by Anthology
"There's nothing the matter with me that—"
"That beating this mess won't solve." We hadn't heard Mel enter. He leaned casually against the door. "Terrific idea for a story."
I shrugged. "Seems to be homecoming night."
"Not quite," he glanced at his watch, "but wait another few minutes."
He was right: Harry, out of breath, was the last of the GG to arrive.
"Now what?" I asked. "Surely this meeting isn't an accident?"
Dex said thoughtfully, "No, not really, but it is in the sense you mean. We didn't agree to appear tonight. Yet logically, it's time for the temperature problem—well, I guess each of us came down to help."
What could I do? That was the GG, characteristically, so we talked temperatures.
"What I was thinking," Harry began slowly, "was a sort of superthermostat." Harry, as usual, came to the right starting point.
Frank smiled, "That's right, especially considering layout. Venus and Mercury are hot; the others, cold. What about a control console that'll light when the rooms get outside normal temperature range? Then the operator—"
"Hey! Why an operator?" Mel questioned. "We ought to make this automatic." He grinned. "Giant computer ... can see it now: the brain comes alive, tries to destroy anyone turning it off—"
I asked: "Have you been reading the stuff you write?" Funny enough for 3 A.M.
Dex said calmly, "We can work this—in fact, we can tie it in pink ribbons and forget it. An electronics outfit in Pasadena makes an automatic scanning and logging system. Works off punched-paper tape. We'll code the right poop, and the system will compare it with the actual raw data. Feedback will be to a master control servo that'll activate the heater or cooler. Now, we need the right pickup—"
I snapped my fingers. "Variable resistor bridge. Couple of resistors equal at the right temperature. There'll be a frequency change with changing temperature—better than a thermocouple, I think."
They looked at me as though I were butting in.
"You've been reading, too," Dex accused. "Ok, we'll use a temperature bulb. Trouble is, with this system, we'd better let it run continuously. That'll drive costs up."
Hazel asked, "Can't we use the heat, maybe to drive a compressor? The sudden expansion of air could cool the rest. Harry?"
Harry hadn't time to answer.
"What'll this cost?" I snapped.
"Roughly, 15 to 18 thousand," Dex replied.
"What?"
With fine impartiality, they ignored me completely. Harry continued, as though without interruption, "Ye-es, I guess a compressor-and-coolant system could be arranged ..."
We broke up at 6 A.M. I took one of my pills, frowning at the bottle. Seemed to be emptying fast. Sleepily, I shook the thought off and faced the new day—little knowing the opposition had managed to skizzle us again.
The last displays were moons of Jupiter and Saturn; it was impossible to recreate tortured conditions of the planets themselves. Saturn's closest moon, Mimas, was picked.
Our grand finale: landing on Mimas with Saturn rising spectacularly out of the east. Mimas is in the plane of the rings, so they couldn't be obvious. We'd show enough, however, to make it damned impressive, and explain it by libration of the satellite.
The mechanics of realistically moving Saturn was rougher than a cob. And that's where the opposition fixed us. They claimed there wasn't enough drama in the tour. Let it end with a flash of light, a roar, and a meteor striking nearby.
The roar came from us. Mimas had no atmosphere—how could the meteor sound off or burn up? We finally compromised, permitting the meteor to hit.
We'd decided early the customers couldn't walk through. Mel first, Harry, then Dex, together produced an electric-powered, open runabout. The cart ran on treads in contact with skillfully hidden tracks, for the current channel. A futuristic touch, that—we'd say the cart ran on broadcast power.
The power source provided cart headlights, and made batteries unnecessary for the guide's walkie-talkie and the customers' helmet receivers.
Mimas' last section of track was on a vibrating platform. The cart tripped a switch; when the meteor supposedly hit, the platform would drop and rise three inches, fast, twisting while it did—"enough," Mel said grimly, "to shake the damned kishkas out of 'em!"
We cracked that one, just in time for another. It began with Venus, as most of my problems had. We planned constant dust storms for Venus. Real quick, there'd be nothing left of the Bonestell's backgrounds but a blank wall, from mechanical erosion.
And how did we intend—?
