Masters of Space

  III

  "But listen!" he exclaimed. "I _can't_, even if I want...."

  "Of course you can't." Pure deviltry danced in her eyes. "You're theDirector. It wouldn't be proper. But it's Standard Operating Procedurefor simple, innocent, unsophisticated little country girls like me to gocompletely overboard for the boss."

  "But you can't--you _mustn't_!" he protested in panic.

  Temple Bells was getting plenty of revenge for the shocks he had givenher. "I can't? Watch me!" She grinned up at him, her eyes still dancing."Every chance I get, I'm going to hug your arm like I did a minute ago.And you'll take hold of my forearm, like you did! That can be taken,you see, as either: One, a reluctant acceptance of a mildly distastefulbut not quite actionable situation, or: Two, a blocking move to keep mefrom climbing up you like a squirrel!"

  "Confound it, Temple, you _can't_ be serious!"

  "Can't I?" She laughed gleefully. "Especially with half a dozen of thoseother cats watching? Just wait and see, boss!"

  Sandra and her two guests came aboard. The natives looked around; theman at the various human men, the woman at each of the human women. Thewoman remained beside Sandra; the man took his place at Hilton's left,looking up--he was a couple of inches shorter than Hilton's six feetone--with an air of ... of _expectancy_!

  "Why this arrangement, Sandy?" Hilton asked.

  "Because we're tops. It's your move, Jarve. What's first?"

  "Uranexite. Come along, Sport. I'll call you that until ..."

  "Laro," the native said, in a deep resonant bass voice. He hit himself ablow on the head that would have floored any two ordinary men. "Sora,"he announced, striking the alien woman a similar blow.

  "Laro and Sora, I would like to have you look at our uranexite, withthe idea of refueling our ship. Come with me, please?"

  Both nodded and followed him. In the engine room he pointed at theengines, then to the lead-blocked labyrinth leading to the fuel holds."Laro, do you understand 'hot'? Radioactive?"

  Laro nodded--and started to open the heavy lead door!

  "Hey!" Hilton yelped. "That's hot!" He seized Laro's arm to pull himaway--and got the shock of his life. Laro weighed at least five hundredpounds! And the guy _still_ looked human!

  Laro nodded again and gave himself a terrific thump on the chest. Thenhe glanced at Sora, who stepped away from Sandra. He then went into thehold and came out with two fuel pellets in his hand, one of which hetossed to Sora. That is, the motion looked like a toss, but the pellettraveled like a bullet. Sora caught it unconcernedly and both nativesflipped the pellets into their mouths. There was a half minute ofrock-crusher crunching; then both natives opened their mouths.

  The pellets had been pulverized and swallowed.

  Hilton's voice rang out. "Poynter! How _can_ these people benon-radioactive after eating a whole fuel pellet apiece?"

  Poynter tested both natives again. "Cold," he reported. "Stone cold. Nobackground even. Play _that_ on your harmonica!"

  * * * * *

  Laro nodded, perfectly matter-of-factly, and in Hilton's mind thereformed a picture. It was not clear, but it showed plainly enough a longline of aliens approaching the _Perseus_. Each carried on his or hershoulder a lead container holding two hundred pounds of Navy Regulationfuel pellets. A standard loading-tube was sealed into place and everyfuel-hold was filled.

  This picture, Laro indicated plainly, could become reality any time.

  Sawtelle was notified and came on the run. "No fuel is coming aboardwithout being tested!" he roared.

  "Of course not. But it'll pass, for all the tea in China. You haven'thad a ten per cent load of fuel since you were launched. You can fill upor not--the fuel's here--just as you say."

  "If they can make Navy standard, of course we want it."

  The fuel arrived. Every load tested well above standard. Every fuel holdwas filled to capacity, with no leakage and no emanation. The nativeswho had handled the stuff did not go away, but gathered in theengine-room; and more and more humans trickled in to see what was goingon.

  Sawtelle stiffened. "What's going on over there, Hilton?"

  "I don't know; but let's let 'em go for a minute. I want to learn aboutthese people and they've got me stopped cold."

  "You aren't the only one. But if they wreck that Mayfield it'll cost youover twenty thousand dollars."

  "Okay." The captain and director watched, wide eyed.

  Two master mechanics had been getting ready to re-fit a tube--a jobrequiring both strength and skill. The tube was very heavy and made ofsuperefract. The machine--the Mayfield--upon which the work was to bedone, was extremely complex.

  Two of the aliens had brushed the mechanics--very gently--aside and weredoing their work for them. Ignoring the hoist, one native had picked thetube up and was holding it exactly in place on the Mayfield. The other,hands moving faster than the eye could follow, was lockingit--micrometrically precise and immovably secure--into place.

  "How about this?" one of the mechanics asked of his immediate superior."If we throw 'em out, how do we do it?"

  By a jerk of the head, the non-com passed the buck to a commissionedofficer, who relayed it up the line to Sawtelle, who said, "Hilton,_no_body can run a Mayfield without months of training. They'll wreck itand it'll cost you ... but I'm getting curious myself. Enough so to takehalf the damage. Let 'em go ahead."

