The next fourteen panels were used in the rise of man on Ertene from the early ages to full, efficient civilization. They were similar to a possible attempt to portray a similar period on Terra, showing wars, life in the cities of power during the community-power ages, and the fall of several powerful cities.
Then the rise of widespread government came with its more closely-knit society made possible by better means of communication and transportation. This went on and on until the facility of the combining factors made separate governments on Ertene untenable, and there were seven great, fiery panels of mighty, widespread wars.
"Up to here, it is similar to ours," commented Guy.
"And here it changes," said Charalas. "For the next panels show the impending doom of Ertene's parent sun. The problem of space had been conquered but the other planets were of little interest to Ertene. We fought about four interplanetary wars as you see here, all against alien races. Then came trouble. The odd chance of a run-away star coming near Ertene did happen, and we faced the decision of living near an unstable sun for centuries, for our astronomers calculated that the two stars would pass close enough to cause upheavals in the suns that would result in instability for thousands, perhaps millions of years."
"Instability might not have been so bad," said Guy thoughtfully, "if it could be predicted. No, I'm not speaking in riddles," he laughed. "I may sound peculiar, saying that it would be possible to predict instability. But a regular variable of the cepheid type is predictable instability."
"True. But we had no basis for prediction. After all, it would have been taking a chance. Suppose that the instability had caused a nova? Epitaphs are nice but none the less final. We left hundreds of years before the solar proximity. Now we know that we might have survived, but as you know, we can not swerve Ertene's course readily and though we are slowly turning, the race may have died out and gone for a galactic eon before we could return. Once the race dies out—or the interest in returning to a certain sun back there in the depths of the galaxy dies—we will cease to turn. We may find a haven somewhere, before then."
"You were speaking of years," said Guy. "Was that a loose reference or were you approximating my conception of a year?"
"Ayearis a loose term indeed, no matter by whom it is used," said Charalas. "To you, it is three hundred and sixty-five, and about a quarter, days. A day is one revolution of Terra. From Mars, say, a Terran year is something else entirely. Mars, of course, is not too good an example for its sidereal day is very close to Terra's. But your Venus, with its eighteen hour day—eighteen Terran hours—sees Terra's year as four hundred eighty-six, plus, days. On Ertene, we have no year. We had one, once. It was composed of four hundred twelve point seven zero four two two nine three one days, sidereal. Now, our day is different, since the length of the solar day depends upon the progression of the planet about its luminary. Our luminary behaves as a moon with a high ecliptic-angle as I have explained. No, Guy, I have been mentally converting myyearto your year, by crude approximation."
The next panel was an ornate painting of the Ertinian system, showing—out of scale for artistic purpose—the planets and sun, with Ertene drawing away in a long spiral.
"For many years we pursued that spiral, withdrawing from the sun by slow degrees. Then we broke free." Charalas indicated the panel which showed Ertene in the foreground while the clustered system was far behind.
They passed from panel to panel, all of which were interesting to Guy Maynard. There was a series of the first star contacted by Ertene. It was a small system, cold and forbidding, or hot and equally forbidding. The outer planets were in the grip of frozen air, and the inner planets bubbled in moltenness "This system was too far out of line to turn. It was our first star, and we might have stayed in youthfulness. Now, we know better."
The next panel showed a dimly-lighted landscape; a portrayal of Ertene without its synthetic sun. The luminous sky was beautiful in a nocturnal sort of way; to Guy it was slightly nostalgic for some unknown reason, at any rate it was the soul of sadness, that landscape.
Charalas shook his head and then smiled. He led Guy to the next panel, and there was a portrait of an elderly man, quite a bit older than Charalas though the neuro-surgeon was no young man. "Timalas," said Charalas proudly. "He gave us the next panel."
The following panel was a similar scene to the dismal one, but now the same trees and buildings and hills and sky were illuminated by a sun. It was a cheerful, uplifting scene compared to the soul-clouding darkness.
Ertene was a small sphere encircled by a band of peaceful black in a raving sky of fire and flame. Three planets fought in the death throes, using every conceivable weapon. Space was riven with blasting beams of energy and segregated into square areas by far-flung cutting planes. Raging energy consumed spots on each of the planets and the corners of the panel were tangled masses of broken machinery and burning wreckage, and the hapless images of trapped men. But Ertene passed through this holocaust unseen because of Timalas' light-shield.
"He saved us that, too," said Charalas reverently. "We could not have hoped to survive in this. Our science was not up to theirs, though the aid of a derelict or two gave us most of their science of war. I doubt that Terra herself could have survived. We passed unseen, though we worried for a hundred years lest they find us."
A race of spiders overran four of the planets of the next panel. They were unintelligent, there was a questioning air to the panel, as though posing the query as to how this race of spiders had crossed the void. And the picture of an Ertinian dying because contact with one of the spiders indicated their reason for not remaining.
The next panel showed a whole system with ammoniated atmosphere. "It was before the last panel," said Charalas, "that Ertene became of age as far as the wanderlust went. We knew that we could survive. We wanted no system wherein Ertene would be alone. Of what use to civilization would a culture be if its people could never leave the home planet?"
"No," agreed Guy. "Once a race has conquered space, they must use it. It would restrict the knowledge of a race not to use space."
"So we decided never to accept a system wherein we could not travel freely to other planets. Who knows, but the pathway to the planets may be but the first, faltering step to the stars?"
"We'd never have reached the planets if we'd never flown on the air," agreed Guy.
"We prefer company, too," smiled Charalas, pointing out the next panels. One was of a normal system but in which the life was not quite ready for the fundamentals of science and therefore likely to become slave-subject to the Ertinian mastery. The next was a system in which the intelligent life had overrun the system and had evolved to a high degree—and Ertene might have been subject to them if they had remained. "Unfortunately we could learn nothing from them," said the Ertinian. "It was similar to an ignorant savage trying to learn something from us."
Then they came to a panel in which there were ten planets. It was a strange collection of opposites all side by side. There were several races, some fighting others, some friendly with others. Plenty and poverty sat hand in hand, and in one place a minority controlled the lives of the majority while professing to be ruled by majority-rule. Men strived to perfect medicine and increase life-expectancy and other men fought and killed by the hundreds of thousands. A cold and forbidding planet was rich in essential ore, and populated by a semi-intelligent race of cold-blooded creatures. The protectors of these poor creatures were the denizens of a high civilization, who used them to fight their petty fights for them, under the name of unity. For their trouble, they took the essential ores to their home planet and exchanged items of dubious worth. The trespass of a human by the natives of a slightly populated moon caused the decimation of the natives, while the humans used them by the hundreds in vivisection since their anatomy was quite similar to the human's.
"Where is Ertene?" asked Guy.