Glass—
Too easily scratched. Lord, another one: how will the half-a-buck customers be able to see inside?
Glass and one of those silicon plastics?
Better, but—
Harry beat it: glass, plastic, and a boundary layer of cold air, jetted down from the ceiling, in front of the background painting and back of the look-in window. I was glad, for lately, Harry had begun to age. Thin and gray, he showed the strain—as did all of us.
We were sitting in an administration office at the park. I now recognized the symptoms; when the GG had no real problems, its collective mind usually turned to my health. I wouldn't admit it, but I felt a little peaked. Little? Hell, bone-tired, dog-weary pooped. Seemed every motion was effort, but soon it would end.
The phone rang. With the message, it was ended.
"Let's go, grouseketeers."
There was almost a pregnant pause. Six months: conception of the idea to delivery of finished product; six months, working together, fighting men, nature, and the perversity of inanimate objects—all of this now was done.
No one moved; Frank verbalized it: "I'm scared." She sounded scared.
"Better than being petrified, which I am," I answered. "But we might as well face it."
We dragged over to the TS building, an impressive structure.
The guide played it straight, told us exactly how to suit up. Then, in the cart, we edged into the tunnel that was the first lock, and—warned to set our filters—emerged onto the blinding surface of Mercury.
We felt the heat momentarily—Mercury and Venus were kept at a constant 140 F, the others at 0 F—but it was a deliberate thrill. Then cool air from the cart suit-connections began circulating.
Bonestell was magnificent, as always. Yellow landscape, spatter cones, glittering streaks that might be metal in the volcanic ground—created by dusting ground mica on wet glue to catch the reflection of the sun. It was a masterpiece.
The sun. Black sky holding a giant, blazing ball. Too damned yellow, but filtered carbon arcs were the best we could do.
Down, into the tunnel that was lock two. This next one ... Venus, obvious opposition point of attack, where we'd had the most trouble: Venus had to be right.
It was! A blast of wind struck us, and dust, swirling everywhere. We'd discovered there's no such thing as a sand storm—it's really dust—so we'd taken pains making things look right. Sand dunes were carefully cemented in place; dust rippling over gave the proper illusion.
Oddly shaped rocks, dimly seen, strengthened the impression of wind-abraded topography. Rocks were reddish, overlain by smears of bright yellow. Lot of trouble placing all that flowers of sulfur, but we postulated a liquid sulfur-sulfur dioxide-carbon dioxide cycle.
Overhead, a diffused, intense yellow light. The sun—we were on the daylight side.
I sighed, relaxed, knowing this one had worked out.
We gave the moon little time. For those who had become homesick, Earth was hanging magnificently in the sky. At a crater wall, we stopped, ostensibly to let souvenir hunters pick at small pieces of lunar rock without leaving the cart.
We'd argued hours on what type to use, till Mel dragged out his rock book. Most, automatically, had wanted basalt. However, the moon's density being low, heavier rocks are probably scarce—one good reason not to expect radioactive ores there. We finally settled for rhyolite and obsidian.
Stopping on the moon had another purpose. We kept the room temperature at 70 F, for heating and cooling economy; the transition from Venus to Mars was much simpler if ambient temperature dropped from 140 to 70 and from 70 to 0, rather than straight through the range.
Next, a Martian polar cap, and we looked down a long canal that disappeared on the horizon. Water appeared to run uphill for that effect. The whole scene looked like an Arizona highway at dusk—what it should have. To our right, a suggestion of—damn the opposition's eyes—culture: a large stone whatzit. It was a jarring note.
We selected one of those nondescript asteroids with just enough diameter to show extreme curvature. Frank had done magnificently. I found myself hanging onto the cart. Headlights deliberately dimmed, on the rocky surface, the cart bumped wildly. The sky was black, broken only by little, hard chunks of light. No horizon. The feeling of being ready to drop was intense, possibly too much so.
Europa, then, in a valley of ice. We'd picked Jupiter's third moon because its frozen atmosphere permitted some eerie pseudo-ice sculpturing. As we moved, Jupiter appeared between breaks and peaks in the sheer wall. Worked nicely, seeing the monstrous planet distended overhead, like a gaily colored beach ball moving with us, as the moon from a train window. Unfortunately, the ice forms detracted somewhat.
