"Jack and Jill went up the hillTo ..... a .... of water.Jack fell down and broke his .....And Jill came ........ after."
"Jack and Jill went up the hillTo ..... a .... of water.Jack fell down and broke his .....And Jill came ........ after."
"Jack and Jill went up the hillTo ..... a .... of water.Jack fell down and broke his .....And Jill came ........ after."
"Jack and Jill went up the hill
To ..... a .... of water.
Jack fell down and broke his .....
And Jill came ........ after."
He riffled through the pages as Bowdler went on talking. On page ten was another favorite,
"Little Polly FlindersSat among the cindersWarming her pretty little ....Her mother came and caught herAnd whipped her little daughterFor spoiling her nice new ......."
"Little Polly FlindersSat among the cindersWarming her pretty little ....Her mother came and caught herAnd whipped her little daughterFor spoiling her nice new ......."
"Little Polly FlindersSat among the cindersWarming her pretty little ....Her mother came and caught herAnd whipped her little daughterFor spoiling her nice new ......."
"Little Polly Flinders
Sat among the cinders
Warming her pretty little ....
Her mother came and caught her
And whipped her little daughter
For spoiling her nice new ......."
But the assurance of the known faded away as Bowdler's voice went rumbling on and on. "It occurred to both of us that perhaps there was some reason why we are brought up to esteem aged women so much. After all, if old ladies are as exciting as we are taught that they are, how come the Gantrys and others of the Thirty only have young concubines? This was one of the questions we asked ourselves, and we think we have the answer...."
Grundy broke in, "Have you ever wondered, Comstock, why it is that the only women who have children are the ones who are called up before the Fathers?"
This was even worse than the time Comstock's father had told him the "facts of life." Much worse, for what Grundy was intimating was at variance with what his father had taught him. It was worse.
"Maybe," Grundy said broodingly, "just maybe there is a damn good reason why the Fathers are called the Fathers!"
There are moments in life so terrifying that the very ground seems to shift beneath one's feet. That was the sensation that Comstock was experiencing. All was alien. He clung to the tattered copy of Father Goose as the only tangible thread that held his reeling sanity together. Averting his eyes from Grundy's and Bowdler's faces he hurriedly read,
"There was a little girlWho had a little curlRight in the middle of her ........And when she was good shewas very, very good.But when she was bad she was ......"
"There was a little girlWho had a little curlRight in the middle of her ........And when she was good shewas very, very good.But when she was bad she was ......"
"There was a little girlWho had a little curlRight in the middle of her ........And when she was good shewas very, very good.But when she was bad she was ......"
"There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her ........
And when she was good she
was very, very good.
But when she was bad she was ......"
Even the familiar rhyme failed in its lulling purpose. He could no longer hide behind its chant-like curtain. Bowdler's voice went on, striking ever more harshly at the roots of Comstock's being.
"What a mockery all of our lives would be if what Grundy and I think is true. Suppose everything we have been taught is a lie. What then little man? What then?"
From some unknown and previously untapped reservoir of strength Comstock managed to dredge up the ability to say, "That's ridiculous. There would be no reason under the two suns for that to be true. The truth is mighty and will prevail."
"Just a little less of the copy-book maxims if you don't mind, old man," Bowdler said. "Hear us out."
"Just suppose," Grundy bent his stocky middle body over so that he was closer to Comstock. "Just suppose for the sake of argument, that we are right. That our whole way of life is false. Look what that could mean."
Bowdler broke in, excitement making his voice harsh and rasping. "Suppose there is no real merit in old age. Suppose that the one-hundred-and-fifty year olds whose intelligence we worship as a matter of course, are really just senile old people! Then what?"
Grundy's face set. His mouth set in thin lines of derision. "I know for a fact, that the Elders are just that. Elder. There's no magic in old age no matter what they taught us in school or what they keep yelling and yammering at us all the time. Old people are just old...."
Was there no end to the men's blasphemies? Comstock shook his aching head wearily. First they had attacked the peak of all things, The Grandfather. Next they had profaned the Fathers, and now the Elders. What sacred functionaries were left to attack? None, he realized with some relief. For the pyramid of his government was erected on the broad base of the Elders, who were guided and advised by the Fathers, who were in turn guided and led by that font of all knowledge, The Grandfather.
Taking a deep breath and setting his heavy jaw, Bowdler said, "If The Grandfather is a fake as I am beginning to believe, and the Fathers a pack of self-seeking sybarites who stay in power just because they are the most direct descendants from the original Thirty, and if the Elders are doddering fossils whose intellectual powers are supposed to befuddle us and keep us in place, than I say with Grundy, the time has come to overthrow this foul regime."
So there had been a final blasphemy left!
This one was so gigantic, the meaning Bowdler's words conveyed, so treasonable, that Comstock found himself waiting for the end. Just so far could men go and no further. These two must be wiped out, destroyed along with their poisonous statements!
The idea!
Overthrow The Grandfather!
The very lightnings would, must come down and blast the two impious villains where they stood.
Comstock waited.
The lightnings, if they were coming, seemed long delayed.
But surely The Grandfather who was everywhere and knew all things must have overheard these infidels.
Why then did He not strike them down, limb and body?
It was only then, that in the very back of Comstock's mind a nervous little finger of doubt began to twist and turn, and finally asked a question.
"Suppose," the little finger scratched on the blackboard of his cortex, "suppose they're right ... suppose The Grandfather is not all powerful and all knowing?"
Then he waited for the lightnings to strike him too.
And all the while he wrestled with himself his two friends sat in strained silence, waiting ... waiting....
No lightning.
Some of the tension began to drain out of Comstock, and as it did, Grundy and Bowdler exchanged knowing looks. Bowdler said at last. "Welcome."
"Welcome, Jimmy." Grundy smiled, "now you are one of us."
One of them.
He had exchanged the peace and security of resting in Grandfather's arms, of putting his weary head against Grandpop's long beard ... Grandpop? How fast he was sliding.... He had exchanged the surety of his life, for what?
For the friendship of two drinking companions. Somehow the swap did not seem to his advantage.
Bowdler seemed almost to be able to read his mind, for he said, "Buck up, Jimmy. You're going to find it's good to be a whole man. There are rewards!"
But all Comstock could remember was the ease and safety of that which he was surrendering. It came hard. Very hard.
"Growing up is always difficult," Bowdler said, his voice soft and full of understanding. "But I promise you there are rewards."
What rewards?
Before Comstock could put his question into words, there was a crashing sound at the door, the real door, not the hidden one by which they had entered the sacred precincts of the Gantry's room.
The primapara of the door trembled beneath the assault that was being launched on it.
Through the heavy wood they could hear the voice of authority. "Open up in the name of the R.A."
All a tremble, Comstock searched his friends' faces for reassurance.
