by Anthology
"Then--I did nothing to help when I destroyed their fleet?"
"Unfortunately you wounded two of our mechanics."
"I'm a traitor, Dr. Kramer. Even when I try I can't redeem myself!"
"Only on Vinin can you betray an external absolute, Edward. To an Agronian all objective concepts are relative to the subjective interpretations made by each individual. You can only be a traitor to yourself."
"The words are pleasant to say to a sick man but the fact remains--I would have betrayed Agron."
"But you didn't. Why not?"
"When I saw what their efficiency really meant--"
"You changed your mind before you knew about the transmitters?"
"Yes."
"Then you're libeling yourself. Don't trap yourself in another self-delusion, Edward. All that's happened is that you've grown up."
Dirrul said slowly, feeling for words that would express the idea as he felt it, "When I was in the center of the galaxy, looking out on space, I almost grasped a new concept but I lost it when the Agronian patrol attacked me. It's coming back.
"Time and space seem to be one and the same. Neither exists as an objective reality. There is no past and no future--all of it occurs eternally in the instant of my own being. I am everything and nothing--infinity and a speck lost in space."
"Thus you discover the Rational Potential," Dr. Kramer smiled. "I think you're ready for the space-pilot promotional, Edward." After a pause Dr. Kramer inquired, "Did you see the Chief of Vinin, Edward?"
"Then you know about that too?"
"I've guessed--it seems likely."
"I scraped off the putty and the face color. Beneath it he was an Earthman. A hundred thousand of them rule the Confederacy."
"All time and space, forever occurring for each of us in the instant of now! Yes, he would be an Earthman, Edward--quite logically. Both good and evil begin with the same source. Both have the same Rational Potential. The act of being has always been the same struggle of constant forces, between the absolute and the relative. The time never changes nor the event but merely the passing illusion of place."
Shaking his head the chubby professor departed. Dirrul closed his eyes, at peace with himself.
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Contents
NO PETS ALLOWED
By M. A. Cummings
He didn't know how he could have stood the four months there alone. She was company and one could talk to her ...
I can't tell anyone about it. In the first place, they'd never believe me. And, if they did, I'd probably be punished for having her. Because we aren't allowed to have pets of any kind.
It wouldn't have happened, if they hadn't sent me way out there to work. But, you see, there are so many things I can't do.
I remember the day the Chief of Vocation took me before the council.
"I've tried him on a dozen things," he reported. People always talk about me as if I can't understand what they mean. But I'm really not that dumb.
"There doesn't seem to be a thing he can do," the Chief went on. "Actually, his intelligence seems to be no greater than that which we believe our ancestors had, back in the twentieth century."
"As bad as that?" observed one of the council members. "You do have a problem."
"But we must find something for him to do," said another. "We can't have an idle person in the State. It's unthinkable."
"But what?" asked the Chief. "He's utterly incapable of running any of the machines. I've tried to teach him. The only things he can do, are already being done much better by robots."
There was a long silence, broken at last by one little, old council member.
"I have it," he cried. "The very thing. We'll make him guard of the Treasure."
"But there's no need of a guard. No one will touch the Treasure without permission. We haven't had a dishonest person in the State for more than three thousand years."
"That's it, exactly. There aren't any dishonest people, so there won't be anything for him to do. But we will have solved the problem of his idleness."
"It might be a solution," said the Chief. "At least, a temporary one. I suppose we will have to find something else later on. But this will give us time to look for something."
So I became guard of the Treasure. With a badge. And nothing to do--unless you count watching the Key. The gates were kept locked, just as they were in the old days, but the large Key hung beside them. Of course, no one wanted to bother carrying it around. It was too heavy. The only ones who ever used it, anyway, were members of the council. As the man said, we haven't had a dishonest person in the State for thousands of years. Even I know that much.
Of course, this left me with lots of time on my hands. That's how I happened to get her in the first place. I'd always wanted one, but pets were forbidden. Busy people didn't have time for them. So I knew I was breaking the Law. But I figured that no one would ever find out.
First I fixed a place for her, and made a brush screen, so that she couldn't be seen by anyone coming to the gates. Then, one night, I sneaked into the forest and got her.
It wasn't so lonely after that. Now I had something to talk to. She was small when I got her--it would be too dangerous to go near a full grown one--but she grew rapidly. That was because I caught small animals and brought them to her. Not having to depend on what she could catch, she grew almost twice as fast as usual, and was so sleek and pretty. Really, she was a pet to be proud of.
I don't know how I could have stood the four months there alone, if I hadn't her to talk to. I don't think she really understood me, but I pretended she did, and that helped.
Every three or four weeks, three of the council members came to take a part of the Treasure, or to add to it. Always three of them.
That's why I was so surprised one day, to see one man coming by himself. It was Gremm, the little old member, who had recommended that I be given this job. I was happy to see him, and we talked for a while, mostly about my work, and how I liked it. I almost told him about my pet, but I didn't, because he might be angry at me for breaking the Law.
Finally, he asked me to give him the Key.
