Seed of the Gods

«Kid, you'll have your nose to the grindstone the rest of your life. Live it up. Lie in the sun. Go fishing.» Her father was, she thought, one of the world's great men and it was a great world and the sun was just wonderful. She loosened the straps of her halter so that she wouldn't have white stripes on her shoulders, timed her baking to ten minutes per side, sipped Pepsi in which the ice was rapidly melting, and said a friendly word now and then to old Bem, who had found a shady spot under the overhang of the upper dock level, and watched the Tiger practice climbing trees. She was on her third ten-minute turn when a compact ball of energy landed in the small of her back, having sneaked up in dirty tenny-pumps, shushing and grinning at another, smaller ball of energy tagging along behind him. Sooly whooped as the air rushed out of her lungs, rolled over, gathered the small boy in her arms and playfully massaged his scalp with her knuckles through a shock of cotton-white hair. «Let's go swimming, Sooly,» her cousin, Bill, gasped through his laughter. «Twim, Tooly,» said young Anne, coming up to join in the roughhouse. «In you go,» Sooly said, tossing Bill into the creek. He went out of sight, came up blowing and kicking energetically. Sooly lowered Anne by the arms to let her stand on the lower lip of the dock, which was under water on the mid-tide. Hot and sticky with suntan cream, she bailed out, splashing mightily, her hair soon wet and clinging to her head. On, the marsh side of the creek there was a flat of delicious mud. Bill swam over and started taking labored, sucking steps, sinking in to his knees. «Mud, Tooly, mud,» Anne kept repeating, until Sooly swam across with Anne in tow and let the small girl join her brother in the fun. Bill turned out a soft-shell crab which had been hiding in the mud and all three chased the poor creature until it was caught and put into the crab trap by the dock for John Kurt's dinner. «Hey,» Bill screamed in that full-voiced roar which seems to be the common voice of all small boys. «Let's go crabbing.» «You'll have to help clean them,» Sooly told him. «Sure.» The fat, black dog insisted on going, too, although Sooly knew it would be better for the dog to-stay at home and sleep in the shade. She hadn't the heart to say no, however, so she lifted Bem into the back of the battered old pick-up which was the family beach buggy and installed Bill and Anne in the back with the dog after severe injunctions to sit still and not move at all. She drove no faster than twenty miles an hour going across the causeway and the bridge, turned left into the little-used dirt road leading up to the Flying Saucer Camp, parked the car in the middle of the road in front of the piece of rusted cable which was stretched across the road to keep vehicles out. Faded signs said PRIVATE PROPERTY—KEEP OUT. She ignored them, as usual. She lifted dog and children out of the bed of the truck, loaded Bill with bucket, crab lines and net, and allowed Anne to carry the rank fish heads which would be used as bait. The dock at the rendering plant had, for years, been a favorite crabbing spot for people in the immediate area and for summer people, the unlucky ones who worked upstate in the grimy factory cities and looked forward all year to spending two weeks doing what local people did all year round. The absentee owner was never present to enforce the KEEP OUT signs. There were six tanks. The buildings were closed, walls faded rustic from the original red of the cheap barn paint used on the rough-sawn boards. The two peeling, white houses—windows closed, cheap shades frayed half-way up the panes—looked abandoned. Bem showed an interest as they walked across the bare dirt of the area between buildings, sniffing and grunting in an effort to get both scent and air into her tired old nose. Bill and Anne ran ahead and were busily making the tangles in the crab lines almost foolproof when Sooly arrived at the end of the dock. She hadn't bothered to change, since the Flying Saucer Camp was almost always deserted. She wore a faded blue bathing suit, a size or two too small, selected that morning because it was so far gone that a bit more suntan cream wouldn't hurt it. She finally freed two lines from the tangle, tied fish heads above the lead weights at the end and set her two little cousins to pulling in angry blue crabs which she netted, throwing out the small and medium-sized ones and putting the large ones into the bucket. John Kurt thought the crop of crabs was good around the rendering plant because of its one season of operation. As the pogy boats were unloaded, fish had been dropped into the Waterway, encouraging the colony of crabs which still peopled the dark water near the dock. Fishing was good. It was Jay, the worrier, who first heard the loud, childish squeals of delight and looked out a window to see intruders on the dock. His eyes seemed to protrude a fraction of an inch further as he motioned Toby silently to the window. Toby had oil on his hands and smudges on his face and his khaki work costume was wet with perspiration and soiled by contact with the well-lubricated power plants which he was installing. «Intruders,» Jay said. «We'd better get rid of them.» «A female and two young ones,» Toby mused, his eyes not missing the flow of girl as Sooly netted a crab and bucketed it. «Our advance studies showed that the people of this area often use the dock to catch various marine species.» «Get rid of them,» Jay ordered. «Me?» Toby felt a flush. «You're senior. You get rid of them.» Toby wasn't about to go out there and face a female and tell her to beat it. «And because I'm senior I'm telling you to do it,» Jay said, his voice rising. «What should I say?» Toby asked nervously, accepting the order as any good man would. «Tell them it's dangerous. Tell them it's private property,» Jay said. Toby wiped his hands and pushed back his blond hair, leaving a hint of dark oil on it. He braced himself. A man often is called upon to perform distasteful duties. He walked briskly out of the overheated barn, felt the full blast of sun on his face and wondered how much damage its rays were doing. He rounded the corner into a slight sea breeze blowing across the marsh, swallowed as he reached the long dock and let his heels click on the boards to warn the female of his approach. Apparently she didn't hear him, being intent on netting crabs and laughing with the two young ones. He was within ten feet of her back when he stopped, close enough to see the dent in her skin where the upper garment dug in, to see that the lower garment fit snugly and wouldn't zip up all the way, being slightly too small. Her body was as full as a mature woman's, her legs sturdy, her hair nice, slightly mussed as if it had been wet and then hurriedly combed. He waited for her to turn, feeling uncomfortable. After watching her net two more of the vicious blue crabs, he cleared his throat. She didn't hear. He coughed. He caught himself getting a bit panicky. He coughed again and this time she heard and turned her head. She was busy with netting a crab, however, and looked back at her work immediately, using the net expertly, turning to face him only when the job was done. «Hi,» she said. «They're biting good.» «I must tell you,» Toby began, his voice weak, «that it is dangerous and this is private property.» «Huh?» Sooly asked. «What did he say?» Bill piped. «Oh, it's all right,» Sooly said, smiling. «They swim like ducks and I'm a senior lifesaver.» «I have been instructed to tell you,» Toby said, his voice growing stronger, «that it is dangerous to be on this facility and that it is private property.» «Pooh,» Sooly said, her smile fading. «It's always been private property. Are you the owner?» «No,» Toby answered truthfully. «Then what's the score?» Sooly asked. «I am employed here. My superior requests that you leave.» «You've got to be kidding,» Sooly said, her face clouding up. «I've been crabbing here since I was a kid.» «Nevertheless—» Toby began. «No one has ever objected before,» Sooly said, interrupting in the way of a woman. «I don't understand why the sudden concern. We're not hurting anything. The old plant is not running, the owner never comes down—» «There is a new owner,» Toby said. «Please leave.» «O.K., kids,» Sooly said, thoroughly angered. An outsider was butting in on something that wasn't any of his business, telling her she couldn't do something she'd been doing for years. «The nice man said we have to leave.» «Mean man,» Anne said, glaring at the tall, blond man with fire in her eyes. «I'm sorry,» Toby said. «But it's not my choice. I'm only—» he paused, «—an employee.» «I dig,» Sooly said. «But who's the C.S. bastard who gave the order? I'd like to talk to him.» «Ah, I'm afraid that would be impossible,» Toby said, knowing that there was only one authority and that an order from Jay was, in effect, an order from that authority. «Well, you'll be hearing from me anyhow,» Sooly said irrationally, angry in the way of women. «You can bet on that.» She was gathering up the equipment. She swept past Toby with the young ones in tow, eyes flashing. When she was angry, her eyes appeared to be larger and made her so much more attractive that Toby could not help himself. He had to watch her. From the rear she looked very womanly. He tried to wipe such evil thoughts from his mind as he walked back to the shed to resume his work. «Has somebody bought the old fish plant?» Sooly asked her father over a fine meal of steamed crabs. «That's the word,» John said. «Northern outfit.» «They say we can't crab off the dock anymore,» Sooly said. «Breaks of the game.» John cracked a claw and sucked out the meat expertly. «I think that's terrible,» Sooly responded. «What did he say?» asked John, with only minor interest. «He said it was dangerous. And he kept talking about how he was ordered to tell us to leave.» «Nice-looking young fellow with blond hair?» John asked. Sooly thought. «Come to think of it, he was. I was so mad I didn't notice. He was sorta groovy—long blond hair, a wild mustache, big, soft eyes.» «That's Toby. The other one's called Jay.» «There's no reason to make us stop using the dock,» Sooly pouted. «Every reason in the world,» John said. «They own it.» «Best crabbing spot around,» Sooly said. «You can always take a boat,» he replied. «Hey, that's right,» she said. «We could anchor right off the dock and they couldn't do a thing about it, right?» «Right,» her father agreed. «But can't you find another spot to go crabbing?» «Sure,» Sooly said, «but they've made me mad.» «It couldn't be,» her mother asked, «that you're thinking about that groovy blond fellow with his soft eyes and blond mustache?» «Oh, mother.» Sooly said. Chapter Five A fresh, new pipe some thirty inches in diameter snaked out of the shed, across the bare earth, down the muddy, sloping bank through the marsh grass to bend down into the Intracoastal Waterway. An identical pipe came out another hole cut into a wall and made its way to the water fifty yards to the west. There were no seams, no visible joints. Toby made a last minute inspection of each pipe, walked through the morning haze to the building, entered, resisting the urge to hold his nose until he could find his mask. Mask in place, he ran down a check list, nodded in satisfaction, gave Jay the go-ahead and nodded again as the three in-line power plants hummed into life. He could hear the rush of water through the intake pipe. Jay, monitoring gauges, nodded. Toby moved around the power plants with a critical ear, listening to the smooth hum. He pushed a button and the extractor whined. He heard the rush of water as it hit the outlet pipe and moved to the extractor to watch the indicators. As he watched, the accumulator gauge moved ever so minutely. He grinned at Jay, opened the access port, dipped up a tiny quantity of material and fed it to the analyzer. «Ninety-nine point six,» he said. Jay frowned. «I know,» Toby said, making adjustments. The next small quantity showed 99.88. Optimum. Satisfied, Toby walked to the dock. The intake pipe was sucking hard enough to make a visible current moving into it. The outlet sent swirls of clear water to the surface before it mixed in with the dark water of the canal. Back inside, he checked power consumption. For various reasons it had been decided to use local power. It would have been much easier to use their own power, but the plant was going to be in operation for four months and if they'd put in their own power, sooner or later someone might have asked questions. Using local power posed some problems, of course. For one thing, they had to counterfeit the money to open a bank account so that they could pay their power bills. The way the stuff was being used, their bills would be large. But it was good money—so much a duplicate of the real thing that no detection device could tell the difference. At any rate, that was not Toby's worry. That and many other details of the same nature were handled by another team working in New York. Toby was not a part of that operation, but he knew that the northern