He found none.
Bowdler said, "I don't understand it."
"No point in going back the way we came, the R.A. will have found that by now," Grundy said and his forehead was washboarded with worry.
CHAPTER 5
If only the R.A. had arrived a little earlier was all that Comstock was able to think. Five minutes earlier and his convictions would have been safe. He'd have been able to throw himself into the R.A.'s protection and tell all. That way would have meant safety and perhaps a reward.
But now?
Bowdler's bulky body moved toward the door. He yelled, "All right, keep your halo cool, I'm coming."
How, Comstock wondered, could anyone be so brave? No fear showed on Bowdler's granite-like face. None at all. His hand on the door knob, he paused and called back over his shoulder, "Grundy, come here, stand at this side of the door, you, Comstock, stand on the other side. I'll stall him, and if my plan works, you two beat it! Fast! Grundy, you know where to take Comstock!"
"Sure, to Helen's," Grundy said and took up a position at the side of the door. Comstock, knees wobbling, hands sweating, stomach writhing, took up the position indicated for him.
Then Bowdler opened the door. He bowed derisively and said, his tones steady, the words ironical. "Won't you come in and make yourself comfortable?"
It was the same R.A. whose small features and lean hand had menaced them in the saloon.
His halo was bright with anger. His hand had the stun-gun at the ready. The words that came from his mouth were bright with menace. He said, "I want you three to know that my gun is set to kill!"
Now sweaty-footed fear was walking down Comstock's back. Never had he heard of an R.A. using the death control on his gun. Ordinarily just the threat of nervous stunning was enough to make the most irate submissive.
Long legs spread wide apart, hands on his hips, Bowdler said, "By what right do you enter the sanctum of a Gantry?"
"By the right invested in me by the Fathers and by my warrant from The Grandfather!" The R.A.'s reedy voice was cold.
Throwing his big head back, Bowdler laughed in the man's face. He said, "Well, now, that sounds real important. But does it mean anything?"
Spread in a straight line, as the three men were, the R.A. could only menace one of them at a time. His gun went back and forth in a slow arc.
He said, "Put your hands behind your backs and come quietly."
"Throw ourselves into the broad lap of The Grandfather, eh?" Bowdler asked and he seemed to be enjoying himself tremendously.
"Of course. He understands and He will judge your case according to its merits!"
"And having understood our case, and having judged it in advance, He will have us 'removed' for the good of society?" Bowdler asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.
"That remains to be seen," the R.A. said.
"Humph," Bowdler grinned, "if we play it your way, our remains will be all that will be seen. No, thank you. I don't think I like that method at all!"
With no warning and with no change of expression, Bowdler waited till the R.A.'s gun was pointed at Grundy at one end of its slow arc, then threw himself in a berserk charge straight at the R.A.
The R.A. hurriedly swung his gun back and pulled the trigger. He missed, and by that time Bowdler's long arms were around his knees and he was being dragged down to the soft carpet on the floor.
At the precise moment that the R.A. began to fall, Grundy gestured for Comstock to follow him and ran through the door. It took a second or so for Comstock's frozen muscles to obey his frightened brain, but then as the R.A. brought the gun up level with Bowdler's forehead and pulled the trigger, he ran.
The last sight he saw, as he chanced a look over his shoulder, was the sight of all intelligence draining out of Bowdler's face. The charge had hit him.
Slamming the door on the scene, Comstock ran, and as he ran he screamed to Grundy, "The R.A. killed him! He killed Bowdler."
Ten feet away the news made Grundy pause and almost stumble, but Comstock saw him recover and then run on. He yelled back to Comstock. "Tough. He was a good guy. But we gotta keep goin' or we'll be killed too."
The endless corridor through which they were running was dank and it was dark. There was no curve, no up or down. It was simply a black hole through which they ran and ran, and kept on running. When Comstock thought that he would never be able to breathe again, that his muscles could no longer bear his weight, that he must slump in a helpless heap and wait for death, he heard Grundy snap, "Ten feet more."
The words shot a new charge of adrenalin into Comstock. With a last surge of strength he darted after his friend's back. As a matter of fact he lunged full tilt into it because the darkness was so complete he could not see his hand before his face.
Grundy grunted, "Hold everything. I have to find the latch."
Another moment that seemed to stretch out far beyond the end of eternity and then, just as Comstock's strained ears heard footsteps running behind him in the dark. Grundy said, "There it is." And a door opened. Beyond was further darkness, but it was not as complete as the stygian blackness they were leaving. Falling through the doorway, Comstock fell to his face as Grundy slammed the door behind them.
"That'll hold the R.A. for a minute and that's all we need."
Lifting his head, forcing his trunk upwards from the ground, Comstock saw that they had come out on a street ... he looked at it while his breath raced in and out of his tortured lungs ... the street was familiar. It was the one that housed the b.....l to which he repaired once a month.
At the curb waiting, was an R.A.'s carriage. The team of astrobats waited patiently in harness, their too-pointed faces and four ears heavy with menace towards anyone who dared to approach them.
Staggering to his feet, Comstock felt Grundy's arm go around his shoulders. Grundy half carried, half pushed him into the carriage.
"But ... we can't go in this!" Comstock gasped. "You know the penalty for even going near an R.A.'s carriage!"
A final push shoved Comstock onto the seat. Grabbing the wicked metal electro-whip, Grundy forced the recalcitrant astrobats into what those crotchety animals considered a gallop.
"The first person who sees us will call for help! We're not even dressed like R.A.'s!" Comstock said.
Grundy was kind. He said patiently, "Our halos will protect us."
Looking at Grundy's head, Comstock half expected to see the silvery sheen of the mark of an R.A. But there was no sign of one.
"Are you insane? We have no halos. Only the R.A. has them."
Whipping the team expertly, Grundy said, and his words were a sigh, "You have much to learn, Comstock. There are no halos except in the eye of the beholder."
"What does that mean?"
The carriage was racing by the b.....l now and Comstock was amazed to see the madame, who was standing in the doorway, make the sign of reverence and obeisance as they raced by.
"The halos don't exist. They're just post-hypnotic suggestion implanted in our minds when we're kids. We're conditioned to see the halos when we see an R.A. We're in an R.A.'s carriage now and so anyone seeing us will see our halos. It's as simple as that. But then, you don't know what hypnotism is, do you?"
"No." Comstock said this humbly and at the moment he felt that he knew nothing at all. He turned and looked backwards.
Down the street behind them, the R.A., his halo shining brightly, like a good deed in an evil world, was pointing his gun at them. Comstock said, "The R.A. found the door. He's going to shoot us!"
Wordlessly, Grundy flicked the whip over the beasts' backs. The carriage swerved and carried them around the corner. Comstock could not tell if the R.A. had fired and missed, or had held his fire, for of course a stun-gun is silent as the grave, and only affects the human nervous system.