Mimas, pitch black, then a glow. Stark landscape quickly becoming visible. Steep cliffs, rocky plain. Saturn rising. The rings, their shadow on the globe, the beauty of it, made me sit stunned, though I knew what to expect.
The guide warned us radar spotted an approaching object, probably a meteor. We ran, the cart at maximum speed—not much, really. It tore at you, wanting to stare at Saturn, wanting to duck.
Hit the special section, dropped and rose our three inches—one hell of a distance—and the tour was over. I kept thinking, insanely, that the meteor was a perfect conflict touch.
We unsuited silently. Finally, Hazel breathed, "Hallelujah!" It was summation of success. There now remained but one thing: wait for the quarry to show.
I estimated the necessary time at four days and nights after opening. It was hard to wait, hard not to fidget under the watchful—the only word—eyes of the GG. They were up to something, undoubtedly. But there was something far more important: I'd narrowed the 2,499,999,999 down to five.
The one I sought was a member of the GG.
Opening night brought Harry and Frank to my office. They tried to be casual, engaged me in desultory nothings. Frank looked reproachful—I was there too late.
The following night, Mel ambled in at midnight. He grinned, discussed a plot, suggested we go out for a beer, changed his mind, left.
The third night, I waited in the dark. Nor was I disappointed: Dex and Hazel showed.
"What do you want? It's 2 A.M.!"
There was a long regrouping pause; then Hazel said, "Dex has a fine idea."
"Well?"
"I've been thinking about gravity—"
"About time," I said sarcastically, disliking myself but hoping it would get rid of them, "we opened three days ago."
He ignored my petulance and grinned. "No, I meant anti-gravity. I think it's possible. If you had a superconductor in an inductance field—"
"Why tell me?"
"Thought you'd have some ideas."
I shook my head. "That's what I hired you for. My only idea right now is going to sleep."
Bewildered, they left.
And on the fourth night, no one came. So I headed for the Tour. Now, having risked everything on my logic, I was a dead pigeon if wrong. There were only minutes left.
I eased through the back door, heard our automation equipment humming. Despite darkness, I shortcutted, nearly reaching the door to the service hallway in back of the planetary rooms. There was a distinct click, and a flashlight blinded me. I waited, stifling a cry, knowing if it were he, death was next.
Death never spoke in such quiet, sweet tones. Frank asked, "What are you doing here?"
Frank, Frank, not you!
Surprise shocked me: the light, her voice, the sudden suspicion. Still, diversion and counterattack ... "Perhaps you've the explaining to do," I said nastily. "Why are you here?"
Her wide-eyed ingenuousness making me more suspicious, she answered, "Waiting to see if you'd appear." Then she stopped being truthful: "You forget we had a date—"
"We didn't have any damned date," I said flatly, hurting deep within.
"All right, I want to know why you're still driving yourself. It isn't work; that's finished."
The way she talked made me hopeful. Maybe she wasn't the one ... and then came fear. Frank, if he's here, you're in danger. The monster respects nothing we hold dear—law, property, dignity, life.
There was one way to find out: make her leave. I wrenched the flashlight from her, smashed it on the concrete floor. "I mean this: get the hell out of here, and stay out!"
She said, distastefully, "I've seen it happen, but never this fast. You've gone Hollywood, you're a genius, you're tremendous—forgetting other people who helped. Go ahead with your mysterious deal—and I hope we never meet again."
I struggled with ambivalence. This might be a trick; if not, Frank now hated me irreparably.
No time to worry about human emotions, not any more. Nausea reminded me of the primary purpose. I continued down the dark hallway, listening for Frank's return, hoping she needn't die.
Light was unnecessary: I knew the right door. Because it started here, it would end here. Quickly, silently, I slipped inside the Venus room. With peculiar relief, I realized Frank wasn't it: my nose led me right to the monster.
In an ecstatic, semistuporous state, smelling strongly of sulfur dioxide, he couldn't have been aware of me. Couldn't?