team had set up a series of dummy corporations, making it impossible to trace the money back to its source within the time needed to do the job. Toby's education was limited to language and customs. Although he was prohibited from undue contact, there would be other incidents like the encounter with the female and the two young ones on the dock. He would handle such contacts with as much courtesy as possible and end them as quickly as he could. Meantime, he was in for a long period of boredom. The machinery was automatic and required only a minimum amount of maintainence. For two days he spent most of his time in the shed, checking and making sure that the initial installation had no flaws. The power plants hummed and the extractor whined and the accumulator gauge clicked steadily now, advancing by miniscule degrees as the material built up in the receptacles. On the third day, Toby requested permission to go into town. This worried Jay. «You know the orders,» Jay said. «I have a special dispensation,» Toby said. «I am to be allowed to pursue one of my interest fields while here at the base. To do this, I need access to the library in the town.» «Do you have a card?» the female librarian asked, «No, I'm sorry,» Toby said. «Do you own your own home?» she asked. «No.» «Then your card will have to be signed by your employer or by a local property owner,» she told him. All of which necessitated another trip to town with the card signed by Jay who was, technically at least, Toby's employer. It all seemed rather foolish to Toby, for Jay's signature could not possibly mean more to the library than his own, but the rules were to be obeyed. Moreover, the rules worked, for he walked out of the library with an armful of books having a bearing on history. There were also a couple of natural history books, since Toby was fascinated by animal and bird life. Jay made some remarks about Toby's book selection. Jay spent all of his off-watch time in the lab he'd set up in the second house. Toby didn't mention that Jay's work could have no more relevance than his own. He felt that a man's off time was his own and if a man wanted to while it away repeating experiments that had been performed hundreds, thousands of times in the past, well, that was his business. Toby wasn't very close to Jay. He knew little about the man except that he was well past middle age, was a fleet veteran with an interest field involving medical sciences, a rather barren field since all the mysteries had been solved millennia ago. Toby developed a horrified interest in war and spent hours going through book after book. His trips to the library were frequent and finally brought a comment from the librarian which he didn't, for the first moment or so, understand. «What do you do,» she asked, «look at the pictures?» He frowned, trying to find the reason for the comment and then he realized that he wasn't giving enough time to the books, going through two dozen per day. To avoid further suspicion, he limited his reading to a mere four books a day and soon found time hanging heavy on his hands. For long hours, protected from the harmful effects of the sun by a special preparation which was unpleasantly gooey and which closed his pores so that he could not perspire, he steamed on the dock, making notes and drawings on the astoundingly varied life in the marsh and its environs. He had purchased a book on birds, a paperback edition from the rack in the local drugstore, and he identified two dozen types of waterfoul including a beautiful number called a skimmer gull which fed on minute marine organisms by flying just above the surface of the water with the lower half of its bill skimming up the food. He witnessed a tragedy and was saddened. One beautiful skimmer walked along the mud bank at low tide, weak, feathers muddy and bedraggled, his lower bill broken, starving slowly. He saw death in other forms, too. Squirrels played in the trees next to the plant. One, standing on its hind legs with its forepaws held in front almost in the position of a supplicant, sent out a chirping, bird-like noise, announcing, Toby conjectured, love or territorial claim. Suddenly a hawk swooped down and struggled into the air with the squirrel. The animal's frantic fight for survival ceased before the bird was out of sight as cruel talons sank into soft flesh. Shrimp boats plied the Waterway before light and near dark, going out toward the sea in the early mists and coming home with a million gulls in attendance as the workers on the boat headed shrimp and tossed the heads over to make a feast for the birds. Pleasure craft sent wake waves crashing against the dock. People waved. Shapely females in skimpy costumes lounged on the sun decks, soaking up the rays of the sun. The Squire found the younger hairy fellow on the dock the day he tooled down from Ocean City to check out a report that the rendering plant was dumping something into the canal. He was in a sleek ski-boat, for which he had absolutely no use, athletic activity being far in his past. He owned the boat with its hundred-horse outboard engine because, rather shrewdly he thought, he'd insisted on its being a part of a swap. Seeing that one of the new people was on the dock he went past, turned around a half mile down the Waterway and tooled back up. Toby saw the boat go past and noted that the operator, unlike most, didn't wave. Then he saw the boat coming back, slower, and he broke off his observation of the sun-worshipping claw-waving of a colony of fiddler crabs to observe. When the boat came in close to the dock he waited for the operator to wave or yell a greeting. The boat moved in close to the outlet pipe and the man aboard it was looking at the clear swirl of water. The Squire moved his boat to the intake pipe, saw the current moving into the pipe and frowned. Then he remembered that he was being watched and, to live up to his reputation, popped a beer. After this flourish he took off, his mission completed. «Dear Sir,» the Squire, later seated in his study, wrote to the head of the Department of Conservation and Development. «Your man here, a—» Here he crossed out the word 'smart-ass' and continued «—an impudent fellow named John Kurt, isn't doing his job, since it is my personal knowledge that the old menhaden rendering plant is now engaged in some sort of operation and is dumping stuff into the Intracoastal Waterway. In view of the past persecution of honest taxpayers in such matters, I am sure you will do your duty.» It was that same afternoon when Sooly decided, having done her housework and baked herself to a brown crisp, that it was time to show those newcomers at the Flying Saucer Camp that you can't snow an old-time Ocean County girl. She pushed her father's aluminum boat into the creek, struggled down to the dock with his nine-and-a-half horse fishing motor, loaded in Bill, Anne and the fat, black dog who insisted on going in spite of the heat of the July sun, and ran the creeks to the Waterway and the dock where, as it happened, Toby was still observing the local wildlife. To show the outsider, she anchored only feet away from the pilings and, coldly ignoring him, set the kids to hauling in crabs. Toby suffered the close proximity of the female and the young ones as long as he could and then beat a strategic retreat to tell Jay that they were back. «Send them away,» he said. «They're not on the dock.» «You said they were back.» «They're in a boat.» «Then they're not back.» «They're just a few feet off the dock and near the intake pipe.» «Maybe you'd better send them away,» Jay said. «You can't do that here,» Toby, having returned, told the female as he stood on the dock looking down at her. «Aha,» Sooly said. «Gotcha.» She giggled. «This, my friend, is public water and I can do what I damned well please on it as long as I don't come ashore on your property.» «Are you sure?» Toby asked, not knowing what to do. «You can bet your bippy on it,» Sooly said. «Watch out!» This last was to Bill, who, in his excitement over trying to land a barnacle-encrusted granddaddy of a blue crab, knocked Bem into the water. The dog surfaced, snorting and gasping, and started to swim for the shore. Sooly leaned over and called, but the dog continued to make it for the nearest dry land, swimming directly toward the swirl of current above the intake pipe. «Watch out!» Toby yelled. Caught in the current, the dog was drawn to the center of the eddy above the pipe. The suction wasn't strong enough to draw her under, but it was strong enough to prevent her breaking free. She swam in the same place, her eyes frightened, her breath coming in labored gasps. Sooly stood up, dived into the water, leaving the canoe rocking and Bill and Anne squealing and hanging onto the gunwales. Toby, who had seen the sadness of the starving skimmer gull and the quick and violent death of the squirrel, also realized the danger. His splash was only a split second behind that of Sooly. Sooly reached Bem first, caught her by the scruff of the neck. Toby was there then and he said, «Let me get her.» «She's my dog,» Sooly said. She tried to push Toby away and got a mouthful of water. She coughed and spit and struggled toward the near bank, since climbing into the canoe from the water was ticklish and she didn't want to have Bill and Anne and the dog in the water with her. Toby, trying to be helpful, laid hands on Sooly, felt her warm softness, flushed with embarrassment, took an elbow in the chin and saw stars. He gave up trying to help and swam along behind Sooly. She waded out, sinking into the mud. Bem was gasping and struggling in her arms. She was close to the dock. She put the dog on the weathered boards and hoisted herself up. Toby followed, dripping. «Is it all right?» he asked, as the old dog, exhausted, flopped down onto the boards with her legs stretched out, her fat belly panting. «She is not an it.» Sooly said, angered. «What are you trying to do, drown my dog?» «I did nothing,» Toby said defensively. «You've got that thing out there,» Sooly yelled, pointing to the intake pipe. «I think it's illegal and dangerous.» «The intake pipe?» Toby said, flustered by her anger. «Whatever it is,» Sooly said, bending to pat Bem reassuringly. «And she's got heart trouble and the excitement could very well kill her.» «I hope not,» Toby said sincerely. «Do you have troleen?» «Of course I have—» She paused. «Do I have what?» Toby realized his error. «Do you have any medication for her?» The dog's breath was uneven and panting. «At home,» Sooly said. «Wait.» Toby ran to the small house, found the troleen in the medical kit, ran back. He was at a loss as to how to get the pill into the animal. He looked at the panting dog helplessly. «Are you a vet?» Sooly asked. «A what?» «An animal doctor, stupid,» Sooly said, worried out of her mind about the dog. «In a way,» Toby said. «Here,» Sooly said, taking the pill from his hand. Her fingers touched his. He felt the contact. She thrust the pill far down Bem's throat and forced her mouth closed. Bem gasped and swallowed. The relief was almost instantaneous. «Hey, great,» Sooly cried, as Bem rose, wagged her tailless rump and sniffed at Toby's feet. «Do you have any more of that stuff? That's the best medicine I've ever seen.» «I'm sorry,» Toby said, thinking quickly. «That's all I have.» «Well, thanks, anyhow,» Sooly said. «Know where I can get it?» «It's an experimental drug,» Toby said. «Is that what you're doing here?» Sooly asked, looking at Toby with an approving eye. His wet, blond hair clung to his skull and he looked groovy, like a surfer just in from a wild ride. «Not exactly,» Toby said, wondering how he could get rid of them now. «Well, listen, thanks a lot for helping.» She took her eyes off him. «You kids pull up the anchor,» she told Bill and Anne. Bill started working. Sooly yelled instructions and Bill started the motor, put it in gear, banged the boat against the dock. Sooly made it fast and turned to Toby. «Well, I guess we'd better go.» «Yes,» Toby said. That made her flare up a bit. To punish him, she decided to stay longer. Seeing a pile of books on the dock she bent and checked titles. She thumbed the bird book. «This one isn't complete,» she said. «What you need is Goody's Book of Shore Birds.» «I have found it difficult to identify species,» Toby admitted. «They all look alike, huh?» «But there is an amazing variety,» Toby said. «Look, I'll tell you what.» He wasn't a bad guy after all. Any man interested in birds couldn't be all bad. «I've got Goody's. Want to borrow it?» «I don't want to put you to any bother,» Toby said. «No bother. I'll run it by on the way into town this evening.» She frowned. «If it's permissible to come onto your private property.» Toby considered. «That would be nice of you,» he said, seeing no harm in borrowing a book. After all, he had permission to pursue his interest while off duty. «If you'll tell me what time you're coming, I'll meet you at the gate.» «I hate being tied to schedules, don't you?» She used her best smile on him. «I'll park at the wire and walk up.» She was in the boat before Toby could think of a