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CLANS OF THE ALPHANE MOON |
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THIRTEEN The bulky Mans tank, clanking and rattling, its headlights blazing, coasted up beside Gabriel Baines and Annette Golding and hiccoughed to a halt. The turret flew open and the Mans within stood up cautiously. From the surrounding darkness there emerged no laser beam attack by Dr. Mary Rittersdorf. Perhaps, Gabriel Baines thought hopefully, Mrs. Rittersdorf had acceded to the request posted by the Holy Triumvirate, to the letters of fire in the sky. In any case this appeared to be his and Annette's opportunity, as promised by Ignatz Ledebur. In one swift motion he leaped up, tugged Annette to her feet, and with her scrambled up the side of the Mans tank. The driver helped them inside, banged the hatch shut after them; together the three of them sprawled within the cramped cab of the tank, panting sweatily. We got away, Gabriel Baines informed himself. But he felt no joy. It did not seem important; in the great scheme it was a very little matter which they had accomplished. Still, it was something. Reaching out he put his arm around Annette. The Man said, "You're Golding and Baines? The council members?" "Yes," Annette said. "Howard Straw ordered me to round you both up," the Mans explained; he got behind the controls of his tank and started it into motion once more. "I'm supposed to take you to Adolfville; there's a further meeting of the interclan council about to take place and Straw insists you have to be there." And so, Gabriel Baines reflected, because Howard Straw needs us for a vote, we survive; Mary Rittersdorf doesn't get to pick us off in the first light of dawn. Ironic. But it demonstrated the importance of the bond linking the clans. The bonds were life-giving, and to all of them. Even to the lowly Heebs. When they reached Adolfville the tank let them off at the large central stone building; Gabriel Baines and Annette made their way up the familiar stairs, neither of them speaking; weary and soiled from lying hour after hour out in the open at night they were in no mood to exchange trivialities. What we need, Baines decided, is not a meeting but six hours' sleep. He wondered what the purpose of this meeting was; hadn't the moon already taken its course of action by fighting the Terran invaders the best it knew how? What more could be done? At the antechamber of the council room Gabriel Baines paused. "I believe I'll send my simulacrum in first," he said to Annette. With his special key he unlocked the supply closet in which -- by legal right -- he kept his Mans-made simulacrum. "You never know." And it would be a shame to lose one's life at this point, after just now escaping from Mrs. Rittersdorf. "You Pares," Annette said with a trace of forlorn amusement. The Gabriel Baines simulacrum wheezed into life as he activated its mechanism. "Good day, sir." It then nodded to Annette. "Miss Golding. I shall go in now, sir." Politely, it bowed its way past the two of them, started somewhat jerkily but briskly into the council room. "Hasn't all this taught you anything?" Annette asked Gabriel Baines as they waited for the simulacrum's return and report. "Like what?" "That there is no perfect defense. There is no protection. Being alive means being exposed; it's the nature of life to be hazardous -- it's the stuff of living." "Well," Baines said astutely, "you can do the best you can by way of shielding yourself." It never hurt to try. That was part of life, too, and every living creature engaged itself perpetually in attempting it. The Baines simulacrum now returned and made its formal report. "No deadly gas, no electrical discharge of a dangerous degree, no poison in the water pitcher, no sign of peep-holes for laser rifles, no concealed infernal machines. I would offer the suggestion that you can safely enter." It ceased, then, having completed its task ... but then, to Baines' surprise, it all at once clacked back on again. "However," it stated, "I would call your attention to the unusual fact that there is an-other simulacrum within the council room, other than myself. And I don't like that one bit, not one bit." 'Who?" Baines demanded, astounded. Only a Pare would be so concerned with his self-defense as to employ an expensive sim. And he was of course the sole pare delegate. "The person to address the council," his Baines-simulacrum replied. "On whom the delegates wait; it is a simulacrum." Opening the door Gabriel Baines peeped in, saw the other delegates already assembled, and, standing before them, the companion of Mary Rittersdorf, the CIA man Daniel Mageboom, who, according to the slime mold, had been with her in the laser-beam attack on her husband, on the Mans tankman, himself and Annette Golding. What was Mageboom doing here? A lot of good his Baines-simulacrum had been after all. Against his better judgment, flying in the face of every instinct, Gabriel Baines slowly entered the council room, took his seat. The next thing, he thought, is for Dr. Rittersdorf to gun us all down collectively from some concealed spot. "Let me explain," the Mageboom sirrlulacrum said at once, as soon as Baines and Annette Golding were seated. "I am Chuck Rittersdorf, now operating this simulacrum from a nearby spot on Alpha III M2, from the inter-system ship of Bunny Hentman. You may have noticed it; it has a rabbit painted on its side." Howard Straw said keenly, "So the fact is you're no longer an extension of the Terran