"Ertene is not yet placed," said Charalas.
"No?" asked Guy in wonder.
"No," said Charalas with a queer smile. "Ertene is still not sure of her position. You see, Guy, that system is Sol."
Guy Maynard stood silent, thinking. It was a blow to him, this picturization of the worlds of Sol as seen through the eyes of a totally alien race. His own feelings he analyzed briefly, and he knew that in his own heart, he was willing to shade any decisions concerning the civilization of Ertene in the Ertinian favor; had any dispute between Ertene and a mythical dissenter, Guy would have had his decision weighted in favor of the wanderer for one reason alone.
Ertinians were human to the last classification!
Guy smiled inwardly. "Blood is thicker than water," he thought to himself, and he knew that while the old platitude was meant to cover blood-relations who clung together in spite of close bonds with friends not of blood relationship, it could very well be expanded to cover this situation. Obviously he as a Terran would tend to support ahumanrace against a merelyhumanoidrace. He would fight the Martians for Ertene just as he would fight them for Terra.
Fighting Ertene itself was unthinkable. They were too human; Ertene was too Terran to think of strife between the two worlds. Being of like anatomy, they would and should cling together against the whole universe of alien bodies.
But—
He had spoken to Charalas, to the nurses, to the groundkeepers, and to the scientists who came to learn of him and from him. He had told them of Terra and of the Solar System. He had explained the other worlds in detail and his own interpretation of those other cultures.
And still they depicted Terra in no central light. Terra did not dominate the panel. It vied with the other nine planets and their satellites for the prominence it should have held.
What was wrong?
Knowing that he would have favored Ertene for the anatomical reasons alone, Guy worried. Had his word-picture been so poor that Ertene gave the other planets their place in the panel in spite of the natural longing to place their own kind above the rest?
"I should think—" he started haltingly, but Charalas stopped him.
"Guy Maynard, you must understand that Ertene is neutral. Perhaps the first neutral you've ever seen. Believe that, Guy, and be warned that Ertene is capable of making her own, very discerning decision."
Guy did not answer. He knew something else, now. Ertene was not going to be easily convinced that Sol was the place for them. She was neutral, yes, but there was something else.
Ertene had the wanderlust!
For eons, Ertene had passed in her unseen way through the galaxy. She had seen system after system, and the lust for travel was upon her. Travel was her life, and had been for hundreds of generations.
Her children had been born and bred in a closed system, free from stellar bonds. Their history was a vast storehouse of experience such as no other planet had ever had. Every generation brought them to another star and each succeeding generation added to the wisdom of Ertene as it extracted or tried to extract some bit of knowledge from each system through which Ertene passed.
With travel her natural life, the wandering planet would be loath to cease her transient existence.
Like a man who has spent too many years in bachelorhood, flitting like a butterfly from lip to lip, Ertene had become inured to a single life. It would take a definite attraction to swerve her from her self-sufficiency.
These things came to Maynard as he stood in thought. He knew then that his was no easy job. Not the simple proposition of asking Ertene to join her own kind in an orbit about Sol. Not the mere signing of a pact would serve. Not the Terran-shaded history of the worlds of Sol with the Terran egotism that did not admit that Terra could possibly be wrong.
Ertene must be made to see the attractiveness of living in Maynard's little universe. It must be made more attractive than the interesting possibilities offered by the unknown worlds that lie ahead on her course through the galaxy.
All this plus the natural reticence of Ertene to become involved in a system that ran rife with war. The attractiveness of Sol must be so great that Ertene would remain in spite of war and alien hatred.
And Maynard knew in his heart that he was not the one to sway them easily. Part of his mind felt akin to their desire to roam. Even knowing that he would not live on Ertene to see the next star he wanted to go with them in order that his children might see it.
And yet his honor was directed at the service of Terra. His sacred oath had been given to support and strive to the best interest of Terra and Sol.
He put away the desire to roam with Ertene and thought once more of the studying he must do to convince Ertene of the absolute foolishness of continuing in their search for a more suitable star than Sol about which to establish a residence.
Maynard turned to Charalas and saw that the elderly doctor had been watching him intently. Before he could speak, the Ertinian said: "It is a hard nut to crack, lad. Many have tried but none have succeeded. Like most things that are best for people, they are the least exciting and the most formal, and people do not react cheerfully to a formal diet."
Maynard shook his head. "But unlike a man with ulcers, I cannot prescribe a diet of milk lest he die. Ertene will go on living no matter whether I speak and sway them or whether I never say another word. I am asked to convince an entire world against their will. I can not tell them that it is the slightest bit dangerous to go on as they have. In fact, it may be dangerous for them to remain. In all honesty, I must admit that Terra is not without her battle scars."
Charalas said, thoughtfully: "Who knows what is best for civilization? We do not, for wearecivilization. We do as we think best, and if it is not best, we die and another civilization replaces us in Nature's long-time program to find the real survivor."
He faced the panel and said, partly to himself and partly to Guy:
"Is it best for Ertene to go on through time experimenting? Gathering the fruits of a million civilizations bound forever to their stellar homes because of the awful abyss between the stars? For the planets all to become wanderers would be chaos.
"Therefore is it Nature's plan that Ertene be the one planet to gather unto herself the fruit of all knowledge and ultimately lie barren because of the sterility of her culture? Are we to be the sponge for all thought? If so, where must it end? What good is it? Is this some great master plan? Will we, after a million galactic years, reach a state where we may disseminate the knowledge we have gained, or are we merely greedy, taking all and giving nothing?
"What are we learning? And, above all, are we certain that Ertene's culture is best for civilization? How may we tell? The strong and best adapted survive, and since we are no longer striving against the lesser forces of Nature on our planet, and indeed, are no longer striving against those of antisocial thought among our own people—against whom or what do we fight?
"Guy Maynard, you are young and intelligent. Perhaps by some whimsy of fate you may be the deciding factor in Ertene's aimlessness. We are here, Guy. We are at the gates to the future. My real reason for bringing you to the Center of Ertene is to have you present your case to the Council."
He took Guy's arm and led him through the door at the end of the corridor. They went into the gilt-and-ivory room with the vast hemispherical dome and as the door slowly closed behind them, Guy Maynard, Terran, and Charalas, Ertinian, stood facing a quarter-circle of ornate desks behind which sat the Council.
Obviously, they had been waiting.
IV.
Guy Maynard looked reproachfully at Charalas. He felt that he had been tricked, that Charalas had kicked the bottom out of his argument and then had forced him into the debate with but an impromptu defense. He wondered how this discussion was to be conducted, and while he was striving to collect a lucid story, part of his mind heard Charalas going through the usual procedure for recording purposes.
"Who is this man?"
"He is Junior Executive Guy Maynard of the Terran Space Patrol."