counter offer. Bud was running a charter party to the continental shelf that day. He was due in between 5:30 and 6:00. Sooly started for town at 5:00 with a copy of the bird book on the seat beside her. She parked the car at the cable across the road leading to the buildings at the Flying Saucer Camp and walked the rest of the way. The place looked deserted, as usual. As she passed the largest building she heard the sound of electric motors from inside, but the doors were closed and padlocked. She directed her steps toward the house into which Toby had gone to get the pill for the dog, but once past the building she saw Toby on the dock, lying on his face looking over the edge. She walked to the dock. Hearing her, he turned and put a finger to his lips. She joined him on the edge and looked over. A female marsh hen and her brood were chasing sand fiddlers on the mud. The hen was a long-legged, long-necked, long-billed water bird dressed in dirty black. The chicks were balls of furry feathers, their long little legs adding a touch of comedy to their appearance. They watched in silence until the mother hen led the chicks back into the grass. «Fascinating,» Toby said. «They're clapper rails,» Sooly said. «Are they in your book?» «I couldn't find them.» «Here,» she said, opening the Goody book to the rail section. Toby read in silence for a moment, looked up. «You eat them?» His face showed his distaste. «Tasty, as a matter of fact,» Sooly said. «How terrible.» «You some kind of vegetarian nut?» Sooly asked. Toby was silent. He nodded. «No rare steaks cooked on a charcoal grill? Baked flounder? Trout fillets in butter?» She shook her head in pity. Toby was turning pages rapidly, absorbing the information in the book. Sooly glanced toward the storage tanks. Six of them. The largest one had the light on it. «Very nice,» Toby said. «I'd like a while to finish it, if I may.» «Sure.» «If you need it, it'll take just a few minutes.» «You're kidding.» It was a big book. Toby saw his mistake. «You can keep it. I'll pick it up in a few days or you can bring it, if you like.» Now why did she say that? «You're very kind,» Toby said. «Perhaps I can return the favor. If your dog gets sick again—» He was on dangerous ground. There was something about the woman which made him want to please. «I thought you didn't have any more of that stuff,» Sooly said. «Perhaps I can get some more.» «Sure,» she said. «Well, I've got to run.» He walked with her. She looked up at the tanks, counting. Six. He saw her lips move and her fingers move as she counted. «What are you doing?» «Nothing,» she laughed. She turned her face to him. She was, he thought, very attractive, although her eyes were too small. She laughed again. «If you must know, I was counting the tanks.» «Oh?» Toby dared not say more. «Sometimes there are seven,» Sooly said. «Oh, no,» Toby said quickly. «They're smart. They park between the two big tanks so you can't tell there's anything there unless you look good.» «They?» Toby asked, his heart pounding. «The aliens,» Sooly said, smiling to show that she was half-joking. «Didn't you know that this is a Flying Saucer Camp?» «It's just an abandoned fish rendering plant,» Toby said, his face flushing. «We're—» «You think I'm crazy,» Sooly said. «Don't mind me. I see flying saucers.» Toby felt as if he wanted to run away and report. He paused, standing near the corner of the big building. Inside the power plants hummed and the extractor whined. «I have to go in now,» he said. «Why?» Sooly asked, annoyed. «Is your mama calling?» «Thank you for the book,» he said. «But I don't think I need it after all.» He extended the book. «Don't be silly,» Sooly said. «Keep it.» She walked away without looking back. She wanted to look back, because she found Toby to be a very attractive man. She felt guilty about that, and about her secret thoughts, as she drove to Ocean City to admire Bud's catch of fish. Chapter Six The vehicle came in just after midnight and Toby supervised the onloading of the raw material. He was nervous. He'd known there was something wrong when the vehicle landed and Manto Babra Larkton stepped out, dressed in full Entil colors. He snapped to attention with Jay and saluted. He was left alone to do the loading while the Manto and Jay held a conference out of his hearing distance. The job done, the vehicle's hold filled with the first products of the extraction process, Toby stood at ease beside the vehicle, waiting. «Bakron Wellti,» the Manto said, striding to him, finished with whatever she'd been saying to Toby's immediate superior, who followed, his eyes bulging, his breathing showing his agitation. «Three times in the past week our instruments have shown the coordinates of the local reference point and the base to coincide. Koptol Gagi can shed no light on this novel situation.» Jay shifted on his feet at the mention of his name. «Lady,» Toby said. «Nor can I.» «Yet the Koptol says there have been three incidents of intrusion by native life forms,» Babra said. «Yes, Lady,» Toby said. «There have been four incidents, counting the close approach of a native male in a boat.» «And the others?» «A female, Lady. Twice with two young ones. Once alone. May I ask what this has to do with movement of the local reference point?» «The local reference point is female,» the Manto said. «I know that navigation and shipment is not your field, so I will explain. You're aware that the surprisingly high state of communications science achieved by the Ortonians has made the use of standard navigational and shipping signals impossible?» «I understand that, Lady,» Toby said. «Such signals would be subject to detection by the natives.» «As a result, we selected an alternate method, the monitoring of an individual life emanation,» Babra said. «And you know that emanations are subject to change with emotions.» «I've done no work in that field, Lady,» Toby said, «but in school I had an indoctrination course. Strong emotions give strong emanations. Pain, anger, fear, love. Yet, as you say, these emotions are subject to rapid and decisive change.» «It was necessary,» Babra said, «to find a steady emanation associated with an individual whose day to day activities would not take her beyond useful range. We found that emanation in a local female.» She smiled. «You're aware, of course, that female emanations are more powerful?» «Yes, Lady,» Toby said. «We monitor this emanation constantly. The fact that it moved onto the base, itself, has caused some concern. I am led to believe that you have met the source of this emanation three times. Tell me about her.» «She's quite young,» Toby said. «Yet she has a mature body. Except for the smallness of her eyes she is quite attractive. She can be contentious at times, Lady. I had to become quite forceful, in fact, to get her to leave the grounds the first time she appeared.» «And the reasons for her intrusion?» He told her. He left out nothing. A good man does not try to cover up his mistakes, and he realized now that his having accepted the book from the Orton woman was, indeed, a misjudgment. He stood prepared to take his punishment. Instead, when he was finished, the Manto smiled. «You have done nothing wrong, Bakron,» she said. «I would suggest as little contact as possible in the future. Do not encourage this Orton woman to visit the base, but if she does, be courteous and make her stay as short as possible. Since you're going to be here for some months yet, it will be impossible for you to avoid all contact. Indeed, minimum contact with the local populace should help to divert suspicion. You must convince them that you're human.» She smiled again. «You may return the woman's book.» «Thank you, Lady.» «And now there is time,» Babra said, the aura of authority suddenly replaced by a softness which caused visceral stirrings in Toby, «for me to spend some time with you in your quarters, if you like.» An opting was never an order. Even ratings had freedom of choice. «Lady,» Toby said, pleased and feeling a growing excitement. «I know it must be lonely for you down here all alone,» Babra said, taking Toby's arm and pressing her warm breast against his shoulder, «and I would welcome an opportunity to talk with you about your work with the Orton animal life. As a descendant of the great Mari Wellti, I'm sure you've reached some interesting conclusions regarding this zoo.» She used the Orton word, since there was no comparable word in the Ankani language. There was talk. It lasted until just before dawn, when Manto Babra Larkton boarded the laden vehicle for the short blink back to the Entil. But first, in the darkness of the little room, with Babra's eyes glowing softly—those huge, lovely eyes which took up a full third of her face— there was sweetness and fulfillment and then later talk, and once more before the dawn with Babra soft and clinging and wonderful, a true Ankani woman, beautiful as only an Ankani woman could be, as beautiful as and younger than the Garge herself. Bakron Toby Wellti was a happy, sleepy man as he watched the seventh storage tank rise slightly and blink out of the space between the two large, odorous fishoil storage tanks. The Entil was a good ship with officers who were genuinely concerned with the well-being of its crew. And Babra Larkton was as much woman as he would ever want. He stood in the coolness of the dawn and counted his blessings. Even without the briefing he'd received, even without the stern injunctions against opting with the Orton females, he would never have been tempted to such an animal act. Even if, as in the dim past, the tanker had been crewed by men alone, even after haunting months of loneliness without women, he would never fall victim to such debasement. It was inconceivable to him to think that Ankani men had done such things. For Ortonian life was sub-human. This basic fact was part of every text he'd read in preparation for his first great blink out to the mineral-producing worlds. And in spite of the surprises, in spite of the advanced state of Ortonian technology, in spite of the very human impression given by the Ortonians, especially the males, whose eyes were not really much smaller than those of the average Ankani male, the Ortonians were still sub-human. They ate animal meat. They killed. Their history was only a continuation of the horrors cataloged by the scientists of Ankan from the early days of discovery, when Ortonians fought and killed with rocks, sticks, crude spears, bow and arrow. Even the female of them we're using for the emanation had killed. She'd dispatched dozens of blue crabs. He deduced this, since the crabs had been carried away in a bucket, still alive, but it was known that the Ortonians ate the repulsive creatures, and to take them as food required killing, since not even savages could manage to eat scratching, pinching, hissing crabs alive. Logically, however, it was difficult to dismiss the advances made by the Ortonians. They were in near space in crude, chemical rockets. Their electronic technology was reaching toward some very complicated things. There were, as revealed in the books, scholars among them who had come up with some surprising answers. The emanation female's knowledge of local wildlife proved that even the most ordinary Ortonian had learning capacity. His ancestor, Mari Wellti, a true genius, had postulated a strange concept, a process of natural selection which gradually improved the strains of Ortonian life. He couldn't quite swallow that, for the basic form of Ankani life hadn't changed over a history which reached back 500,000 years. However, he could not completely close his mind to it, for there were strange things in the universe and no one had made a thorough study of Mari Wellti's theory. Take one thing, that furnace of a sun up there, unbelievably close, tossing deadly particles around and through all living things on the planet. Who knew what effects would show in the life forms over the millennia as a result of that particle spray? «One down,» Jay said, coming up behind him. «How many to go?» He answered his own question. «Too many. How I'd like to be off this hell-hole of a planet.» They walked together toward the extraction shed. Toby's mind was on the Orton woman. «Jay,» he asked, «what is the nature of the emanation we're using for a blink reference?» «You wouldn't believe it,» Jay said, chuckling. «It's too wild.» «Tell me.» «Suppressed passion,» Jay said, with a disbelieving shrug. «The Orton woman has never opted.» Chapter Seven John Kurt eased his boat atop the roil of water over the discharge pipe and dipped up a jar of the fluid. Holding it up, he squinted and shook his head. He'd never seen anything like it. Obviously, water was being pumped into the old fish plant through one pipe and being discharged in much the same quantity through the other. Unless there were some very large storage tanks inside, the process, whatever it was, was almost instantaneous. And the water coming out into the blackness of the polluted Waterway was as clear and green as any water you'd find forty miles off shore. He took several samples. He labeled each and put