intelligence service, the CIA." "Correct," the Mageboom simulacrum agreed. "We have pre-empted, at least temporarily, the CIA control of this artifact. Here, as quickly as possible, is the proposal which we feel advances the best hope for Alpha III M2, for all the clans. You must formally, as the supreme governing body on the moon, at once request the Alphanes to come in and annex. They guarantee not to treat you as hospital patients but as legitimate settlers. This annexation can be accomplished through the agency of the Hentman ship, since two high-ranking Alphane officials at this moment are --" The simulacrum bucked, convulsed, ceased speaking. "Something's wrong with it, " Howard Straw said, standing up. Abruptly the Mageboom simulacrum said, "Wrzzzzzzzzzimus. Kadrax an vigdum niddddd." Its arms flapped, its head lolled and it declared, "Ib srwn dngmmmmmm kunk!" Howard Straw stared at it, pale and tense, then turned to Gabriel Baines and said, "The CIA on Terra has cut into the hyper-space transmission from the Hentman ship here." He slapped his thigh, found his side arm, lifted it up and closed one eye to aim precisely. "What I have just said," the Mageboom simulacrum stated, in a now somewhat altered, more agitated and higher-pitched voice, "must be disregarded as a treasonable snare and an absurd delusion. It would be a suicidal act for Alpha III M2 to seek so-called protection from the Alphane empire because for one reason -- With a single shot Howard Straw disabled the simulacrum; pierced through its vital cephalic unit the simulacrum dropped with a crash spread-eagle to the floor. Now there was silence. The simulacrum did not stir. After a time Howard Straw put his side arm away and shakily reseated himself at his place. "The CIA in San Francisco succeeded in pre-empting Rittersdorf," he said, unnecessarily in that every delegate, even the Heeb Jacob Simion, had followed the sequence of events firsthand. "However, we have heard Rittersdorf's proposal, and that's what matters." He glanced up and down the table. "We'd better act swiftly. Let's have the vote." "I vote to accept the Rittersdorf Proposal," Gabriel Baines said, thinking to himself that this had been a close call; without Straw's quick action the simulacrum, again under Terran control, might have blown itself up and gotten them all. "I agree," Annette Golding said, with great tension. When the total vote had been verified everyone but Dino Watters, the miserable Dep, turned out to have declared in the affirmative. "What was wrong with you?" Gabriel Baines asked the Dep curiously. In his hollow, despairing voice the Dep answered, "I think it's hopeless. The Terran warships are too close. The Manses' shield just can't last that long. Or else we won't be able to contact Hentman's ship. Something will go wrong, and then the Terrans will decimate us." He added, "And in addition I've been having stomach pains ever since we originally convened; I think I've got cancer." Howard Straw signaled by pressing a buzzer and a council servant entered, carrying a portable radio-transmitter. "I will now make contact with the Hentman ship," Straw stated, and clicked on the transmitter. *** In contact with the remnants of his organization on Terra, Bunny Hentman lifted his head and with a haggard expression on his face said to Chuck Rittersdorf, "What happened is this. That guy London, chief of the San Francisco branch of the CIA and Elwood's superior, caught on to what was happening; he was monitoring the sim's activities -- must have already been suspicious, no doubt because I got away." "Is Elwood dead?" Chuck asked. "No, just in the grang at the S.F. Presidio. And Petri took over once more." Hentman rose to his feet, shut off the line to Terra temporarily. "But they didn't regain control of Mageboom in time." "You're an optimist," Chuck said. "Listen," Hentman said vigorously. "Those people in Adolfville may be legally, and clinically insane, but they're not stupid, especially in matters pertaining to their security. They heard the proposal and I bet right now they're voting in favor of it. We should get a call from them by radio any time." He examined his watch. "I say within fifteen minutes." He turned to Feld. "Get those two Alphanes in here, so they can relay the request immediately to their ships of the line." Feld hurried off. After a pause Hentman, sighing, reseated himself. Lighting a fat, green, Terran cigar Bunny Hentman leaned back, hands behind his head, regarding Chuck. Moments passed. "Does the Alphane empire need TV comics?" Chuck asked. Hentman grinned. "As much as they need simulacrum programmers." Ten minutes later the call came through from Adolfville. "Okay," Hentman said, nodding as he listened to Howard Straw. He glanced at Chuck. "Where are those two Alphanes? Now's the time; now or just plain never." "I'm here, representing the Empire. It was the Alphane RBX 303; it had hurried flappingly into the room with Feld and its companion Alphane. "Assure them once again that they will not be treated as invalids but as settlers. We are absolutely anxious to make that point clear. Alphane policy has always been --" "Don't make a speech," Hentman said incisively. "Ring up your warships and get them down to the surface. He handed the transmitter's microphone to the Alphane, rose wearily and walked over to stand beside Chuck. "Jeez," he murmured. "At a time like this it wants to recap on its foreign policy over the last sixty years." He shook his head. His cigar had gone out; now with great