The Wanderer

“Tigerishka,” he said slowly, feeling unaccustomedly heavy but quite comfortable as be sat on the pink velvet floor and pulled on his shorts and reached for his trousers, “you boast that you never miss a mental trick. Certainly your mind works much faster than mine. Presumably you have eidetic memory for everything that happens around you — including what you spy on in my mind. Yet last night when I mentioned the four crucial stellar photographs I’d seen — photographs of a planet making a false exit from hyperspace, I realize now — you assured me there could have been only two twist-fields involved, the first near Pluto, the second near Venus.

“Well, whatever you think, there were two other twist-fields represented, two other false exits.” At this point he felt her entering his mind. Nevertheless he went on: “They were the second and fourth in the series, and they involved Jupiter and Luna.”

Her answer rather surprised him. She said curtly: “You’re right. I’ll have to check with the Wanderer at once. It could be…what we’re afraid of.” She turned sharply to the control panel. She was standing on her hind legs now in the same gravity that gripped Paul. “You, welcome our visitor!”

A port like a manhole opened in the center of the pink floor and, facing away from Paul, a man in the uniform of the U.S. Space Force pushed up through it. He lurched his elbows heavily against the rim as the artificial-gravity field took hold of him, but evidently this didn’t startle him particularly, for he quickly boosted the rest of his body into the saucer.

Paul, barely into his shirt, stood up quickly too, getting a glimpse of the interior of a wide, corrugated-looking metal tube as the port closed.

The newcomer, having stared at Tigerishka, looked around.

“Don!”

“Paul!”

“I thought you were lost with the moon. How—”

“And I thought you were — I don’t know what. But how—”

They were both clumsily silent, waiting for the other to begin. Then Paul realized that Don was looking him up and down curiously. He hurriedly zipped his pants and buttoned his shirt.

Don looked at Tigerishka, looked at her for quite some time. Then he looked at the flowers and the other furnishings. Then his gaze came back to Paul and he raised his eyebrows and spread his hands helplessly and grinned with the air of one who means, “I don’t care if the solar system’s falling apart and we’re in an impossible gravity field in an impossible flying saucer in the midst of space — This is as funny as a bedroom farce!”

Paul realized he was blushing. He felt enraged at himself.

Tigerishka looked around at them from the control panel just long enough to say rapidly: “Greetings, Donald Barnard Merriam! Please excuse the monkey, he’s ashamed of his nakedness. But I suppose you’re ashamed, too. Really, you should both try fur!”

Chapter Forty

For the saucer students it was a quarter past dinosaur, as Ann would have said, except she was asleep. By that token the Wanderer was about an hour and fifteen minutes higher in the sky than it had been when the Corvette and the truck had first drawn up side by side on the saddle to look at the high tide. Now late supper had been eaten, scrapes and scratches gotten rock-moving had been cleaned and bandaged, and more than half the saucer students were asleep in and around the two vehicles, wrapped, despite the relative mildness of the night, in coats, blankets, and the edges of the big tarpaulin.

Three figures still cozied up around the primus stove where they’d boiled water for coffee: Pop, curled up on his side like a pillbug and fingering his bad teeth through his parchmenty cheeks as solemnly and sourly as if God were a dentist and Pop preparing to sue him for malpractice; the Ramrod, sitting cross-legged in the easiest variant of the lotus position — right ankle atop left knee, right knee atop left ankle — and staring up at the dinosaur rotating east on the Wanderer as if that now rather phallic-looking golden beast were the navel of the cosmos; and the Little Man, squatting on his hams and writing up the events and observations of the day in his notebook by Wanderer-light.

Hunter, holding Margo’s hand in his, she walking beside him, stepped up to the Little Man and touched him on the shoulder and said quietly, “Doddsy, Miss Gelhorn and I are going up to the crest across the road. If there’s a serious emergency: five horn blasts.”

The Little Man looked up and nodded.

From beyond the primus, Pop glanced at the blanket Margo was carrying and then turned his eyes away and blew through his lips a small, ugly, contemptuous sound, half cynicism, half angry disapproval.

The Ramrod withdrew from his contemplation to look down at Pop. “Shut up,” he said softly and calmly. Then he looked at Hunter and Margo, and above them at the Wanderer, and a smile came to his fanatical, abstracted face, and while his right forefinger traced tiny Isis-loops on his right knee he said, “Ispan shower blessings on your love.”