them in a box of straw to protect them from breakage. The fish plant was as deserted-looking as ever. Neither of the two men he knew worked there was visible. He didn't know a lot about machinery, but somewhere up there one damned big pump was working and no one, apparently, was watching it. He didn't dwell on the problem overly long. He was an outdoor man and his knowledge of things modern didn't go far beyond being an avid fan of the moon trips when they were televised. He could do emergency repair on an outboard motor, but he wasn't qualified to speculate on what sort of equipment it would require to pump that much water out of the dirty canal, clean it and pump it back. John motored back to the Yacht Basin, the wind in his face, at peace with his world. He sent his carefully-packed samples to the laboratory in the state capital by bus that afternoon, and they were tested the next day. Tests showed, in the dark samples of Waterway water, the usual rich mixture of human excreta, lead, industrial solvents, agricultural insecticides and fertilizer, a trace of radiation from the atomic power plant upstream and the usual amount of coliform organisms which, when present in sufficient quantities, indicate the probably sure presence of such goodies as Salmonella typhosa, which killed three people and caused 1,497 known cases of gastroenteritis in Riverside, California in 1965. On the other hand, the sample dipped from the clear water coming out of the discharge pipe showed no coliform organisms at all, no organic pollutants in any form, causing a technician to wonder why he couldn't find a hole of water that clean when he went to the beach to pick oysters and dig clams. Because a local resident of some influence had raised the question, a report on the product of the old rendering plant went to the head of the department and a letter was sent to the mayor of Big Piney Beach to the effect that there would be room in the world for more of the type of pollution put out by the rendering plant. The department head made a mental note to find out what it was they were doing to make water so clean down there in Ocean County, but he was late for a golf date, had a par on the first hole, a bogey on the tough par-five on the back side, a birdie on the seventeenth (on which he won four dollars and fifty cents) and two martinis at the nineteenth. It was left up to the Squire to ask several days later, «They got a permit to dump that stuff in the canal?» «Squire,» John Kurt said patiently, «they're not dumping anything. They're putting in clean water.» «You put anything into public waters, you gotta have a permit,» the Squire insisted, still smarting over the loss of those fifty acres on the waterfront. «How come I have to tell you your job?» Later that day John found himself confronting the two workers at the plant. «You see,» he explained to Jay and Toby, «it's necessary to have a permit from the department before you can dump anything, even clean water, into the Waterway.» Being a good citizen, the Squire had insisted on coming with him. «Tell 'em they'd better shut down,» the Squire said. «I don't think that will be necessary,» John explained patiently. «The permit is rather routine and since they're not polluting—» «I know my rights,» the Squire overrode him. «No permit, no dumping. Tell 'em to shut down.» «Come on, Squire,» John said. «It would be impossible to shut down,» Jay protested. «We would fall behind schedule.» «You shut 'em down,» the Squire repeated, «or I get an injunction against all of you. Man works hard all his life and gets persecuted for paying his taxes like a good citizen, he doesn't take kindly to seeing the law broken.» «Squire,» John said, «they'll be able to operate as soon as a permit is issued anyhow. Let's not make trouble for them.» «You don't know what trouble is, boy,» the Squire said, turning away. «All right, dammit,» John said to him. Then he turned to the two men. «Look, you see how it is. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to shut down until we can get this ironed out.» Jay's breathing increased in tempo. «How long will it take?» Toby, who was also anxious, asked. «I have forms at home,» John said. «If you can fill them out today and get them in the mail, it'll take about three days, I'd say.» Jay looked as though he might explode. «How may I get the forms?» Toby asked. «Well, why don't you run over with me now and pick them up?» John asked. Toby looked at Jay. Jay managed to nod without popping his eyes. «I hope you're that damned reluctant to help next time some nut complains about my garbage dump,» the Squire grumbled. «I will turn off the power,» Toby said. He entered the building. John tried to get a peek, but Toby closed the door quickly. Jay drifted away, looking unhappy. «I understand my daughter has turned you on to bird-watching,» John said, when Toby came out. «Ah, she's your daughter?» «Sooly. Yeah. That's her.» «I wonder if you would give me a minute? I've finished with the book she loaned me and this would be a good opportunity to return it?» Sooly was all set to cook dinner when John escorted Toby into the house. «Well, hi,» she said gaily. «You're just in time for chow.» «That's kind of you,» Toby said, «but it is not yet my meal time.» Sooly grinned. «Quick meal,» she said. «We're having crisp fatty animal tissue, unfertilized fowl embryo, liquid mammary gland secretions of an animal, and the congealed fat from that same liquid atop cooked, ground plant seeds.» «Bacon, eggs, milk and buttered toast,» John said. «Again?» «He's a vegetarian,» Sooly said, smiling at Toby. «I can whop up a nice salad.» «I have returned your book,» Toby said. «Ignore the teeny-bopper and come on into the den,» John said. «I'll get the forms.» Sooly followed them in and enjoyed Toby's interested look when he spotted the bookcase. It was six feet wide and the height of the wall and was stuffed with her mother's art books, a set of the Britannica, all of the books of John D. MacDonald, some old goodies handed down from Sooly's grandfather and assorted Book-of-the-Month novels. «Since you're here,» John said, «why don't you help Toby fill in this form?» «Sure,» Sooly said, seating herself at the desk behind the battered old typewriter. She took the forms from her father's hand and inserted the top one in the machine. The form was a simple one. She learned only two things, the name of the company for which Toby worked, uninteresting, and the purpose of the company, rather interesting. «What does your company produce?» she asked. «We are operating an experimental desalinization process,» Toby said. «D-e-s-a-l-i-n-e-i-z-a-t-i-o-n,» Sooly spelled carefully, still spelling it wrong. «What are you producing then, fresh water?» «Ah, no,» Toby said. «We're extracting a certain mineral.» «It says, what does your company produce,» Sooly said. «I guess we'll have to put down what you're extracting.» «You call it lithium,» Toby said. «What do you call it?» Sooly asked, looking at him. «Lithium,» Toby said, recovering quickly. «Sign here as an official company representative,» Sooly said. «Like to see the nest of the new baby cardinals in the back yard?» «I should get back,» Toby said. «Sooly doesn't get a good-looking man cornered often,» John said. «You won't get away so easily.» «Right,» Sooly said, coming from behind the desk to take Toby's arm in a natural feminine gesture. «Besides, you can't go until I tell Daddy to take you, can you?» «There is a certain logic there,» Toby said, trying to hide the pleasure he felt from her womanly touch. Beth Kurt stood at the sliding door in the living room and watched Sooly and Toby studying the cardinals as they fed their young. «My, he's a nice-looking boy.» «Now mother,» John said. «Just because you don't want your only daughter to marry a poor fisherman, don't start matchmaking. The kid's from up north somewhere. How'd you like for Sooly to marry a damyankee and have to go four hundred miles to visit her?» «I'd love it,» Beth said. «If he's from New York.» Chapter Eight The last mail truck of the day left Ocean City at 4:00. John had to stand on the back deck and yell at Sooly to remind her that Toby's letter was important. John enclosed a note explaining the need for an immediate ruling. He recommended a permit without further investigation. He had no way of knowing that the Squire was also writing a letter, protesting what he called a biased attitude on the part of the local representative of the department. Both letters arrived at the desk of the department director in the morning mail and resulted in a call to John with instructions to make a more thorough investigation. «All they're putting into the canal is clean water, chief,» John protested. «What are they doing with the crud they remove from it?» the director wanted to know. «The canal water you sent has a bacteria count just slightly lower than Lake Erie's with a couple of lumps of raw sewage not even broken down yet. If they're moving as much water as you say they are, they're building up a pile of stuff.» «Chief,» John said, «would it be pollution if they're doing nothing more than putting back into the Waterway what they took out?» «We're not concerned with what they take out,» the director said, «although we're getting into a question of water usage from a federal waterway without official permission, but once they take it out it becomes their responsibility. Find out what they're doing with the crud.» But before that happened, before the letters arrived and before John got his instructions via telephone, Sooly and Toby went into Ocean City to mail a letter. Bem begged and was allowed to go, taking her favorite place in the luggage space behind the seat. Sooly, sensitive to the gossipy tendency of the locals, stopped up the road and loaded Bill and Anne into the back seat to act as chaperones. She was, after all, an engaged girl and she didn't think it wise to be seen riding around alone with a good-looking cat like Toby. The ride into town was noisy. Conversation consisted mostly of Sooly's answers to a million questions. Toby came in for a few questions, himself. He was asked, for example, if he used curlers on his hair. He found the young ones to be interesting and rather delightful. It was an entirely new experience to be exposed to the frantically jumping minds of children. He had one bad moment as the yellow-flowered Volks passed the base and Bill began to count, «One, two, three,» ending at six. «Only six, Sooly,» Bill said. «They only come at night,» Sooly said. Toby was reminded of the ticklish fact that the Orton woman knew about the transport vehicle. He risked a question of his own. «Have you seen the flying saucers, too?» «Oh, sure,» Bill said. «True,» Anne seconded. «We seen 'em two times with Sooly comin' home from the show,» Bill said. Toby made a mental note to do something about making his long overdue report about the Orton woman's knowledge. But he wasn't sure. Sooly treated the whole thing as if it were a huge joke. He was sure that others, hearing Sooly and the two young ones talk about flying saucers, would think it a game. With the letter deposited in the outgoing slot at the P.O., Sooly took the scenic drive along the river to the Basin. «The charter boats will be in soon,» she said. «If you're not in a hurry we'll stay and see what they caught.» «I have nothing to do,» Toby said. It was true. With the power shut down there was nothing to do but report to Jay and, in truth, he was a bit pleased to delay his return to the lonely base. It wouldn't hurt Jay to stew and worry a bit. Sooly had two motives—well, maybe three—in staying until Bud's boat rounded the point of Blue Water Beach, slipped inside the markers on a high tide to make the trip between the point and the Basin a bit quicker and backed and bounced off pilings into its slip. She was, as always, genuinely interested in Bud's catch. The more fish his charter parties caught, the quicker the word of his fish-finding ability would spread, the more charters he'd get, the more money he'd make and the sooner they could get married. Of course, she wanted to see Bud himself and, with an inward grin, she admitted to herself that she was not totally unaware of the nice picture she made standing beside blond, tall, powerfully-built Toby. She made it a point to look up into Toby's large, sensitive eyes just as Bud finished the docking process and looked at the reception committee. Toby, unaware of the female's intricate little ploy smiled back at her. The effect was not lost on Bud. «Who's the dude?» he asked, when he had a chance to speak to Sooly alone. «A handsome stranger who is going to take me away,» Sooly said. «Are you jealous?» «I don't think my party would mind if you took your folks a fish,» Bud said, lifting a 15-pound king mackerel and holding it in front of Sooly's eyes. «That war movie is on at the show,» Sooly said. «Look, Sooly,» Bud said, with a trace of irritation. «I was up at four o'clock. I've been bouncing around on the ocean for twelve hours.» He realized that he was being harsh. He put a fishy hand on her arm. «Why don't you come by the house