind controlled my actions. When I gave up the idea I had had of smashing the camera the control vanished. There was no lens in the lens frame. Where's the lens I said? It doesn't use a glass lens Lana said. When I take the picture a lens forms just long enough to focus the elements of your body into a mantram fix. She touched my shoulder would you sit down over there please. What do you mean a mantram fix I asked her? She paused by the camera and smiled at me. I use your language she said in some of your legends you have the notion of a mantram or what you consider magical spell. In one aspect the notion is of magical words that can manipulate natural forces directly. The notion of a devil doll is a little closer only instead of actual substance from the subject hair fingernail and so on. The mantram matrix takes the detailed force pattern of the subject through the lens when it forms. So in your concepts what results is an iconic mantram but it operates both ways. You'll see what I mean by that. With another placating smile she stepped behind the camera and without warning light seemed to explode from the very air around me without any source. For a brief second I seem to see not a glittering lens but a black bottomless hole form in the middle circle at the front of the camera and an experience I am familiar with now it seemed to rush into the bottomless darkness of that hole and back again at the rate of thousands of times a second arriving at some formless destination and each time feeling it take on more of form. There that wasn't so bad was Atlanta said I felt strangely detached as though I were in two places at the same time and I told her so you'll get used to it she assured me in fact you'll get to enjoy it I do especially when I've made several prints why are you doing this I asked who are you what are you I'm a photographer Lana said I'm connected with the natural history museum of the planet I live on I go to various places and take pictures and they go into exhibits for the people to watch she pulled the curtain aside for me to leave you're going to let me leave just like that I said of course she smiled again you're free to go wherever you wish do your aunts or back to Chicago I was glad to get your portrait in return I'll send you one of the prints and would you like one of your aunts actually when she came in to have her picture taken it was for the purpose of sending it to you she was my first customer I've taken a special liking to her and given her several pictures yes I said I would like one of Aunt Matilda when I emerged from the shop I discovered in my surprise that the train was just pulling into the depot an urge to get far away from sumac possessed me I trotted to the cafe to get my bag and when the train pulled out I was on it there's little more to tell in Chicago once again I spent a most exasperating two days trying to inform the FBI, the police or anyone who would listen to me my fingers couldn't dial the correct phone number and at the crucial moment each time I grew tongue-tied my last attempt was a letter to the FBI which I couldn't remember to mail and when I finally did remember I couldn't find it then the express package from sumac came with fingers that visibly trembled I took out the two framed pictures one of Aunt Matilda in the process of dusting the front room all of her pictures that she had hidden from me were back in their places on the walls while I watched her move about she went into the sewing room there I saw a picture on the wall that looked familiar it was of me an opened express package at my feet a framed picture held in my hands and I was staring at it intently in the picture I was holding Aunt Matilda looked in my direction and waved smiling in the prim way she smiles when she is contented I understood she had me with her now I laid the picture down carefully and took the second one out of the box it was not a picture at all it was a mirror it couldn't be anything except a mirror and yet suddenly I realized it wasn't the uncanny feeling came over me that I had transposed into the mirror and was looking out at myself even as I got that feeling I shifted and was outside the mirror looking at my image I found that I could be in either place by a sort of mental shift something like staring at one of the geometrical optical illusions you can find in any psychology textbook in the chapter on illusions and seeing it become something else it was strange at first then it became fun and now as I write this it is a normal thing my portrait is where it should be on the medicine cabinet in the bathroom where the mirror used to be and transposed to any of the copies of my portrait anywhere to Anne Matilda's sewing room or to the museum or to Lana's private collection the only thing is it's almost impossible to tell when I shift or where I shift to it just seems to happen the reason for that is that my surroundings no matter in what direction I look are exactly identical with my real surroundings my physical surroundings are duplicated exactly in all of my portraits just as Anne Matilda's are in the portrait of her that hangs on my study wall she is the invariant of each of her iconic mantras and her surroundings are the variables that enter and leave the screen I am the invariant in my own portraits wherever they are so except for the slight twist in my mind that takes place when I shift that I have learned to recognize from practice in front of my mirror each morning when I shave and except for the portrait of Anne Matilda I would never be able to suspect what happens if Lana had taken my picture without my knowing it and I had never seen one of her collection of portraits nor even heard of an iconic mantram I would have absolutely nothing to go on to suspect the truth that I know except for one thing I don't quite