Careening along the quiet streets Comstock found time to feel deep and real sorrow for Bowdler. It still did not seem possible that anyone could have been as brave as all that. Aloud he said, "Bowdler sacrificed himself for us, didn't he?"
Grundy nodded, his eyes alert, scanning the road ahead, for what? Comstock wondered.
"When you are daring what we are, you must be prepared for instant sacrifice," Grundy said.
"Hadn't we better give up?" Comstock asked. "Two of us against the entire world seems ridiculous. What chances have we?"
"None if you feel that way. But if you feel as Bowdler did and as I do, that it is worth anything to be a man, then it is worth while. Any chance is worth taking."
Grundy's tone changed. He said, "When I turn the next corner I'll slow the team down. When I do, jump out."
Jump out? What new madness was this? But before he had a chance to argue, Grundy had pulled hard on the bits and snapped, "Now!"
Rolling free of the carriage on his side, Comstock saw even as he fell to the ground, that Grundy had thrown himself out of the other side of the carriage.
The team raced on, dragging the empty carriage banging and clattering at their multiple heels.
Shaken, bruised, sore from head to foot, Comstock said as Grundy pulled himself to his feet. "Why did you do that?"
"Let the R.A.'s keep their radio tail on the carriage. A lot of good it'll do them!"
Grundy again helped him to his feet, and then said, "Follow me."
Comstock's mind was a whirl again. What was a radio?
The street was even quieter than most in Comstock's city. Small houses, a decent distance apart, lined the lawns where the purplish grass sparkled in the light of the twin moons.
The house that Grundy stopped in front of was identical with all the others. He took a key from his pocket and opened the door. Then he called out, "Helen!"
Comstock had come a long way at that moment when he had waited futilely for The Grandfather's wrath to strike him dead, but he had not come to the point where he could watch the indecency of the scene that followed. Averting his eyes as the young girl entered the room, he wished desperately that he might be struck deaf so as not to have to hear what followed their entry.
In the first place she was obscenely young, not more than twenty-five. In the second place her ugly young skin was completely without wrinkles. In the third place she threw her round young arms around Grundy's neck, and in the fourth place she k....d him hard and long on the l..s and in the fifth place she crooned to him l..e words that no one should ever be forced to hear.
"Darling, darling, darling," she said over and over again. "I've missed you so terribly, I've been so worried ... but it's over and you're near me again."
"Dearest," Comstock could not help hearing Grundy say and his opinion of the man descended sharply, "My loveliest sweetheart."
Then their l.ps met again in a sustained and prolonged bit of pornographic action that left Comstock weak. Worse perhaps than the way they were pushing their l..s against each other was the way they had glued their bodies together.
He coughed trying to bring them back to their senses.
Grundy broke away from the girl. "Thank The Grandfather," Comstock thought, and then bit his lip as he realized that he no longer had the right to call on that name....
The girl said, "But where's Bowdler? Darling, what's happened ... he hasn't been ... he isn't hurt?"
"Worse, dear." And the man touched her hair. The sight made little horripilations go up and down the hair on the back of Comstock's head.
"He's not dead?"
"Yes, my darling, but he died bravely trying to save us."
She bent her head reverently and Comstock was pleased to see that even so brazen a hussy was still not lost to all the common decencies.
Grundy cleared his throat and made an obvious effort to change the subject. He said, "I'm sorry, I've forgotten to have you meet our new friend." Grundy introduced them.
Horror piled on horror. Comstock's face whitened as the young girl walked to him, took his hand, shook it, and then impulsively k....d him on the cheek.
Thank Grandfather she stopped after an interminable moment and turned back to Grundy. She asked, her voice low and shaken, "But dearest, oh my dearest, what are we to do now? Bowdler was so strong, so sure of himself; he knew so much more than we do of what is really happening in this sick world of ours ... what are we to do?"
There, it was happening again. Comstock averted his shocked eyes as Grundy put his hand on the girl's w...t and said, "You are to do nothing, my love. You'll stay here in safety. You know that Bowdler and I decided that this is a man's job, and it must stay that way. I'll take no chance of risking your lovely skin...."
Then he turned to Comstock and said decisively. "There's no use waiting any longer, taking chances, risking death the longer we wait. We'll eat, rest a bit, and then, we'll risk all!"
"You mean...." The girl let her voice fade away.
"Tonight, in half an hour," Grundy said, his face set and stern, "Comstock and I will go before the Board of Fathers and challenge The Grandfather!"
Some of his resolution faded and he said more quietly, "But how I wish Bowdler were with us. We three might have stood a better chance. But he had set the time as tonight, and I'll not be false to his trust."
Half an hour, Comstock thought dully. It wasn't long to live ... not long enough at all....
CHAPTER 6
In one way the half hour just vanished. In another, it lasted longer than all the rest of Comstock's life put together. While he stood in the doorway, his back to Grundy and the impassioned l..e scene that Helen and Grundy were enacting as what might be their last farewell, he wondered how thirty minutes which had seemed to go on so long, seemed to fly past so quickly.
He could hear Grundy almost moan, "'Helen thy beauty is to me as ...'", and then harsh and strident, drowning out all other sound, seeming like the sound that was the ultimate that human ears could ever bear to hear there came an enormously amplified voice.
Comstock had never heard The Grandfather speak, and yet, now hunching himself into a pre-natal ball, his hands pressed tight against his ears, he knew that no other voice could have held that command, that awe-inspiring tone, that this voice held which now threatened to deafen him permanently.
The words that smote at Comstock were, "I am displeased."
Grundy ran to Comstock, gripped him by the shoulders, pulled Comstock's hands away from his ears and roared, "Follow me! They've got a speaker hidden someplace near here. I never knew they'd found Helen."
The girl's face was washed clean of every emotion but that of anger. She stood at Grundy's side, her hands on her hips and the words she spat out, hurt Comstock's ears even more than the larger than life roar of The Grandfather.
She said, "What a cheap trick!"
"Darling, I can't leave you here now. You must come with us!" Grundy's face was tortured.
"I know," she assented and waited for his orders.
Somehow Comstock forced himself to his feet. He would not, could not, allow himself to be shamed by this girl child. It was unmanly.
The voice of The Grandfather said, "My grandchildren are being naughty. I do not like this conduct. I am afraid, very afraid that you three need punishment."
The tones mumbled a long time after the words were no longer separable. It was like the aftermath of thunder. Comstock moaned in horrified torment.
All his fears were back. The Grandfather was omnipotent just as he had always been taught. And yet, and yet ... that little canker of doubt in the back of his head kept muttering, if that were so, how could the girl have called it all a cheap trick? Were there even more things, that he, Comstock, did not understand?