for awhile? We can pop some popcorn and watch't.v.» «Big deal,» Sooly said. But she knew he was a tired fellow and he'd done a fine day's work. The fishbox was overflowing with fish and the fishermen were in good spirits. They would spread the word in their upstate home town about that young skipper who could find the mackerel down in Ocean City. «That dude with you?» Bud asked, his eyes turning sideways to examine Toby. «I was just helping him mail a letter,» Sooly said, grabbing Anne with one hand on the fly as she almost fell into the Basin. The director's call to John Kurt came next day and John announced that he was going over to the fish oil plant. «I'll ride with you,» Sooly said. Beth Kurt looked at her husband with a tiny smile. Jay had been locked up all day in his lab. Toby had finished his daily ration of books and was lying on his stomach on the ground observing a colony of small ants. He'd performed one chore. As junior rating he was handed all of the chicken stuff. His head was packed full of enough knowledge to give a small computer a run for its money on most problems, but he didn't have a computer at the base and balancing the checkbook had drained him. There'd been a surprising number of checks, most of them involving Jay's interest, the lab. Toby had seen the items coming in in small and large packages, but he hadn't realized that Jay had made such a variety of purchases. They ranged from pure chemicals to white rats. The latter interested him slightly, but Jay was very possessive and would not allow him into his lab to see the animals. He knew, by the increased supply of food being purchased, that the small animals were multiplying rapidly and he thought it rather selfish of Jay to keep them all to himself. He also thought it rather reckless of Jay to spend so much money on expensive items of equipment such as centrifuges and X-ray machines and an electron microscope. Some of the equipment could have been requested down from the ship, but it was no big matter. The relatively small amount of duplicated money put into circulation by the Ankani base would not affect the topsy-turvy economy of Orton, American division. In fact, from a shallow study of economics he'd undertaken, Toby judged that Jay was merely helping the government by spending the duplicated. When the economy slowed, the government manufactured money and put it into circulation by such artificial means as paying renegade street gangs to teach their skills to younger hoodlums, and by inflating the cost of a single primitive jet aircraft to 13.5 million units of American currency. So Jay was merely helping out by spending a few thousand artificial dollars. What he was doing in the lab was another question. Toby often wondered about that, but his hinted inquiries were ignored. Ants were more interesting. In many ways they were like the Ortonians, coming in astronomical numbers, running around in every direction with a vast waste of energy and, in spite of their apparent aimlessness, accomplishing something. He was so engrossed in watching one small individual struggle with the amputated leg of a grasshopper that he didn't see Sooly and her father walk up the road. Sooly thought it was nice to see a man so interested in important things like nature. She stood in the background while John explained the difficulty and saw Toby's worried look. «I'll have to consult the boss,» he said. He was back in a few minutes. Jay had not opened the door to the lab when he knocked, carrying on the conversation through the door. «They want to see the equipment,» he told the Koptol. «Show them then,» Jay yelled. «I think you'd better talk to them,» Toby said. «Tell them only what you've been told to tell them,» Jay yelled. «You know that the equipment is made to seem to be of Ortonian origin. I'm busy.» «What we do,» Toby said, inside the big shed, his nose full of the stench of long dead and rendered fish memory, but unable to don his mask because it was not of Ortonian design, «is pump water in here and pump it out there. This machine extracts lithium from the water. As you may know, lithium is one of the more plentiful elements dissolved in sea water, making up roughly seventeen parts in one million.» «What do you do with the crud?» John asked, following his instructions. «The impurities?» «You're taking out more than lithium,» John said. «The lab said your discharge water is as pure as—» he started to say angel's piss, but remembered that Sooly was poking around nearby, «—as the cleanest water in the Antarctic Ocean.» «Well,» Toby said, «the impurities get in the way. We merely filter them out here.» The filter was a tiny machine mounted in line ahead of the extractor. «Must be a very new process,» John said. «Quite new. Experimental, in fact.» Toby had his cover story down pat. «Once we've proved the effectiveness of this technique, we'll market it.» He could not tell the rather pleasant Ortonian that, once the Entil was packed full of lithium, the parent corporation would report that the extraction method tried out on the Intracoastal Waterway in Ocean County was prohibitively expensive and the company would be dissolved. «Once you filter out the crud, what do you do with it?» John asked. «We burn it in this small hydrogen furnace,» Toby said, indicating another small box. «Hydrogen?» John frowned. «Another innovation,» Toby said. Actually, there was a small fury of hydrogen fusion going on inside the box. «You're not making any radiation or anything?» John asked. «Oh, no. Merely great heat. The crud, as you call it, is reduced to individual atoms and dispersed harmlessly into the atmosphere.» «Sounds like we could use one of those gadgets over at the Squire's garbage dump,» John said. «When will we be able to resume operation?» Toby asked. «It's quite important that we not fall behind schedule.» «I'll call the director tonight,» John said. «Daddy, couldn't you let them start again on your own authority?» Sooly asked. «You can see they're doing nothing wrong.» «Don't see why not,» John said. «But if anything comes of it, I'll swear I told you to hold off until the permit comes from the state capital.» Toby threw switches and pushed buttons and looked at gauges and nodded in satisfaction as the accumulator gauge moved minutely. Outside, John shook his hand. Leaving, he turned. «My wife said invite you over for dinner since you're stuck out here without a woman's cooking.» «That's kind of you,» Toby said non-committingly. «I'll do an all-vegetable meal,» Sooly said. «How about tomorrow night?» «I—» He paused. «Yes, thank you.» He was thinking of John Kurt's well-stuffed bookcase. He was, however, looking at Sooly in shorts, subconsciously comparing her with Manto Babra Larkton. He would not think such thoughts openly, but it was not unscientific to wonder about the intimate habits of these Ortonians who, on the surface, seemed so much like human beings. Chapter Nine «What do you do?» Sooly asked, «just look at the pictures?» Toby looked up from the book guiltily and lied with what he hoped was a straight face. «I'll confess,» he said. «I have a photographic memory.» «Hey, neat,» Sooly said. «Can you teach me? Talk about groovy, I could do my homework in minutes and spend the rest of the time doing what I wanted to do.» «I think it's an inherited characteristic,» Toby said. «It would be.» John and Beth Kurt were in the living room watching't.v. Beth had herded Toby and Sooly into the den with a matchmaking obviousness which made Sooly snicker. Beth wanted Sooly to marry a rich man who could afford an apartment in New York where Beth could visit, or at least use the home of her daughter as headquarters while shopping in all the strange little stores in that fascinating flea market of a city. Toby had zoomed in on the bookcase immediately, but he was able to carry on a small-talk conversation with Sooly while reading. By chance, he started on a shelf of novels and was through Gone With The Wind and had started War and Peace. «I feel sorry for you,» Sooly said. «You'll never know the joy of being a sixteen-year-old girl reading War and Peace for the first time. Oh, God, the anger you feel when it seems that Natasha is going to run off with that horrible Anatole.» Toby, who was encountering the romantic idealism of Orton for the first time, had no answer. He was both fascinated and frightened by the premise that the abstract idea, love, could be confined to a one-on-one relationship. He was intrigued, in a visceral way, by the fantastic idea of having one woman for one man, of actually owning a woman. But there wasn't a woman he knew that he would like to spend a lifetime with. For one thing, he was always a bit intimidated by women. It wasn't a matter of questioning the innate superiority of women, no one did that. It was just that women were so different. Manto Babra Larkton, in charge of the education program on the blink out, had understood the complexities of alien contact thoroughly and, when it was discovered that Orton had leaped into the future, she'd been able to organize a new education program quickly, not even hesitating over the absolutely irrational aspects of Ortonian society. Deficit finance, complex moral codes, the ambiguity of the Ortonians in all matters—nothing surprised the Manto, and she could quickly explain why, for example, a crowded world which threatened to over-breed its food supply would spend much time and effort reversing nature's population-control methods by curing disease while killing in wars. The Manto had even explained why a nation such as the United States, engaged in a massive birth-control program, would give government grants to scientists who were trying to make babies in test tubes. She could also show great anger when the research team on the surface sent up reports that the Orton scientists were even making primitive efforts to penetrate to the very heart of life by experimenting with molecular surgery at the DNA level. Toby, who had learned earlier of the atomic experiments which were slowly poisoning the atmosphere and environment of the planet, was merely further saddened by this terrible revelation, and the additional knowledge of the perversions practiced by the Ortonians reinforced his feeling that the Ortonians were, indeed, sub-human. And yet, there was a certain puzzling beauty in the stories. Was it because his orientation had pounded the language and the thinking pf the Ortonians so deeply into his head? Was he being influenced by simply being among them? He found himself being saddened when Scarlet blew her chance for happiness with Rhett and pleased when Natasha didn't run off with Anatole. And when he dipped into Beth Kurt's art books, he was moved almost to tears by the efforts of Orton's primitive artists. Some of the impressionists gave indication of discovering some of the techniques of the light artists on Ankan II and Paul Klee's amusing work pleased him, even if it was shown to him in a one-dimensional format. He discovered a treasure trove of archaeological books on the bottom shelf and thumbed through them rapidly, truly looking at the pictures, while Sooly talked about the joys of living in Ocean County as if she were a one-woman chamber of commerce. Toby knew, from previous study of the works of Ankani scientists, that the age-old Ankan technique of rock cutting had been used in various Orton civilizations, and he was very interested to note that the last Ankani expedition to Orton, although under the control of officers, had left its mark on the Mayans. Evidently there had been no forbidden activity, but someone had taught the Mayan rock masons how to fit stone with amazing precision. So there had been, at the very least, a bit of culture bleed-through from the Ankani presence. Not, however, enough to make the Mayan culture a long-lived one. It began to flower, Orton date, about 300 A.D., less than two centuries after the last Ankani visit, and died only a few hundred years later. Sooly, getting restless and a bit put out by having to share Toby's attention with the books, stood, walked to look over his shoulder as he was enraptured by a two-page color photograph of the Mayan city of Uxmal, rising real and ruined from the green of the surrounding jungle with the soft gold of a late sun on its stone. After thumbing through three or four fine volumes which pictured the art, artifacts and ruins of past Ortonian civilizations, he was bemused by the inevitable comparison with the Wasted Worlds near the Center of the Galaxy. «But what happened to them?» he asked softly. «Someone zapped them,» Sooly said. «They got fat and careless and someone hungrier came along.» «And where are they?» Toby asked, thinking of the people who wasted the thousand worlds of the old empire. Sooly shrugged. «Who knows? Poor Indios, maybe. No one really knows.» Toby came out of his reverie. She, he realized, was speaking of the Mayans. «They saw flying saucers too,» Sooly said. «Sometimes I think I may be a Mayan reincarnated.» Toby was disturbed. He tried to pass it off. «Your nose isn't big enough,» he said, pointing to a terra cotta head of a Mayan