know how to explain it except that I must actually transfer to one of my portraits and transferring I am more real than what shall I call it the photographic reproduction of my real surroundings then sometimes the photographic reproduction the iconic illusion that is my environment when I am in one of my portraits on me fades just enough so that I can look out into the reality where my portrait hangs and see and even hear the watchers as ghosts in my solid reality quite often I can only hear them and then they are voices out of nowhere sometimes addressing me directly just as often talking to one another and ignoring my presence but when I can see them too they appear as ghostly but sharp clear visions that seem to be present in my solid looking environment there but somewhat transparent I have often seen and talked to Lana in this manner in her far off world where I am part of her private collection in fact I can almost always tell when I shift to my portrait in her gallery because I am suddenly exhilarated and remain so until I shift back or to some other portrait this is so even when she is not there but out on one of her many photographic expeditions when she is there and she is watching me and my thoughts are quiet and my mind receptive she becomes visible a ghost in my study or the lab where I work or if I am asleep in my dreams like an angel or a goddess and we talk back in the physical reality of course no one else can hear her voice my real body is going through its routine work almost automatically but my mind, my consciousness is focused into my portrait in Lana's gallery and we are talking and of course in the real world I am talking to but my associates can't see who I am talking to and it would be useless to try to explain to them so I am getting quite a reputation as a nut you can imagine that but why should I mind my reality has a much broader and more complex scope than the limited reality of my associates I might be fired or even sent to a state hospital except for the fact that Lana foresees such problems and teaches me enough things in my field that are unknown to Earth so that my employers consider me too valuable to lose if this story were fiction the ending would have to be that I am in love with Lana and she with me and there would be a nice conclusive ending where she comes back to Earth to marry me and carry me back to her world where we would live happily ever after but the truth of the matter is that I am not in love with Lana nor is she with me sometimes I think I am her favorite portrait but nothing more but really everything is so interesting Lana's gallery where I hang the museum where there are new faces each time I look out and new voices when I can't see out Aunt Matilda's sewing room where she is at the moment and all sumac as she goes about her normal pattern of living it is a rich full life that I live shifting here and there in consciousness while my physical body goes about its necessary tasks as often unguided as not what a reputation I am getting for absent mindedness too and out of it all has come a perspective that when I feel it strongly makes me feel almost like a god in that perspective all my portraits and there are many now and many worlds and in many places on this world blend into one that one is the stage of my life but not a stage really a show window yes that's it a show window where the watchers pass I live in a show window that opens out in many worlds and many places that are hidden from me by a veil that sometimes grows thin so I can see through it and from the other side of that veil even when I cannot see through it come the voices of the watchers as they pass by or pause to look at me and I am not the only one there are others more and more of them as Lana comes back on her photographic expeditions for the museum none that I have met understand what it is about as fully as I do some have an insight into the true state of things but very very few but that's understandable Lana can't give the same time to them that she gives to me there aren't that many hours in a day and you see I am her favorite if I were not she would never have permitted me to tell you all this so I must be her favorite doesn't that make sense I am her favorite the end of the gallery by Raj Phillips recording by Ted Ryan for LibriVox The Happy Unfortunate by Robert Silverberg 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 Happy Unfortunate by Robert Silverberg Decker, back from space found great physical changes in the people of Earth changes that would have horrified him five years before but now he wanted to be like the rest even if he had to lose an eye in both years to do it Rolf Decker stared incredulously at this slim handsome young Earther who was approaching the steps of Rolf's tumbledown Spacertown shack he's got no ears Rolf noted in unbelief after five years in space Rolf had come home to a strangely altered world and he found it hard to accept another Earther appeared this one was about the same size and gave the same impression of fragility this one had ears all right and a pair of gleaming two inch horns on his forehead as well I'll be eternally roasted Rolf thought now I've seen everything both Earthers were dressed in neat gold inlaid green tunics costumes which looked terribly out of place amid the filth of Spacertown and their hair was dyed a light green to match he had been scrutinizing them for several moments before they became aware of him they both spotted him at once and the one with no ears turned to his companion and whispered something Rolf leaned forward strained to hear beautiful isn't he? that's the biggest one I've seen come over here won't you? the horned one called in a soft gentle voice which contrasted oddly with the raucous bellowing Rolf had been accustomed to hearing in space we'd like