"It took you long enough." He didn't bother to turn from the rock he was huddled against.
"I had to be sure." I felt anything but the calm carried in my voice. "No wonder the GG got the right answers, with you making initial starts. Say, were you responsible for the cat that rolled at me?"
"An accident. Obviously, I wanted this room built as much as you." Harry, now undisguised, languorously turned. "Your little trap didn't quite come off—a danger in fighting a superior intellect."
"No trap. I had a job to do; it's done."
"Job? Job?" Infuriated, leaping to his feet, he shouted, "Speak the native tongue, filth!"
"What's the use? Because of you, I'll never again have the chance. And you no longer have a native tongue."
"Who were those judges," he asked bitterly, "to declare me an outcast?"
"Representatives of an outraged society." I almost lost my temper, thinking of this deviant's crimes. "You were lucky to get banishment instead of death."
He grinned. "So were you."
"True. I tried to find the proper place, where you'd have some chance."
He laughed openly. "I fixed the ship nicely."
"You don't understand at all—"
"I counted on your being a hero, trying to save us. So, I escaped."
"For three years only."
"What do you mean?"
"One of us won't leave here."
Harry frowned, then tried cunning. "Aren't you being silly? We are hopelessly marooned. Surely there are overriding considerations to your childish devotion to duty."
I shook my head. "This is too small a room for us. Even if I trusted you, I couldn't allow you at this naive young world."
Voices suddenly approached. "The GG?" Harry questioned.
"Didn't know they were coming." Desperately, I looked about, found an eroded mass. "Hide there; I'll get rid of them."
"You'd better—we have business." Possibly it was the only time I've agreed with him. Mel and Dex came in. I called, "Over here!"
Dex snapped his fingers. "Knew it was Venus."
Mel wrinkled his nose. "Sulfur dioxide, too, like we figured. Soda pop, when I broke into that tender scene between you and Frank—that gave you necessary carbon dioxide, ri
ght, am I not?"
"Yes ... Why don't you guys leave me alone?" Beginning to falter in the heat, they dripped perspiration. "You could die in this chilly climate."
Dex said, "Listen for a second. We don't have to break up. Let's form a service organization, 'Problems, Inc.' or some equally stupid title. Very soon we could afford a private bedroom, like this, for you to stay in all the time—"
"Need only two or three nights in ten." Harry was moving restlessly. He wouldn't wait much longer. "Combination of oxygen, carbon dioxide, and sulfur under relatively high temperature is how I eat. Pills can substitute, but not for protracted periods. That's why I had to build this room. Couple of weeks, and I'll be in the pink; as pink as you, anyway."
Abruptly, I lay down, ignoring them. I had to make my friends go. Harry could literally have shredded them. Footsteps: the door closed; relief and loneliness joined me, but only for a moment.
His voice sliced the darkness: "I'm a man of honor, and must warn you. If we fight, you'll lose. I escaped with far more pills than you; you're weaker."
I said sardonically, "With you stealing parts of my supply, that's probably the only truthful thing you've said!"
"I've been in here three nights, adjusting my metabolism ..."
He came at me then, not breaking his flow of speech. At home, I'd have been surprised at the dishonor. Instead, I was expecting it. He ran into my balled fist.
If we'd been home ... if, if, if, if, if. At full strength, I could have broken his neck with the blow. Now, he simply rolled back and fell. Laughing, he attacked again. We were weak as babes, and fought like it. Clumsily, slowly, we went through the motions.
He'd been right—he was a little stronger, and the relative difference began to tell. Soon I was falling from his blows.
Hands on my neck, he kneed me hard in the stomach. Violently ill, I felt the sulfur dioxide rush from my lungs.
I remembered one trick they'd taught at school, and I used it. Unable to break his hold, I managed to get my hands around his throat. We locked, each silent.
Silent until I felt my last reserves going, until the crooning of the Song of Eternity began. This couldn't happen, not to this planet. With all my strength, I gave one last squeeze—but it failed. From somewhere, light-years of light-years away, I heard Frank, realized I'd played the fool: she'd been working for the monster.