woman. «I don't ask you to believe that I see them,» she said, «but why don't you keep your eyes open?» «When do you see them?» Toby asked, slightly uncomfortable because of the sensitive subject. «At night. Almost any time I go out.» «What do they look like?» «Oh, it's usually just a light. It follows me. The other morning it followed me all the way to town.» «But I understand that you people—I mean that people have been seeing unexplained flying objects for years,» Toby said. «Sure. They saw them.» She went to the bookcase and came back with a copy of Daniken's Chariots of the Gods? «Every primitive culture has its myths about white gods who came from the sky on wings of fire. The Mayans even drew a picture of a man in a space ship.» She showed him. The drawing was from a wall at the temple at Copan. It showed a Mayan in a small space capsule surrounded by fanciful whorls and kinks which could easily have been a primitive representation of machinery not understood by the artist. «And look,» Sooly said, showing him pictures of unexplained concrete roads in Bolivia and strange, huge markings in the earth at Nazca, in Peru. Toby's pulse increased. «May I read it?» he asked. «Sure, take it with you.» He had himself transported aboard the next vehicle, which arrived to load the extracted lithium two days later. During the period of waiting he had read and reread Daniken's book and did some hurried research at the local library. He also had seen a white rat with teeth like an extinct saber-toothed tiger in the poisoned dirt of the base. The rat was attacking a rabbit with a ferocity which amazed Toby. He made a mental note to check his books, thinking, perhaps, that the rat was not a rat but a large species of shrew. Aboard the ship, he was escorted into Garge Cele Mantel's suite. «Lady,» he said, «I thought you should know that there is a small but surprisingly accurate body of knowledge on Orton about past Ankani expeditions.» He proceeded to recite the pertinent facts. The most evident scars had been left by the last ship which extracted minerals on the continent called South America. Large markings remained, markings used to land mineral-carrying vehicles visually. There was evidence to indicate that Ankani aerial maps had fallen into the hands of Ortonians. Eighteenth century (Orton Time) maps showed features of the continents which would have been unknown with the state of the technology at that time. The Mayans and others had possessed knowledge of the stars which could have come only from a space traveler. The Baghdad Museum displayed the actual fragments of an Ankani electrical battery from some piece of field equipment, fragments left on Orton by one of the early expeditions. Even ancient cave drawings showed men in protective suits. «The original research team reported such items,» Cele said. «However, the team determined that reports of flying saucers and other phenomena came from a lunatic fringe and were largely discounted by those in authority.» «True, Lady,» Toby said. «The Daniken book seems to have been accepted in the same spirit as earlier works, such as those of Charles Fort. However, I thought it worth note that the Ortonian had stumbled onto such convincing evidence.» «It was all taken into account,» Cele said, telling the rating with her tone of voice that he was presuming to think that matters of such import could have been overlooked by officers. «In fact, because of the advances made on Orton since we were here last, we thought, at first, to find and make use of a deserted island in the western ocean. This was not done because of the irrational, warlike posture of the two major powers. Our scout teams learned that both powers keep all oceans patrolled. After much study, we decided that the safest course would be to locate our extraction plant inside the territory of the less paranoid of the two major countries.» Paranoid was an Orton word, of course, there being no counterpart in Ankani. «Do you have reason to doubt the security of the base?» «Lady,» Toby said, suddenly ill at ease, «as you know, I have been extended permission to continue my studies in Orton history as influenced by Ankani expeditions.» «We tend to be lenient with crewmen in hardship posts,» the Garge said. «In my limited contact with the Ortonians, I have, as you know, met the source of the emanation used to guide the cargo vehicle.» «Yes, yes, make your point,» Cele said impatiently. «Our beam makes a visible glow while it is in use,» Toby said. «The Orton female has seen it repeatedly. She calls it a flying saucer.» «She has talked with you about this?» «She mentions it as if she, herself, does not quite believe it, but I have reason to believe that she has noticed our vehicle in place on the surface.» «Humm,» Cele said. Toby stood patiently as she thought. «Does she tell others?» «Her father treats it as a joke,» Toby said. «You may go,» Cele said abruptly. As Toby saluted and turned, she stopped him with a soft voice. «Since you're here, Bakron, an opting can be arranged if you like.» She had, after all, done her duty with the bridge technician. It was not yet time to demonstrate her democracy again. Another officer would serve in this situation. «It must be lonely down there.» «Yes, Lady,» Toby said. «Thank you for your consideration.» «Are you refusing, then?» «I have not been opted, Lady,» Toby said stiffly. «It is because none of the officers know of your visit to the Entil?» «Still,» Toby said stubbornly, «I have not been opted, Lady.» She let him leave. They had their pride, those men. So stiff and stubborn in their little minds. Any officer on the ship would have gladly done her duty, but he had to stand on tradition. Merely informing a few willing officers of his presence would, to him, have violated the opting code, making it seem that he was requesting. She sighed. That would mean a special trip to the base for some officer, when the necessary therapeutic kindness could have been performed in comfort aboard the Entil. There was just no explaining male logic. Chapter Ten «Filth,» Cele Mantel said with tight lips. «Isn't it terrible?» Babra Larkton agreed. The Manto's full report was on Cele's desk and reading it had given Cele a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Those who had thought that war, violence and the killing of life forms, including their own, was the ultimate in Orton's sub-human degradation had a new experience coming. «I hate to put you through this, Babra,» Cele said, bending back as far from the offensive material as she could, «but I must, in all conscience, call a Board to consider this evidence.» «I understand, Lady,» Babra said. «My reaction was the same. However, in going over it,» she pointed a delicate hand toward the spread of report sheets and supporting material in the form of popular and scientific journals from Orton, «I have developed a certain immunity to it. It's almost as if my mind has developed protective barriers against the filth.» «Then you won't mind handling the briefing?» «Speaking of such things is always distasteful,» Babra admitted, «but I agree that it is necessary.» The officers of the Entil were assembled in the conference room, made comfortable with the Ankani equivalent of tea and tasty cakes. «Ladies,» Cele said, after everyone was seated and served by her personal service rating. «Please enjoy your tea, for once we've begun, I'm sure you won't be able to stomach anything.» She waited until the rating had bowed and retreated through the soundproof door. The officers, enjoying the rare gathering, nibbled and sipped and laughed and passed friendly small talk. Cele decided to use shock treatment. She projected the filmstrip which Babra's research team had obtained. On the screen there appeared a surprisingly human-like ovum under assault by sperm. A gasp went up from the gathered officers as the ovum was attacked by hundreds of thousands of sperm. The ovum glowed with the forces of life, a small sun which was soon tailed with sperm as the outer shell was penetrated. The sperm writhed furiously as a shocked silence fell in the room. «The elapsed time is measured in Ortonian hours,» Babra explained as numbers appeared on the lower left-hand corner of the screen. «We have left off the sound, because we see no reason to expose ladies to the crude comments of the so-called scientist doing the narration.» A sperm found access to the heart of the ovum. The heartless film rolled on to the end as the unsuccessful sperm died. Lights went on. The officers shuffled their feet, did not look at each other. «The title of this film,» Babra said in her tight voice, «is The Dance of Love.» She let this obscenity sink in. «And, of course, the fertilization took place on a microscope slide.» «Poor thing,» someone breathed sadly. «This is only the beginning,» Babra went on. «Our studies have told us that the monsters engaged in this filth have already violated the basic law of life to the extent of growing embryos to an advanced stage outside a mother's womb. Other obscene experiments have been attempted. For example, one doctor has implanted a fertilized egg inside the womb of a subject.» «Don't they know?» asked a pale, young Larftontwo in a subdued voice. «We will have a question and answer period after the Manto has concluded,» Cele admonished. «We have observed a total lack of sensible genetic practice on Orton,» Babra said, «in spite of the surprisingly advanced state of their knowledge. For centuries they have possessed the ability to sterilize obviously faulty genetic sources and yet they have not developed the humanity needed to prevent the birth of damaged individuals. This simple solution, when it has been suggested, is met with rabid opposition. The simplest methods of birth control still face stiff opposition from organized culture groups and deluded individuals who pay lip service to the sanctity of what they call human life. And yet these same groups and individuals do nothing more than make mouthing noises when madmen tamper with the sacred foundation of life. In addition to producing test tube babies, these Ortonians aspire to changing the very form of life by doing what they call molecular surgery on the molecules which direct the manufacture of proteins, the building blocks of life.» There were uneasy coughs, shufflings. «One so-called scientist has suggested that through such genetic control, they breed men without legs to man their spaceships.» Babra paused to let it sink in. «There is talk of creating a race of supermen by genetic engineering.» «We must kill them,» said a motherly Larftonfour. «Please,» Cele said. «We must not judge the Ortonians without taking all the circumstances into account,» Babra said. «Remember that our earlier expeditions, all male expeditions, naturally, had quite serious impact on the native lifemode. You have all made a study of the reports by the ship's behavioral scientist on the occasion of the last ore-gathering trip to this planet. At that time it was concluded that, although there were definite cultural crossovers caused by the ill-considered actions of Ankani crewmen, the effects were not overly serious. Then we come, a mere two thousand years later, and discover some rather amazing things. I think there will be some revision in social theory after we get home. The theory that a complex technological culture cannot be passed along to sub-humans, for example, is in great doubt in my mind. How else do we explain such a quick leap to atomics, a rapidly developing sub-space technology and the even more surprising advances into forbidden fields in medicine?» Babra paused and sipped at her tea. «The Ortonians moved into immunization theory over a hundred years ago and are, at present, making great strides into viral immunology. This work has led them to the threshold of a complete knowledge of the forbidden science of molecular biology, as they call it. Without knowing the dangers, they are moving ahead, creating primitive protein strands in test tubes. They have the hardware available at this moment to begin the experiments in creating artificial life, growing monsters outside of the womb, making alterations in the basic form of life itself. One scientist has, while performing brain surgery, discovered a crude method of stimulating chemically stored memory. This discovery has led to great excitement and some men are talking about being able to implant stored knowledge into a new brain. Because a certain species of worm can pass chemically stored memory to other worms through the simple process of being eaten, these Ortonians joke about saving the stored knowledge of a brilliant man by allowing his students to eat him.» She laughed bitterly. «They don't know how close they are to the truth. And, I assure you, our studies have shown that these sub-humans would, if and when they are allowed to discover the techniques, enter into even this unthinkable perversion.» She had her audience spellbound. The faces of the officers were uniformly grim and disbelieving. A few of the younger officers were pale. One had her hand in front of her mouth as if to hold in her sick revulsion. «It