"I've been sent to get something from the Treasure," he explained.
I was unhappy to displease him, but I said, "I can't let you have it. There must be three members. You know that."
"Of course, I know it. But something came up suddenly, so they sent me alone. Now, let me have it."
I shook my head. That was the one order they had given me--never to give the Key to any one person who came alone.
Gremm became quite angry.
"You idiot," he shouted. "Why do you think I had you put out here? It was so I could get in there and help myself to the Treasure."
"But that would be dishonest. And there are no dishonest people in the State."
"For three thousand years. I know." His usually kind face had an ugly look I had never seen before. "But I'm going to get part of that Treasure. And it won't do you any good to report it, because no one is going to take the word of a fool like you, against a respected council member. They'll think you are the dishonest one. Now, give me that Key!"
It's a terrible thing to disobey a council member. But if I obeyed him, I would be disobeying all the others. And that would be worse.
"No!" I shouted.
He threw himself upon me. For his size and age, he was very strong--stronger, even, than I. I fought as hard as I could, but I knew I wouldn't be able to keep him away from the Key for very long. And if he took the Treasure, I would be blamed. The council would have to think a new punishment for dishonesty. Whatever it was, it would be terrible, indeed.
He drew back and rushed at me. Just as he hit me, my foot caught upon a root, and I fell. His rush carried him past me, and he crashed through the brush screen beside the path. I heard him scream twice, then there was silence.
I was bruised all over, but I managed to pull myself up and take away what was left of the screen. There was no sign of Gremm, but my be
autiful pet was waving her pearl-green feelers as she always did in thanks for a good meal.
That's why I can't tell anyone what happened. No one would believe that Gremm would be dishonest. And I can't prove it, because she ate the proof.
Even if I did tell them, no one is going to believe that a fly-catcher plant--even a big one like mine--would actually be able to eat a man.
So they think that Gremm disappeared. And I'm still out here--with her. She's grown so much larger now, and more beautiful than ever.
But I hope she hasn't developed a taste for human flesh. Lately, when she stretches out her feelers, it seems that she's trying to reach me.
* * *
Contents
ATOM BOY
By Ray Cummings
Retired and rusticating Pete McLean, former policeman, sees something new in crime-fighting in a rural setting!
MY NAME'S Pete McLean, and I've been mixed up in a few gunfights in my time as a member of the police force in a big city. But when a fellow gets to be seventy, even though he's still hale and hearty, the idea of taking things easy is pretty attractive.
So I retired and brought my granddaughter Effie along to this quiet little Vermont place. Effie, who is twenty-three, was married at twenty, and after about a year she had to call it quits. After her divorce, she came back to me; so she was in the mood, too, for peace and quiet.
You can rusticate grand up here with the Green Mountains all around. If that's what you want. It came hard for me, at first. You know, the captain of a precinct in a big city gets used to action.
The nearest village is Hewlett Corners, hidden from us behind a hill. There's nothing here but woods, a field, a brook, and an undulating white stretch of highway with our little house beside it. It didn't take me long to discover that farming wasn't in my line. I had to do something, so this being one of the main highways through Rutland, I put in a little gas station. The new cars were all coming in now; there was quite a bit of traffic and I did nicely.
It was a Saturday, about sundown. Hot as blazes. It had been a busy afternoon and I was glad when it began to slacken up a bit. I was seated on a stool in front of the little service room behind the gas pump. The house is about a hundred feet to one side, with a white picket fence and tiny garden between it and the road. Effie was there, getting supper.
A car came around a curve from the direction of Hewlett Corners. It slackened, turned into the driveway and pulled up in front of me. It was a big open car, one of the flashy kind, with a New York tag. The back seat was empty; three young fellows sat in front.
"Hiya, grandpop," the driver said.
"What'll you have?" I asked, getting up.
"Eight gallons. Maybe she'll take ten."
All three of them got out and looked around. There's plenty of their kind in a big city. You know, the slick-haired, wise-guy type, who think they know everything. One of them stood near me at the pump and lighted a cigarette.
"Take it easy," I said. "Watch it."
He grinned, but I didn't.
"Okay, grandpop," he said. He tossed it away.
I gave them eight gallons, checked their oil and tires, and filled the radiator. The driver, a dark- haired, sallow fellow without much chin, handed me a ten-dollar bill. I'd spotted them for the kind that inspires you to give a second look at their money to be sure it isn't phony. This picture of Hamilton looked okay. The slim, smallish driver and one of his companions followed me in to the cash register. This other fellow was a husky lad with a dished-in nose.
Maybe premonitions have some sense to them. Anyway, the big one blocked the doorway and the other stood close beside me. As I opened the register, I had an uneasy feeling that it was too bad there was so much cash in it. I saw the rat-faced fellow dart a look over my shoulder at the stack of tens and a couple of twenties I had. Then another car sounded outside. Maybe nothing would have happened at all; or maybe that car came just in time. Anyway, the fellow in the doorway moved out. I closed the register, handed over the change, and the rat-faced youth and I went outside.