deliberateness he relit it 'Well, I guess we're going to learn the answers to our ultimate queries." "What queries?" Chuck said. Hentman said briefly, 'Whether the Alphane empire can use TV comics and sim-programmers." He walked away, stood listening to RBX 303 trying by means of the ship's transmitter to raise the Alphane battle fleet. Puffing cigar smoke, hands in his pockets, he silently waited. One would never know from his expression, Chuck reflected, that literally our lives depend on the successful establishment of this conduit of communication. Twitching with nervous agitation, Gerald Feld came up to Chuck and said, "Where's the Frau Doktor right now?" "Probably wandering around somewhere below," Chuck said. The Hentman ship, now in an orbit three hundred miles at apogee, no longer had contact, except by radio, with events occurring on the moon's surface. "She can't do anything, can she?" Feld said. "To fnug this up, I mean. Of course she'd like to." Chuck said, "My wife, or ex-wife, is a scared woman. She's alone on a hostile moon, waiting for a Terran fleet which probably will never come, although of course she doesn't know that." He did not hate Mary now; that was gone, like so many other things. "You feel sorry for her?" Feld asked. "I -- just wish that destiny hadn't crossed her and me up quite so completely as it has. Her in relationship to me, I mean. I have the feeling that in some obscure way which I can't fathom, Mary and I could somehow still have made it together. Maybe years from now --" Hentman announced, "He's got the line ships. We're in." He beamed. "Now we can get so goddamn completely absolutely bagged that -- well, you name it. I've got the booze here on the ship. Nothing, you understand, nothing at all more is required from any of us; we've done it. We're now citizens of the Alphane empire; we'll pretty soon have license-plate numbers instead of names, but that's okay with me." Finishing his statement to Feld, Chuck said, "Maybe someday when it doesn't matter I can look back and see what I should have done that would have avoided this, Mary and me lying in the dirt shooting back and forth at each other." Across the darkened landscape of an unfamiliar world, he thought to himself. Where neither of us is at home, and yet where I -- at least -- will probably have to live out the remainder of my life. Maybe Mary too, he hought somberly. To Hentman he said, "Congratulations." "Thanks," Hentman said. To Feld he said, "Congratulations, Jerry." "Thank you," Feld said. "Congratulations and a long life," he said to Chuck. "Fellow Alphane." "I wonder," Chuck said to Hentman, "if you could do me a favor." "Like what? Anything." Chuck said, "Lend me a launch. Let me drop down to the surface." "What for? You're a hell of a lot safer up here." "I want to look for my wife," Chuck said. Raising an eyebrow Hentman said, "You're sure you want that? Yeah, I can see by the expression on your face. You poor damn guy. Well, maybe you can talk her into staying with you on A]pha III M2. If the clans don't mind. And if the Alphane authorities --" "Just give him the launch," Feld interrupted. "At this moment he's a terribly unhappy man; be doesn' have time to hear what you want to say." "Okay," Hentman said to Chuck, nodding. "I'll give you the launch; you can drop down there and do anything foolish that appeals to you -- I wash my hands of it. Of course I hope you come back, but if not --" He shrugged. "That's the way these things go." "And take your slime mold with you when you leave," Feld said to Chuck. Half an hour later he had parked the launch in a thicket of skinny poplar-like trees and stood in the open air, smelling the wind and listening. He heard nothing. It was only a little world, and nothing much was happening on it; a council had voted, a clan maintained a defensive screen, a few people waited in fear and trembling but probably, as for example the Heebs of Gandhitown, most of the inhabitants shuffled through their psychotic daily routine without interruption. "Am I insane?" he asked Lord Running Clam, who had slithered off a few dozen yards to a damper spot; the slime mold was aquatropic. "Is this the all-embracing worst thing, of all the possible worst things, that I could do?" "'Insane,'" the slime mold responded, "is, strictly speaking, a legal term. I consider you very foolish; I think Mary Rittersdorf will probably commit an act of ferocity and hostility toward you as soon as she sets eyes on you. But maybe you want that. You're tired. It's been a long struggle. Those illegal stimulant drugs which I supplied you; they didn't help. I think they only made you more despairing and weary." It added, "Maybe you ought to go to Cotton Mather Estates." "What's that?" Even the name made him draw back with aversion. "The settlement of the Deps. Live with them there -- in endless dark gloom." The slime mold's tone was mildly chiding. "Thanks," Chuck said ironically. "Your wife is not near," the slime mold decided. "At least I don't pick up her thoughts. Let us move on." "Okay." He plodded back toward the launch. As the slime mold followed after him, in through the open hatch, it thought, "There is always the possibility, which you must consider, that Mary is dead." "Dead!" He stared at the slime mold, halting. "How?" "As you told Mr. Hentman; there is a war being conducted here on this moon. There have been deaths, although fortunately very few as yet. But the potential here for violent death is enormous. The last we saw of Mary Rittersdorf involved the