by H. L. Gold
politicians in all thecountries, yank them up here, they couldn't stumble us into a war."
"Examine your history," said Dr. Harding sadly, "and you will find thatwe have done this experimentally. It doesn't work. There are alwaysothers, often more unthinking, ignorant, stupid or vicious, ready totake their places."
Clocker looked challengingly at every member of the board of directorsbefore demanding, "What are the odds on me remembering?"
"You are our first volunteer," said a little man at the side of thetable. "Any answer we give would be a guess."
"All right, guess."
"We have a theory that your psychic censor might not operate. Of course,you realize that's only a theory--"
"That ain't all I don't realize. What's it mean?"
"Our control, regrettably, is a wrench to the mind. Lifting it resultsin amnesia, which is a psychological defense against disturbingmemories."
"I walked into this, don't forget," Clocker reminded him. "I didn't knowwhat I was getting into, but I was ready to take anything."
"That," said the little man, "is the unknown factor. Yes, you did submitvoluntarily and you were ready to take anything--but were youpsychologically prepared for this? We don't know. We _think_ there maybe no characteristic wrench--"
"Meaning I won't have amnesia?"
"Meaning that you _may_ not. We cannot be certain until a test has beenmade."
"Then," said Clocker, "I want a deal. It's Zelda I want; you know that,at any rate. You say you're after a record of us in case we bump ourselfoff, but you also say you'd like us not to. I'll buy that. I don't wantus to, either, and there's a chance that we can stop it together."
"An extremely remote one," Mr. Calhoun stated.
"Maybe, but a chance. Now if you let me out and I'm the first case thatdon't get amnesia, I can tell the world about all this. I might be ableto steer other guys, scientists and decent politicians, into coming hereto get the dope straighter than I could. Maybe that'd give Earth achance to cop a pardon on getting extinct. Even if it don't work, it'sbetter than hanging around the radio waiting for the results."
* * * * *
Dr. Harding hissed on his glasses and wiped them thoughtfully, anadopted mannerism, obviously, because he seemed to see as well withoutthem. "You have a point, Mr. Locke, but it would mean losing yourcontribution to our archives."
"Well, which is more important?" Clocker argued. "Would you rather havemy record than have us save ourself?"
"Both," said Mr. Calhoun. "We see very little hope of your success,while we regard your knowledge as having important sociologicalsignificance. A very desirable contribution."
The others agreed.
"Look, I'll come back if I lame out," Clocker desperately offered. "Youcan pick me up any time you want. But if I make headway, you got to letZelda go, too."
"A reasonable proposition," said Dr. Harding. "I call for a vote."
They took one. The best Clocker could get was a compromise.
"We will lift our control," Mr. Calhoun said, "for a suitable time. Ifyou can arouse a measurable opposition to racial suicide--_measurable_,mind you; we're not requiring that you reverse the lemming marchalone--we agree to release your wife and revise our policy completely.If, on the other hand, as seems more likely--"
"I come back here and go on giving you the inside on racing," Clockerfinished for him. "How much time do I get?"
Dr. Harding turned his hands palm up on the table. "We do not wish to bearbitrary. We earnestly hope you gain your objective and we shall giveyou every opportunity to do so. If you fail, you will know it. So shallwe."
"You're pretty sure I'll get scratched, aren't you?" Clocker askedangrily. "It's like me telling a jockey he don't stand a chance--he'swhammied before he even gets to the paddock. Anybody'd think do-gooderslike you claim you are would wish me luck."
"But we do!" exclaimed Mr. Calhoun. He shook Clocker's hand warmly andsincerely. "Haven't we consented to release you? Doesn't this prove ourhonest concern? If releasing _all_ our human associates would savehumanity, we would do so instantly. But we have tried again and again.And so, to use your own professional terminology, we are hedging ourbets by continuing to make our anthropological record until youdemonstrate another method ... if you do."
"Good enough," approved Clocker. "Thanks for the kind word."
The other board members followed and shook Clocker's hand and wished himwell.
Barnes, being last, did the same and added, "You may see your wife, ifyou care to, before you leave."
"If I care to?" Clocker repeated. "What in hell do you think I came herefor in the first place?"
* * * * *
Zelda was brought to him and they were left alone in a pleasant readingroom. Soft music came from the walls, which glowed with enough light toread by. Zelda's lovely face was warm with emotion when she sat downbeside him and put her hands in his.
"They tell me you're leaving, hon," she said.
"I made a deal, baby. If it works--well, it'll be like it was before,only better."
"I hate to see you leave. Not just for me," she added as he lit uphopefully. "I still love you, hon, but it's different now. I used towant you near me every minute. Now it's loving you without starving foryou. You know what I mean?"
"That's just the control they got on you. It's like that with me, too,only I know what it is and you don't."
"But the big thing is the project. Why, we're footnotes in history! Stayhere, hon. I'd feel so much better knowing you were here, making yourcontribution like they say."
He kissed her lips. They were soft and warm and clinging, and so wereher arms around his neck. This was more like the Zelda he had beenmissing.
"They gave you a hypo, sweetheart," he told her. "You're hooked; I'mnot. Maybe being a footnote is more important than doing something tosave our skin, but I don't think so. If I can do anything about it, Iwant to do it."
"Like what?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm hoping I get an idea when I'mparoled."
She nuzzled under his chin. "Hon, I want you and me to be footnotes. Iwant it awful bad."
"That's not what really counts, baby. Don't you see that? It's havingyou and stopping us humans from being just a bunch of old footnotes.Once we do that, we can always come back here and make the record, if itmeans that much to you."
"Oh, it does!"
He stood and drew her up so he could hold her more tightly. "You do wantto go on being my wife, don't you, baby?"
"Of course! Only I was hoping it could be here."
"Well, it can't. But that's all I wanted to know. The rest is justdetails."
He kissed her again, including the side of her neck, which produced asubdued wriggle of pleasure, and then he went back to the AdministrationBuilding for his release.
* * * * *
Awakening was no more complicated than opening his eyes, except for abit of fogginess and fatigue that wore off quickly, and Clocker saw hewas in a white room with a doctor, a nurse and an orderly around hisbed.
"Reflexes normal," the doctor said. He told Clocker, "You see and hearus. You know what I'm saying."
"Sure," Clocker replied. "Why shouldn't I?"
"That's right," the doctor evaded. "How do you feel?"
Clocker thought about it. He was a little thirsty and the idea of asteak interested him, but otherwise he felt no pain or confusion. Heremembered that he had not been hungry or thirsty for a long time, andthat made him recall going over the border after Zelda.
There were no gaps in his recollection.
He didn't have protective amnesia.
"You know what it's like there?" he asked the doctor eagerly. "A bigplace where everybody from all over the world tell these aliens abouttheir job or racket." He frowned. "I just remembered something funny.Wonder why I didn't notice it at the time. Everybody talks the samelanguage. Maybe that's because there's only one language for th
inking."He shrugged off the problem. "The guys who run the shop take it all downas a record for whoever wants to know about us a zillion years from now.That's on account of us humans are about to close down the track and gohome."
The doctor bent close intently. "Is that what you believe