Title: Temptress Of Planet Delight
Author: Curtis, Betsy
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Temptress Of Planet Delight" ***


                      TEMPTRESS OF PLANET DELIGHT

                             By B. CURTIS

                A sears-monkey flew to vend his wares
                On a planet strangely groomed.
                Lo and behold, he lost all his cares
                As the genetic experiment bloomed.

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                       Planet Stories May 1953.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


When the alarm signalled the first whiff of the atmosphere of the next
planet on his route, Herl Hofner stopped chinning by his strapping
six-foot self and left the little gym. Slipping into the swivel chair
at the desk he clipped the pile of loose papers into an empty niche
at the side of the desk, spun the chair around to the instrument
panel of the _Krylla_. Dialing with his left hand, he swept the bank
for incoming signals while his right hand adjusted the microphone
frequencies.

"Class M-for-Mary ship requesting permission to land. Do you have
automatic beam landing device? Class M-for-Mary ship requesting
permission to land. Do you have automatic beam landing?" His dial
pointer swept back and forth.

"Come in, class M-for-Mary."

Herl's left hand moved to the autobeam switch. "What band for
M-for-Mary landing? What band for M-for-Mary landing?"

"Come in on seventy-three point eight, M-for-Mary. Come in on
seventy-three point eight, M-for-Mary."

Herl's left hand now centered the needle neatly on the appropriate
setting as his right pressed the stud for extending the wings with
their powerful atmosphere motors; and he sank back into the chair
cushions with a relieved sigh. This was still a civilized planet. He'd
be able to get back maybe a month sooner than he'd expected after the
most recent setback. Forty years, he frowned, was too long between
visits from Galactic Central, even if Central had no responsibility
for autonomous groupings. A lot could happen in forty years on
these isolated planets. The unprecedented mutation leaving half the
population deaf and dumb had made the last call a long and tedious
one. But by the signs so far, this planet was still ticking along
satisfactorily with radio and radar and standard language, a space-port
and all the comforts of civilization.

The speaker hummed into activity. "Please state vessel name,
registration, number of crew, destination, and nature of business,
M-for-Mary entering on band seventy-three point eight."

Herl grinned comfortably to himself. Familiar red tape had a homelike
ring. "This is the _Krylla_, registered J-John five two L-Lomax one
five on Earth Sol at headquarters of Galactic Coordination, on routine
round trip of thirty planets carrying only Captain Herl Hofner, your
sears-monkey, to governmental centers for trading coordination."

He heard the snort from the speaker before the bellow. "What in seven
light years is a sears-monkey?" He could visualize the veritable bull
of a man at the port control tower.

"Traditional term on Earth for a trading catalogue, now used to
signify the man who carries it. I've got five hundred thousand feet of
microfilm of the latest manufactured articles and raw materials and
their descriptions and prices from about three thousand planets in the
galaxy. Anything you need?"

"I don't know. Nobody tells me anything." A pause. "How long do you
wish to remain on Delight?"

"That depends on what's needed and how long it takes me to find out.
How long has the planet been called Delight? I have it listed as
Geescow, or maybe that was my predecessor's idea of a joke."

"That was no joke. We only settled here eighty years ago and there
was a little bug in the water that made the whole place stink like a
garbage scow. We've got that pretty well cleaned up and renamed the
place." Another pause. "Do you need hotel accommodations?"

Hotel. Herl felt his chin. He'd better redepil on the way down.
Sears-monkeys were expected to go the local culture one better on
everything to keep up Galactic Coordination's reputation. And he should
wear the red dress uniform tunic and black trou. The more civilized
they were, the harder they fell for a little routine glamour.

"How far is the port from the capital?"

"Not more'n ninety, hundred miles from the middle of town. Plenty of
taxi service for the little bit of business we get here. Only twelve
spaces and eighty-three jets registered for the whole planet."

Well, that explained the volubility of the control man. Evidently just
busting for somebody to talk to. Not first-class security, being so
gabby, but pleasant to come in out of the black to.

"I may need an office where I can play the samples. Can you get me
something?"

"No. You gotta have a clearance permit to rent, a commercial visa,
a set of ration cards for food ... do you need one for clothes?...
a transportation permit to hire a vehicle ... an application blank
for health examination, an application for personal insurance,
vehicle insurance, theft insurance, credit bonding, driver's license,
secretarial assistance (will you need a secretary?), _and_, the
most important of the kaboodle, application for permission to make
additional applications for permission."