is a recognized maxim that advances in one field of knowledge lead to advances in another. Thus, their approach to forbidden fields is matched by advances in hard technology. They are so close to blink theory that our team would not, at first, credit its findings.» «I think I can illustrate that point,» Cele Mantel said. «Ortonian man has existed much in his present form, with certain recognizable outside influences,» she smiled wryly, «for some five hundred thousand years. If we compress this into a more easily grasped period of fifty years, the Ortonians were nomadic hunters for forty-nine years. It took him forty-nine years to learn how to plant crops and settle into small villages. This date, incidentally, coincides roughly with discovery of Orton and the first extraction expeditions, leading us to believe that it was Ankani influence which triggered the basic change in the Ortonian nature. After forty-nine and a half years, he discovered writing. He practiced this art in a small area of his world, the area in which our extraction teams worked. Carrying on this analogy, the first great civilization was built up only months ago. For example, the civilization which seems to impress the Ortonians most, the people called the Greeks, flowered three months ago. Their Christian God, Jesus Christ, was on the cross two months ago. Two weeks ago the first Ortonian book was printed. A week ago, they began to use steam power. And at 11:59 p.m. on December 31st of the fiftieth year their present age of technology began. Consider this. Their knowledge is increasing at an ever-increasing rate. They've gone from animal transportation to primitive space rockets in one week of our relative time, or in less than two hundred of their years. We can only assume that their fumbling approach to blink theory will put them into sub-space within fifty to a hundred years, at about the same time they develop the knowledge which will enable them to re-engineer their life form through genetic meddling.» She paused for emphasis. «We could be facing a race of supermonsters within a hundred years, a race with a history of incredible violence.» «And if they fail to learn the dangers of their so-called molecular biology, our peaceful Ankani worlds would be subjected to the tender ministrations of a superrace of madmen,» Babra said. «We are now open to discussion,» Cele said. «It is written,» said the motherly Larftonfour who had given vent to a previous impetuous suggestion to kill the Ortonians. «The penalty is death.» «For whom?» Cele asked. «Those who are working in the forbidden field? The governments who permit it? The people who condone it?» «We cannot ignore the foundations upon which the Ankani race has built,» the Larftonfour said. «Whatever it takes, we must do it.» «Could we contact them?» asked a young officer. «Couldn't we warn them of their danger and persuade them to stop their work in the forbidden fields?» «We are prohibited from contact,» Cele said. «The penalty for contact and the passing of knowledge is not quite as severe as that for genetic meddling, but I, for one, have no desire to spend the rest of my life in the dark mines, of Asmari.» «The Larftonfour is right,» said a senior officer in the nutrition section, «even if it means wiping the planet clean of life.» «True,» Cele said, «the easiest solution would be to kill the planet. This, however, seems rather drastic to me. Orton is unique. Many of you have served on the expos. You know the emptiness of the Galaxy. You know the disappointment of approaching a likely planet to find that life consists of vegetable matters and primitive organisms. In all the explored Galaxy, Orton is the only planet which shares that strange and beautiful wonder which we call life. Can we destroy this so lightly?» «No,» Babra said. There were other negative answers. «We have limited choices,» Cele said. «We can do nothing, complete our mission and file a complete report with Fleet Board upon our return. Or, we can take matters into our own hands and sterilize the planet. We do not have the power to weed out the offenders selectively. This would be a work of years and would entail not only punishing the active offenders, but cleaning away all traces of knowledge pertaining to the forbidden field. Even if we could accomplish this task, it would be useless, for the state of Orton technology would lead them inevitably back to the same point so that we would be faced with having to perform a distasteful purge every few decades. The third choice is to send a blink message home, giving as many details as possible, leaving the decision to the Fleet Board and the Council under Unogarge Clarke. This choice, too, has its drawbacks. Many of the people in the political arena have not seen Orton and are unfamiliar with its unique and beautiful position in the scheme of things. What would you do if you were sitting in the council chamber and were told that sub-humans on a distant planet were committing the ultimate sin and in doing it posing a definite threat to the home worlds?» «I'd probably say kill them,» Babra answered. «Exactly,» Cele said. «And that is distasteful to me.» «So we wait, then?» Babra asked. «I don't know,» Cele said. «If we wait and present our views before the Board and the Council, that will take time. What if the Ortonians made an unexpected breakthrough and upon our return to carry out the decision of the Council we found them in sub-space? A mastery of blink theory produces an ability to make the very weapons with which we arm our expo ships. We arm our ships for the sole purpose of self-defense. Our knowledge of the Ortonians tells us that they would arm their ships. In fact, my guess would be that the first blink ship launched would be a ship of the line, armed to the teeth and capable of inflicting casualties on any ship we might send.» «A disturbing possibility,» Babra agreed. Cele stood. Her large, soft eyes glowed with life. «As you know, the purpose of a Ship's Board is merely advisory. The Garge bears the responsibility for the final decision. Your views will be taken into account. We will vote now. For the first solution, sterilization of the planet.» There was one hand. «For waiting and presenting the facts to the Fleet Board in person, taking the risks such a course would entail.» Two hands. «I will inform you of my decision,» Cele said, leaving the room quickly. She was composing the message to Fleet in her mind. There had never been any question, really. She had merely gone through the formalities. Most junior officers never had an opportunity to sit on a Ship's Board and she had not wanted to deprive her officers of the opportunity. Chapter Eleven The saber-toothed rat attacked Toby as he stepped out of his quarters at the base and before he could dispatch it with a handy short length of pipe he was bitten severely on the left calf and ankle. He left the dead rat on the bare earth and hurried to the medical kit to sterilize the wounds and apply the healing rays from the compact little gun-like mechanism which drew its power from the batteries of the kit. The process took over an hour. When he went outside, the dead rat was gone, carried off, he presumed, by some carrion-eating animal or bird. He spent a long afternoon hour looking through his books in an effort to identify the vicious little animal. That he was unsuccessful did not puzzle him. His library was incomplete. Often the descriptions and drawings of Orton life forms seemed so unlike the actual living animals and birds that identification was, at best, tentative. The extractor was working steadily and the quantity of stored lithium was sufficient to warrant a blink down by the transport vehicle. Toby made ready for the nighttime visit. Jay was taking less and less interest in the mission, leaving the work to Toby. This suited Toby. Jay had never been a pleasant companion and his absorption with his lab projects seemed to make him even more surly and withdrawn. Toby had been on the surface for two months. He had an even longer period ahead of him. On any other ore-producing planet he would have been bored stiff. Orton was another matter. He had his engrossing interest in observing the planet's wildlife. He had his books and the ever more fascinating study of Ankani influence on Orton. When the transport vehicle grew into the space between the two large tanks and disgorged two females, he had something else—a gnawing guilt. For reasons hidden in his secret mind, he was not enthusiastic; and he could never admit to the pretty, blond young Larfton that he was not suffering from missing his regular rotation in shipboard opting. However, he was a healthy young male and he soon regained his interest. Jay disappeared into his quarters with a motherly Larftonfour near his own age and Toby buried his guilt and committed himself with abandon to the enthusiastic blond Larfton who was making her first trip to the surface. Opting, as a universal Ankani art form, was raised to new heights as the pumps loaded the transport vehicle. It was a giggling, sated Larfton who boarded the vehicle in the early morning hours, leaning on the supporting arm of the motherly senior officer. Toby yawned. Life was, indeed, good. His performance left no reason for suspicion in the mind of the officer. She had indicated that she would ask for the duty of the next visit to the base, a sincere compliment. Toby was reassured. For a few silly moments he had felt that she could not help but realize. The vehicle blinked. So far the new procedure had not been detected by the Ortonians. The ship sent a brief burst of communication on a tight beam and in that one instant the instruments in the vehicle locked on and blinked. The technicians onboard the Entil were looking for a new emanation, but pending its finding Toby had sent a brief burst for guidance. A quick study had revealed that the particular section of the coast in which the base was located was not under constant monitoring from the defense forces of the United States. In fact, quite often a jet aircraft would practice a sneak approach, flying low up the Intracoastal Waterway to see how near it could get to military installation up the coast before detection, so evidently the base was located in a blind spot. And if another local emanation was not found, the system of brief bursts of guidance beams could be used with impunity. Jay went tiredly off to bed leaving Toby gazing up at the sky. He had studied the Ortonian star books and could identify the constellations by local name. He mused, as he let his eyes rove over the blinking stars, about those first Ankani crewmen who visited Orton. If anything, Ankani influence on Orton had been underestimated, for Ortonian mythology, as related to their fanciful namings of the stars, showed many links with the Ankani language and Ankan's own history. He felt a warm kinship with those old tankermen who plied the starways alone, without the comfort of women. He fell into his bed numb with a pleasant fatigue and awoke with difficulty when he heard the screams of agony coming from the building which housed Jay's lab. What he heard was the death screams of the Squire. What he discovered when he pushed into the lab behind Jay, ignoring Jay's protests, outraged his moral sensibilities, posed a problem larger and more difficult than anything he'd ever faced, and left him helpless. The Squire came to the base by a series of coincidences based on the fact that a stationary front was sitting along the coast bringing a night of hushed stillness. The position of the moon also contributed to the Squire's demise by making a low and rising tide match the windless night to create ideal conditions for flounder gigging. Being a sensible man with a dollar, the Squire did little sports fishing. If a man ran a boat out to the shoals and burned eighteen gallons of gas, he paid dearly for the few pounds of fish fillets he gathered—if his luck ran good. The Squire figured that every pound of fish he'd ever caught sports fishing cost him roughly five dollars. On the other hand,, flounder gigging from a small skiff cost nothing except the pennies it took to burn a Coleman lantern. It was also good exercise to pole a skiff along the banks of the Waterway and into the creeks of the marsh; and the Squire, while wanting to maintain his reputation as a problem drinker, was secretly concerned with his growing paunch. So a windless night and the right tide sent the Squire, a loner who didn't want to have to split his flounder with anyone, poling on through the night chortling with glee as he stuck a rusty tri-barbed gig into the eye-balls of flat, foolish founder lying in the mud waiting for minnows. Gigging was so successful he was sure he was going to have enough fish not only to stock his freezer but to sell a few pounds and make a dollar in addition to getting all that free fish. He poled until the water had run in so deep the good banks were overrun by the rising tide and then he started home, tired, happy and smug with his success. As it happened, he was on the side of the Waterway next to the old rendering plant and the