The Wanderer

He gave a silent but heartfelt sigh. Yes, no more Dai for a while now, no more science fiction, no more moon. Yes, particularly no more moon.

The wireless said, “We interrupt this program to relay to you a puzzling news flash from the United States.”

Chapter Eight

Hunter and Doc were jabbering together as they watched the Wanderer. Doc’s bald dome had a weird magenta glow as Hunter’s shaggy head and bearded face momentarily cut him off from the golden half of the body in the sky.

Paul, suddenly flooded by a strange, reckless energy, sprang up on the platform beside them and said loudly: “Look here, I’ve got some inside information on star photos showing areas of twist that completely confirm what you—”

“Shut up! I’ve got no time to listen to the crackpot claims of you saucer bugs,” Doc roared at him, not unkindly, and instantly went on: “Ross, I’ll grant you that if that thing is as far away as the moon, then it’s as big as the earth. Has to be. But—”

“Provided it’s a sphere,” Hunter put in sharply. “Could be flat like a plate.”

“Sure, provided it’s a sphere. But that’s a natural, sane assumption, don’t you think? I was going to say that if it’s only a thousand miles up, then it’s only—” he shut his eyes for two seconds — “thirty miles across. You follow me?”

“Sure,” Hunter told him. “Similar triangles and eight thousand miles divided by 250.”

Doc nodded so violently he almost lost his glasses and had to grab at them to steady them. “And if it’s only a hundred miles up — that’s still high enough for it to give a general illumination, though not from reflected sunlight—”

“Then it’s only three miles’ across,” Hunter finished for him.

“Yes,” Paul agreed loudly, “but in that case it’ll be moving in a ninety-minute orbit. That’s four degrees a minute — enough so we’ll notice it pretty quickly, even without stars to judge it by.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Doc said, turning to him now as if Paul were an old colleague. “Four degrees is as long as Orion’s Belt. We’ll see that much movement pretty fast.”

“But how do you know it’s in any kind of orbit?” Hunter asked. “How do we know anything like that?”

“It’s just another natural, sane assumption,” Doc told him, rather bitterly and roaring a little. “Like we assume the thing’s reflecting sunlight. Wherever it came from, it’s in space now, so we assume it obeys the laws of space until we know different.” He switched to Paul. “What were you saying about star photos?”

Paul began to tell them.

Margo hadn’t followed Paul onto the platform. People were pushing and jabbering around, her, two women were kneeling by the Ramrod and rubbing his wrists, the Little Man was hunting behind chairs for something, but Margo was staring across the dun sand at the eerie amethyst and topaz wake of the Wanderer in the waters of the Pacific. The fancy came to her that all the ghosts in her past, or perhaps it was the world’s past, were going to come marching toward her along that jeweled highway.

The She-Turban’s face came in the way and said to her accusingly, “I know you — you’re the girl friend of that spaceman. I saw your picture in Life.”

“You’re right, Rama Joan,” a woman in a pale gray sweater and slacks said to the She-Turban. “I must have seen the same picture.”

“She came with a man,” Ann volunteered from her Rama Joan’s side. “But they’re nice people; they brought a cat. See how it stares at the big velvet saucer, Mommy?”

“Yes, dear.” Rama Joan agreed, smiling twistedly. “It’s seeing devils. Cats like them.”

“Please don’t try to scare us any more than we are,” Margo said sharply. “It’s stupid and childish.”

“Oh, you think there won’t be devils?” Rama Joan asked, quite conversationally. “Don’t worry about Ann. She loves everything.”

Ragnarok, slinking by, reared at Miaow with a snarl. The Little Man, still feeling under chairs, snapped out: “Down, sir!” Margo fought to hold on to the cat and minimize scratches. Rama Joan turned her back and looked up at the Wanderer and then at the moon emerging from eclipse. The Little Man found what he’d been hunting for and he sat down and settled it on his knees — something the size of a briefcase but with sharper edges.

On the platform Doc was saying to Paul: “Well, yes, those photos sound pretty suggestive of emergences from hyperspace, but—” His thick glasses magnified his frown. “I don’t see how they’re going to solve any problems here and now. Especially the one of how far away the damn thing is.” The frown deepened.

Hunter said loudly to Doc: “Rudolf! Listen to me!”

Doc grabbed up a furled umbrella, saying: “Sorry, Ross I’ve got to do something else,” and jumped rather clumsily off the platform into the sand.

Paul realized what the strange energy flooding him was, because he could see now that it possessed everyone else: plain exhilaration.