As far as his fevered eye could see there was no sign of humanity. Comstock knew that behind the drawn blinds of the houses on the street people like him were huddled in fear, hoping desperately that the voice did not refer to them.
Grundy said, "If they've got a speaker planted near here, that means we're under surveillance."
"Of course," Helen agreed, "that's obvious. What do we do about it?"
"I wish I'd never gotten you involved in this, dear," Grundy said.
"I'm glad. For if you hadn't, we'd never have had what little we have had out of life. I think it's been worth it, and more."
The smile on Grundy's face was so radiant, the renewed courage he clearly had received from what she said, made Comstock think that perhaps Bowdler had been right, perhaps there were indeed rewards for being a whole man.
Grundy blew a kiss to Helen, and then a smile that oddly enough reminded Comstock of Bowdler crossed his face. He walked from the entrance of the house out into the center of the street. Then, feet separated, again so like Bowdler, his hands on his hips, he threw his head back and looking at the sky he roared out a challenge.
"Come and get us! Don't treat us like sorry grandchildren, come and get us. I dare you!"
Across the street Comstock saw a curtain being pulled slightly to one side. Then a frightened eye stared out. The Grandfather or his representatives would have to answer Grundy's challenge, he realized with a little thrill of pride.
The powers-that-be dared not allow the people to see a man defy The Grandfather.
It was, Comstock thought, rather a wonderful thing to be a rebel.
But the feeling passed quickly when, with a speed that defied his understanding, a kind of vehicle he had never before seen appeared roaring out of the distance. It had four wheels, and a carriage-like body, but no team of astrobats drew it. Instead it seemed to be propelled by magic. It was rather a noisy magic for a series of explosions seemed to come from the front of it constantly.
Above the low roar of the carriage's explosions rose the voice of The Grandfather. "I have dispatched a chariot for you. Beware my wrath and come quietly."
Helen looked jubilant. She said, "We're forcing their hand. This is the first time in centuries they've found it necessary to use a car!"
"If we only had more strength," Grundy said, "I'd almost be optimistic. We sure have them worried."
Then the object Helen had called a "car" drew up in front of them and a door opened. Four of the leanest, hardest R.A.'s that Comstock had ever seen pointed stun-guns at the three of them. The man who sat behind a wheel said, "Get 'em in quick. No sense in having too many of these slobs see this car."
Comstock flashed a look of inquiry at Grundy.
"Sure let's join them. It's easier to be driven there, than to have to walk as I'd figured!"
The vehicle was obviously not designed to hold seven people and since the four R.A.'s drew away from Helen with the same kind of sick disquietude that Comstock had felt, the small remaining space left for Grundy, the girl and Comstock made them all wedge in rather tightly.
Helen's flesh was soft and warm, Comstock realized with a shock, and the clean, sweet smell of her in his flaring nostrils was a warning that Bowdler and Grundy might well be right. There was something about young women ... something unlike the emotion he had felt on his monthly visits to his elderly lady friends in the b.....l.
The "car" raced through the deserted streets with a speed that would have scared Comstock out of a year's growth if he had not had so many other larger worries tearing at him.
Most baffling to him was the fact that despite the fact that they were going before a tribunal which would sentence them to death, Grundy was able to lean closer to Helen and whisper to her a poem that Comstock had never heard before and the words of which failed to make any sense.
He was saying, "Is this the face that launched a thousand ships?"
And then he k....d her.
In the Grandfather's "car" with four R.A.'s right there, Grundy was k.....g Helen!
It was flabbergasting to Comstock and in a strange way that he could not quite understand he felt a little pang of jealousy. He found he would have liked to have had a Helen next to him.... Someone young and brave ... and soft ... and warm ... who smelled like the girl now pressed so close against him.
Something of what he was thinking must have communicated itself to the girl for she turned from her beloved and said, "Poor Comstock. It's not as though you were all alone. We're with you!"
Then her full-soft lips were pressed on his forehead.
The blood pounding into his head made his face flare crimson.
Sounds of disgust from the four R.A.'s made him angry instead of upset as they might have.
What did they, poor fools, know of the feelings of a rebel? Of a ... hero?
The kiss buoyed him up all the way to the House of the Fathers. But then, when the ominous, tall, round building rose up in front of them, and he could see the two circular perispheres at the base of the trylon-like structure, fear returned.
In one of the completely round low buildings was the House of the Fathers. The other, on the right hand side, was the meeting place of the Elders. And high above in the very tip of the tall round building was The Grandfather's Retreat.
It was awe-inspiring because never before had he been closer to it than a mile and that only on those days sacred to the memory of The Grandfather.
The car jolted to a halt right in front of the trylon.
The R.A.'s hustled the three of them out of the vehicle. Where were they to be taken? Comstock watched wide-eyed. Their guards took them past the door on the right. So they were not to be taken before the Elders!
There was no sign that they were going to be forced over to the left. That meant they were not to go before the Fathers.
Instead they were marched through the center door.
Breathing became almost impossible for Comstock. They were being taken into The Grandfather's Retreat.
Never before had he heard of such a thing happening. But then, of course, never before had anyone challenged The Grandfather. At least not to Comstock's knowledge.
Inside the doorway there were broad windows. Through one of them Comstock could see into the room where all the Elders were met in solemn conclave. Their aged incredibly wise faces were heavy with responsibility. All of the seamed faces were turned so that the Elders could see the three who had defied authority.
The force of all the red-rimmed eyes staring at Comstock was enough to turn his knees to jelly. Instantly Grundy was at his side, words of encouragement on his lips.
He said, "Forget the old codgers. They're so senile they don't even know what's happening."
In some way Grundy's blasphemy was like a jolt of fresh air, or a couple of corpse revivers. With the thought of liquor, Comstock suddenly realized that he should be sick. His heart should be bothering him. It had been ages and ages since he had had a drink. And yet, despite all the alarums and excursions, his heart had not bothered him. That was odd....
But all thought, and almost all consciousness ebbed away when that voice came thundering down.
It said, "Take them before The Fathers before you bring them to me!"
The R.A.'s paused in their tracks and then changed the direction in which they had been going.
Ahead was the biggest door that Comstock had ever seen. Discreetly lettered on it was a sign. It read, "The Fathers."
The leader of the R.A.'s opened the door and then Helen, Grundy and he were pushed through the door into an ante-room. It was small and on the far side of it was an even bigger door than the one by which they had entered.
All around the walls of the little room were chairs.
Comstock realized with horror that the door was all that separated them from the united might of the Fathers. They must be meeting in solemn conclave, deciding what should be done with the three guilty ones.
And then the R.A.'s left, their halos shining more brightly than Comstock had ever seen any R.A.'s halo shine.
The three were alone.