place was dark, although the pumps were working and his skiff danced as he poled it over the uprushing water coming out of the outlet pipe. He rested holding the skiff alongside the dock and thought about that smart-ass, John Kurt, and the fact that a citizen who paid his taxes didn't have a chance against the big boys like the Yankee owner of the rendering plant and its prime fifty acres of waterfront land. He'd been informed by letter that the Department of Conservation and Development saw no reason not to give the new owners a permit to run their experimental desalinization plant, but he smelled a rat in the woodwork somewhere. It didn't seem reasonable to think that some rich Yankee would go to a lot of trouble just to put clean water back into the Waterway. It didn't take the Squire long to decide that it was the duty of a good citizen to look into the matter and with everyone asleep he had an opportunity. He carried a pocket flashlight, having tied the skiff securely, up to the big shed and tried the door. It was locked. He could hear the machinery running inside and this seemed nefarious to him. Why were the Yankee bastards running night and day if they weren't up to no good? He prowled and heard a snore coming from the first house, steered away from it lest he wake the two bastards. Standing with his ear to the window of the second house, he decided that it was his duty to investigate the noises coming from inside. They were not human noises. «Now look,» he told himself, forming the words silently. «If those bastards are just taking salt out of the water why are they dumping the water back in the Waterway?» «Maybe they're taking valuable minerals out,» he told himself. «Like gold.» And if some outfit had found a way to take gold out of ocean he wanted a piece of it. He played around with the market a bit. But it was not for personal gain that the Squire tried window after window and finally found one with a broken latch at the back of the old house. The noises from inside were suspicious as hell, like a zoo. Bunch of vivisectionists, maybe? He was inside and he felt something run across his foot and shined his light down and saw the disappearing tail of a white rat and then he was sure that the damned Yankees were breeding rats to spread the plague. A rotten Commie plot? Cage after cage was lined up along the walls of a room. The Squire was about to shine his light inside one when he saw an astounding thing. He heard movement and turned his light away from the cage. There, lined up in formation facing him, were what seemed a million white rats with pink eyes and teeth as long as daggers. He stifled a scream. He heard a movement near his side and turned with his light and saw a rat scale the wire front of a cage. Hanging by his rear feet, the rat used his forepaws and his teeth to pull the wooden plug out of a simple lock-latch. The Squire was frozen with astonishment. The rat finished pulling the plug and then he flipped the latch and from inside a dozen rats pushed and the cage door flung open and rats poured out, squeaking and clicking their teeth and then the Squire felt fear. He turned to go. His way was blocked by another million rats lined up three-deep standing on their hind legs looking at him, eyes flashing pinkly in the beam of light. The Squire ran, kicking. He felt the rats on his feet and then their teeth were digging into his legs and he screamed and fell and they were on him like schools of four-legged, air-breathing piranha. The Squire beat at them with his light and rolled on top of them, crushing dozens of them. He kicked and struck out and the teeth were ripping, and when one dug into his cheek near his eye and stayed there as he beat at it with his empty hand his screams reached a crescendo of pain and horror. «Get back!» Jay yelled. Bumping into Toby as he fell out the door, kicking at the rats which latched onto his feet and legs. The screams were fading away. Toby danced, dislodging clinging rats. Jay had a weapon in his hand, forbidden for him to have here. Toby, at that stage of the game, with rats trying to climb his legs and succeeding in getting painful mouthfuls of tender flesh, was more than happy to see the blaster, even if it was forbidden. He danced and kicked and yelped as teeth got him and then the sizzling beam of the blaster began to fry the rats into little, steaming globs. The tenacity of the rats kept them close, so that none escaped as Jay sprayed the beam around in a continuous fury, picking off singles as Toby kicked them off his legs, then moving into the house to continue the slaughter. It took a few minutes to clean out the front room, making sure that no animals escaped. In the back room, the fiery beam interrupted a grisly meal. When the last rat was beaten off the Squire's mutilated body and melted in the blaster beam, Jay pocketed his weapon, leaned over the body and cursed in a low voice. Toby was leaving bloody tracks as he walked. Jay faced him, his breathing sporadic, his eyes bulging. «There will be no report,» he said. «I cite the Ratings Code Of Ethics,» Toby said. «I cite this,» Jay said, waving a tri-dee ecto-model camera in Toby's face. «Koptol Gagi,» Toby said, standing at attention with his own blood wetting his shoes. «I have reason to suspect that you have been engaging in forbidden experiments. It is my duty—» «And this?» Jay screamed. «Is this, too, duty?» The ecto-model was embarrassingly intimate. Toby pictured Jay snaking through the bushes to snap it. «I must think.» Behind him, there was a movement. Jay moved quickly, pointing the blaster almost directly at Toby. Toby, thinking the Koptol had gone mad, leaped to one side in time to see, before it was dissolved in the blaster beam, a rat trying to free a group of its fellows from a cage by lifting the plug from a catch-latch on the last full cage. «Their intelligent behavior is astounding,» Jay gasped, having difficulty, still, with his breathing. «Genetic engineering?» Toby asked. «What harm, here on this sub-human planet?» the Koptol asked. «The restrictions against it are unthinking and foolish.» «I suggest,» Toby said, «that we neglect blasphemy and attend to our wounds. I think you could use a dose of troleen.» «In a moment,» Jay said, turning the blaster on the Squire's body. «Don't!» Toby yelled, but the body was shriveling and melting and soon there was only a blob, only slightly larger than the scattered remains of the rats. «You will clear the remains away,» Jay ordered. «Not on your life,» Toby said firmly. «That is an order.» «Insist on it, Koptol Gagi, and I will place an emergency call to the Garge even before I use the medical kit.» «Very well,» Jay grumbled, leading the way to the other house. While ministering to his wounds, Toby considered the situation. A man's sins do have a way of catching up with him. But, oh, sweet winds of Ankan, what a sin! And the event flashed back to him. «There is a family of otters in the marsh below the Flying Saucer Camp,» she'd said. «We can probably sneak up on them in the canoe.» They had—on a beautiful August day with the sun burning her bare shoulders into a more attractive shade of brown, with a soft southeast wind cooling them and a salt spray kicked up from the plowing prow of the canoe. She, knowing the intricate bends of the multiple creeks cutting the marsh, was at the stern, guiding the boat. Well into the marsh she killed the motor, elevated it out of the water and began to move the canoe silently and expertly with a paddle. He sat facing her. Her breasts moved with the motion of her arms, threatening to come out of the skimpy halter of her bathing suit. He'd known her for a few short weeks and she was not his equal. And yet, with the sun on her hair and the spray wet on her face, she was beautiful. They found the otters and observed them from a safe distance with John Kurt's binoculars. They were lovely animals, antic, sleekly graceful. Then, after the otters had winded them and darted away into the protective marsh, there was a lazy boatride through the maze of creeks to a sandy beach on the rendering plant property. Toby didn't realize how close he was to the base, since the view was blocked by tall trees. There was a picnic lunch. Toby ate fowl eggs and cheese. He'd fallen victim to natural curiosity over the past days and the food of Orton, while barbaric, was good to his palate. She sat on a large beach towel, sharing it with him. They drank Pepsi and talked and she said, after all eternity had passed with a pleasant slowness, after having moved close to him and after having looked up into his large, gentle eyes, «Toby, what does it take to get you to kiss a girl?» Toby had no idea how much agonized thought went into that simple question. He was beginning to understand a little bit of the Ortonian way of Life. When John Kurt patted his wife on the fanny in a friendly, possessive way, he mused about it. No Ankani male would indulge in such a spontaneous gesture without invitation, but it was merely a small part of the rather interesting relationship between Ortonian males and females. Toby could not know the worry he'd caused Sooly, the nights of wakefulness, the feeling of painful sadness which came when she realized that she was no longer spending all her waking moments thinking of Bud. He would not, at that point, have been able to understand her tears and then her fear, for all the time she was falling out of love with Bud and falling in love with Toby he did nothing to indicate that his blue eyes even saw her as a girl. It was in an agony of unrequited love that she took him to the secluded, sandy beach, posed fetchingly for him all through the picnic lunch, made a special effort to put herself within reach of his arms. And it was in sheer desperation—she was on the verge of throwing away long years of her life and a lot of dreams by falling out of love with her childhood sweetheart—that she asked: «Toby, what does it take to get you to kiss a girl?» She, on her part, had no way of knowing that it took a simple, unmistakable invitation. She had no way of knowing that such an invitation meant more than a kiss to Toby and that by issuing the invitation she unleashed the surprised, pleased and totally uninhibited talent of an expert who had 500,000 years of erotic knowledge at his disposal. It was the most complete mismatch since David and Goliath. It was a complete rout. Nineteen years of proud morality sizzled into white heat. He had had an Ortonian sub-human. «If I tell them why the emanation flicked out,» Jay said, reading his thoughts and waking him from his reverie, «there'll be one more worker in the mines of Asmari.» Jay lay under the healing rays. «The penalty for genetic meddling is death,» Toby countered. «We both have much to lose,» Jay said, fully recovered from his breathlessness after a dose of troleen. «So it seems,» Toby agreed. «A pact of silence?» Jay offered. «Let me see that ecto,» Toby said, reaching out a hand. He studied it. She was there in miniature—round, almost warm to the touch, in a pose which, he found, came naturally when demonstrated by an expert. He remembered her cries of pain, her sobs of regret, her happy smile when he kissed away the tears. He had owned a woman. He could understand them fully now, those old tankermen. He could even understand why some of them jumped ship and stayed on Orton. «Koptol Gagi,» he said at last, «I can't accept blasphemy, not even to escape the mines of Asmari. If I am to remain silent, you must give up your experiments.» «You're in no position to dictate terms,» Jay said. «I mean it,» Toby said. «No more monsters. No more meddling with the sacred secrets of life.» «The Ortonians themselves are doing it,» Jay said. «I learned of it through their publications. I have merely advanced the work they are doing.» «It's a dark sin.» «So is opting with Ortonian females.» «No. That is human.» Toby, his wounds closed and healing rapidly, sat up. «And the mines of Asmari are not death.» «I'm in the last quarter of my life,» Jay said, his voice soft. «These Ortonians have delved into the secrets of life to an extent which gives me hope. Through my experiments, I can, using the knowledge gained in forbidden work here on Orton, retard further maturation. By breaking down cross linkages and preventing further cross linkages, the connecting rods which join and immobilize the molecules essential to life, I can prevent the rapid aging process which comes to the Ankani male in the last quarter of his life.» «I don't understand what you're saying,» Toby said. «I know only that what you've been doing carries the only death penalty left in the Ankani Code. I will turn myself over to the Garge and go to the mines unless you stop.» He put his hand on Jay's shoulder. «Is death so horrible? It comes to all. These poor Ortonians, living in their furnace of a sun, die at an age when an Ankani is finishing his primary schooling. They would give their souls to be able to live as long as we.» «The life span of a sub-human means nothing to me,» Jay said. «What matters to me is that I can almost feel my brain cells dying. In ten years,