three mystics, the so-called Holy Triumvirate, and their nauseous psychotic projections in the sky. I suggest therefore that we take the launch to Gandhitown, where the prime mover of the triumvirate, Ignatz Ledebur, exists -- and that is the proper word -- amidst his customary squalor, among his cats, wives and children. "But Ledebur would never --" "Psychosis is psychosis," the slime mold pointed out." And a fanatic can never really be trusted." "True," Chuck said gratingly. Shortly, they were on their way to Gandhitown. "I really wonder," the slime mold pondered, "what I hope for your sake; in some respects you would be so much better off if she were --" "It's my business," Chuck interrupted. "Sorry," the slime mold thought contritely, but with somber overtones; it could not eradicate them from its musings. The launch buzzed on with no further interchange between the two of them. *** Ignatz Ledebur, depositing a heap of cooked, aging spaghetti before his two black-face pet sheep, glanced up to see the launch descend to a landing in the road adjacent to his shack. He finished feeding the sheep, then walked leisurely back to his shack with the pan. Cats of all sorts followed hopefully. Indoors, he dropped the pan among the encrusted dishes heaped in the sink, paused a moment to glance toward the woman asleep on the wooden planks which made up the dining table. He then picked up a cat, carried it with him outdoors once more. The arrival of the ship did not, of course, come as a surprise; he had already experienced a vision of it. He was not alarmed, but on the other hand he was scarcely complacent. Two figures, one of them human, the other amorphous and yellow, emerged from the launch. They made their way with difficulty across the discarded trash toward Ledebur. "You will be gratified to hear," Ledebur said to them, by way of greeting, "that almost at this very moment Alphane warships are preparing to land here on our world." He smiled, but the man facing him did not smile back. The yellow blob, of course, had nothing to smile with. "So your mission," Ledebur said, with a shade of perturbation, "has yielded successful results." He did not enjoy the hostility which emanated from the man; he saw, with his mystical Psionic insight, the man's anger glow in a red, ominous nimbus about his head. "Where's Mary Rittersdorf?" the man, Chuck Rittersdorf, said. "My wife. Do you know?" He turned to the Ganymedean slime mold beside him. "Does he know?" The slime mold thought, "Yes, Mr. Rittersdorf." "Your wife," Ignatz Ledebur said, nodding. "She was doing injurious things out there. Already she had killed one Mans and was --" "If you don't show me my wife," Chuck Rittersdorf said to Ledebur, "I'm going to hack you to bits." He took one step toward the saint. Petting the cat which he held with agitation, Ledebur said. "I wish you'd come in and have a cup of tea." The next he knew he was lying supine on the ground; his ears rang and his head throbbed dully. With difficulty he managed to sit groggily up, wondering what had happened. "Mr. Rittersdorf hit you," the slime mold explained. "A glancing blow slightly above the cheekbone." "No more," Ledebur said thickly. He tasted blood; spitting, he sat massaging his head. No vision had forewarned him of this, unfortunately. "She's inside the house," he said, then. Passing by him Chuck Rittersdorf strode to the door, yanked it open, disappeared inside. Ledebur managed at last to drag himself upright; he stood unsteadily and then, dragging a little, followed. Indoors, in the front room, he halted by the door, while cats, free to come and go, hopped and scampered and quarreled on all sides of him. At the bed Chuck Rittersdorf bent over the sleeping woman. "Mary," he said, "wake up." He reached out, took hold of her bare, dangling arm, joggled her. "Get your clothes and get out of here. Come on!" The woman in Ignatz Ledebur's bed, who had replaced Elsie, gradually opened her eyes; she focused on Chuck's face, then all at once blinked, became fully conscious. She sat reflexively up, then caught hold of the tumble of blankets, wound them about her, covering her small, high breasts. The slime mold, circumspectly, had remained out doors. "Chuck," Mary Rittersdorf said, in a low, steady voice, "I came to this house voluntarily. So I --" He grabbed her by the wrist, yanked her from the bed; blankets fell and a coffee mug bounced and rolled, spilling its cold contents. Two cats who had gone under the bed rushed out in fright, bypassed Ignatz Ledebur in their haste to get away. Smooth and slender and naked, Mary Rittersdorf faced her husband. "You don't have a thing to say about what I do anymore," she said. She reached for her clothes, picked up her blouse, then rummaged further, as self-possessed as could under the circumstances be expected. She began methodically, garment by garment, to dress; from the expression on her face she might have been entirely alone. Chuck said, "Alphane ships control this area, now. The Manses are ready to lift their shield to let them in; it's all been accomplished. While you were asleep in this --" He jerked his head toward Ignatz Ledebur. "This individual's bed." "And you're with them?" Mary asked frigidly as she buttoned her blouse. "Why, of course you are. The Alphanes have seized the moon and you're going to live here under them." She finished dressing, began then to comb her hair at a reasonable, slow rate. "If you'll stay here," Chuck said, "on Alpha III M2 and not return to Terra --" "I am staying