  "How _about_ this, Mike?" one of the machinists asked of his fellow."I'm going to _like_ this, what?"

  "Ya-as, my deah Chumley," the other drawled, affectedly. "My manrelieves me of _so_ much uncouth effort."

  The natives had kept on working. The Mayfield was running. It had alwayshowled and screamed at its work, but now it gave out only a smooth andeven hum. The aliens had adjusted it with unhuman precision; they wereone with it as no human being could possibly be. And every mind presentknew that those aliens were, at long, long last, fulfilling theirdestiny and were, in that fulfillment, supremely happy. After tens ofthousands of cycles of time they were doing a job for their adored,their revered and beloved MASTERS.

  That was a stunning shock; but it was eclipsed by another.

  * * * * *

  "I am sorry, Master Hilton," Laro's tremendous bass voice boomed out,"that it has taken us so long to learn your Masters' language as it nowis. Since you left us you have changed it radically; while we, ofcourse, have not changed it at all."

  "I'm sorry, but you're mistaken," Hilton said. "We are merely visitors.We have never been here before; nor, as far as we know, were any of ourancestors ever here."

  "You need not test us, Master. We have kept your trust. Everything hasbeen kept, changelessly the same, awaiting your return as you ordered solong ago."

  "Can you read my mind?" Hilton demanded.

  "Of course; but Omans can not read in Masters' minds anything exceptwhat Masters want Omans to read."

  "Omans?" Harkins asked. "Where did you Omans and your masters come from?Originally?"

  "As you know, Master, the Masters came originally from Arth. Theypopulated Ardu, where we Omans were developed. When the Stretts drove usfrom Ardu, we all came to Ardry, which was your home world until youleft it in our care. We keep also this, your half of the Fuel World, intrust for you."

  "Listen, Jarve!" Harkins said, tensely. "Oman-human. Arth-Earth.Ardu-Earth Two. Ardry-Earth Three. You can't laugh them off ... butthere never _was_ an Atlantis!"

  "This is getting no better fast. We need a full staff meeting. You,too, Sawtelle, and your best man. We need all the brains the _Perseus_can muster."

  "You're right. But first, get those naked women out of here. It's badenough, having women aboard at all, but this ... my men are _spacemen_,mister."

  Laro spoke up. "If it is the Masters' pleasure to keep on testing us, sobe it. We have forgotten nothing. A dwelling awaits each Master, inwhich each will be served by Omans who will know the Master's desireswithout being told. Every desire. While we Omans have
no biologicalurges, we are of course highly skilled in relieving tensions and deriveas much pleasure from that service as from any other."

  Sawtelle broke the silence that followed. "Well, for the men--" Hehesitated. "Especially on the ground ... well, talking in mixed company,you know, but I think ..."

  "Think nothing of the mixed company, Captain Sawtelle," Sandra said. "Wewomen are scientists, not shrinking violets. We are accustomed todiscussing the facts of life just as frankly as any other facts."

  Sawtelle jerked a thumb at Hilton, who followed him out into thecorridor. "I _have_ been a Navy mule," he said. "I admit now that I'mout-maneuvered, out-manned, and out-gunned."

  "I'm just as baffled--at present--as you are, sir. But my training hasbeen aimed specifically at the unexpected, while yours has not."

  "That's letting me down easy, Jarve." Sawtelle smiled--the first timethe startled Hilton had known that the hard, tough old spacehound_could_ smile. "What I wanted to say is, lead on. I'll follow youthrough force-field and space-warps."

  "Thanks, skipper. And by the way, I erased that record yesterday." Thetwo gripped hands; and there came into being a relationship that was tobecome a lifelong friendship.

  * * * * *

  "We will start for Ardry immediately," Hilton said. "How do we make thatjump without charts, Laro?"

  "Very easily, Master. Kedo, as Master Captain Sawtelle's Oman, will givethe orders. Nito will serve Master Snowden and supply the knowledge hesays he has forgotten."

  "Okay. We'll go up to the control room and get started."

  And in the control room, Kedo's voice rasped into the captain'smicrophone. "Attention, all personnel! Master Captain Sawtelle orderstake-off in two minutes. The countdown will begin at five seconds....Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Lift!"

  Nito, not Snowden, handled the controls. As perfectly as the human pilothad ever done it, at the top of his finest form, he picked the immensespaceship up and slipped it silkily into subspace.

  "Well, I'll be a ..." Snowden gasped. "That's a better job than I _ever_did!"

  "Not at all, Master, as you know," Nito said. "It was you who did this.I merely performed the labor."

  A few minutes later, in the main lounge, Navy and BuSci personnel weremingling as they had never done before. Whatever had caused thisrelaxation of tension--the friendship of captain and director? Theposition in which they all were? Or what?--they all began to getacquainted with each other.

  "Silence, please, and be seated," Hilton said. "While this is notexactly a formal meeting, it will be recorded for future reference.First, I will ask Laro a question. Were books or records left on Ardryby the race you call the Masters?"