to talk to you just then Canada emerged from the door of the shack and limped down to the staircase hey Rolf he called leave those things alone let me find out what they want first huh? can't be any good whatever it is Canada growled tell them to get out of here before I throw them back to wherever they came from and make it fast the two Earthers looked at each other uneasily Rolf walked toward them he doesn't like Earthers that's all Rolf explained but he won't do anything but yell Canada spat in disgust turned and limped back inside the shack I didn't know you were wearing horns Rolf said the Earther flushed new style he said very expensive oh Rolf said I'm new here I just got back five years in space when I left you people looked all alike now you wear horns it's the new trend said the earless one we're in divides when you left the conforms were in power style wise but the new surgeons can do almost anything you see the shadow of a frown crossed Rolf's face anything? almost they can't transform an Earther into a spacer and they don't think they ever will or vice versa Rolf asked they sniggered what spacer would want to become an Earther who would give up that life out in the stars Rolf said nothing he kicked at the heap of litter in the filthy street what spacer indeed he thought he suddenly realized that the two little Earthers were staring up at him as if he were some sort of beast he probably weighed as much as both of them he knew and at six four he was better than a foot taller they looked like children next to him like toys the savage blast of acceleration would snap their flimsy bodies like toothpicks what places have you been to the earless one asked two years on Mars one on Venus one in the belt one on Neptune Rolf recited I didn't like Neptune it was best in the belt just our one ship prospecting we made a pile on Cersei's enough to buy out I shot half of it on Neptune still have plenty left but I don't know what I can do with it he didn't add that he had come home puzzled wondering why he was a spacer instead of an Earther condemned to live in filthy Spacertown when York was just across the river they were looking at his shabby clothes at his dirty brownstone hobble he lived in an antique of a house four or five centuries old you mean you're rich the Earther said sure Rolf said every spacer is so what what can I spend it on my money's banked on Mars and Venus thanks to the law I can't legally get it to Earth so I live in Spacertown have you ever seen an Earther city the earless one asked looking around at the quiet streets of Spacertown with big powerful men sitting idly in front of every house I used to live in York Rolf said my grandmother was an Earther she brought me up there I haven't been back there since I left for space they forced me out of York he thought I'm not part of their species not one of them the two Earthers exchanged glances can we interest you in a suggestion they drew in their breath as if they expected to be knocked sprawling Canada appeared at the door of the shack again Rolf hey you turning into an Earther get rid of them two cuties before there's trouble Rolf turned and saw a little knot of Spacers standing on the other side of the street watching him with curiosity he glared at them I'll do whatever I damn well please he shouted across he turned back to the two Earthers now what is it you want I'm giving a party next week the earless one said I'd like you to come we'd like to get the Spacers slant on life party Rolf repeated you mean dancing and games and stuff like that you'll enjoy it the Earther said coaxingly and we'd all love to have a real Spacer there when is it a week I have ten days left of my leave all right he said I'll come he accepted the Earther's card looked at it mechanically saw the name Cal Quinton and pocketed it sure he said I'll be there the Earthers moved toward their little jet car smiling gratefully as Rolf crossed the street the other Spacers greeted him with cold puzzled stares Canada was almost as tall as Rolf and even uglier Rolf's eyebrows were bold and heavy Canada's thick contorted bushy clumps of hair Canada's nose had been broken long before in some bar room brawl his cheekbones bulged his face was strong and hard more important his left foot was twisted and gnarled beyond hope of redemption by the most skillful surgeon he had been crippled in a jet explosion three years before and was of no use to the space lines anymore they had pinched him off part of the deal was the dilapidated old house in Spacertown which he operated as a boarding house for transient spacers what do you want to do that for Canada asked haven't those Earthers pushed you around enough so you have to go and dance at one of their wild parties leave me alone Rolf muttered you like this filth you live in Spacertown is just a ghetto that's all the Earthers have pushed you right into the muck you're not even a human being to them just some sort of trained ape and now you're going to go and entertain them I thought you had brains Rolf shut up he dashed his glass against the table it bounced off and dropped to the floor where it shattered Canada's girl Lainey entered the room at the sound of the crash she was tall and powerful looking with straight black hair and the strong cheekbones that characterized the spacers immediately she stooped and began shoveling up the broken glass that wasn't smart Rolf she said that'll cost you half a credit wasn't worth it was it Rolf laid the coin on the edge of the table tell your pal to shut up then if he doesn't stop icing me I'll fix his other foot for him and you can buy him a dolly she looked from one to the other what's bothering you two now a couple of Earthers were here this morning Canada said slumming they took a fancy to our young friend here and invited him to one of their