by H. L. Gold
other hand, would somehow have tried toequate the substantial Mr. Calhoun and Dr. Harding with tribal spirits.Of the two, Clocker felt that Oil Pocket would have been closer.
Or maybe he was in his own corner of psychosis, while Oil Pocket wouldhave been in another, more suited to Indians. Spirits or figments?Whatever they were, they looked as real as anybody he'd ever known, butperhaps that was the naturalness of the supernatural or the logic ofinsanity.
Clocker shivered, aware that he had to wait for the answer. The onething he did know, as an authority on cons, was that this had the smellof one, supernatural or otherwise. He watched and listened like adetective shadowing an escape artist.
"This may be something of a shock," Dr. Harding continued with ahumorous, sympathetic smile. "I hope it will not be for long. Let mestate it in its simplest terms. You know that there are billions ofstars in the Universe, and that stars have planets as naturally as catshave kittens. A good many of these planets are inhabited. Somelife-forms are intelligent, very much so, while others are not. Inalmost all instances, the dominant form of life is quite differentfrom--yours."
Unable to see the direction of the con, Clocker felt irritated.
"Why do I say _yours_, not _ours_?" asked Dr. Harding. "Because, dearfriends, Mr. Calhoun and I are not of your planet or solar system. Nocommotion, please!" he urged, raising his hands as the crowd stirredbewilderedly. "Our names are not Calhoun and Harding; we adopted thosebecause our own are so alien that you would be unable to pronounce them.We are not formed as you see us, but this is how we _might_ look if wewere human beings, which, of course, we are not. Our true appearanceseems to be--ah--rather confusing to human eyes."
* * * * *
Nuts, Clocker thought irreverently. Get to the point.
"I don't think this is the time for detailed explanations," Dr. Hardinghurried on before there were any questions. "We are friendly, evenaltruistic inhabitants of a planet 10,000 light-years from Earth. Quitea distance, you are thinking; how did we get here? The truth is that weare not 'here' and neither are you. 'Here' is a projection of thought, ahypothetical point in space, a place that exists only by mental force.Our physical appearances and yours are telepathic representations.Actually, our bodies are on our own respective planets."
"Very confusing," complained a man who looked like a banker. "Do youhave any idea of what he's trying to tell us?"
"Not yet," Clocker replied with patient cynicism. "He'll give us theconvincer after the buildup."
The man who looked like a banker stared sharply at Clocker and movedaway. Clocker shrugged. He was more concerned with why he didn't feeltired or bored just standing there and listening. There was not even anoverpowering sense of urgency and annoyance, although he wanted to findZelda and this lecture was keeping him from looking for her. It was asif his emotions were somehow being reduced in intensity. They existed,but lacked the strength they should have had.
So he stood almost patiently and listened to Dr. Harding say, "Ourcivilization is considerably older than yours. For many of yourcenturies, we have explored the Universe, both physically andtelepathically. During this exploration, we discovered your planet. Wetried to establish communication, but there were grave difficulties. Itwas the time of your Dark Ages, and I'm sorry to report that thosepeople we made contact with were generally burned at the stake." Heshook his head regretfully. "Although your civilization has made manyadvances in some ways, communication is still hampered--as much by falseknowledge as by real ignorance. You'll see in a moment why it is veryunfortunate."
"Here it comes," Clocker said to those around him. "He's getting readyfinally to slip us the sting."
The woman in the housecoat looked indignant. "The nerve of a crumb likeyou making a crack about such a fine, decent gentleman!"
"A blind man could see he's sincere," argued the tailor. "Just think ofit--_me_, in a big experiment! Will Molly be surprised when she findsout!"
"She won't find out and I'll bet she's surprised right now," Clockerassured him.