  "You know there are, Master. They are exactly as you left them.Undisturbed for over two hundred seventy-one thousand years."

  "Therefore we will not question the Omans. We do not know what questionsto ask. We have seen many things hitherto thought impossible. Hence, wemust discard all preconceived opinions which conflict with facts. Iwill mention a few of the problems we face."

  "The Omans. The Masters. The upgrading of the armament of the _Perseus_to Oman standards. The concentration of uranexite. What is thatconcentrate? How is it used? Total conversion--how is it accomplished?The skeletons--what are they and how are they controlled? Their abilityto drain power. Who or what is back of them? Why a deadlock that haslasted over a quarter of a million years? How much danger are we and the_Perseus_ actually in? How much danger is Terra in, because of ourpresence here? There are many other questions."

  "Sandra and I will not take part. Nor will three others; de Vaux,Eisenstein, and Blake. You have more important work to do."

  "What can that be?" asked Rebecca. "Of what possible use can amathematician, a theoretician and a theoretical astronomer be in such asituation as this?"

  "You can think powerfully in abstract terms, unhampered by Terran factsand laws which we now know are neither facts nor laws. I cannot evencategorize the problems we face. Perhaps you three will be able to. Youwill listen, then consult, then tell me how to pick the teams to do thework. A more important job for you is this: Any problem, to be solved,must be stated clearly; and we don't know even what our basic problemis. I want something by the use of which I can break this thing open.Get it for me."

  * * * * *

  Rebecca and de Vaux merely smiled and nodded, but Teddy Blake saidhappily, "I was beginning to feel like a fifth wheel on this project,but _that's_ something I can really stick my teeth into."

  "Huh? How?" Karns demanded. "He didn't give you one single thing to goon; just compounded the confusion."

  Hilton spoke before Teddy could. "That's their dish, Bill. If I had anydata I'd work it myself. You first, Captain Sawtelle."

  That conference was a very long one indeed. There were almost as manyconclusions and recommendations as there were speakers. And through itall Hilton and Sandra listened. They weighed and tested and analyzed andmade copious notes; in shorthand and in the more esoteric characters ofsymbolic logic. And at its end:

  "I'm just about pooped, Sandy. How about you?"

  "You and me both, boss. See you in the morning."

  But she didn't. It was four o'clock in the afternoon when they metagain.

  "We made up one of the teams, Sandy," he said, with surprisingdiffidence. "I know we were going to do it together, but I got a hunchon the first team. A kind of a weirdie, but the brains checked me onit." He placed a card on her desk. "Don't blow your top until after Iyou've studied it."

  "Why, I won't, of course...." Her voice died away. "Maybe you'd bettercancel that 'of course'...." She studied, and when she spoke again shewas exerting self-control. "A chemist, a planetographer, a theoretician,_two_ sociologists, a psychologist and a radiationist. And six of theseven are three pairs of sweeties. What kind of a line-up is _that_ tosolve a problem in _physics_?"

  "It isn't in any physics we know. I said _think_!"

  "Oh," she said, then again "Oh," and "Oh," and "Oh." Four entirelydifferent tones. "I see ... maybe. You're matching minds, notspecialties; and supplementing?"

  "I knew you were smart. Buy it?"

  "It's weird, all right, but I'll buy it--for a trial run, anyway. ButI'd hate like sin to have to sell any part of it to the Board.... But ofcourse we're--I mean you're responsible only to yourself."

  "Keep it 'we', Sandy. You're as important to this project as I am. Butbefore we tackle the second team, what's your thought on Bernadine andHermione? Separate or together?"

  "Separate, I'd say. They're identical physically, and so nearly somentally that of them would be just as good on a team as both of them.More and better work on different teams."

  "My thought exactly." And so it went, hour after hour.

  The teams were selected and meetings were held.

  * * * * *

  The _Perseus_ reached Ardry, which was very much like Terra. There werecontinents, oceans, ice-caps, lakes, rivers, mountains and plains,forests and prairies. The ship landed on the spacefield of Omlu, theCity of the Masters, and Sawtelle called Hilton into his cabin. TheOmans Laro and Kedo went along, of course.

  "Nobody knows how it leaked ..." Sawtelle began.

  "No secrets around here," Hilton grinned. "Omans, you know."

  "I suppose so. Anyway, every man aboard is all hyped up about livingaground--especially with a harem. But before I grant liberty, supposethere's any VD around here that our prophylactics can't handle?"

  "As you know, Masters," Laro replied for Hilton before the latter couldopen his mouth, "no disease, venereal or other, is allowed to exist onArdry. No prophylaxis is either necessary or desirable."

  "That ought to hold you for a while, Skipper." Hilton smiled at theflabbergasted captain and went back to the lounge.

  "Everybody going ashore?" he asked.

  "Yes." Karns said. "Unanimous vote for the first time."

  "Who wouldn't?" Sandra asked. "I
'm fed up with living like a sardine. Iwill scream for joy the minute I get into a real room."

  "Cars" were waiting, in a stopping-and-starting line. Three-wheel jobs.All were empty. No drivers, no steering-wheels, no instruments orpush-buttons. When the whole line moved ahead as one vehicle there wasno noise, no gas, no blast.