The Fathers in the next room, and above all brooding in titantic majesty was The Grandfather ... waiting....
Helen sat down, crossed her legs, with a flourish that revealed not only her slim a....s but, Comstock gulped as he watched in awed fascination, he could see her c....s! They were round and full.
Throwing himself into a chair next to her, Grundy said, "It's their next move, blast them! I hope they hurry it up!"
Unable to do anything but pace back and forth, sneaking an occasional look at Helen's l..s, Comstock brooded about what had happened to him.
Nightmarish in essence, he yet wondered whether it hadn't been worth it. He was no braver than ever, but there were new emotions, new sensations raging through him. After all, he was a man. And as a man, he was, when all was said and done, capable of being a father. For that matter right at that moment, and looking almost boldly at Helen's c....s, he felt that he would kind of like to be a real Father! Not with Helen, after all she was Grundy's, but with some other girl like her....
He had not ever felt that way about any of the elderly ladies he had seen, and certainly never with the woman he visited once a month.
Turning he faced the door behind which the Fathers were sitting and considering his case. The arrogance of them! To think that if his friend's hypothesis was correct, these men had their pick of all the young girls on the planet with whom to.... Even then, he could not think the word, but the anger was real.
He still could not watch when Grundy k....d Helen and touched her, but he found that it was for a different reason.
Then Helen gasped and Grundy swore, and Comstock turned to look in the direction of their gaze.
The door of the Fathers' room had opened.
And through it walked Bowdler. Big as life!
CHAPTER 7
Bowdler's smile was as warm as ever, and his face was just as alive as it had been before Comstock saw it glaze in death. He said, "Take it easy, kids. I'm alive. Really I am."
Then all three, Grundy, Helen and Comstock spoke at once, their words garbled, their tones excited. Bowdler held up one meaty hand and said, "Hold everything. The R.A. lied when he said that his stun-gun was set to kill. That's all there is to it. I came to shortly after you both got away."
Grundy and Helen were at Bowdler's side, Grundy pump-handling his friend's hand, Helen hugging him with relief. But Comstock stood off to one side and considered this miraculous return from death. Why, he wondered almost coldly, had the R.A. lied? What function would it serve? Had it served?
Bowdler must have felt Comstock's thoughts for he turned and said, "There was a reason, Comstock. Truly there was, and a good one."
The seriousness in Bowdler's tone made Helen and Grundy draw back a little. Then they retreated in sudden panic at his next words, for Bowdler said, "You see, my friends, I ordered the R.A. to lie to you."
Perhaps because Grundy had been a friend of Bowdler's longer or perhaps because Comstock had been pushed as far as a man can be pushed, for whatever reason, or combination of reasons, Comstock suddenly found himself for the first time in all his wild adventure taking the initiative. He snapped, "No one can give an R.A. an order but a Father!"
Bowdler smiled, "That's right, Comstock. Good work, boy. Youhavecome a long way."
It was Grundy who gasped, "Then you are a Father?"
Nodding, Bowdler said, "Yes."
Before they could question Bowdler any further, he suddenly put his finger to his lips in the immemorial gesture for silence. Then he pointed at the closed door behind which the Board of Fathers were sitting in solemn conclave. Bowdler whispered, "We've only got a split second before you are called up before them."
"What can we say, what can we do?" Grundy pleaded.
"I thought," Bowdler said, his brow furrowed with worry, "that I'd be in a position to fight for you all by this time. But my plan didn't work out. They're furious at your effrontery. I'm afraid if you go before them now they'll sentence you to death."
Comstock looked around him wildly. Life had become much more sweet to him in the last few days and he didn't intend to give it up without a battle.
Bowdler said, "If I could only spirit you all away to safety...."
That was when the door opened. A uniformed emissary of the Fathers, his regalia frightening in its black severity, came through the doorway. He was to the left of Comstock.
He barked, "Follow me." Then, sure in the arrogance of power, he turned his back on Comstock and the others and began to walk back towards the door. It was obvious that the thought that they might not follow him had not even crossed his mind.
Grundy made a signalling motion to Comstock, a chopping gesture with the side of his hand that puzzled Comstock mightily. Seeing that Comstock was baffled, Grundy brought the edge of his hand down in the same chopping motion on Helen's neck. Then he pointed at the black garbed man who was leading the way into ... death....
Once the idea penetrated Comstock's considerably bemuddled mind he sprang into action as though he had been trained in violence all his life. Leaping closer to the emissary he whacked the edge of his hand down on the nape of the man's neck.
As he did so, Grundy and Bowdler ran to join him. They caught the man before he hit the ground. Comstock stood stock still, and looked at his hand in some wonder. The idea! His hand had struck down a member of the inner circle of the Fathers' Right Arms! Incredible!
As though the whole thing had long ago been rehearsed in its entirety, Helen pushed the door closed, hiding completely what had just happened.
All the while that Comstock stood and gloried in his own daring, the others were busy ripping the uniform from the unconscious man's body.
Bowdler was grunting from the effort, his big beefy face almost vermillion with strain. He had yanked off the guard's trousers and was now holding them up in front of Grundy, as if estimating how they would fit.
"Nope." He grunted, and then threw the pants to Comstock. "They'd never fit Grundy. You'll have to wear the uniform."
Still bemused, for otherwise the very thought of doing what he was, would have made him faint, Comstock stripped off his own trousers, in front of Helen! and put on the guard's. While he was busy dressing, Bowdler said, "The only thing I can see to do, is for you to try to escape from here, with Comstock masquerading as an R.A. Meanwhile, I'll join the Fathers and see if I can distract them long enough to let you three get away."
"But where will we go?" Helen asked, "They've found out about me, and my house."
"I know, I know," Bowdler grunted impatiently. "Let me think."
By that time Grundy had helped Comstock into the form fitting black jacket. The final touch was the menacing slouch hat that went with the uniform.
Comstock drew himself up proudly. This was living! Of course, he thought, and the idea made him deflate his chest rapidly; if they were caught now, their deaths would be even more unpleasant.... But he patted the evil little stun-gun at his hip, and tried to feel very, very brave.
The man on the floor, looking highly undignified in his long underwear, and not at all menacing, stirred uneasily, and moaned. Bowdler bent down and rapped him on the point of his chin, and the man relaxed into deep unconsciousness again.
Not willing to be put off any longer, Comstock asked, "Bowdler, since you're a Father, why are you doing what you're doing?"
"No time for that, boy, no time at all."
Grundy added his curiosity, "But we must know, Bowdler, we can't keep up this insane hare and hounds chase unless we know what's going on!"