"Explain his title."
"It is a rank of official service. It denotes certain abilities and responsibilities."
"Can you explain the position of his rank with respect to other ratings of more or less responsibility?"
Charalas counted off on his fingers. "From the lowest rank upward, the following titles are used: Junior Aide, Senior Aide, Junior Executive, Senior Executive, Sector Commander, Patrol Marshal, Sector Marshal, and Space Marshal."
"These are the commissioned officers? Are there other ratings?"
"Yes, shall I name them?"
"Prepare them for the record. There is no need of recounting the noncommissioned officials."
"I understand."
"How did Guy Maynard come to Ertene?"
"Maynard was rescued from a derelict spaceship."
"By whom?"
"Thomakein."
"Am I to assume that Thomakein brought him to Ertene for study?"
"That assumption is correct."
"The knowledge of the system of Sol is complete?"
"Between the information furnished by Guy Maynard and the observations made by Thomakein, the knowledge of Sol's planets is sufficient. More may be learned before Ertene loses contact, but for the time, it is adequate."
"And Guy Maynard is present for the purpose of explaining the Terran wishes in the question of whether Ertene is to remain here?"
"Correct."
The councilor who sat in the center of the group smiled at Guy and said: "Guy Maynard, this is an informal meeting. You are to rest assured we will not attempt to goad you into saying something you do not mean. If you are unprepared to answer a given question, ask for time to think. We will understand. However, we ask that you do not try to shade your answers in such a manner as to convey erring impressions. This is not a court of law; procedure is not important. Speak when and as you desire and understand that you will not be called to account for slight breaches of etiquette, since we all know that formality is a deterrent to the real point in argument."
Charalas added: "Absolute formality in argument usually ends in the decision going to the best orator. This is not desirable, since some of the more learned men are poor orators, while some of the best orators must rely upon the information furnished them by the learned."
The center councilor arose and called the other six councilors by name in introduction. This was slightly redundant since their names were all present in little bronze signs on the desks. It was a pleasantry aimed at putting the Terran at ease and offering him the right to call them by name.
"Now," said Terokar, the center one, "we shall begin. Everything we have said has been recorded for the records. But, Guy, we will remove anything from the record that would be detrimental to the integrity of any of us. We will play it back before you leave and you may censor it."
"Thank you," said Guy. "Knowing that records are to be kept as spoken will often deter honest expression."
"Quite true. That is why we permit censoring. Now, Guy, your wishes concerning Ertene's alliance with Sol."
"I invite Ertene to join the Solar System."
"Your invitation is appreciated. Please understand that the acceptance of such an invitation will change Ertene's social structure forever, and that it is not to be taken lightly."
"I realize that the invitation is not one to accept lightly. It is a large decision."
"Then what has Sol to offer?"
"A stable existence. The commerce of an entire system and the friendship of another world of similar type in almost every respect. The opportunity to partake in a veritable twinship between Ertene and Sol, with all the ramifications that such a brotherhood would offer."
"Ertene's existence is stable, Guy. Let us consider that point first."
"How can any wandering program be considered stable?"
"We are born, we live, and we die. Whether we are fated to spend our lives on a nomad planet or ultimately become the very center of the universe about which everything revolves, making Ertene the most stable planet of them all, Ertinians will continue living. When nomadism includes the entire resources of a planet, it can not be instable."
"Granted. But do you hope to go on forever?"
"How old is your history, Guy?"
"From the earliest of established dates, taken from the stones of Assyria and the artifacts of Maya, some seven thousand years."
Charalas added a lengthy discussion setting the length of a Terran year.
"Ertinian history is perhaps a bit longer," said Terokar. "And so who can say 'forever'?"
"No comment," said Guy with a slight laugh. "But my statements concerning stability are not to be construed as the same type of instability suffered by an itinerant human. He has no roots, and few friends, and he gains nothing nor does he offer anything to society. No, I am wrong. Itisthe same thing. Ertene goes on through the eons of wandering. She has no friends and no roots and while she may gain experience and knowledge of the universe just as the tramp will, her ultimate gain is poor and her offering to civilization is zero."
"I dispute that. Ertene's life has become better for the experience she has gained and the knowledge, too."
"Perhaps. But her offering to civilization?"
"We are not a dead world. Perhaps some day we may be able to offer the storehouses of our knowledge to some system that will need it. Perhaps we are destined to become the nucleus of a great, galactic civilization."
"Such a civilization will never work as long as men are restrained as to speed of transportation. Could any pact be sustained between planets a hundred light-years apart? Indeed, could any pact be agreed upon?"
"I cannot answer that save to agree. However, somewhere there may be some means of faster-than-light travel and communication. If this is found, galactic-wide civilization will not only be possible but a definite expectation."
"You realize that you are asking for Ertene a destiny that sounds definitely egotistic?"
"And why not? Are you not sold on the fact that Terra is the best planet in the Solar System?"
"Naturally."
"Also," smiled Charalas, "the Martians admit that Mars is the best planet."
"Granted then that Ertene is stable. Even granting for the moment that Ertene is someday to become the nucleus of the galaxy. I still claim that Ertene is missing one item." Guy waited for a moment and then added: "Ertene is missing the contact and commerce with other races. Ertene is self-sufficient and as such is stagnant as far as new life goes. Life on Ertene has reached the ultimate—for Ertene. Similarly, life on Terra had reached that point prior to the opening of space. Life must struggle againstsomething, and when the struggle is no longer possible—when all possible obstruction has been circumvented—then life decays."
"You see us as decadent?"
"Not yet. The visiting of system after system has kept you from total decadence. It is but a stasis, however. Unless one has the samples of right and wrong from which to choose, how may he know his own course?"
"Of what difference is it?" asked the councilor named Baranon. "If there is no dissenting voice, if life thrives, if knowledge and science advance, what difference does it make whether we live under one social order or any other? If thievery and wrongdoing, for instance, could support a system of social importance, and the entire population lives under that code and thrives, of what necessity is it to change?"
"Any social order will pyramid," said Guy. "Either up or down."
"Granted. But if all are prepared to withstand the ravages of their neighbors, and are eternally prepared to live under constant strife, no man will have his rights trod upon."
"But what good is this eternal wandering? This everlasting eye upon the constantly receding horizon? This never ending search for the proper place to stop in order that this theoretical galactic civilization may start? At Ertene's state of progress, one place will be as good as any other," said Guy.
"Precisely, except that some places are definitely less desirable. Recall, Guy, that Ertene needs nothing."
"I dispute that. Ertene needs the contact with the outside worlds."
"No."
"You are in the position of a recluse who loves his seclusion."
"Certainly."
"Then you are in no position to appreciate any other form of social order."
"We care for no other social order."