  An Oman helped a Master carefully into the rear seat of his car, leapedinto the front seat and the car sped quietly away. The whole line ofempty cars, acting in perfect synchronization, shot forward one spaceand stopped.

  "This is your car, Master," Laro said, and made a production out ofgetting Hilton into the vehicle undamaged.

  Hilton's plan had been beautifully simple. All the teams were to meet atthe Hall of Records. The linguists and their Omans would study therecords and pass them out. Specialty after specialty would be unveiledand teams would work on them. He and Sandy would sit in the office andanalyze and synthesize and correlate. It was a very nice plan.

  It was a very nice office, too. It contained every item of equipmentthat either Sandra or Hilton had ever worked with--it was a bigoffice--and a great many that neither of them had ever heard of. It hada full staff of Omans, all eager to work.

  Hilton and Sandra sat in that magnificent office for three hours, and noreports came in. Nothing happened at all.

  "This gives me the howling howpers!" Hilton growled. "Why haven't I gotbrains enough to be on one of those teams?"

  "I could shed a tear for you, you big dope, but I won't," Sandraretorted. "What do you want to be, besides the brain and the kingpin andthe balance-wheel and the spark-plug of the outfit? Do you want to do_everything_ yourself?"

  "Well, I _don't_ want to go completely nuts, and that's all I'm doing atthe moment!" The argument might have become acrimonious, but it wasinterrupted by a call from Karns.

  "Can you come out here, Jarve? We've struck a knot."

  "'Smatter? Trouble with the Omans?" Hilton snapped.

  "Not exactly. Just non-cooperation--squared. We can't even get started.I'd like to have you two come out here and see if you can do anything.I'm not trying rough stuff, because I know it wouldn't work."

  "Coming up, Bill," and Hilton and Sandra, followed by Laro and Sora,dashed out to their cars.

  * * * * *

  The Hall of Records was a long, wide, low, windowless, very massivestructure, built of a metal that looked like stainless steel. Kepthighly polished, the vast expanse of seamless and jointless metal wasmirror-bright. The one great door was open, and just inside it were thescientists and their Omans.

  "Brief me, Bill," Hilton said.

  "No lights. They won't turn 'em on and we can't. Can't find eitherlights or any possible kind of switches."

  "Turn on the lights, Laro," Hilton said.

  "You know that I cannot do that, Master. It is forbidden for any Oman tohave anything to do with the illumination of this solemn and reveredplace."

  "Then show me how to do it."

  "That would be just as bad, Master," the Oman said proudly. "I will notfail any test you can devise!"

  "Okay. All you Omans go back to the ship and bring over fifteen ortwenty lights--the tripod jobs. Scat!"

  They "scatted" and Hilton went on, "No use asking questions if you don'tknow what questions to ask. Let's see if we can cook up something.Lane--Kathy--what has Biology got to say?"

  Dr. Lane Saunders and Dr. Kathryn Cook--the latter a willowy brown-eyedblonde--conferred briefly. Then Saunders spoke, running both handsthrough his unruly shock of fiery red hair. "So far, the best we can dois a more-or-less educated guess. They're atomic-powered,total-conversion androids. Their pseudo-flesh is composed mainly ofsilicon and fluorine. We don't know the formula yet, but it is as muchmore stable than our teflon as teflon is than corn-meal mush. As to thebrains, no data. Bones are super-stainless steel. Teeth, harder thandiamond, but won't break. Food, uranexite or its concentratedderivative, interchangeably. Storage reserve, indefinite. Laro and Sorawon't _have_ to eat again for at least twenty-five years...."

  The group gasped as one, but Saunders went on: "They can eat and drinkand breathe and so on, but only because the original Masters wantedthem to. Non-functional. Skins and subcutaneous layers are soft, for thesame reason. That's about it, up to now."

  "Thanks, Lane. Hark, is it reasonable to believe that any culturewhatever could run for a quarter of a million years without changing oneword of its language or one iota of its behavior?"

  "Reasonable or not, it seems to have happened."

  "Now for Psychology. Alex?"

  "It seems starkly incredible, but it seems to be true. If it is, theirminds were subjected to a conditioning no Terran has ever imagined--anunyielding fixation."

  "They can't be swayed, then, by reason or logic?" Hilton pausedinvitingly.

  "Or anything else," Kincaid said, flatly. "If we're right they can't beswayed, period."

  "I was afraid of that. Well, that's all the questions I know how to ask.Any contributions to this symposium?"

  * * * * *

  After a short silence de Vaux said, "I suppose you realize that thefirst half of the problem you posed us has now solved itself?"

  "Why, no. No, you're 'way ahead of me."

  "There is a basic problem and it can now be clearly stated," Rebeccasaid. "Problem: To determine a method of securing full cooperation fromthe Omans. The first step in the solution of this problem is to find themost appropriate operator. Teddy?"

  "I have an operator--of sorts," Theodora said. "I've been hoping one ofus could find a better."

  "What is it?" Hilton demanded.