Bowdler pushed Grundy and Helen towards Comstock and snapped, "Later, later. For now, all I can say is that I am fed up with the unfairness of the way our world is being run. I went out into your world to try and find rebels to use as the nucleus for a revolution. But there's no time now for any further explanations. Listen to me carefully. The guards at the front entrance would recognize you, Comstock, even in that uniform, so you must escape by the back exit. To get to it, turn right when you leave here, go to the end of the long hall, and then turn left, follow that passage to its end and then turn right. That'll lead you to the garage. Commandeer a car and go to 14 Anthony Comstock Road. I'll join you as soon as I safely can."
"Right, left, right," Grundy said. "Okay, Bowdler. I hope you can join us soon!"
"Before you go," Bowdler said, "Sock me on the jaw."
Grundy asked, "Hit you? Why should I?"
"Do as he says," Helen said impatiently. "He has to have an alibi for our escape."
Closing his eyes, Grundy lashed out suddenly. His fist missed Bowdler's chin and landed high on his cheek near Bowdler's eye. He snorted in annoyance, but said, "All right, all right, that'll have to do. Now run!"
Throwing himself on the thickly carpeted floor he imitated the truly unconscious man who was slumped there.
Lifting his head he said, "Beat it! Go on ... hurry!"
They left.
Comstock chanted to himself over and over again as they walked down the long impressive marble corridor, right, left, right. What was behind the doors they passed? Would he ever know? Each one seemed more menacing than the one before it. And somehow, high above him, Comstock could feel the brooding majesty of The Grandfather. Surely here in the buildings that were sacred to Him, The Grandfather must know what they were doing. His knees shook and his stomach turned over as he thought of the effrontery of what they were doing.
If one of the doors that lined the corridor had so much as squeaked, Comstock thought, he would die. He knew it. He knew his weak heart would not be able to stand the strain and that was all there was to it.
The silence that surrounded them was harrowing.
Grundy, his arm around Helen protectively, kept his eyes busy searching, hoping against hope that no one would see them, question them ... or suspect them.
Comstock's palm and fingers were sweaty with the agony of the grip he had on the butt of the stun-gun.
Ahead of them was the end of the corridor and no one had seen them.
Taking an even deeper breath, Comstock strode to the left. The other two followed in his footsteps. This corridor was shorter, he was grateful to see, and the one that went off to the right at the end of it seemed lighter. At least it did not seem quite as dark and gloomy as the way they had come.
And then they had come to the end of the last hallway and ahead was the door that Bowdler said led to escape. But the highest hurdle, Comstock thought, was still ahead. They had to steal an auto from a garage. He had learned that the astrobatless-carriage that had conveyed them there was called an auto, but what in the world was a garage?
He hoped it wasn't some new horror.
All three of them froze. The door that led outdoors was opening.
Grundy had to nudge Comstock in the ribs to make him move. For the sight of a platoon of black-garbed R.A.'s stretching off into the middle distance that was revealed when the door opened had been enough to end any and all thoughts of resistance on the part of Comstock.
The leader of the R.A.'s snapped a salute at Comstock which he answered only when Grundy's elbow dug deeply into his rib cage. The R.A. Leader said, "Reporting to The Fathers!"
Comstock made a gesture that he hoped would look as if he was giving the Leader permission. It was obvious from the way the man was behaving that he thought Comstock outranked him. And as Comstock, Grundy and the girl passed the platoon, it occurred to Comstock that any R.A. who was employed at this fountainhead would of necessity outrank any others.
The platoon stood at frozen-faced, stiff-backed attention as the trio left the back door and walked across the greensward toward a building that Grundy whispered to Comstock must be the garage.
When they were out of earshot of the platoon, Comstock sneaked a look back over his shoulder. The black-garbed men, like automatons, were marching into the building.
Grundy said, "Okay, so we've found the garage, but how are we going to drive the car? That's the next big question."
Comstock was too relieved, first by the fact that they had escaped the R.A.'s and second by the fact that the garage had turned out to be just a building, to take on any new worry for a while.
Smiling a little, Helen said, "Hold on, Bowdler said we were to take a car, therefore, it must be easy to drive one; or else we'll have to force an R.A. to drive it for us."
"I suppose you're right," Grundy said, but he sounded dubious.
"If we make an R.A. drive it for us, that'll mean we're stuck with him," Comstock said. "I don't think we want one of them around, do we?" Then he saw a black uniform and he snapped, "Quiet!"
The man saluted as, Grundy in the lead, Helen following him, and Comstock bringing up the rear, they entered the "garage". Comstock said, "I have been ordered by the Fathers to take these prisoners on a journey."
The black uniform was dirty and greasy which surprised Comstock. He'd never before seen an R.A. who was not spotless. However, when he saw what the man had been working on he was no longer surprised. The man waved a filthy hand at an object on four wheels and said, "Try this one. I'm having a lot of trouble with these blasted things." He shook his head. "If we only had some new parts. I don't know how much longer I can keep stealing parts from one car and putting them in another."
Comstock had to make a decision. His hand still on his stun-gun, he said to Grundy, "Get behind that wheel, and let's get started."
Slightly taken aback, Grundy gulped and then said, "Yes sir. Right away, sir."
There was no other way that Comstock could see that it could be done. An R.A. would not have driven the car and allowed the two prisoners to sit idly in the back of the conveyance.
The dirty uniformed man, mumbling under his breath, got down on all fours and began to tinker with the underneath part of the "car" he had been working on when they entered the "garage".
That was a bit of luck for it allowed Grundy to enter the "car," get behind the wheel and examine the various controls. Comstock and Helen sat grandly in the back seat and waited.
Finally, after a long wait, Comstock leaned forward and whispered to Grundy, "Better get started before he gets suspicious."
He was a little shocked at the curses that Grundy directed at him. They ended by the man saying, "All right, genius, you tell me what to do!"
The dirty man's legs were all that showed from the place where he was working. Comstock leaned over Grundy's shoulders and said, "What about that key? It seems to be part of the works."
Shrugging, Grundy turned the key. There were a lot of things sticking up out of the floor and Comstock said, "They look like feet would fit on them, don't they?"
Sticking out one foot experimentally, Grundy said, "Hmmm ... yes, they do."
Then there was a series of explosions, and a sudden jolting start that threw Comstock into Helen's lap.
Later, when they had learned a bit about driving, they were all very grateful that the "car" had been pointed at the opening in the door when it started, for they knew that they would never have been able to figure out how to reverse it.
Their vehicle bucked and bounced as it roared out through the doorway. It was only after the first thirty seconds of movement that Grundy remembered that the other driver had held his hands on the wheel.
Trying this, he found that the car responded to his touch. Rather delighted, he turned the wheel sharply. Instantly Comstock was thrown off Helen's lap onto the floor of the "car". She landed on top of him driving the breath out of his lungs in a gasp that he momentarily feared was so noisy that The Grandfather, perched high in his tower, would hear.
But the sound of the explosions in the front of the car drowned out all other noises.
