by Algis Budrys
He seemedgenuinely abashed. "Shotgun therapy. Works best, sometimes. You can go,all right; I just wanted to get a fast check on your reactions anddrives."
Ish could feel the anger that still ran through him--anger, and morefear than he wanted to admit. "I'm due at a briefing," he said tautly."You through with me?"
MacKenzie nodded, still embarrassed. "Sorry."
Ish ignored the man's obvious feelings. He stopped at the door to send aparting stroke at the thing that had frightened him. "Big gun in thepsychiatry racket, huh? Well, your professional lingo's slipping, Doc.They did put _some_ learning in my head at college, you know. Therapy,hell! Testing maybe, but you sure didn't do anything to help me!"
"I don't know," MacKenzie said softly. "I wish I did."
Ish slammed the door behind him. He stood in the corridor, jamming afresh cigarette in his mouth. He threw a glance at his watch. Twelvehours, twenty-two minutes, and four days to go.
Damn! He was late for the briefing. Odd--that fool psychiatrist hadn'tseemed to take up that much of his time.
He shrugged. What difference did it make? As he strode down the hall, helost his momentary puzzlement under the flood of realization thatnothing could stop him now, that the last hurdle was beaten. He wasgoing. He was going, and if there were faint echoes of "Marty!" ringingin the dark background of his mind, they only served to push him faster,as they always had. Nothing but death could stop him now.
Ish looked up bitterly at the Receptionist. "No," he said.
"But _everybody_ fills out an application," she protested.
"No. I've _got_ a job," he said as he had been saying for the last halfhour.
The Receptionist sighed. "If you'll _only_ read the literature I'vegiven you, you'll understand that all your previous commitments havebeen cancelled."
"Look, Honey, I've seen company poop sheets before. Now, let's cut thisnonsense. I've got to get back."
"But _nobody_ goes back."
"Goddam it, I don't know what kind of place this is, but--" He stoppedat the Receptionist's wince, and looked around, his mouth open. Thereception desk was solid enough. There were IN and OUT and HOLD basketson the desk, and the Receptionist seemed to see nothing extraordinaryabout it. But the room--a big room, he realized--seemed to fade out atthe edges, rather than stop at walls. The lighting, too....
"Let's see your back!" he rapped out, his voice high.
She sighed in exasperation. "If you'd read the _literature_ ..." Sheswiveled her chair slowly.
"No wings," he said.
"Of course not!" she snapped. She brushed her hair away from herforehead without his telling her to. "No horns, either."
"Streamlined, huh?" he said bitterly.
"It's a little different for everybody," she said with unexpectedgentleness. "It would have to be, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess so," he admitted slowly. Then he lost his momentary awe,and his posture grew tense again. He glanced down at his wrist. Sixhours, forty-seven minutes, and no days to go.
"Who do I see?"
She stared at him, bewildered at the sudden change in his voice. "See?"
"About getting out of here! Come on, come on," he barked, snapping hisfingers impatiently. "I haven't got much time."
She smiled sweetly. "Oh, but you do."
"Can it! Who's your Section boss? Get him down here. On the double. Comeon!" His face was streaming with perspiration but his voice was firmwith the purpose that drove him.
Her lips closed into an angry line, and she jabbed a finger at a deskbutton. "I'll call the Personnel Manager."
"Thanks," he said sarcastically, and waited impatiently. Odd, the waythe Receptionist looked a little like Nan.
The Personnel Manager wore a perfectly-tailored suit. He strode acrossthe lobby floor toward Ish, his hand outstretched.
"Martin Isherwood!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "I'm _very_ glad tomeet you!"
"I'll bet," Ish said dryly, giving the Personnel Manager's hand a shortshake. "I've got other ideas. I want out."
"That's all he's been saying for the past forty-five minutes, Sir," theReceptionist said from behind her desk.
The Personnel Manager frowned. "Um. Yes. Well, that's not unprecedented."
"But hardly usual," he added.
Ish found himself liking the man. He had a job to do, and after thepreliminary formality of the greeting had been passed, he was ready tobuckle down to it. Oh, he--shucks?--the Receptionist wasn't such a badgirl, either. He smiled at her. "Sorry I lost my head," he said.
She smiled back. "It happens."
He took time to give her one more smile and a half-wink, and swung backto the Personnel Manager.
"Now. Let's get this thing straightened out. I've got--" He stopped tolook at his watch. "Six hours and a few minutes. They're fueling thebeast right now."
"Do you know how much red tape you'd have to cut?"
Ish shook his head. "I don't want to sound nasty, but that's yourproblem."
The Personnel Manager hesitated. "Look--you feel you've got a jobunfinished. Or, anyway, that's the way you'd put it. But, let's faceit--that's not really what's galling you. It's not really the job, isit? It's just that you think you've been cheated out of what you devotedyour life to."
Ish could feel his jaw muscles bunching. "Don't put words in my mouth!"he snapped. "Just get me back, and we'll split hairs about it when I getaround this way again." Suddenly, he found himself pleading. "All I needis a week," he said. "It'll be a rough week--no picnic, no pleasures ofthe flesh. No smoking, no liquor. I certainly won't be breaking anylaws. One week. Get there, putter around for two days, and back again.Then, you can do anything you want to--as long as it doesn't look likethe trip's responsible, of course."
The Personnel Manager hesitated. "Suppose--" he began, but Ishinterrupted him.
"Look, they need it, down there. They've got to have a target, someplaceto go. We're built for it. People have to have--but what am I telling_you_ for. If you don't know, who does?"
The Personnel Manager smiled. "I was about to say something."
Ish stopped, abashed. "Sorry."
He waved the apology away with a short movement of his hand. "You've gotto understand that what you've been saying isn't a valid claim. If itwere, human history would be very different, wouldn't it?"
"Suppose I showed you something, first? Then, you could decide whetheryou want to stay, after all."
"How long's it going to take?" Ish flushed under the memory of havingactually begged for something.
"Not long," the Personnel Manager said. He half-turned and pointed up atthe Earth, hanging just beyond the wall of the crater in which they weresuddenly standing.
"Earth," the Personnel Manager said.
Somehow, Ish was not astonished. He looked up at the Earth, touched bycloud and sunlight, marked with ocean and continent, crowned with ice.The unblinking stars filled the night.
He looked around him. The Moon was silent--quiet, patient, waiting.Somewhere, a metal glint against the planet above, if it were only largeenough to be seen, was the Station, and the ship for which the Moon hadwaited.
Ish walked a short distance. He was leaving no tracks in the pumice theages had sown. But it was the way he had thought of it, nevertheless. Itwas the way the image had slowly built up in his mind, through theyears, through the training, through the work. It was what he had aimedthe _Navion_ at, that day over the Everglades.
"It's not the same," he said.
The Personnel Manager sighed.
"Don't you see," Ish said, "It _can't_ be the same. I didn't push thebeast up here. There wasn't any _feel_ to it. There wasn't any sound ofrockets."
The Personnel Manager sighed again. "There wouldn't be, you know. Takingoff from the Station, landing here--vacuum."
Ish shook his head. "There'd still be a sound. Maybe not for anybodyelse to hear--and, maybe, maybe there _would_ be. There'd be people,back on Earth, who'd hear it."
"All right," the Personnel Manager said. H
is face was grave, but hiseyes were shining a little.
"Ish! Hey, Ish, wake up, will you!" There was a hand on his shoulder."Will you get a _load_ of this guy!" the voice said to someone else. "Anhour to go, and he's sleeping like the dead."
Ish willed his eyes to open. He felt his heart begin to move