"I mentioned to Charalas that in my eyes, you are wrong. That I am being asked to prescribe for a patient who will not die for lack of my prescription. I can not even say that the patient will benefit directly. My belief is as good as yours. I believe that Ertene is suffering because of her seclusion and that her peoples will advance more swiftly with commerce between the planets—and once again in interstellar space, Ertene will have no planets with which to conduct trade."
"And Sol, like complex society, will never miss the recluse. Let the hermit live in his cave, he is neither hindering nor helping civilization."
"Indirectly, the hermit hinders. He excites curiosity and the wonder if a hermit's existence might not be desirable and thus diverts other thinkers to seclusion."
"But if the hermit withdraws alone and unnoticed, no one will know of the hermitage, and then no one will wonder."
"ButIknow, and though no one else in the Solar System knows, I am trying to bring you into our society. I have the desire of brotherhood, the gregarious instinct that wants to be friend with all men. It annoys me—as it annoys all men—to see one of us alone and unloved by his fellows. I have a burning desire to have Ertene as a twin world with Terra."
"But Ertene likes her itinerant existence. The fires that burn beyond the horizon are interesting. Also," smiled Terokar, "the grass is greener over there."
"One day you will come to the end of the block," said Guy, "and find that the grass is no greener anywhere, with the exception that you now have no more grass to look at, plus the sorry fact that you cannot return. A million galactic years from now, Ertene will have passed through the galaxy and will find herself looking at intergalactic space. Then what?"
"Then our children will learn to live in a starless sky forahundred thousand generations. Solarians live in a sky of constant placement; Ertene's sky is ever changing and all sky maps are obsolete in thirty or forty years. You must remember that to us, wandering is the normal way of life. Some of us believe that we may eventually return to our parent sun. We may. But all of us believe that we would find our parent sun no more interesting than others. No Guy, I doubt that we will stop there either."
"You are assuming that you will not remain at Sol?"
"We are a shy planet. We do not like to change our way of life. You are asking us to give up our life and to accept yours. It is similar to a man asking a woman to marry. But a woman is not completely reversed in her life when she marries. Here you are asking us to cleave unto you forever—and there is no bond of love to soften the hard spots."
"I did mention the bond of brotherhood," said Guy.
"Brotherhood with what?" asked Terokar. "You ask us to enter a bond of twinship with a planet that is the center of strife. You ask us in the name of similarity to join you—and help you gain mastery over the Solar System."
"And why not?"
"Which of you is right? Is the Terran combine more righteous than the Martian alliance?"
"Certainly."
"Why?"
Guy asked for a moment to think. The room was silent for a moment and then he said, slowly and painfully: "I can think of no other reason than the trite and no-answer reason: 'We're right because we're right!' The Martian combine fights us to gain the land and the commerce that we have taken because of superiority in space."
"A superiority given merely because of sheer size," said Baranon. "The Martians, raised under a gravity of less than one third of Terra's find it difficult to keep pace with the Terrans, who can live under three times as much acceleration. Battle under such conditions is unfair, and the fact that the Martians have been able to survive indicates that their code is not entirely wrong."
Charalas nodded. "Any code that is entirely in error will not be able to survive."
"So," said Terokar, "you ask us to join your belligerent system. You ask us to emerge from our pleasure and join you in a struggle for existence. You ask that we give up the peace that has survived for a thousand years, and in doing so you ask that we come willingly and permit our cities to be war-scarred and our men killed. You ask that we join in battle against a smaller, less adapted race that still is able to survive in spite of its ill-adaption to the rigors of space."
Guy was silent.
"Is that the way of life? Must we fight for our life? Strife is deplorable, Guy Maynard, and I am saying that to you, who come of a planet steeped in strife. You wear a uniform—or did—that is dedicated to the job of doing a better job of fighting than the enemy. Continual warlike activity has no place on Ertene.
"Plus one other thing, Guy Maynard. You are honorable and your intent is clear. But your fellows are none too like you. Ertene would become the playground of the Solar System. There would be continual battles over Ertene, and Ertene with her inexperience in warfare would be forced to accept the protection of Terra. That protection would break down into the same sort of protection that is offered the Plutonians by a handful of Terrans. In exchange for 'protection' against enemies that would possibly be no better or worse, the Plutonians are stripped of their metal. They are not accorded the privilege of schooling because they are too ignorant to enter even the most elementary of schools. Besides, schooling would make them aware of their position and they might rebel against the system that robs them of their substance under the name of 'protection.' Protection? May the Highest Law protect me from my protectors!" Terokar's lips curled slightly. "Am I not correct? Have not the Plutonians the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? It would be a heavy blow to Terra if the third planet were forced to pay value for the substance that comes from Pluto."
"After all," said Guy, "if Terra hadn't got there first, Mars would be doing the same thing."
"Granted," said Baranon. "Absolutely correct. But two wrongs do not make a right. Terra is no worse than Mars. But that does not excuse either of them. They are both wrong!"
"Are you asking Terra to change its way of life?" demanded Guy.
"You are asking Ertene to change. We have the same privilege."
"Obviously in a system such as ours a completely altruistic society would be wiped out."
"Obviously," said Baranon.
"Then—"
"Then Ertene will change its way of life—providing Terra changes hers."
"Mars—"
"Mars will have to change hers, too. Can you not live in harmony?"
"Knowing what the Martians did to me—can you expect me to greet one of them with open arms?"
"Knowing what you have done to them, I wouldn't expect either one of you to change your greetings. No, Guy, I fear that Ertene will continue on her path until such a time as we meet a system that is less belligerent and more adapted to our way of life."
"Then I have failed?"
"Do not feel badly. You have failed, but you were fighting a huge, overwhelming force. You fought the inheritance of a hundred generations of wanderers. You fought the will of an integrated people who deplore strife. You fought the desire of everyone on Ertene, and since no Ertinian could change Solar society, we cannot expect a Terran to change Ertinian ideals. You failed, but it is no disgrace to fail against such an overwhelming defense."
Guy smiled weakly. "I presume that I was fighting against a determined front?"
"You were trying to do the most difficult job of all. In order to have succeeded, you would first have had to unsell us on our firm convictions, and then sell us the desirability of yours. A double job, both uphill."
"Then I am to consider the matter closed?"
"Yes. We have decided not to remain."
"You decided that before I came in," said Guy bitterly.
"We decided that a thousand years before you were born, so do not feel bitter."
"I presume that a change in your plans is out of the question even though further information on Sol's planets proves you wrong?"
"It will never be brought up again."
"I see," said Guy unhappily. "Part of my desire to convince you was the hope of seeing my home again."
"Oh, but you will," said Charalas.