Careening down the esplanade away from the frightening buildings, away from the Fathers and The Grandfather, Comstock finally managed to push Helen off of him and get back into the seat. She was grinning excitedly and he found that he too shared in the feeling. In the front seat Grundy called back, "Hey, this is kind of fun!"
It stopped being fun when it became necessary to turn a corner. This was a difficult maneuver and when it was over, Helen and Comstock were again entwined in a manner that was highly indecent. Now that the buildings they had escaped from were receding into the distance, Comstock found that he was rather enjoying the feel of Helen's soft flesh.
It made him blush and his heart must have suffered from the strain, but nevertheless he did, he told himself, enjoy being near her. What a ghastly perversion! To find youth exciting! What would his dear Father have thought?
But then he decided not to worry too much about Father. One thought was uppermost in his mind. He wanted a girl just like Helen. If one could be found.
Grundy yelled above the sound the vehicle was making. "We're almost there. What number house did Bowdler say?"
"Fourteen, I think," Comstock said and he was glad to have a break in the direction that his thoughts were taking.
Next to him, Helen pursed her full lips and whistled. She said, "Take a look!"
The house well repaid a look. It was the closest that Comstock had ever been to a home that belonged to one of the Fathers. Immense, sprawling, with a lawn that was as carefully tended as time and work could make it, crisp bushes, trimmed and shaped, the house was a gem. It was on the side of a hill that sloped steeply downwards.
They drew up in front of it and a new problem arose. Grundy yelled, "Better jump. I don't know how to stop this thing!"
One after the other they leaped from the "car" which, since Grundy did not know how to shift the gears, was still in first and was making all of fifteen miles an hour.
Rolling over and over, hands and knees badly scraped, Comstock thought, "There must be a better way than that to get out of a car". But then, as the vehicle sped faster and faster down the decline of the hill, he said, "Grundy.... Helen.... Did you notice anything odd on the way here?"
They were picking themselves up and Grundy was being, Comstock thought, a little too solicitous about Helen and whether she was hurt, so he repeated himself a little more loudly.
"Odd?" Grundy finally said after he had patted Helen in various places, in none of which it seemed to Comstock, it had been likely for the girl to have injured herself, "What do you mean?"
"Don't you realize we didn't pass a single human being all the way here?"
"You're right," Helen said. "Thatispeculiar!"
Grundy looked about them. There was no one in sight. No one at all. That was not too peculiar, not here, not this near a Father's house, but the other streets should have been full of people.... It was all very strange.
Down at the bottom of the hill the driverless "car" crashed into a tree. It was the only sound but for their breathing. Helen shivered.
Comstock said, "Let's get in the house. Quickly."
It was one thing, Comstock thought, to have been in a room that belonged to a Gantry, as they had been, but it was a completely different and much more frightening thing to be walking up the path to a house that belonged to a Father, even one like this that belonged to Bowdler who certainly had seemed to be friendly.
They were on the steps of a broad pleasant verandah now, and the entrance to the house was directly in front of them. The door was white, and had neatly lettered on it, "Enter."
Comstock grabbed Helen's free hand, her other was in the fold of Grundy's arm. Then all of them moved slowly towards the door.
It opened before Comstock could put his hand on the knob.
It swung wide enough for them to see that no one had opened it for them.
From inside the house, a heavy metallic voice said, "Welcome may you be."
CHAPTER 8
Perhaps the single most frightening thing in the big living room to Comstock was the fact that the walls were solid with books. The cases ran from the floor to the ceiling and every available space was stuffed helter skelter with books, books and more books. In all his life it is highly unlikely that Comstock had ever seen more than ten or fifteen books at one time, and then only in what passed for a library in his culture.
Why, he thought, there must be thousands of books here. On what subjects could the authors have written? What was there to write that much about? A small hope persisted for a moment that maybe, for some strange reason, most of the books might be duplicates. But that was eradicated when he looked at the odd, mysterious titles of the volumes. There were no duplicates and seemingly the books were divided up into categories. But some of the categories were so strange to Comstock that they passed his ability to comprehend.
What, he wondered, could sociology be? Or anthropology, or psychology, or these massive volumes full of poems ... not simple enjoyable poems like Father Goose, but queer, abstruse ones, whose words made no sense at all to Comstock's reeling brain.
While he hurried around the room blowing dust off the tops of the books he was looking at, Helen and Grundy were concerned with who had greeted them on their entrance.
Leaving Comstock to his perusal of the shelves, Grundy tip-toed out of the room, and then looking in no particular direction, he called, "Hello? Who are you! Where are you?"
The same metallic voice answered, "I am the house. I am here to supply your wants, to feed you and make you comfortable."
When Comstock heard this the shock was too much for him. He swayed, and then sank, with an armful of books, into the deep recesses of an easy chair. A cloud of dust surrounded him. Instantly a whirring sound emanated from a screened section of the floor and he felt rather than saw the dust disappearing.
Considerably shaken, Grundy came back into the library. Helen said, "What do you suppose it is, darling?"
"Bowdler has told me about robots ... machines that act almost like we do, but I never, ever, thought that one could run a whole house this way!"
Comstock was willing to accept the robot as he would have the word fairy when he was a child and he was even more inclined to confuse the two things, when at Grundy's mention of being hungry, the door swung open and a wheeled cart entered loaded down with food the like of which none of the three had ever seen.
Sitting in a rather numb silence the three people stared at the food. But then the odors that came from it were too much for them and disregarding the magic of its appearance they ate as they never had before.
That was the beginning, for Grundy and Helen and Comstock, of an enchanted month. At first, from minute to minute, they expected pursuit, and capture. But as time passed happily by, as every fleeting fancy was instantly taken care of by the house, they relaxed, and what was most important, began to devote almost all their waking hours to the books that confronted them on every side, in every room of the house.
No one ever seemed to pass the house, they heard no sounds from outside. They were in a charmed circle, in which every desire was instantly fulfilled.
Comstock was not aware of how and when it happened, but soon he was not even embarrassed at the sight of Grundy and Helen kissing and caressing each other. He no longer wanted to swoon when he heard them exchange love words. But what did happen was that he wanted some one like Helen more and more as time went on.
At first they waited impatiently for Bowdler to put in an appearance, but when days passed and there was no sign of him they ceased to expect him. Then worry began to take the place of expectancy. Suppose, they'd say, suppose he was found out by the Board of Fathers ... was a Father ever punished? They did not know.
Occasionally, but only very occasionally, Comstock would put his hand to his chest and wonder why his heart disease no longer troubled him, but a question which is unanswerable ceases in some cases to be a question, and he almost forgot about it most of the time.
Then too, the contents of the books which they were devouring with such avidity were so exciting that it almost seemed that there was not enough time in one day for all the reading they wanted to do.