"Leaping Luna! I don't expect to be here longer than a couple of weeks
at the most. I don't need clothes unless the ones I have are offensive
to your planetary taboos; and I certainly don't need a secretary.
Can't I just hire a cab and let the driver worry about the insurance
and driver's license and all the rest of that stuff?" Herl mentally
withdrew his grin at the comfort of red tape. "I can eat food from the
ship if I have to."

"Can't unload any food without special permission two weeks in advance
of unloading date to give time for federal inspection." The heavy voice
was firm if regretful. "You'd better just pick up this book of forms
and fill them out while you wait for clearance to enter the city."

"Clearance," Herl almost yelped. "How long will that take?"

"Depends. You might be able to get it in four, five hours if the video
bands are fairly free. You're almost down now. Don't forget the 1.3
earth gravity. Buckle your belt: the field's jet-pitted and you're
coming in on wheels. Be seeing you."

       *       *       *       *       *

Herl was still seeing him six hours later, sitting across a castered
utility table from almost exactly the bull of a man he'd visualized ...
about Herl's own height but broader all the way from shoulders to beam.
Where he'd half expected a close-cropped head, however, the tower man,
Saem Berry, wore his hair in ragged brown locks falling almost to his
jacket collar.

Herl had looked up at him curiously in the midst of asking a question
relevant to a three-page form describing his employment status and
waiving unemployment compensation during his stay on Delight.

"Let my barbering permit lapse," admitted Berry, sheepishly. "Can't
re-apply for six more months, so I have to hack it off when it gets in
my way."

"Earth months or Delight months?" Herl asked as he wrote.

"Delight months. That's about a year and a half, earth time." Saem
Berry opened the desk drawer and took out a pair of office shears.
Holding his head over the waste-basket he snipped off a few of the
longer strands; then he sat up and replaced the shears. "Good thing I
learned to shave myself."

Filling out forms and returning to the _Krylla_ for a snack had taken
only five of the six hours: waiting for vizor connections had taken the
last hour along with a game of tri-di chess to kill the time. Berry had
been surprisingly uncommunicative about the state of Delight culture
and technology.

"Better see it for yourself," he'd said. "I don't know half of what
goes on in town, living way off here."

He had been politely curious about Herl and Herl's job.

"Go around from planet to planet and system to system selling stuff,
eh?" He tilted his head at the captain. "What made a smart young fellow
like you want to wander around the galaxy instead of settling down to a
steady job and raising a family? Lot of money in it, or are you staying
away from something you don't like?" he asked penetratingly.

Herl responded in kind. "Don't know as I ever thought of it just that
way," he admitted. "I guess I like to see things getting tied together
in some sort of organization. I like to see people getting what they
want and need ... and I'm good at it. There's no great income in it.
Maybe I just like going from place to place and seeing how things are
there."

"Looking for something you need yourself, I'll bet. Got a girl?" the
controlman grinned slyly.

"No girl," Herl grinned back. "Do the girls on Delight need a man like
me? I might be able to arrange for a shipload."

Saem shook his head. "I've got a daughter," he said, "who yearns for
far places ... marriageable gal ... I'm always on the lookout." He
laughed. "That's the kind of thing she'd say, not me, the little brat."

"Do I have to get a special permit to take her to dinner?" Herl asked,
just as the vizor connection was completed.

The major official in a conservative blue tunic, who looked like
half the civil officers in the galaxy, peered apologetically out of
the screen. "You can come right to my office in the city, Captain
Hofner," he urged. "I'll get some of our leading men together to meet
you at once. I understand you're a busy man. Uh ... have you all your
applications filled out?"

The towerman assented quickly for Hofner. "Yes indeed, Mr.
Commissioner. He's alone and planning to stay only a few weeks, so he
didn't need most of the big ones like permanent housing or shopping
assignment or resident tax registration and like that. Will you be
sending a temporary driver for him till he's got his permit?"

"Oh, yes. I'll send a man out as soon as I can clear one."

Saem's tone was deferent. "Thank you, Mr. Commissioner." The connection
was broken and the screen went dark. "Pretty obliging guy, Commissioner
Crawford. He doesn't forget a thing. Never has. That's an impressive
record." The controlman nodded his head; his hair swung down over his
eyes; and he fumbled in the drawer for the scissors again. "Now I'd
forget my head if it wasn't dogged down."