Guy was dumfounded. He could hardly believe his ears. He asked for a repeat, and got it. It was still amazing. To Guy, it was outright foolishness. He wouldn't have trusted anyone with such a secret. To permit him to return to Terra with the knowledge he had—
"Charalas, what would prevent me from bringing my people to Ertene? I could bring the forces of Terra down about your very ears."
"But you will not. We have a strict, value-even trade to offer you."
"But it would be so easy to keep me here."
"We could not restrain you without force. And if we must rely upon your honor, we'd be equally reliant whether you be here or on Terra."
"Here," said Guy dryly, "I'd be away from temptation. If I were tempted to tell, there'd be no one to tell it to."
"We must comply with an ancient rule," explained Terokar. "It says specifically that no man without Ertinian blood may remain on Ertene. It was made to keep the race pure when we were still about our parent sun and has never been revoked. We wouldn't revoke it for you alone."
"But permitting me to go free would be sheer madness."
"Not quite. We are mutually indebted to one another, Guy. There is the matter of knowledge. You gave freely of yours, we gave you ours. We have gained some points that were missing in our science, you have a number of points that will make you rich, famous, and remembered. Use them as your own, only do it logically in order that they seem to be discoveries of your own. You admit the worth of them?"
"Oh, but yes," said Guy eagerly. "Wonderful—"
"Then there is no debt for knowledge?"
"If any, I am in your debt."
"We'll call it even," said Baranon, dryly.
"Then there is the matter of life," said Terokar. "You know how you were found?"
Guy shook his head in wonder. "I had been through the Martian idea of how to get information out of a reluctant man," he said slowly. "I know that their methods result in a terrible mindless state which to my own belief is worse than death itself. I know that as I lost consciousness, I prayed for death to come, even though I knew that they would not permit it."
"We found you that way. You know. And we brought you back to life. You owe us that."
"Indeed I do."
"Then for your life, we demand our life in return."
"I do not understand."
"Your life is yours. We ask that you say nothing of us—for we feel that we will die if we are found. At least, the integrity of Ertene is at stake. In any event, we will not be taken, you may as well know that. And when I say die, I mean that Ertene will not go on living in the way we want her to live. Therefore you will disclose nothing that will point our way to anyone."
"And you are willing that I should return to Terra with such an oath? What of my oath to Terra?"
"Do you feel that your presence on Ertene will benefit Terra in some small way?" asked Charalas.
"Now that you have given me the things we spoke of before, I do."
"Then," said Charalas, "consider this point. You may not return unless you swear to keep us secret. You may not give Terra the benefit of your knowledge unless you deprive them of Ertene. Is that clear?"
"If I may not return to Terra, and may not remain on Ertene, I can guess the other alternative and will admit that I do not like it. On the returning angle, about all I can do is to justify myself in my own mind that I have done all that I can by bringing these scientific items back with me. Since doing the best I can for Terra includes keeping your secret, I can do that also. But tell me, how do you hope to cover the fact that I've been missing for almost a year? That will take more than mere explanation."
"The process is easy," said Charalas. "We have one of the lifeships from the derelict. It was slightly damaged in the blast. It is maneuverable, but unwieldy. Evidence has been painstakingly forged. Apparently you will have broken your straps under the shock of the blast—and before the torture reached its height—and you found yourself in a derelict with no one left alive but yourself. You were hurt, mentally, and didn't grasp the situation clearly. There was no way to signal your plight in secrecy, and open signaling would have been dangerous since you were too close to Mars.
"You found the lifeship and waited until you could safely take off. The derelict took a crazy course, according to the recorded log in your own handwriting, and headed for interstellar space. You took off at the safe time and have been floating free in the damaged lifeship. You've been on a free orbit for the best part of a year."
"Sounds convincing enough."
"The evidence includes empty air cans, your own fingerprints on everything imaginable, a dulled can opener and the remnants of can labels that have fallen into nooks and crannies of the ship. The water-recovery device has been under constant operation and examination will show about a year's accumulation of residual matter. A scratch-mark calendar has been kept on the wall of the lifeship, and daily it has been added to. That is important since the wall will show more oxidation in the scratches made a year ago than the ones made recently. The accumulators of the ship have been run down as if in service while you were forcing the little ship into its orbit, and the demand recorder shows how the drain was used. The lights in the ship have been burned, and the deposits of fluorescent material in the tubes have been used about the calculated number of hours. Books have been nearly worn out from re-reading and they were used with fingerprint gloves though they were studied by us. Instruments and gadgets are strewn about the ship in profusion, indicating the attempts of an intelligent man trying to kill time. Also you will find the initial findings on the energy collector we used in conjunction with the light-shield.
"Now, yourself. Into your body we will inject the hormones that occur with fear and worry. You will not enjoy a bit of atmosphobia, but believe us, it is necessary. You will have the appearance and attitude of a man who has been in space alone for a year, and luckily for you, you are a spaceman and inured to the rigors of space travel so that it will not be necessary to really give you the works in order to make you seem natural.
"As a final touch, both for our safety and yours, we will inject in your body a substance far superior to your anti-lamine. This is not destroyed by electrolysis, but only by a substance made from the original base. This will protect you against any attempt to make you talk. As long as it is your will, consciously or subconsciously, our secret will be kept. Is there anything we may have overlooked?"
"One thing. The space tan."
"That you will get before you leave."
"Then that sounds like the works."
"It is. Guy Maynard, we wish you the best of luck. We are all sorry that you must leave, but it is best that way. Sooner or later you would become homesick for the things you knew on Terra. Ertene will not last in your memory, we have been careful not to let you indulge in anything that will leave memories either pleasant or unpleasant, and forgetting is easy when the subject was uneventful. Farewell, Guy Maynard."
"Good-bye. And if you ever decide whether your way is at all questionable, have someone look me up. I'll be around Sol."
Terokar laughed. "And if you find that Sol changes her way of living, you may see if you can find us!"
Charalas smiled: "No need. They will not. This is farewell forever, Guy. Good luck."
It was little more than an hour later that Guy Maynard, inoculated with all kinds of shots, was lifted into the sky in a heavy spaceship and on the way for a predetermined section of the Solar sky.
They left him, a couple of weeks later.
And Guy Maynard was headed for Terra in a broken lifeship saved from the derelict of the Mardinex. He thought of Ertene briefly, and then put the thought from him. He would never see Ertene again.
But the things he had in his mind would make Ertene's influence everlasting over an unknown Terra. That alone made the contact worth while.
Guy Maynard stumbled upon another thought. He had accused them of going on forever like an itinerant, taking nothing and giving nothing and living sterile as far as their good toward civilization. He was wrong, and now he knew it. Ertene did not go on her lonely path. She had strewn the fruits of experience in Sol's path as best she could and still maintain safety for herself. It was reasonable to suppose that Ertene had done the same things for those other systems.