They'd rise in the morning and the instant they sat up in their respective beds, the doors of their bedrooms would open, wheeled carts would enter their room, and the house would serve them their breakfasts.
Having risen, clean clothes would be supplied. Then they'd hurry to the library, discuss what they'd been reading and then, undisturbed except by luncheon and dinner, they'd read, read, read.
Sometimes the house would seem to feel that they were devoting too much time to books and it would suddenly and magically produce games and they'd play away an evening.
But when the morrow dawned the lure of the books would call them back.
Their biggest problem was in deciding which of the books they read were fact and what fiction. This was their only noteworthy argument. One morning for instance, Comstock said, "I found a wonderful old book last night filled with reports on criminals. Fascinating! One of them was about a court in some kingdom or other back on earth where a prince found out that his step-father had murdered his real father in order to marry his mother."
"I remember that one," Helen said, "It ended with practically everyone in the court murdered."
"That's the one," Comstock nodded.
"Y'know," Grundy said. "I wonder if that was really a report on actual criminals."
"Must have been," Comstock argued, "no fiction writer would have had the prince dilly dally the way that one did, never able to make up his mind what to do. Only in real life do people bumble along that way."
"Mmm...." Grundy disagreed, "I think a fine writer might have done just that in order to make the character seem real."
"Prince Hamletmusthave been real," Comstock said, "He could not have been imagined. No, I'm sure that is fact. But this book I'm reading now, what nonsense!"
He held up Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire."
"What an imagination! Fantastic!" Shaking his head he went on with his reading.
It was a day or two later when he was reading what he considered another criminal report, the story of a Moor and jealousy, that the idea occurred to him.
Putting down the book, he stared thoughtfully off into space. The idea had just never entered his brain before. Was it possible, he wondered, that he might be able to woo Helen away from Grundy?
Not knowing a thing about how to go about it interfered quite a bit, he found. His flirtation, if you could call it that, began to resemble a game of hide and go seek, for he would lurk in dark corners of the house and wait for Helen to walk by alone.
Then, darting out, he'd try to manufacture love talk, or what seemed to pass for it in the book he'd been reading. One day, having succeeded in scaring Helen half out of her wits, by popping out of a linen closet and appearing at her side completely unexpectedly, he made a groping motion and managed to capture one of her hands. Bending over it, he kissed it.
That surprised Helen almost as much as his darting out of the closet and she was even more surprised when he said, his voice low, so that Grundy in the next room would not hear him, "Helen ... I...." But then his voice vanished and he was unable to go on with the speech he had prepared.
One eyebrow raised so high that it almost succeeded in touching her hair line, Helen considered him. Then she asked, "Is anything wrong? Do you feel all right?" Then she put her hand on his forehead and said, "Are you feverish?"
The speech that should have come tumbling out of his mouth raced through his mind, he thought, "Yes, I am feverish, burning with desire.... Nothing can put out the fire but you...." That is what he thought. What he said, was, "Um.... I guess Iamfeeling sick. I think I'll go up and lay down for a while." Then tottering off he left her there.
Lying down, even with a cool cloth on his head, he found did not suffice to quench the fire that was threatening to consume him.
Returning to his reading he found that on occasion, earthmen had murdered the men who stood in the way of their desire. Then it was that he began to trail Grundy instead of Helen. He'd stand in a doorway, while Grundy innocently read, and think of ways to kill his friend. Poison, he found in his reading, was one of the commoner ways of removing the other lover. That would have been fine and he'd have been glad to poison Grundy but for the small fact that he didn't have the vaguest idea what poison was.
And, what if he killed Grundy and even then Helen didn't fall in love with him? That was a big factor and one that succeeded in baffling him for quite a while. Perhaps, he decided finally, he'd better make sure she at least liked him before he went to the slightly extreme extent of murdering his friend.
But before he could take matters of any kind in hand, there came an interruption in the even tenor of their ways. Precisely a month after they entered Bowdler's house, the door opened and Bowdler came through the entrance, a broad smile of inquiry on his heavy face.
He asked no questions about how they were making out, he told them nothing about what he had been doing. Instead he asked, "Has she arrived yet?"
"She?" The word was chorused by the trio.
"Yes," Bowdler said, his expression changing and worry showing on it. "She should have been here by now if she escaped from the R.A.'s." Shaking his head, he sat down in one of the big comfortable chairs that were scattered all around the library. "She's the best possibility I've found since you three. Courageous, with a real brain in her head. I hope she's not been captured."
Grundy, Comstock and Helen stifled the questions which were crowding to their lips, questions about the house, about the books, about the reason for their having been sequestered so long. In the face of Bowdler's worry, their questions seemed picayune.
"When should she have arrived?" Comstock asked.
"This morning. I helped her get away last night, gave her directions, and then turned off the force field that's been protecting the house and you three in my absence. If she doesn't appear soon, I'll have to turn it back on. I can't risk having the R.A.'s stumble on this retreat of mine."
"Force field?" Grundy asked timorously.
"Sure, a smaller version of the thing that the last scientists built to protect our whole planet from interlopers. Unseen, it blankets the whole area around the house in an invisible sheath that keeps anyone from even being aware of the house."
So that, Comstock thought, was why they had heard no one, seen no one passing by.
Bowdler got up from his chair and began to pace the floor uneasily. "It's getting later. I'd better turn the force field back on, even though it means that she'll never get here. Sometimes sacrifice is essential."
Rather to Comstock's surprise, he got to his feet, jutted out his rather insignificant jaw and said, "I'm going looking for her!"
"Good boy!" Grundy said approvingly.
Helen asked, "But how will you manage to get back even if you find her?"
"I don't know. All I know is that I can't rest thinking of someone wandering around at the mercy of the Father's Right Arms."
"I've got it," Bowdler said, slowly, "You go ahead, Comstock. Look for her to the east, down around Puritan Square. That's the direction from which she would be coming, if she's not been captured. Then, at twelve midnight, and twelve noon, I'll turn off the field for exactly thirty seconds each day and night till you return." The if, was unspoken.
"Shall I go dressed in the R.A.'s uniform or as a citizen?" asked Comstock.
"Umm...." Bowdler pulled at his lip thoughtfully, then said, "I'd go as a private individual. That way there should be fewer problems."
Helen asked the question that should have occurred to Comstock. "How will he know her?"
"She's about Comstock's height, willowy, red-haired, and instead of the dull apathetic look that most of our fellow citizens have, she has bright green eyes that penetrate right to the core of any problem. You'll know her as a fellow rebel as soon as you see her!"
Comstock wanted to ask how old she was but he couldn't. He felt that it might reveal the motives that were driving him out of the security of Bowdler's house into the harsh reality of his world which he had grown to hate and fear.