here," Mary said. "I've already worked it out." She indicated Ignatz Ledebur. "Not with him; this was only for a little while and he knew it. I wouldn't live in Gandhitown -- it's not the place for me, not by any stretch of the imagination." "Where, then?" Mary said, "I think Da Vinci Heights." "Why?" Incredulous, he stared at her. "I'm not sure, I haven't even seen it. But I admire the Manses; I even admire the one I killed. He never was afraid, even when he was running for his tank and knowing he wouldn't make it. Never in my life have I seen anything resembling that, not ever." "The Manses," Chuck said, "will never let you in." "Oh yes." She nodded calmly. "They certainly will." Chuck turned questioningly to Ignatz Ledebur. "They will," Ledebur agreed. "Your wife is right " Both of us, he realized, you and I; we've lost her. Nobody can claim this woman for long. It's just not in her nature, in her biology. Turning, he mournfully left the shack, stepped outside, walked over to the spot at which the slime mold waited. "I think you have showed Mr. Rittersdorf," the slime mold thought to him. "the impossibility of what he is trying to do." "I suppose so," Ledebur said, without an iota of enthusiasm. Chuck appeared, pale and grim; he strode past Ledebur toward the launch. "Let's go," he said roughly to the slime mold over his shoulder. The slime mold, as hastily as was physically possible, followed after him. The two of them entered the launch; the hatch shut and the launch zooped up into the mid-morning sky. For an interval Ignatz Ledebur watched it go, and then he re-entered the shack. He found Mary at the ice box searching for something out of which to fashion breakfast. Together he and she prepared their morning meal. "The Manses," Ledebur pointed out, "are very brutal, in some ways." Mary laughed. "So what?" she said mockingly. He had no answer to that. His saintliness and his visions did not help him there, not one bit. *** After a long time Chuck said, "Will this launch take us back to the Sol system and Terra?" "Absolutely not," Lord Running Clam said. "Okay," Chuck said, "I'll locate a Terran warship parked in this region. I'm going back to Terra, accept whatever punitive litigation the authorities have in mind, and then work out an arrangement with Joan Trieste." The slime mold stated, "In view of the fact that the punitive litigation will consist of a request for the death penalty, any arrangement with Joan Trieste is unlikely." "What do you suggest, then?" "Something you will balk at." Chuck said, "Tell me anyhow." In view of his situation he could not turn anything down. "You -- ahem. This is awkward; I must put it properly. You must entice your wife into giving you a thorough battery of psychological tests." After a while he managed to say, "To find out which settlement I would fit best in?" "Yes," the slime mold said, but reluctantly. "That was the idea. This is not to say you're psychotic; this is merely to determine the drift of your personality in the most general --" "Suppose the tests show no drift, no neurosis, no latent psychosis, no character deformation, no psychopathic tendencies, in other words nothing? What do I do then?" Without unduly complimenting himself -- at this point he was well beyond that -- he had an inkling that was precisely what the tests would show. He did not belong in any of the settlements here on Alpha III M2; here he was a loner, an outcast, accompanied by no one even remotely resembling him. "Your long-held urge to murder your wife," the slime mold said, "may well be a symptom of an underlying emotional illness." It tried to sound hopeful, but nonetheless it failed. "I still believe it's worth a try," it persisted. Chuck said, "Suppose I founded one more settlement here." "A settlement composed of one person?" "There must be occasional normals showing up here. People who work their way out of their derangements and possibly children who never developed them. As it stands here you're classified as polymorphous schizophrenic until proved otherwise; that's not right." He had been giving this considerable thought, ever since it had first appeared that he might be required to remain on the moon. "They'll come trickling in. Given time." "The gingerbread house in the woods of this moon," the slime mold mused. "And you inside, waiting stealthily to trap whoever passes by. Especially the children." It tittered. "Pardon me. I shouldn't take this lightly; forgive me." Chuck said nothing; he merely piloted the launch upward. "Will you try the tests?" the slime mold asked. "Before going off and founding your own settlement?" "Okay," Chuck said. That did not seem unreasonable to ask. "Do you imagine, in view of your mutual hostility toward each other, that your wife can properly administer the tests?" "I suppose so." Scoring was routine, not interpretive. The slime mold decided, "I will act as the intermediary between you and her; you will not have to confront each other again until the results are obtained." "Thanks," Chuck said, with gratitude. The slime mold said reflectively, "There is one other possibility which although admittedly far-fetched might well be considered. It might yield a great harvest, although of course considerable time would be involved for that to come about." It plunged through to the summation of its thought. "Perhaps you can induce Mary to take the tests, too." *** The idea came to Chuck as a complete, shocking surprise. For one thing -- his mind moved swiftly, analyzing and introspecting -- he could not see