Hers was not a useless existence. Ertene was doing as much for civilization as Terra, surely.
And though he would never see Ertene again, his own personal gain from having been to Ertene would cause him to remember the wanderer. And even though Terra would never know of Ertene's existence, she would benefit from their experience.
Ertene—completely altruistic.
Or was she completely selfish?
Terra would never know.
V.
Ben Williamson sat bolt upright in his chair and listened to the faint piping whistle that came through the communicator along with the sounds from the communications office. He snapped the button calling for silence in order to hear better, and then scratched his head in wonder.
"Executive to Communications and Pilot: Tune in that signal better and get a fix on it. Prepare to follow the fix."
"Received," came the laconic reply, and then the less formal: "What's in the sky, Ben?"
"Whether you know it or not, that signal was Guy Maynard's private sign."
"I thought so," said the communications officer. "I wasn't certain."
"We'll not court-martial you for that," laughed Ben. "After all, you didn't know Maynard personally."
"Right. I didn't know him at all. But this fix—I've got it."
"Can you get range and possible track?"
"Fairly well." There was silence for several minutes and then the communications officer announced the figures concerning the distance and probable course constants of the emitting source.
"Executive to Technician: Jimmy, have you got the cards on theMardinexor did we put them in the morgue after we slipped her the slug?"
"Still got 'em. BuSI thought we should keep 'em a bit just in case. After all, theMardinexwas a secret proposition and to remove her cards from the Terran cardexes would be like the guy in that story."
"Which guy in what story."
"The fellow who suspected his neighbor of stealing his chickens just because he found the neighbor garbaging chicken feathers and chicken carcasses. They've made no announcement of theMardinex'sfailure to return. To have Terra toss away the information that we have so painstakingly gathered concerning her most intimate features would be almost an open admission that Terra is not longer concerned about theMardinex."
"They couldn't prove a thing."
"No, but as the Chinese say: 'A wise man does not stoop to secure his shoes in a melon patch nor adjust his hat under a cherry tree.' They could trump up enough evidence to arouse their people if they could prove our disinterest in some concrete manner. As it is, the whole system knows that Terra still carries the cards of theMardinex. That's the one thing they've ascertained. We've got 'em all right."
"Good. Then as soon as we get close enough to that source, and the spotters take hold, run the constants through the cardex."
"Good Sol, Ben. What do you expect?"
"Dunno. Couldn't be theMardinex, of course. That couldn't possibly be here and now. But—that was Maynard's sign and he may have survived in some queer manner. We know that theMardinexcarried lifeships."
Time passed as the destroyer accelerated constantly, reached turnover, and began to decelerate toward the suspected position of the signal-emitting object. Just after turnover the spotters took hold and announced that the object was capable of being scanned and analyzed.
The whirr of the file as the cardex ran through the thousands of minute cards filled the technician's office and came through the open communicator. Then the attention bell tingled once, and the card that matched the constants of the emitting object was slid from the file into a projector. The micro-printing above the cardex pattern was projected on the ground glass above the instrument and the technician read it off in a flat voice.
"Fore lifeship—standard type from Martian space craft of theMardinexclass. One of six similar models placed in the upper quadrant of the ship. These ships are capable of four gravities, Terran, and are capable of making the one hundred million mile trip. No armament as per agreements under the Eros Conference. Will accommodate thirty passengers for a period of ninety days, Terran without discomfort other than atmosphobia and the possibility of avoirduphobia if the distance demands free flight for any period of time. Equipped with spotter equipment and signaling equipment capable of reaching interested searchers but not raising those whose equipment is nondirective or whose directive equipment is pointed away from the emitting source. Also equipped with complete spares for signaling equipment—"
"That's enough," said Ben. "Executive to Turretman: Trim your autoMacs and load the torpedo tubes. This may be a trap."
"Right," said Tim. "And according to Jimmy, they may be trying to see how we react after a sign of theMardinex's lifeship pattern. They're capable of duplicating that pattern, you know."
"We're going in there to win or lose," said Ben soberly. "No matter how they take it, we're ready. Tim, put a remote arming fuse in one torp and launch it right now. If this is trouble, we'll butter our chances. If this is not trouble, we'll keep the arming signal running and retrieve the torpedo. Right?"
"Received. Want it set to remain inert as long as the arming signal is on?"
"That's the order."
The destroyer bucked slightly and Tim said: "She's off. Any time anybody thinks we should let her roar, poke the arming button on the panels."
Instinctively, Ben Williamson glanced at the minute pilot light that gleamed faintly just above a button on the ordnance panel. It was the left-most button of a row of twenty. By reaching out of his chair with the right hand and leaning back so that his spine was arched deeply, Williamson could touch the arming control. He nodded, and as he watched, the panel below winked on, indicating that the turret was ready for action. Beside it, the winking lights indicated that his orders to load up the torpedo tubes had been conveyed to the tube crew. A string of varicolored lights indicated a series of interferers and space bombs that were being armed in the bomb bay. Williamson smiled. Tim Monahan was an excellent ordnance officer; one who rode the turret himself and directed the fire controls from there.
"Executive to Pilot: What's our position?"
"Twenty minutes from object."
"Ring the Action Alarm. Who knows—we may see action!"
"Turretman to Executive: Object sighted. Definitely a lifeship. Doesn't look dangerous. Shall we take a chance?"
"Executive to Communications: Answer 'em on their band."
"Received. Ben, they went off the air as soon as I opened my transmitter." There was some period of silence. "Communications to Executive: Identifies himself as Guy Maynard. Says alone and safe. Cut emitter to prevent curiosity on the part of Martian observers who may be listening."
"Good fellow. He should be an Intelligence Officer. Tell him to prepare for transshipping."
"He says that after a year in that sardine can, it can't be too quick. Want him to jump?"
"Can he put on any speed?"
"His suit is still in partial operation. He can rev up about a G."
"Tell him to dive. We'll scoop him without trying to match speed."
Guy smiled vaguely. He made one last prayer that he could look as starved for company as a man would after a year in that tiny ship. He didn't stop to wonder why they'd asked him to dive. He merely prayed that his story would be acted as convincingly as his forged diary read. He'd partially committed that to memory; certain lapses would be expected. It was good and it contained several references to ideas for equipment which would help explain his sudden inventive streak. He hugged the volume to him and dived out of the open space lock. Once free of the ship, Guy turned the tiny driving fin on and he stood upright on the soles of the spacesuit shoes.
And minutes later the destroyer arrowed silently past and a silent, invisible tractor reached out and caught him in the focal area. It stretched like a thin elastomer cord, invisible, and it accelerated him gently as the destroyed sped on. He caught up with the destroyer and was taken aboard just as the soundless gout of flame far below marked the end of the lifeship.