parties he accepted he what? don't go Rolf you're crazy to go why am I crazy? he tried to control his voice why should we keep ourselves apart from the Earthers why shouldn't the two races get together she put down her tray and sat next to him there are more than two races she said patiently Earther and Spacer are two different species Rolf carefully genetically separated they're small and weak we're big and powerful they've been bred for going to space they're the cast-offs, the ones who were too weak to go the line between the two groups is too strong to break and they treat us like dirt like animals Canada said but they're the dirt they were the ones who couldn't make it don't go to the party Laney said they just want to make fun of you look at the big ape they'll say Rolf stood up you don't understand neither of you does I'm part Earther, Rolf said my grandmother on my mother's side she raised me as an Earther she wanted me to be an Earther but I kept getting bigger and uglier all the time she took me to the plastic surgeon once figuring he could make me look like an Earther he was a little man I don't know what he looked like to start with but some other surgeon had made him clean cut and straight-nosed and thin-lipped like all the other Earthers I was bigger than he was, twice as big and I was only fifteen he looked at me and felt my bones and measured me healthy little ape those were the words he used he told my grandmother I'd get bigger and bigger that no amount of surgery could make me small and handsome that I was fit only for space and didn't belong in York so I left for space the next morning I see, Laney said quietly I didn't say goodbye I just left there was no place for me in York I couldn't pass myself off as an Earther anymore but I'd like to go back and see what the old life was like now that I know what it's like to be on the other side for a while it'll hurt when you find out, Rolf I'll take that chance but I want to go maybe my grandmother will be there the surgeons made her young and pretty again every few years she looked like my sister when I left Laney nodded her head there's no point arguing with him, Canada he has to go back there and find out so let him alone thanks for understanding he took out Quinton's card and turned it over and over in his hand Rolf went to York on foot dressed in his best clothes with his face as clean as it had been in some years Spacertown was just across the river from York and the bridges spanning the river were bright and gleaming in the mid-afternoon sun the bombs had landed on York during the long-forgotten war but somehow they had spared the sprawling barrow across the river York had been completely rebuilt once the radioactivity had been purged from the land while what was now Spacertown consisted mostly of buildings that dated back to the 20th century York had been the world's greatest seaport now it was the world's greatest spaceport the sky was thick with incoming and outgoing liners the passengers on the ship usually stayed at York which had become an even greater metropolis than it had been before the bomb the crew crossed the river to Spacertown where they could find their own kind York and Spacertown were like two separate planets there were three bridges spanning the river but most of the time they went unused except by spacemen going back home or by spacemen going to the spaceport for embarkation there was no regular transportation between the two cities to get from Spacertown to York you could borrow a jet car or you could walk Rolf walked he paced along the gleaming arc of the bridge dressed in his Sunday best he remembered the days of his childhood his parentless childhood his earliest memory was of a fight at the age of six or so he had stood off what seemed like half the neighborhood ending the battle by picking up an older bully much feared by everyone and heaving him over a fence when he told his grandmother about the way he had won the fight she cried for an hour and never told him why but they had never picked on him again though he knew the other boys had jeered at him behind his back as he grew bigger and bigger over the years ape they called him ape but never to his face he approached the yawk end of the bridge a guard was waiting there an earther guard small and frail but with a sturdy looking blaster at his hip going back Spacer Rolf started how did the guard know but then he realized that all the guard meant was a ship no I'm going to a party at Cal Quinton's house tell me another Spacer the guard's voice was light and derisive a swift poke in the ribs would break him in half Rolf thought I'm serious Quinton invited me here's his card if this is a joke it'll mean trouble but go ahead I'll take your word for it Rolf marched on past the guard almost nonchalantly he looked at the address on the card 12406 Kenman Road he rooted around in his fading memory of yawk but he found the details had blurred under the impact of five years of Mars and Venus and the Belt and Neptune he did not know where Kenman Road was the glowing street signs were not much help either one said 278th Street and the other said 72nd Avenue Kenman Road might be anywhere he walked on a block or two the streets were antiseptically clean and he had the feeling that his boots which had lately trod in Spacertown were leaving dirt marks along the street he did not look back to see he looked at his wrist crown it was getting late and Kenman Road might be anywhere he turned into a busy thoroughfare conscious that he was attracting attention the streets here were crowded with little people who barely reached his chest they were all about the same height and most of them looked alike surgical alterations and every one of these was different one had a unicorn like horn another an extra eye which cunningly resembled his