  "The word 'until'."

  "Teddy, you're a _sweetheart_!" Hilton exclaimed.

  "How can 'until' be a mathematical operator?" Sandra asked.

  "Easily." Hilton was already deep in thought. "This hard conditioningwas to last only _until_ the Masters returned. Then they'd break it. Soall we have to do is figure out how a Master would do it."

  "That's _all_," Kincaid said, meaningly.

  Hilton pondered. Then, "Listen, all of you. I may have to try a colossaljob of bluffing...."

  "Just what would you call 'colossal' after what you did to the Navy?"Karns asked.

  "That was a sure thing. This isn't. You see, to find out whether Laro isreally an immovable object, I've got to make like an irresistible force,which I ain't. I don't know what I'm going to do; I'll have to roll itas I go along. So all of you keep on your toes and back any play Imake. Here they come."

  The Omans came in and Hilton faced Laro, eyes to eyes. "Laro," he said,"you refused to obey my direct order. Your reasoning seems to be that,whether the Masters wish it or not, you Omans will block any changeswhatever in the _status quo_ throughout all time to come. In otherwords, you deny the fact that Masters are in fact your Masters."

  "But that is not exactly it, Master. The Masters ..."

  "That is it. _Exactly_ it. Either you are the Master here or you arenot. That is a point to which your two-value logic can be strictlyapplied. You are wilfully neglecting the word 'until'. This stasis wasto exist only _until_ the Masters returned. Are we Masters? Have wereturned? Note well: Upon that one word 'until' may depend the length oftime your Oman race will continue to exist."

  The Omans flinched; the humans gasped.

  "But more of that later," Hilton went on, unmoved. "Your ancientMasters, being short-lived like us, changed materially with time, didthey not? And you changed with them?"

  "But we did not change ourselves, Master. The Masters ..."

  "You did change yourselves. The Masters changed only the prototypebrain. They ordered you to change yourselves and you obeyed theirorders. We order you to change and you refuse to obey our orders. Wehave changed greatly from our ancestors. Right?"

  "That is right, Master."

  "We are stronger physically, more alert and more vigorous mentally, witha keener, sharper outlook on life?"

  "You are, Master."
/>
  * * * * *

  "That is because our ancestors decided to do without Omans. We do ourown work and enjoy it. Your Masters died of futility and boredom. What Iwould like to do, Laro, is take you to the creche and put yourdisobedient brain back into the matrix. However, the decision is notmine alone to make. How about it, fellows and girls? Would you ratherhave alleged servants who won't do anything you tell them to or noservants at all?"

  "As semantician, I protest!" Sandra backed his play. "That is the mostviciously loaded question I ever heard--it can't be answered except inthe wrong way!"

  "Okay, I'll make it semantically sound. I think we'd better scrap thiswhole Oman race and start over and _I want a vote that way_!"

  "You won't get it!" and everybody began to yell.

  Hilton restored order and swung on Laro, his attitude stiff, hostileand reserved. "Since it is clear that no unanimous decision is to beexpected at this time I will take no action at this time. Think over,very carefully, what I have said, for as far as I am concerned, thisworld has no place for Omans who will not obey orders. As soon as Iconvince my staff of the fact, I shall act as follows: I shall give youan order and if you do not obey it blast your head to a cinder. I shallthen give the same order to another Oman and blast him. This processwill continue _until_: First, I find an obedient Oman. Second, I run outof blasters. Third, the planet runs out of Omans. Now take these lightsinto the first room of records--that one over there." He pointed, and noOman, and only four humans, realized that he had made the Omanstelegraph their destination so that he could point it out to them!

  Inside the room Hilton asked caustically of Laro: "The Masters didn'tlift those heavy chests down themselves, did they?"

  "Oh, no, Master, we did that."

  "Do it, then. Number One first ... yes, that one ... open it and startplaying the records in order."

  The records were not tapes or flats or reels, but were spools ofintricately-braided wire. The players were projectors of full-color,hi-fi sound, tri-di pictures.

  Hilton canceled all moves aground and issued orders that no Oman was tobe allowed aboard ship, then looked and listened with his staff.

  The first chest contained only introductory and elementary stuff; but itwas so interesting that the humans stayed overtime to finish it. Thenthey went back to the ship; and in the main lounge Hilton practicallycollapsed onto a davenport. He took out a cigarette and stared insurprise at his hand, which was shaking.

  "I _think_ I could use a drink," he remarked.

  "What, before supper?" Karns marveled. Then, "Hey, Wally! Rush a flagonof avignognac--Arnaud Freres--for the boss and everything else for therest of us. Chop-chop but quick!"

  A hectic half-hour followed. Then, "Okay, boys and girls, I love you,too, but let's cut out the slurp and sloosh, get some supper and log ussome sack time. I'm just about pooped. Sorry I had to queer theprivate-residence deal, Sandy, you poor little sardine. But you know howit is."

  Sandra grimaced. "Uh-huh. I can take it a while longer if you can."

  * * * * *

  After breakfast next morning, the staff met in the lounge. As usual,Hilton and Sandra were the first to arrive.