"Why?" he asked patiently, shortly and tersely.
"Didn't care to leave any evidence for the Marties."
"Sort of got attached to it," said Guy.
"Could be, but one sight of that anywhere in the Solar System would mean trouble. Evidence from theMardinex, you know. Forget it, Maynard. You're far more important. What happened, and how, and why?"
Maynard looked pained.
"Forget it, Guy. Obviously you had a tough time. Take your time about telling us. What do you want most?"
Guy smiled shyly. "I thought about that a lot," he said slowly. "I wanted steak and potatoes. I wanted cigarettes. I even thought of Laura Greggor. I wanted.... Ben, I want everything, and in mass-production lots."
"Steak and potatoes we can give you. Cigarettes we have in plenty. A shower and a shave and a soft, well-made man-sized bed. Books and pictures and a dollop of liquor, too. Candy, cigars, chewing gum, et cetera. But the only female we have on board is cooky's pet hen. Like a fresh egg?"
"Anything as long as it is not lonely," said Guy. "My throat is slightly lame."
"I can imagine. Well, it's sick bay for you and we'll wait on you. And—Guy, there'll be plenty of company." Ben snapped the general communicator button and said: "Executive to crew: Junior Executive Guy Maynard is aboard. He is to be shown every consideration, and it is directed that each watch appoint three roving spacemen whose duties will be to replace crew members who will visit Maynard. His stay in sick bay is not quarantine."
"Williamson, I'll take that shower now. And then the steak. Got a cigarette?"
As Maynard ignited the cigarette, he thought: Carefully prepared evidence! How painstaking they were! Even the scratches on the wall made so that the earlier ones would be made first. The millions of fingerprints. And destroyed because it would be bad evidence against us. Ironic. And yet—they might have missed something. And supposing Williamson hadn't armed that torpedo but had taken the crate in to Terra instead? Then Ertene's evidence would have been needed. We couldn't have known—
"Now for that shower," he said to Ben. There was no use in deliberately thinking of Ertene now. Forget it. To Ben he added: "Might run through that log of mine. Gives you the story pretty well, and my voice-box is still unused to talking much. I'm going, but I'll be back."
"Good thing you kept a log," said Ben. "It'll be most valuable evidence for the investigation."
Investigation! Guy hadn't thought of that factor. Naturally he must give his evidence before a court-martial, though he would by no means be on trial. Yet, they were thorough and he prayed that he wouldn't make the most unnoticed slip. They'd ply him with questions and watch his answers. He was glad that he hadn't memorized the log by rote. To repeat word for word certain parts would be expected, and to miss completely other parts would be expected. There would even be parts he had forgotten and parts too doleful for the mind to keep fresh.
Then Guy Maynard put it all aside. He forgot his troubles and his worries, and gave himself up to the luxuries of civilization once more. His act was most convincing. He ate with relish and smoked until his throat was sore. He was reticent at the right time, and he made it appear as though it had become habit with him to remain silent; and also brought out the fact that his larynx was slightly unused to exercise. He was glad to be home, though he deplored the destruction of his lifeship—he spoke of it affectionately sometimes, other times he outwardly hated the thought of it—because there were some experiments uncompleted on it. They could be duplicated from the log, of course, but the originals were priceless in his estimation—
And then the reaction really set in. Guy Maynard was home again. Home, to Guy, was the ever-changing orientation of the starry sky and the never constant gravity. He fingered the ordnance controls on the destroyer with affection and realized that Ertene was long ago and far away, and that his place was here, and that his life was geared to the quick life of a spaceman in the Terran Space Patrol.
Peace was wonderful, of course, and at the time he wanted it desperately. But now he realized that the excitement of living in a system of planets offered more than the placid existence of Ertene with its one moon and the occasional space trip.
In spite of the treaties and acceptance of peaceful measures made on the part of the Martians, there was always the chance that some underhanded move might be made. There was that edge to life; that fine, razor-sharp edge of excitement and danger. Mars might make untoward moves, but it was not all Mars' party. Terra made her own espionage and operations tended to display her might to the Red Planet. Brushes that never reached notice were always going on.
He permitted himself to wax enthusiastic over his being home again. They never knew that it was not merely the release from space loneliness but a return from a too long, too uneventful vacation.
He considered himself objectively one day after he found himself looking forward to the return to Terra. The investigation did not bother him; it was the question of whether his year of absence from the service would cause him a year's loss in advancement. If it caused him no loss, he would become a Senior Executive within a month or so after his return. That would give him the right to captain a destroyer like this one.
His interest and anxiousness to return to Terra had become honest. On Ertene he had argued against it. Now he knew his mind and also knew that Charalas had done the proper thing. He would not have remained on Ertene. Some day the everlasting peace and quiet would get him, and then there would have been trouble.
He owed them his life, and if some of the things in his log worked to his own satisfaction, he owed them more than that. He'd keep their secret; denying Terra the right to exploit Ertene was hard, but better deny them that than to deny them the knowledge he had gained. Terra would hold dominance over the Solar System without Ertene's presence; though it was not without Ertene's help.
Poor Ertene. A sterile, placid life that was beginning to look pale and uninteresting against the rugged, boisterous existence of men who roamed the Solar System.
Let them have their stability. What was their history? A few thousand years since the dawn of their written lore? Far greater than Sol's though he had been loath to tell them that. At that time such an admission was like admitting that one was but an adolescent. But it was true. But in those thousands of years, had their science come a comparable distance with Terra's?
And Guy knew why. With nothing to strive against, progress ceases.
He wondered whether the investigating committee would make an issue of the fact that a junior executive had been so oblivious to his duty as to permit capture by Martians. That was the only fly in his ointment, the only point over which he worried. He felt that his capture could have happened to anyone, and secretly he admired the bold stroke in the light of how daring it had been for Mars to storm the very ramparts of Sahara Base.
But investigating committees are strange things and their decisions are often based on theory instead of action with no regard to circumstances.
That one minor point continued to worry him at times.
And then the destroyer dropped out of the sky onto Sahara Base, and Guy Maynard stooped to pick up a handful of the soil of Terra. He shook it in the sky and rubbed it into his hands. He smelled of it and exhaled deeply. Then, still holding a bit of it, he faced the sector commander who was waiting for him in the command car.
The commander smiled curtly and said: "Junior Executive Maynard, you are to speak to no one. You are technically not under arrest, nor are you to be placed in that light. However a violation of the order to discuss nothing with anyone will lead to arrest."
"How long is this quarantine going to last, sir?"
"Not too long. The Board of Investigation will convene tomorrow. At that time we will decide your future."