real ones the earthers were looking at him furtively as they would at a tiger or an elephant strolling down a main street where are you going Spacer said a voice from the middle of the street Rolf's first impulse was to snarl out a curse and keep moving but he realized that the question was a good one and one whose answer was going to find out for himself he turned another policeman stood on the edge of the walkway are you lost the policeman was short and delicate looking Rolf produced his card the policeman studied it what business do you have with Quinton just tell me how to get there Rolf said I'm in a hurry the policeman backed up a step all right take it easy he pointed to a kiosk take the subcar here Kenman Road you can find your way from there I'd rather walk it Rolf said he did not want to have to stand the strain of riding in a subcar with a bunch of curious staring earthers fine with me the policeman said it's about 200 blocks to the north got a good pair of legs never mind Rolf said I'll take the subcar Kenman Road was a quiet little street and an expensive looking end of York 1206 was a towering building which completely overshadowed everything else on the street as Rolf entered the door a perfumed little earther with a flashing diamond where his left eye should have been and a skin stained bright purple appeared from nowhere we've been waiting for you come on cow will be delighted that you're here the elevator zoomed up so quickly that Rolf thought for a moment that he was back in space but it stopped suddenly at the 62nd floor and as the door swung open the sounds of wild revelry drifted down the hall Rolf had a brief moment of doubt when he pictured Lainey and Canada at this very moment playing cards in their moldering hovel while he walked down this plastic line corridor back into a world he had left behind Quinton came out into the hall to greet him Rolf recognized him by the missing ears his skin was now a subdued blue to go with his orange robe I'm so glad you came the little earther bubbled come on in and I'll introduce you to everyone the door opened photo electrically as they approached Quinton seized him by the hand and dragged him in there was the sound of laughter and of shouting as he entered it all stopped suddenly as if it had been shut off Rolf stared at them quizzically from under his lowering brows and they looked at him with ill concealed curiosity they seemed divided into two groups clustered at one end of the long hall was a group of earthers who seemed completely identical all with the same features looking like so many dolls in a row these were the earthers he remembered the ones whom the plastic surgeons had hacked at and hewn until they all conformed to the prevailing concept of beauty then at the other end was a different group they were all different some had glittering jewels set in their foreheads others had no lips no hair extra eyes three nostrils they were a weird and frightening group highest product of plastic surgeons art both groups were staring silently at Rolf friends this is Rolf Rolf Decker Rolf said after a pause he had almost forgotten his own last name Rolf Decker just back from outer space I've invited him to join us tonight I think you'll enjoy meeting him the stony silence slowly dissolved into murmurs of polite conversation as the party-goers adjusted to the presence of the newcomer they seemed to be discussing the matter earnestly among themselves as if Quinton had done something unheard of by bringing a spacer into an earther party a tall girl with blond hair drifted up to him ah, Joanie, Quinton said he turned to Rolf, this is Joanie she asked to be your companion at the party she's very interested in space and things connected with it things connected with it Rolf thought meaning me he looked at her, she was as tall as he had yet seen and probably suffered for it when there were no spacers around furthermore he suspected her height was accentuated for the evening by special shoes she was not of the individ persuasion because her face was well shaped with smooth even features with no individualist distortion her skin was unstained she wore a clinging off-the-breast tunic quite a dish, Rolf decided he began to see that he might enjoy this party the other guests began to approach timidly now that the initial shock of his presence had worn off they asked silly little questions about space questions which showed that they had only a superficial interest in him and were treating him as a sort of talking dog he answered as many as he could looking down at their little painted faces with concealed contempt they think as little of me as I do of them the thought hit him suddenly and his broad face creased in a smile at the irony he started the knot of earthers slowly broke up and drifted away to dance he looked at Joni who had stood patiently at his side through all this I don't dance, he said I never learned how he watched the other couples moving gracefully around the floor looking for all the world like an assemblage of puppets he stared in the dim light watching the couples clinging to each other as they rocked through the motions of the dance he stood against the wall he saw the great gulf which separated him from the earthers spreading before him as he watched the dancers and the gay chatter and the empty badinage and the furtive hand-holding and everything else from which he was cut off the bizarre individs were dancing together he noticed one man putting an extra arm to full advantage and the almost identical conforms had formed their own group again Rolf wondered how they told each other apart when they all looked alike come on Joni said I'll show you how to dance he turned to look at her with her glossy blonde hair and even features she smiled prettily revealing white teeth probably newly purchased