the advantage in it whatever showed up. Because the inhabitants of the moon would not be receiving therapy; that had already been decided, and by his own actions. If Mary revealed herself in the tests -- as well she might -- seriously disturbed, she would simply remain so, continue as she was; no psychiatrist was about enter and begin tinkering with her. So what did the slime mold mean by a "great harvest"? The slime mold, receiving his rapid thoughts, explained, "Suppose your wife did disclose by means of the testing process that she includes a severe streak of the manic in her makeup. This would be my lay analysis of her, and it evidently is her own as well. For her to recognize this, that she is, like Howard Straw or those wild tank drivers, a Mans, would be for her to face the fact that --" "You seriously believe it would make her humble? Less sure of herself?" The slime mold patently was no authority on human nature -- and in particular Mary Rittersdorf's nature. Not to mention the fact that for a manic, as well as a Pare, self-doubt was beyond conception; their entire emotional structure was predicated on a sense of certitude. How simple it would be if the slime mold's naive view were correct, if a severely disturbed person had only to see his test results to comprehend and accept his psychological deformation. Lord, Chuck thought dismally. If there's one thing that contemporary psychiatry has shown, it's that. Merely knowing that you are mentally sick won't make you well, any more than knowing you have a heart condition provides a suddenly sound heart. In fact, the opposite would more than likely be the case. Mary, fortified by the companionship of a settlement of those resembling her, would be stabilized forever: her manic tendency would have received social sanction. She would probably wind up as the mistress of Howard Straw, perhaps even eventually replace him as the Mans delegate to the supreme inter-clan council. At Da Vinci Heights she would rise to power -- by treading on those around her. "Nevertheless," the slime mold persisted, "when I ask her to give you the tests I will beg her to do the same for herself. I still believe that some good can arise out of this. Know thyself; that was an ancient Terran slogan. is it not? Dating from your highly-praised Greek antiquity. I can't help thinking that to know yourself is to provide yourself with a weapon by which you non-telepathic species may reshape your psyche until --" "Until just what?" The slime mold was silent; clearly when it came right down to it the slime mold did not actually know. "Give her the tests," Chuck said. "And we'll see." We'll see who is right, he thought. He hoped that it would be the slime mold. *** That night in Da Vinci Heights, very late, Lord Running Clam after much delicate negotiation managed to persuade Dr. Mary Rittersdorf to take a full spectrum of psychological profile tests and then to administer, in her professional capacity, the same group of tests to her husband. In the intricately-decorated, convoluted home of the Mans council delegate, Howard Straw, the three of them faced one another; Straw himself lurked in the background, amused by what was taking place, aloof and constitutionally contemptuous. He sat and sketched with pastel crayons, rapidly, a series of portraits of Mary; this was only one of his many artistic and creative pursuits and even at this time of upheaval, with the Alphane warships landing on the moon one behind another, he did not abandon it. Typically Mans, he had countless irons in the fire simultaneously; he was multi-sided. Mary, with the test results spread out before her on Howard Straw's handwrought handsome wood and black-iron table, said, "This is a dreadful thing for me to have to admit, but it was a good idea. The two of us subjecting ourselves to these standard psych-profile testing procedures. Frankly I'm surprised at the results. Obviously -- it goes without saying -- I should have been exposing myself at regular intervals to such tests ... in view of the results." She sat back, willowy and supple in her white turtleneck sweater and Titanian og-metal slacks; getting out a cigarette with trembling fingers she lit up. "You're without a trace of mental disturbance, dear," she said to Chuck, who sat across from her. "Merry Christmas," she added, and smiled frozenly. "What about you?" Chuck said, constricted in his throat and heart with tension. "I'm not Mans at all. In fact I'm just the opposite; I reveal a marked agitated depression. I'm a Dep." She continued to smile; it was a worthy effort on her part and he took note of it, of her courage. "My continual pressing of you regarding your income -- that was certainly due to my depression, my delusional sense that everything had gone wrong, that something had to be done or we were doomed." She stubbed her cigarette out, all at once, and lit another. To Howard Straw she said, "What's your reaction to that?" "Tough," Straw said with his customary lack of empathy, "you won't be living here after all; you'll be situated over at Cotton Mather Estates. With happy-boy Dino Watters and the rest like him," He chuckled. "And some of them are even worse, as you're going to discover. We'll let you hang around here a few days but then you've absolutely got to go. You're just not one of us." He added, in a little less brutal tone, "If you could have foreseen this moment when you volunteered to TERPLAN for this job, this Operation Fifty- minutes -- I'll bet you would have thought twice. Am I right?" He