"The human body is an unbelievably complicated organism," Dr. Hardingwas saying. The statement halted the private discussion and seemed toplease his listeners for some reason. "We learned that when we tried toassume control of individuals for the purpose of communication. Billionsof neural relays, thousands of unvolitional functions--it is noexaggeration to compare our efforts with those of a monkey in a powerplant. At our direction, for example, several writers produced booksthat were fearfully garbled. Our attempts with artists were no moresuccessful. The static of interstellar space was partly responsible, butmostly it was the fact that we simply couldn't work our way through themaze that is the human mind and body."
* * * * *
The crowd was sympathetic. Clocker was neither weary nor bored, merelylonging for Zelda and, as a student of grifts, dimly irritated. Why holdback when the chumps were set up?
"I don't want to make a long story of our problems," smiled Dr. Harding."If we could visit your planet in person, there would be no difficulty.But 10,000 light-years is an impossible barrier to all except thoughtwaves, which, of course, travel at infinite speed. And this, as I saidbefore, is very unfortunate, because the human race is doomed."
The tailor stiffened. "Doomed? Molly? My kids? All my customers?"
"_Your_ customers?" yelped the woman in the housecoat. "How about mine?What's gonna happen, the world should be doomed?"
Clocker found admiration for Dr. Harding's approach. It was a line triedhabitually by politicians, but they didn't have the same kind of captiveaudience, the control, the contrived background. A cosmic pitch likethis could bring a galactic payoff, whatever it might be. But it didn'ttake his mind off Zelda.
"I see you are somewhat aghast," Dr. Harding observed. "But is mystatement _really_ so unexpected? You know the history of your ownrace--a record of incessant war, each more devastating than the last.Now, finally, Man has achieved the power of worldwide destruction. Thenext war, or the one after that, will unquestionably be the end not onlyof civilization, but of humanity--perhaps even your entire planet. Ourpeaceful, altruistic civilization might help avert catastrophe, but thatwould require our physical landing on Earth, which is not possible. Evenif it were, there is not enough time. Armageddon draws near.
"Then why have we brought you here?" asked Dr. Harding. "Because Man, inspite of his suicidal blunders, is a magnificent race. He must notvanish without leaving _a complete record_ of his achievements."
The crowd nodded soberly. Clocker wished he had a cigarette and hiswife. In her right mind, Zelda was unswervingly practical and she wouldhave had some noteworthy comments to make.
"This is the task we must work together on," said Dr. Hardingforcefully. "Each of you has a skill, a talent, a special knowledge weneed for the immense record we are compiling. Every area of humansociety must be covered. We need you--urgently! Your data will becomepart of an imperishable social document that shall exist untold eonsafter mankind has perished."
* * * * *
Visibly, the woman in the housecoat was stunned. "They want to put downwhat _I_ can tell them?"
"And tailoring?" asked the little man with the pin-cushion vest. "How tomake buttonholes and press clothes?"
The man who looked like a banker had his chin up and a pleasedexpression on his pudgy face.
"I always knew I'd be appreciated some day," he stated smugly. "I cantell them things about finance that those idiots in the main officecan't even guess at."
Mr. Calhoun stood up beside Dr. Harding on the rostrum. He seemedinfinitely benign as he raised his hands and his deep voice.
"Friends, we need _your_ help, _your_ knowledge. I _know_ you don't wantthe human race to vanish without a _trace_, as though it had neverexisted. I'm _sure_ it thrills you to realize that some researcher,_far_ in the _future_, will one day use the very knowledge that _you_gave. Think what it means to leave _your_ personal imprint indelibl
y oncosmic history!" He paused and leaned forward. "Will you help us?"
The faces glowed, the hands went up, the voices cried that they would.
Dazzled by the success of the sell, Clocker watched the people happilyand flatteredly follow their frock-coated guides toward the variousbuildings, which appeared to have been laid out according to very broadcategories of human occupation.
He found himself impelled along with the chattering, excited woman inthe housecoat toward a cerise structure marked SPORTS AND RACKETS. Itseemed that she had been angry at not having been interviewed for arecent epic survey, and this was her chance to decant the