Rolf wondered actually I do know how to dance Rolf said but I do it so badly that doesn't matter she said gaily come on she took his arm maybe she doesn't think I look like an ape he thought others do but why am I so ugly and why is she so pretty he looked at her and she looked at him and he felt her glance on his stubbly face with its ferocious teeth and burning yellowish eyes he didn't want her to see him at all he wished he had no face he folded her in his arms feeling her warmth radiate through him she was very tall he realized almost as tall as a spacer woman but with none of the harsh ruggedness of the women of Spacertown they danced gee well, he clumsily when the music stopped she guided him to the entrance of a veranda they walked outside into the cool night air the lights of the city obscured most of the stars but a few still showed and the moon hung high above York he could dimly make out the lights of Spacertown across the river and he thought again of Laney and Cannaday and wished Cannaday could see him now with his beautiful earther next to him you must get lonely in space she said after a while I do, he said, trying to keep his voice gentle but it's where I belong I'm bred for it she nodded, yes and any of those so-called men inside would give ten years of his life to be able to go to space but yet you say it's lonely those long rides through the night, he said they get you down you want to be back among people so you come back you come back and what do you come back to so she said softly I've seen Spacertown why must it be that way, he demanded why are Spacers so lucky and so wretched all at once let's not talk about it now, she said I'd like to kiss her, he thought but my face is rough and I'm rough and ugly and she'd push me away I remember the pretty little earther girls who ran laughing away from me when I was thirteen and fourteen before I went into space you don't have to be lonely, she said one of her perfect eyebrows lifted just a little maybe someday you'll find someone who cares, Rolf someday, maybe yeah, he said, someday maybe but he knew it was all wrong could he bring this girl to Spacertown with him? no, she must be merely playing a game looking for an evening's diversion something new, make love to a Spacer they fell silent and he watched her again and she watched him breath rising and falling evenly not at all like his own thick gasps after a while he stepped close to her put his arm around her tilted her head into the crook of his elbow bent and kissed her as he did it, he saw he was botching it just like everything else he had come too close and his heavy boot was pressing on the tip of her shoe and he had not quite landed square on her lips, but still he was close to her he was reluctant to break it up but he felt she was only half responding not giving anything of herself while he had given all he drew back a step she did not have time to hide the expression of distaste that involuntarily crossed her face he watched the expression on her face as she realized the kiss was over he watched her silently someday maybe, he said she stared at him not hiding the fear that was starting to grow on her face he felt a cold chill deep in his stomach and it grew until it passed through his throat and into his head yeah, he said someday, maybe but not you not anyone who's just playing games that's all, you want something to tell your friends about that's why you volunteered for tonight's assignment it's all you can do to keep from laughing at me, but you're sticking to it I don't want any of it hear me? get away she stepped back a pace you ugly clumsy clown you ape! tears began to spoil the flawless mask of her face blinded with anger he grabbed roughly for her arm but she broke away and dashed back inside she was trying to collect me he thought, her hobby interesting dates she wanted to add me to her collection an experience calmly he walked to the end of the veranda and stared off into the night choking his rage he watched the moon making its dead ride with a sprinkling of stars the night was empty and cold, he thought finally but not more so than I he turned and looked back through the half opened window he saw a girl who looked almost like her but was not tall enough and wore a different dress then he spotted her she was dancing with one of the conforms a frail looking man a few inches shorter than she with regular handsome features she laughed at some sly joke and he laughed with her he watched the moon for a moment more thinking of Laney's warning they just want to make fun of you look at the big ape they'll say he knew he had to get out of there immediately he was a spacer and they were earthers and he scorned them for being contemptuous little dolls and they laughed at him for being a hulking ape he was not a member of their species he was not part of their world he went inside Cal Quinton came rushing up to him I'm going, Rolf said what? you don't mean that, the little man said why the party's scarcely gotten underway and there are dozens of people who want to meet you and you'll miss the big show if you don't stay I've already seen the big show Rolf told him I want out now you can't leave now, Quinton said Rolf thought he saw tears in the corners of the little man's eyes please don't leave I've told everyone you'd be here you'll disgrace me what do I care Rolf started to move toward the door Quinton attempted to push him back just a minute, Rolf, please I have to get out, he said he knocked Quinton out of his way with a backhand swipe of his arm and dashed down the hall frantically looking for the elevator Lainey and Cannaday were sitting up waiting for him when he got back early in the morning he slung himself into a pneumo chair and unsealed his boots releasing his cramped, tired feet well, Lainey asked you have fun among the