"Nice place you got here, grandpop," he said. "You do pretty well, eh?"
"Fair enough," I said. "Well, see you again, boys. Have a good trip."
The car that had come up had paused but hadn't turned in. Evidently the people in it had changed their mind, for now they were driving off.
The big, ugly fellow had gotten into the front seat of the open car.
"Come on, George," he called. "Let's get goin'."
But George lingered. "You open late Saturdays?" he wanted to know.
"Sometimes," I said. "Sometimes not."
He nodded and climbed in back of the wheel.
"Come on, Pete," he called.
Pete, the third one, was a blond fellow in a flashy checked suit and sport shirt. He had been standing over by the picket fence gazing at the house. He turned and came to the car.
"What's that you got?" he asked. "A shop?"
Effie had a sign that maple sugar and syrup were for sale. And from a couple of elderly spinsters in Hewlett Corners, she got some candlewick bedspreads on consignment. A few of them were hanging now over the porch railing.
"A shop?" I said. "Well, sort of."
"Girl in there," the checked-suit fellow said as he climbed in beside the others. "Just you two here? Lot of work for you, ain't it, grandpop?"
I skipped it. They started up their motor, and as Effie came out on the verandah, one of them yelled, "Hiya, sister." Then they were gone.
Well, that was that. Hindsight is easy, but I must say that at the time I didn't think much about it.
And the next day young Albert Carter came to live with us. Which was quite an event, believe me.
It was a hot Sunday morning, and there wasn't much traffic. Effie was in the kitchen while I loafed on the verandah. A tall, rather thin figure came trudging along the highway from the direction of Little Creek Junction. He was carrying two suitcases, a small, battered leather one and a large, square box-like affair, and he looked dusty, hot and tired.
Seeing me on the porch, he waved a friendly greeting. Then at the gate he hesitated, pushed it open and came up the path.
"Good morning," he said cheerily.
He put his suitcases down and stood between them, fanning his flushed face with his hat and pushing his curly brown hair back from his wet forehead. He wasn't the husky type; he looked rather studious. I guessed he was twenty-eight or thirty. But he was certainly tired and uncomfortable, although you couldn't tell it by the expression on his face. He was smiling as though everything in the world was just right. That smile was contagious. I grinned.
"Hello," I said.
He motioned vaguely toward where the highway curves around the hill.
"I hope there's a town that way," he said. "It's four miles the other way."
"Hewlett Corners," I said. "About a dozen houses, if you call that a town."
He was hitchhiking to Rutland, he told me.
"I thought I was all set," he said. "But the fellow petered out on me." He gestured toward Little Creek Junction. "I had to desert him--he turned south at the crossroads back there."
Effie had heard our voices and came to the verandah door, where she stood wiping her hands on her apron. My granddaughter is good-looking, if I do say it myself--trim and pretty, with her tousled brown hair framing her oval face. She took one look at this young fellow and he took one look at her. That seemed to be enough. Anyway, after that I wasn't exactly in charge of things.
"Why, hello," he said brightly, with that winning smile.
"Hello," Effie said. She came out beside me and took another look at him. "Won't you come up and rest a while. You look so tired--"
He smiled at me, with a sort of deferential questioning to be sure it was all right with me. You couldn't help liking this fellow.
"Get him a glass of water, Effie," I said. "Or maybe you've got a bottle of pop?"
Well, that's how we met Albert Carter; and the upshot
was, I hired him to help me around the place. It promised to work out fine, too.
There wasn't much to tell about himself, aside from the fact that he had no family and was a college graduate. He'd been wounded in the service, and was hospitalized for quite a while so that now he wasn't too strong. Farming was Greek to him, and he didn't know the first thing about servicing an automobile. After I taught him all I knew, he was as good as me. Better, in one way. That grin of his charmed the customers into wanting all the gas and oil their cars would carry. And by Tuesday he was talking them into buying maple sugar and candlewick spreads.
Effie and I hadn't realized how lonely we were. Having Bert around brought a lot of cheer to the place which we hadn't known we needed. But Bert had one peculiarity that wasn't so good, and we found out about it that first Sunday evening. Our first intimation was a weird smell that drifted down from his attic room. I rushed up and found Bert with test tubes, chemicals and what-not spread all around. There was a little explosion just as I got there.
"Well, great heavens," I said.
"It's okay," he said with a laugh. "I hoped it would do that."
It seems Bert was a nut on chemistry. He'd been a research chemist with the Bureau of Standards in Washington when the war broke. He'd quit it, and enlisted. Now he was trying to land a job with some big chemical company. Meanwhile, he couldn't let the stuff alone. Whenever his work with me was done, up to the attic he'd go. Our house sometimes smelled like a glue factory. Sometimes, at night, strange red, green and pink glows would show on the attic stairs. The electric fuses of the house wiring blew out occasionally. And there were frequent explosions.
Effie thought it was wonderful, so my feeble protests didn't make much impression. But after one big blast, which by luck didn't set the house on fire, I dashed up to Bert.