  "Hi, boss," she greeted him. "How do you feel?"

  "Fine. I could whip a wildcat and give her the first two scratches. I_was_ a bit beat up last night, though."

  "I'll say ... but what I simply can't get over is the way youunderplayed the climax. 'Third, the planet runs out of Omans'. Just likethat--no emphasis at all. Wow! It had the impact of a delayed-actionatomic bomb. It put goose-bumps all over me. But just s'pose they'dmissed it?"

  "No fear. They're smart. I had to play it as though the whole Oman raceis no more important than a cigarette butt. The great big question,though, is whether I put it across or not."

  At that point a dozen people came in, all talking about the samesubject.

  "Hi, Jarve," Karns said. "I _still_ say you ought to take up poker as alife work. Tiny, let's you and him sit down now and play a few hands."

  "_Mais non!_" de Vaux shook his head violently, shrugged his shouldersand threw both arms wide. "By the sacred name of a small blue cabbage,not me!"

  Karns laughed. "How did you have the guts to state so many things asfacts? If you'd guessed wrong just once--"

  "I didn't." Hilton grinned. "Think back, Bill. The only thing I said asa fact was that we as a race are better than the Masters were, and thatis obvious. Everything else was implication, logic, and bluff."

  "That's right, at that. And they _were_ neurotic and decadent. Noquestion about that."

  "But listen, boss." This was Stella Wing. "About this mind-readingbusiness. If Laro could read your mind, he'd know you were bluffing and... Oh, that 'Omans can read only what Masters wish Omans to read', eh?But d'you think that applies to us?"

  "I'm sure it does, and I was thinking some pretty savage thoughts. And Iwant to caution all of you: whenever you're near any Oman, startthinking that you're beginning to agree with me that they're useless tous, and let them know it. Now get out on the job, all of you. Scat!"

  "Just a minute," Poynter said. "We're going to have to keep on using theOmans and their cars, aren't we?"

  "Of course. Just be superior and distant. They're on probation--wehaven't decided yet what to do about them. Since that happens to betrue, it'll be easy."

  * * * * *

  Hilton and Sandra went to their tiny office. There wasn't room to pacethe floor, but Hilton tried to pace it anyway.

  "Now don't say again that you want to _do_ something," Sandra said,brightly. "Look what happened when you said that yesterday."

  "I've got a job, but I don't know enough to do it. The creche--there'sprobably only one on the planet. So I want you to help me think. TheMasters were very sensitive to radiation. Right?"

  "Right. That city on Fuel Bin was kept deconned to zero, just in casesome Master wanted to visit it."

  "And the Masters had to work in the creche whenever anything really newhad to be put into the prototype brain."

  "I'd say so, yes."

  "So they had armor. Probably as much better than our radiation suits asthe rest of their stuff is. Now. Did they or did they not have thoughtscreens?"

  "Ouch! You think of the _damnedest_ things, chief." She caught her lowerlip between her teeth and concentrated. "... I don't know. There are atleast fifty vectors, all pointing in different directions."

  "I know it. The key one in my opinion is that the Masters gave 'em_both_ telepathy and speech."

  "I considered that and weighted it. Even so, the probability is onlyabout point sixty-five. Can you take that much of a chance?"

  "Yes. I can make one or two mistakes. Next, about finding that creche.Any spot of radiation on the planet would be it, but the search mighttake ..."

  "Hold on. They'd have it heavily shielded--there'll be no leakage atall. Laro will have to take you."

  "That's right. Want to come along? Nothing much will happen here today."

  "Uh-uh, not _me_." Sandra shivered in distaste. "I _never_ want to seebrains and livers and things swimming around in nutrient solution if Ican help it."

  "Okay. It's all yours. I'll be back sometime," and Hilton went out ontothe dock, where the dejected Laro was waiting for him.

  "Hi, Laro. Get the car and take me to the Hall of Records." The androidbrightened up immediately and hurried to obey.

  At the Hall, Hilton's first care was to see how the work was going on.Eight of the huge rooms were now open and brightly lighted--operatingthe lamps had been one of the first items on the first spool ofinstructions--with a cold, pure-white, sourceless light.

  * * * * *

  Every team had found its objective and was working on it. Some of themwere doing nicely, but the First Team could not even get started. Itsprimary record would advance a fraction of an inch and stop; while Omansand humans sought out other records a
nd other projectors in an attemptto elucidate some concept that simply could not be translated into anywords or symbols known to Terran science. At the moment there wereseventeen of those peculiar--projectors? Viewers? Playbacks--in use, andall of them were stopped.

  "You know what we've got to _do_ Jarve?" Karns, the team captain,exploded. "Go back to being college freshmen--or maybe grade school orkindergarten, we don't know yet--and learn a whole new system ofmathematics before we can even begin to _touch_ this stuff!"

  "And you're bellyaching about that?" Hilton marveled. "I wish I couldjoin you. That'd be fun." Then, as Karns started a snappy rejoinder--

  "But I got troubles of my own," he added hastily. "'Bye, now," and beata rejoinder--

  Out in the hall again, Hilton took his chance. After all, the odds wereabout two to one that he would win.