earthers, Rolf? he said nothing it couldn't have been that bad, Lainey said Rolf looked up at her I'm leaving space, I'm going to go to a surgeon and have him turn me into an earther I hate this filthy life he's drunk, Cannaday said no, I'm not drunk, Rolf retorted I don't want to be an ape anymore is that what you are? if you're an ape, what are they to you? monkeys? Cannaday laughed harshly are they really so wonderful, Lainey asked does the life appeal to you so much that you'd give up space for it? do you admire the earthers so much? she's got me, Rolf thought I hate Spacertown but will I like York any better? do I really want to become one of those little puppets? but there's nothing left in space for me at least the earthers are happy I wish she wouldn't look at me that way leave me alone, he snarled I'll do whatever I want to do Lainey was staring at him trying to poke behind his mask of anger he looked at her wide shoulders her muscular frame, her unbeautiful hair and rugged face and compared it with Joni's clinging grace her flowing gold hair he picked up his boots and stumped up to bed the surgeon's name was Goldring and he was a wiry, intense man who had prevailed on one of his colleagues to give him a tiny slit of a mouth he sat behind a shining plastic-lined desk, waiting patiently until Rolf finished talking it can't be done, he said at last plastic surgeons can do almost anything but I can't turn you into an earther it's not just a matter of chopping eight or ten inches out of your legs I'd have to alter your entire bone structure or you'd be a hideous, misproportioned monstrosity and it can't be done I can't build you a whole new body from scratch and if I could do it, you wouldn't be able to afford it Rolf stamped his foot impatiently you're the third surgeon who's given me the same line what is this, a conspiracy? I see what you can do if you can graft a third arm onto somebody you can turn me into an earther please, Mr. Decker, I've told you I can't but I don't understand why you want such a change hardly a week goes by without some York boy coming to me and asking to be turned into a spacer and I have to refuse him for the same reasons I'm refusing you that's the usual course of events the romantic earther boy wanting to go to space and not being able to an idea hit Rolf was one of them Cal Quinton? I'm sorry, Mr. Decker I just can't divulge any such information Rolf shot his arm across the desk and grasped the surgeon by the throat answer me yes, the surgeon gasped Quinton asked me for such an operation almost everyone once won and you can't do it, Rolf asked of course not I've told you the amount of work needed to turn an earther into spacer or spacer into earther is inconceivable it'll never be done I guess that's definite then Rolf said, slumping a little in disappointment but there's nothing to prevent you from giving me a new face from taking away this face and replacing it with something people can look at without shuddering I don't understand you, Mr. Decker the surgeon said I know that, can't you see it I'm ugly, why why should I look this way please calm down, Mr. Decker you don't seem to realize that you're a perfectly normal looking spacer you were bred to look this way it's your genetic heritage space is not a thing for everyone only men with extraordinary bone structure can withstand acceleration the first men were carefully selected in bred you see the result of five centuries of this sort of breeding the sturdy, heavy bone spacers you, Mr. Decker and your friends are the only ones who are fit to travel in space the weaklings like myself the little people resort to plastic surgery to compensate for their deficiency for a while the trend was to have everyone conform to a certain standard of beauty if we couldn't be strong we could at least be handsome lately a new theory of individualism has sprung up and now we strive for original forms in our bodies this is all because size and strength has been bred out of us and given to you I know all this, Rolf said why can't you why can't I peel away your natural face and make you look like an earther there's no reason why it would be a simple operation but who would you fool why can't you be grateful for what you are you can go to Mars while we can merely look at it if I gave you a new face it would cut you off from both sides the earthers would still know you were a spacer and I'm sure other spacers would immediately cease to associate with you who are you to say is there any judgment on whether an operation should be performed or you wouldn't pull out people's eyes and stick diamonds in it's not that, Mr. Decker the surgeon folded and unfolded his hands in impatience you must realize that you are what you are your appearance is a social norm and for acceptance in your social environment you must continue to appear well, perhaps shall I say ape-like it was as bad a word as the surgeon could have chosen ape am I I'll show you who's an ape all the accumulated frustration of the last two days suddenly bursting loose he leaped up and overturned the desk Dr. Goldring hastily jumped backwards as the heavy desk crashed to the floor a startled nurse dashed into the office saw the situation and immediately ran out give me your instruments I'll operate on myself he knocked Goldring against the wall pulled down a costly solidograph from the wall got him and crashed through into the operating room where he began overturning tables and heaving chairs through glass shelves I'll show you, he said he cracked an instrument case and took out a delicate knife with a near microscopic edge he bent it in half and threw the crumbled wreckage away wildly he destroyed everything he could raging from one end of the room to the other, ripping down furnishings smashing, destroying while Dr. Goldring stood at