gazed at her penetratingly. She shrugged without answering. And then all at once, to the surprise of all of them, she began to cry. "Jesus, I don't want to live with those damn Deps," she whispered. "I'm going back to Terra." To Chuck she said, "I can, but you can't. I don't have to stay here and find a niche. Like you do." The slime mold's thoughts reached Chuck. "Now that you've received your tests results what do you intend to do, Mr. Rittersdorf?" "Go ahead and found my own settlement," Chuck said. "I'm calling it Thomas Jeffersonburg. Mather was a Dep, Da Vinci was a Mans, Adolf Hitler was a Pare, Gandhi was a Heeb. Jefferson was a --" He hunted for the correct word. "A Norm. That will be Thomas Jeffersonburg: the Norm settlement. So far containing only one person, but with great anticipations for the future." At least the problem of picking the delegate to the supreme inter-clan council is automatically solved, he thought to himself. "You're an absolute fool," Howard Straw said disparagingly. "Nobody'll ever show up and live with you in your settlement. You'll spend the rest of your life in isolation -- six weeks from now you'll be out of your mind; you'll be ready for every other settlement on the moon, except of course this one." "Maybe so." Chuck nodded. But he was not so positive as Straw. He was thinking once more of Annette Golding, for one. Surely in her case it would not require much; she was so close to rationality, to a balanced outlook. There was virtually nothing separating himself from her. And if there existed one such as this, there had to be more. He had a feeling that he would not be the sole inhabitant of Thomas Jeffersonburg for long. But even if he were -- He would wait it out. For however much time it took. And he would get help in building his settlement; already he had established what appeared to be a solid working relationship with the Pare rep, Gabriel Baines, and that portended something. If he could get along with Baines he probably could get along with the several clans as such, with perhaps the possible exception of Manses such as Straw and of course the noxious, deteriorated Heebs like Ignatz Ledebur, who had no sense of inter-personal responsibility. "I feel sick," Mary said, her lips trembling. "Will you come and visit me in Cotton Mather Estates, Chuck? I'm not going to be stuck with just Deps around me the rest of my life, am I?" "You said --" he began. "I just can't go back to Terra, not if I'm sick; not with what those tests showed." "Of course," he said. "I'll be glad to visit you." As a matter of fact he expected to spend a good deal of his time at the other settlements. By this he would forestall Howard Straw's prophecy from coming true. By this -- and a great deal else. 'When I next sporify," the slime mold thought to him, "there will be a reasonably large number of myselves; some of us will be glad to settle in Thomas Jeffersonburg. And we will stay away from burning autos, this time." "Thanks," Chuck said. "I'll be grateful to have you. All of you." Howard Straw's jeering, manic laugh filled the room; the idea seemed to awaken his cynical amusement. However, no one paid attention to him. Straw shrugged, returned to his pastel sketching. Outside the house the retro-rockets of a warship roared as the ship expertly settled to a landing. The Alphane occupation of Da Vinci Heights, long delayed, was about to begin. Rising to his feet and opening the front door Chuck Rittersdorf stepped out into the night darkness to watch and listen. For a time he stood alone, smoking, hearing the sounds that gradually settled lower and lower to the surface of the moon, came to rest in a silence that seemed permanent. It would be a long time, perhaps after he himself had disappeared from the scene, before they would be taking off again; he felt that keenly as he lounged in the darkness, close by Howard Straw's front door. All at once the door behind him opened. His wife, or more specifically his former wife, stepped out, shut the door after her and stood beside him, not speaking; together the two of them listened to the racket of the descending Alphane warships and admired the fiery trails in the sky, each enclosed in his own thoughts. "Chuck," Mary said abruptly, "you know we have to do one vital thing ... you probably haven't thought about it but if we're going to settle here we've got to find some way to get our children from Terra." "That's right." Actually he had thought of it; he nodded. "But would you want to bring the kids up here?" Especially Debby, he thought. She was extremely sensitive; undoubtedly she would, living here, pick up the deranged patterns of belief and conduct from the psychotic majority. It was going to be a difficult problem. Mary said, "If I'm sick --" She did not finish; it was unnecessary. Because if she were sick, Debby would already have been exposed to the subtle play of mental illness operating within the close quarters of family life. The harm, if it were to be done, had already been accomplished. Tossing his cigarette away into the darkness Chuck put his arm around his wife's small waist and drew her against him; he kissed the top of her head, smelling the warm, sweet odor of her hair. "We'll take the chance, exposing the children to this environment. Maybe they'll supply a model to the other children here ... we can put them into the common school which is maintained here on Alpha III M2; I'd be willing to risk it, if you would. What do you say?" "Okay," Mary said remotely. And then more vigorously