Maynard entered the command car and they drove off silently. He was thinking: One more hurdle. If I can make it—
His dreams were troubled that night. There was nothing definite about them; they were kaleidoscopic in nature and Charalas whirled in and out of them along with Greggor of the Bureau of Exploration and Laura Greggor. In these dreams he was the central figure; a pitiful, unarmed being that could not strike back against the pointed questions that they hurled at him. He was mired in a black mess of intrigue that would follow him forever. And only by living in constant guardedness would he be safe.
For once the hurdle of the investigation was passed, there would be no recanting.
God help him if after he perjured himself they found out that his tale had been designed to cover a definite breach of his own oath.
It was the price he would pay for the success that Ertene's science would bring him.
Yet he knew that if he continued as he had started, he would be all right. To be convincing in a lie, he knew that the first problem was to convince himself.
And so Guy Maynard went into the Board of Investigation almost self-convinced that his year of loneliness was a fact.
He didn't dare consider the future if he failed to convince the Board. Not only for himself, but for Ertene and Terra both. They—he dropped the awful possibility there. He stiffened his resolve and thrust the thought from his mind. There must be no slip.
So with a part of his mind fighting to keep from viewing utter chaos, and another part of his mind telling him that he was hiding his head in the sand like an ostrich, Guy Maynard entered the large room with the silent, waiting men.
He swallowed deeply as he noted the weight of the platinum braid and he took his appointed position with a qualm of misgiving.
VI.
Guy Maynard's eyes swept about the room and saw eyes that were quiet, and if they were not openly friendly, at least they were neither hostile nor doubtful. The Board of Investigation was composed of several high officers and a civilian. He glanced at the neat pile of papers that were placed on the table before his appointed position and glanced through the names of those present, wondering about the civilian; most of the officers he knew by sight.
He nodded to himself; the civilian was Thomas Kane, a news publisher, and therefore quite natural a presence in this investigation. The fact that he was the publisher himself, and not one of his hirelings gave the investigation the air of extreme secrecy, and Guy understood that whatever went on in this gathering today would be held in the utmost confidence until the necessities of living made the publicity of the conference desirable—if ever. The public would accept the word of the publisher with more credulity than they would a prepared statement issued for common consumption by a propaganda department.
People had become used to normal propaganda, and were capable of picking it out and disregarding it. A publisher's own statements were considered to be noncontrollable since the only recourse that any Patrol investigation could take was to bar the publisher from their subsequent conferences, and to combat that the publisher could make things literally warm for any body of Patrol officers who tried to muzzle him.
The chairman, Patrol Marshal Alfred Mantley, rapped for order, and started the proceedings by telling Guy: "We have been in order for three hours, during which time we have considered the evidence presented by the log of your ... er ... journey. Also, the log has been read and digested by professional readers and pronounced authentic. The latter is not so much in defense of you, Maynard, as it is to assure us that you have not been or are not now acting under duress. You present us quite a problem, young sir. Quite a problem. Coldly and cruelly, we would find our lives less complicated if you hadn't returned," he said with a laugh. "But you are here and we are glad to have you returned. You have had quite an experience—one that is seldom enjoyed and only recorded a few times in the annals of the Terran Space Patrol. How are you feeling?"
"Quite all right."
"Fine. Now, Guy, tell us in your own words a brief account of your travels."
Guy got as far as the encounter with the Martian when he was interrupted by Patrol Marshal Jones. "How do you account for the fact that a Martian was able to penetrate to the very heart of Sahara Base?"
"I have no idea, sir. I, like the rest of us, have been led to believe that our security in the Base was perfect. Naturally I was not armed."
"No," said the chairman. "And had you been armed, I doubt that the encounter would have been different. Fighting unarmed against a Martian who is holding a MacMillan at the ready is not considered the kind of thing that any intelligent man would attempt. The fault lies with the security office, not with you."
His chief, Greggor of the Bureau of Exploration asked: "Is this an official decision? I want it made clear that my assistant is not responsible for his trouble."
"Maynard is not to be held responsible. When the word came via Senior Executive Williamson, the investigation of the kidnaping act disclosed that the blame—if any—was to lie with Security. Off the record, I can not see how any security bureau could cope with such boldness. It was born of desperation and bred of terror—and it died for lack of sheer weight and velocity."
"Thank you," said Space Marshal Greggor.
Guy went on, telling his partly-memorized tale, until he was again questioned.
"You hadn't felt the brunt of the electrolysis before theMardinexwas attacked?"
"It had just started. The final explosion broke my straps and destroyed the electrolysis equipment."
"And you couldn't make your way to a lifeship at that time?"
"I did as soon as I came to, and realized that I was alone. The least damaged lifeship required repairs that were completed several hours later. By that time we were passing through the midst of Martian territory and I thought it best to lie low."
"You preferred to take the chance of orbiting rather than running the Martian gauntlet?"
"Orbiting was no chance, sir. Running the gauntlet would have been sheer suicide since the Martians were extremely interested in theMardinex. They had most of their grand fleet out watching. Only my velocity—which prevented any attempt to stop me—and my acceleration—which prevented any attempt to try to match my speed—got me past safely. I am certain that they put a pointer on me as we went past."
"By what reasoning?"
"I would have done it, sir, if the cases had been reversed."
"Naturally," said the chairman. "Proceed, Maynard."
"Knowing that any deviation of theMardinexor electrical activity aboard would register at the Martian detector stations, at least until we were out of safe range, I proceeded to make the lifeship as spaceworthy and as comfortable as I could. I took plenty of spare equipment—"
"Of what sort?"
"Sheer gadgetry, sir, I've had a few ideas, and this looked as though I'd have plenty of time to try them out. I powered the lifeship far beyond her normal power because I had to get back home from a ship leaving the System at better than ten thousand miles per second."
"In order to bring out the resourcefulness of my assistant," said Greggor, "I want the record to state that he prepared for the boredom he knew would come."
"It is recorded."
"Then, as soon as we were beyond the longest possible range of the most powerful detector-analyzers, even when aimed by a pointer, and taking into consideration that Mars might have had an observer out about even with the orbit of Pluto, I emerged from the derelict and began to decelerate."
"Good."
"Well, that's about all," he said. He felt that this was it. He was worried that the deeper discussion might bring forth errors and contradictions, and he wanted them to lead him into the initial disclosures rather than to have them add to a statement that might be straining at the truth already. "I slept. I worked. I did about everything a man can do when he's sitting in a lifeship for a solid year waiting for his home planet to come close enough to signal to. This is the hard part. Nothing of any importance happened. One hour was like the rest. I slept when I got tired and worked until I tired of it. I ate when hungry. I shaved when my beard got uncomfortable. I probably have attained a number of bad habits during my enforced hermiting, but they will be easily broken."