the door and yelled for help not long and coming an army of Earther policemen erupted into the room and confronted him as he stood panting amid the wreckage they were all short men but there must have been twenty of them don't shoot him, someone called and then they advanced in a body he picked up the operating table and hurled it at them three policemen crumpled under it but the rest kept coming he battled them away like insects but they surrounded him and piled on for a few moments he struggled under the load punching and kicking and yelling he burst loose for an instant but two of them were clinging to his legs and he hit the floor with a crash they were on him immediately and he stopped struggling after a while the next thing he knew he was lying sprawled on the floor of his room in Spacertown breathing dust out of the tattered carpet he was quite a mass of cuts and bruises and he knew that they must have given him quite a going over he was sore from head to foot so they hadn't arrested him of course not no more than they would arrest any wild animal who went berserk they had just dumped him back in the jungle he tried to get up but couldn't make it quite a going over it must have been nothing seemed broken but everything was slightly bent satisfied now? said a voice from somewhere it was a pleasant sound to hear a voice and he let the mere noise of it soak into his mind now that you've proved to everyone that you really are just an ape he twisted his neck around slowly because his neck was stiff and sore Laney was sitting on the edge of his bed with two suitcases next to her it really wasn't necessary to run wild there she said the earthers all knew you were just an animal anyway you didn't have to prove it so violently okay Laney quit it if you want me to I just wanted to make sure you knew what had happened a gang of earther cops brought you back a while ago and dumped you here Laney the story leave me alone you've been telling everyone that all along Rolf look where it got you a royal beating at the hands of a bunch of earthers now that they've thrown you out for the last time has it filtered into your mind that this is where you belong in Spacer Town only between trips you belong in space Rolf no surgeon can make you an earther the earthers are dead but they just don't know it yet all their parties as he clothes their extra arms and missing ears that means they're decadent they're finished you're the one who's alive the whole universe is waiting for you to go out and step on its neck and instead you want to turn yourself into a green-skinned little monkey why he pulled himself to a sitting position I don't know he said I've been all mixed up I think he felt his powerful arm I'm a Spacer suddenly he glanced at her what are the suitcases for, he said I'm moving in, Laney said I need a place to sleep what's the matter with Canada did he get tired of listening to you preaching he's my friend Laney, I'm not going to do him dirt he's dead Rolf when the earther cops came here to bring you back and he saw what they did to you his hatred overflowed he always hated earthers and he hated them even more for the way you were being tricked into thinking that they were worth anything he got hold of one of those cops and about twisted him into pieces they blasted him Rolf was silent he let his head sink down on his knees so I moved down here it's lonely upstairs now come on, I'll help you get up she walked toward him hooked her hand under his arm and half dragged half pushed him to his feet her touch was firm and there was no denying the strength behind her I have to get fixed up he said abruptly my leaves up in two days I have to get out of here he rocked unsteadily on his feet it'll really get lonely here then he said are you really going to go or are you going to find some jack surgeon who will make your face pretty for a few dirty credits stop it, I mean it I'm going I'll be going a year on this sign up by then I'll have enough cash piled up on various planets to be a rich man I'll get it all together and get a mansion on Venus and have greeny slaves it was getting toward noon the sky burst through the shutters and lit up the dingy room I'll stay here, Laney said you're going to Pluto? he nodded Canada was supposed to be going to Pluto he was heading there when that explosion finished his foot he never got there after that poor old Canada, Rolf said I'll miss him too I guess I'll have to run the boarding house now for a while will you come back here when you're years up I suppose so, Rolf said without looking up this town is no worse than any of the other spacer towns no better, but no worse he slowly lifted his head and looked at her as she stood there facing him I hope you come back, she said the sun was coming in from behind her now and lighting her up she was rugged all right and strong a good hard worker and she was well built suddenly his aches became less painful and he looked at her and realized that she was infinitely more beautiful than the slick glossy looking girl he had kissed on the veranda who had bought her teeth at a store and had gotten her figure from a surgeon Laney at least was real you know, he said at last I think I have an idea you wait here and I'll come to get you when my years up I'll have enough to pay passage to Venus for two we can get a slightly smaller mansion than I planned on getting but we can get it some parts of Venus are beautiful and the closest those monkeys from York can get to it is to look at it in the night sky you think it's a good idea I think it's a great idea, she said moving toward him her head was nearly as high as his own I'll go back to space, I have to to keep my rating, but you'll wait for me, won't you? I'll wait and as he drew her close he knew she meant it End of The Happy Unfortunate by Robert Silverberg