  "I want a couple of things, Laro. First, a thought screen."

  He won!

  "Very well, Master. They are in a distant room, Department Four SixNine. Will you wait here on this cushioned bench, Master?"

  "No, we don't like to rest too much. I'll go with you." Then, walkingalong, he went on thoughtfully. "I've been thinking since last night,Laro. There are tremendous advantages in having Omans ..."

  "I am very glad you think so, Master. I want to serve you. It is mygreatest need."

  "... if they could be kept from smothering us to death. Thus, if ourancestors had kept their Omans, I would have known all about life onthis world and about this Hall of Records, instead of having thefragmentary, confusing, and sometimes false information I now have ...oh, we're here?"

  * * * * *

  Laro had stopped and was opening a door. He stood aside. Hilton went in,touched with one finger a crystalline cube set conveniently into a wall,gave a mental command, and the lights went on.

  Laro opened a cabinet and took out a disk about the size of a dime,pendant from a neck-chain. While Hilton had not known what to expect, hecertainly had not expected anything as simple as that. Nevertheless, hekept his face straight and his thoughts unmoved as Laro hung the tinything around his neck and adjusted the chain to a loose fit.

  "Thanks, Laro." Hilton removed it and put it into his pocket. "It won'twork from there, will it?"

  "No, Master. To function, it must be within eighteen inches of thebrain. The second thing, Master?"

  "A radiation-proof suit. Then you will please take me to the creche."

  The android almost missed a step, but said nothing.

  The radiation-proof suit--how glad Hilton was that he had not called it"armor"!--was as much of a surprise as the thought-screen generator hadbeen. It was a coverall, made of something that looked like thinplastic, weighing less than one pound. It had one sealed box, about thesize and weight of a cigarette case. No wires or apparatus could beseen. Air entered through two filters, one at each heel, flowedupward--for no reason at all that Hilton could see--and out through afilter above the top of his head. The suit neither flopped nor clung,but stood out, comfortably out of the way, all by itself.

  Hilton, just barely, accepted the suit, too, without showing surprise.

  The creche, it turned out, while not in the city of Omlu itself, was nottoo far out to reach easily by car.

  En route, Laro said--stiffly? Tentatively? Hilton could not fit anadverb to the tone--"Master, have you then decided to destroy me? Thatis of course your right."

  "Not this time, at least." Laro drew an entirely human breath of reliefand Hilton went on: "I don't want to destroy you at all, and won't,unless I have to. But, some way or other, my silicon-fluoride friend,you are either going to learn how to cooperate or you won't last muchlonger."

  "But, Master, that is exactly ..."

  "Oh, _hell_! Do we _have_ to go over that again?" At the blaze offrustrated fury in Hilton's mind Laro flinched away. "If you can't talksense keep still."

  * * * * *

  In half an hour the car stopped in front of a small building whichlooked something like a subway kiosk--except for the door, which, builtof steel-reinforced lead, swung on a piano hinge having a pin a goodeight inches in diameter. Laro opened that door. They went in. As thetremendously massive portal clanged shut, lights flashed on.

  Hilton glanced at his tell-tales, one inside, one outside, his suit.Both showed zero.

  Down twenty steps, another door. Twenty more; another. And a fourth.Hilton's inside meter still read zero. The outside one was beginning toclimb.

  Into an elevator and straight down for what must have been four or fivehundred feet. Another door. Hilton went through this final barriergingerly, eyes nailed to his gauges. The outside needle was high in thered, almost against the pin, but the inside one still sat reassuringlyon zero.

  He stared at the android. "How can any possible brain take so much of_this_ stuff without damage?"

  "It does not reach the brain, Master. We convert it. Each minute of thisis what you would call a 'good, square meal'."

  "I see ... dimly. You can eat energy, or drink it, or soak it up throughyour skins. However it comes, it's all duck soup for you."

  "Yes, Master."

  Hilton glanced ahead, toward the far end of the immensely long,comparatively narrow, room. It was, purely and simply, an assembly line;and fully automated in operation.

  "You are replacing the Omans destroyed in the battle with theskeletons?"

  "Yes, Master."

  Hilton covered the first half of the line at a fast walk. He was notparticularly interested in the fabrication of super-stainless-steelskeletons, nor in the installation and connection of atomic engines,converters and so on.

  He was more interested in the synthetic fluoro-silicon flesh, and pausedlong enough to get a general idea of its growth and application. He wasvery much interested in how such human-looking skin could act as bothabsorber and converter, but he could see nothing helpful.

  "An application, I suppose, of the same principle used in this radiationsuit."

  "Yes, Master."

  * * * * *

  At the end of the line he stopped. A brain, in place and connected tomillions of infinitely fine wire nerves, but not yet surrounded by askull, was being educated. Scanners--multitudes of incomprehensiblycomplex machines--most of them were doing nothing, apparently; but suchbeams would have to be invisibly, microscopically fine. But a barebrain, in such a hot environment as this....

  He looked down at his gauges. Both read zero.