she said, "Chuck, do you really think we have a chance, you and I? Of working out a new basis of living ... by which we can be around one another for a prolonged time? Or are we just --" She gestured, "Just going to drift back into the old ways of hatred and suspicion and all the rest." "I don't know," he said, and that was the truth. "Lie to me. Tell me we can do it." "We can do it." "You really think so? Or are you lying?'" "I'm --" "Say you're not lying." Her voice was urgent. "I'm not lying," he said. "1 know we can do it. We're both young and viable and we're not rigid like the Pares and the Manses. Right?" "Right" Mary was silent a moment and then she said, "You're sure you don't prefer that Poly girl, that Annette Golding, to me? Be honest." "I prefer you." And this time he was not lying. "What about that girl Alfson took the potent-pics of? You and that Joan whatever-her-name-is ...1 mean, you actually went to bed with her." "I still prefer you." "Tell me why you prefer me," she said. "Sick and mean as I am." "I can't exactly say." In fact he could not explain it at all; it was in the nature of a mystery. Still, it was the truth; he felt its validity within him. "I wish you luck in your one-man settlement," Mary said. "One man and a dozen slime molds." She laughed. "What a crazy enclave. Yes, I'm sure we should bring our children here. I used to think that I was so -- you know. So completely different from my patients. They were sick and I wasn't. Now --" She became silent. "There's not that much difference," he finished for her. "You don't feel that about yourself, do you? That you're basically different from me ... after all, you do test out as being well and I don't." "It's just degree," he said, and meant it. Suicidal impulses had motivated him, and after that hostile, murderous impulses toward her -- and yet he tested out satisfactorily on the formal graphs derived from long-accepted testing procedures, while Mary did not. What a slight degree it was. She, as well as he, as well as everyone on Alpha III M2 including the arrogant Mans rep Howard Straw, struggled for balance, for insight; it was a natural tendency for living creatures. Hope always existed, even perhaps -- God forbid -- for the Heebs. Although unfortunately the hope for those of Gandhitown was slender indeed. He thought: And the hope is slender enough for us of Terra. We who have just now emigrated to Alpha III M2. Yet -- it is there. "I've decided, " Mary announced huskily, "that I love you." "Okay," he agreed, pleased. Abruptly, obliterating his tranquil state, a sharp, highly-articulated rumination by the slime mold reached him. "As long as it is confession-of-feeling-and-deeds time, I suggest that your wife lay on the table the full account of her brief affair with Bunny Hentman." It corrected itself, "I retract the expression, 'lay on the table,' as unbelievably unfortunate. However my basic point remains: so anxious was she that you obtain employment with high financial return --" "'Let me say it, " Mary said. "Please do," the slime mold agreed. "And I will speak up again only if you are remiss as regards completeness of account." Mary said, "I had a very short affair with Bunny Hentman, Chuck. Just prior to my leaving Terra. That's all there is." 'There is more," the slime mold contradicted. "Details?" she said hotly. "Do I have to tell exactly when and where we --" "Not that. Another aspect of your relationship with Hentman." "All right." Resignedly Mary nodded. "During those four days," she said to Chuck, "I told Bunny that as I saw it, using all my experience with marital break-ups, I foresaw -- based on my knowledge of your personality -- that you'd try to kill me. If you failed in your suicide attempt." She was silent, then. "I don't know why I told him. Maybe I was scared. Evidently I had to tell someone and I was with him quite a bit, then." So it had not been Joan. He felt a little better about the whole thing, knowing this. And he could hardly blame Mary for what she had done. It was a wonder she hadn't gone to the police; evidently she was telling the truth when she said she loved him. This shed new light on her; she had forfeited a chance to injure him, and at a time of great crisis. "Maybe we'll have more children while we're here on this moon," Mary said. "Like the slime molds ... we arrived and we'll increase in numbers until we become legion. The majority." She laughed in an odd, soft way, and, in the darkness, relaxed against him, as she had not done in ages. In the sky the Alphane ships continued to appear and both he and Mary remained silent, planning out schemes by which to obtain the children. It would be difficult, he realized soberly, perhaps even more tricky than anything they had done so far. But possibly the remains of the Hentman organization could assist them. Or some of the slime mold's countless business contacts among Terrans and non-Terrans. Both were distinct possibilities. And Hentman's agent who had infiltrated the CIA, his former boss Jack Elwood ... but Elwood was now in jail. Anyhow if unhappily enough their efforts failed, as Mary said they would be having more children; this did not make up for the ones lost, but it would be a good omen, one that could not be overlooked. "Do you love me, too?" Mary asked, her lips close to his ear. "Yes," he said truthfully. And then he said, "Ouch." Because without warning she had bitten him, nearly severing the lobe of his ear. That, too, seemed to him an omen. But of what he could not quite yet tell. |