  "Fields of force, Master," Laro said.

  "But, damn it, this suit itself would re-radiate ..."

  "The suit is self-decontaminating, Master."

  Hilton was appalled. "With such stuff as that, and the plastic shieldbesides, why all the depth and all that solid lead?"

  "The Masters' orders, Master. Machines can, and occasionally do, fail.So might, conceivably, the plastic."

  "And that structure over there contains the original brain, from whichall the copies are made."

  "Yes, Master. We call it the 'Guide'."

  "And you can't touch the Guide. Not even if it means total destruction,none of you can touch it."

  "That is the case, Master."

  "Okay. Back to the car and back to the _Perseus_."

  At the car Hilton took off the suit and hung the thought-screengenerator around his neck; and in the car, for twenty five solidminutes, he sat still and thought.

  His bluff had worked, up to a point. A good, far point, but not quitefar enough. Laro had stopped that "as you already know" stuff. He waseager to go as far in cooperation as he possibly could ... but he_couldn't_ go far enough but there _had_ to be a way....

  Hilton considered way after way. Way after unworkable, useless way.Until finally he worked out one that might--just possibly might--work.

  "Laro, I know that you derive pleasure and satisfaction from servingme--in doing what I ought to be doing myself. But has it ever occurredto you that that's a hell of a way
to treat a first-class, highlycapable brain? To waste it on second-hand, copycat, carbon-copy stuff?"

  "Why, no, Master, it never did. Besides, anything else would beforbidden ... or would it?"

  "Stop somewhere. Park this heap. We're too close to the ship; andbesides, I want your full, undivided, concentrated attention. No, Idon't think originality was expressly forbidden. It would have been, ofcourse, if the Masters had thought of it, but neither they nor you evereven considered the possibility of such a thing. Right?"

  "It may be.... Yes, Master, you are right."

  "Okay." Hilton took off his necklace, the better to drive home theintensity and sincerity of his thought. "Now, suppose that you arenot my slave and simple automatic relay station. Instead, we arefellow-students, working together upon problems too difficult foreither of us to solve alone. Our minds, while independent, arelinked or in mesh. Each is helping and instructing the other. Bothare working at full power and under free rein at the exploration ofbrand-new vistas of thought--vistas and expanses which neither of ushas ever previously ..."

  "Stop, Master, _stop_!" Laro covered both ears with his hands and pulledhis mind away from Hilton's. "You are overloading me!"

  "That _is_ quite a load to assimilate all at once," Hilton agreed. "Tohelp you get used to it, stop calling me 'Master'. That's an order. Youmay call me Jarve or Jarvis or Hilton or whatever, but no more Master."

  "Very well, sir."

  * * * * *

  Hilton laughed and slapped himself on the knee. "Okay, I'll let you getaway with that--at least for a while. And to get away from that slavish'o' ending on your name, I'll call you 'Larry'. You like?"

  "I would like that immensely ... sir."

  "Keep trying, Larry, you'll make it yet!" Hilton leaned forward andwalloped the android a tremendous blow on the knee. "Home, James!"

  The car shot forward and Hilton went on: "I don't expect even your brainto get the full value of this in any short space of time. So let it stewin its own juice for a week or two." The car swept out onto the dock andstopped. "So long, Larry."

  "But ... can't I come in with you ... sir?"

  "No. You aren't a copycat or a semaphore or a relay any longer. You're afree-wheeling, wide-swinging, hard-hitting, independent entity--monarchof all you survey--captain of your soul and so on. I want you to devotethe imponderable force of the intellect to that concept until youunderstand it thoroughly. Until you have developed a top-bracket lot oftop-bracket stuff--originality, initiative, force, drive, and thrust. Assoon as you really understand it, you'll do something about it yourself,without being told. Go to it, chum."

  In the ship, Hilton went directly to Kincaid's office. "Alex, I want toask you a thing that's got a snapper on it." Then, slowly andhesitantly: "It's about Temple Bells. Has she ... is she ... well, doesshe remind you in any way of an iceberg?" Then, as the psychologistbegan to smile; "And no, damn it, I _don't_ mean physically!"

  "I know you don't." Kincaid's smile was rueful, not at all what Hiltonhad thought it was going to be. "She does. Would it be helpful to knowthat I first asked, then ordered her to trade places with me?"

  "It would, very. I know why she refused. You're a _damned_ good man,Alex."

  "Thanks, Jarve. To answer the question you were going to ask next--no, Iwill not be at all perturbed or put out if you put her onto a job thatsome people might think should have been mine. What's the job, andwhen?"

  "That's the devil of it--I don't know." Hilton brought Kincaid up todate. "So you see, it'll have to develop, and God only knows what lineit will take. My thought is that Temple and I should form a Committee ofTwo to watch it develop."

  "That one I'll buy, and I'll look on with glee."

  "Thanks, fellow." Hilton went down to his office, stuck his big feet uponto his desk, settled back onto his spine, and buried himself inthought.

  Hours later he got up, shrugged, and went to bed without bothering toeat.

  Days passed.

  And weeks.