"It can't be that bad," Herl objected.

"Right again," the other admitted. "That's a joke around here at any
rate. You can't afford to forget anything around here."

"I won't forget," smiled Herl.

"You'd better not. It would be awkward as hell if you did and got stuck
here."

"They couldn't hold me here just for forgetting something. I'm an
employee of Galactic Coordination, you know, and not a local citizen."

The brown locks swung from side to side. "I don't know but I wouldn't
risk it. It might be a good many years, from what you tell me, before
anybody came out from the Sol system looking for you if they're as
understaffed as you say."

"I'll be careful, then." And Herl Hofner patted his pile of
applications and turned back to the chess game.

       *       *       *       *       *

The driver of the cabter was even less communicative about the state of
things on Delight. Captain Hofner tried to get him to talk about what
the planet might be able to use in the manufactured line but the young
driver only pursed his lips and shook his head slowly and said, "I
don't know a thing about it and I can't afford to forget that I don't
get paid for looking around and then griping about it. Commissioner
Crawford will tell you what you want to know. He gets paid for it." And
he would say no more.

Crawford sounded like quite the little despot. Herl shivered in the
open cabter as it plowed through a thin cloud and turned up the heating
element in his scarlet uniform tunic. The driver seemed very thinly
clad, but he gave no sign of being cold except for a whiteness around
the lips and fingers.

"Don't you draw enough clothing ration here? Maybe Delight will be in
the market for synthetic fabrics if you're short here."

The young man turned a look of fury on Hofner. "None of your damn
business if I haven't got enough clothes and I wouldn't say anything
about it to Crawford either if you know what's good for you!"

Hofner shrugged, and the silence held till after the cab had alighted
on the outskirts of the city and proceeded through a number of blocks
of moderate-sized residences and stores. Realizing the probable public
pride of the driver, Herl made no mention of the occasional fetid
whiffs that blew through the cabter reminding him that Delight had once
been called Geescow, but instead turned his attention to the city. The
houses were brick or stone boxes, solidly built, drab-colored, set
behind lawns of silvery gray mossy looking stuff. Great trees lined the
street at precise intervals: the pavement, though lightly serrated for
friction, was as smooth as the newest roads on Earth. Hofner noticed
that the cabter stopped automatically at certain intersections and was
obviously equipped with a radar braking device. Technicians here might
have something to list in the catalogue.

Suddenly the driver stiffened in his seat, slammed on the cab's
own brakes and swore simultaneously. "Those blankety blank damned
irresponsible Eyefers!" He leaned out of the window and yelled, "Where
in hell do you think you're going? Do you want to get killed?"

Hofner, who had been looking at the buildings on his side of the
street, looked out the front of the cab and saw a vacant-faced,
middle-aged woman almost touching the bumper. She turned her head at
the driver's voice, looked at him as if she hardly saw him, and walked
slowly to the opposite kerb. The driver pulled in his head and muttered
under his breath, "They ought to declare an open season on Eyefers
around here. They'd just as soon smash up a good cab as get killed."

"What's an Eyefer?" Herl asked, hoping to get some crumb of information
from the surly young man.

"Short for 'I fergot,'" answered his companion brusquely.

"I fergot what?"

The reply was bitterly sarcastic. "Fergot to get a license, Fergot to
get the next ration card, Fergot to apply for compensation.... Fergot
to do practically anything but eat ... and be a drag on everybody else.
I got three of them myself to look out for and if I don't look out I'll
be going Eyefer myself and then what?"

"All right, then what?"

The young man clenched his teeth, thinned his lips. "There won't be any
'then what.' I'd hang myself."

Concealing his startlement, Herl asked as coolly as he could, "Tell me
about these Eyefers. We don't have them where I come from and I can't
say I exactly understand the score."

"No Eyefers, huh. Ask Crawford." And the driver clenched his teeth
again and drove on. Herl was unable to get anything more out of him
until the cabter turned and drew up a long ramp into the side of a
pretentious pseudo-Greek edifice that filled a whole block.

"Civil Building. Crawford's office is here. Straight ahead," he stopped
the cabter beside a gateway in the railed concrete walkway paralleling
the road, which apparently went clear through the building, "and take
the fourth elevator to your right. Crawford has the whole sixth floor."

Herl grabbed his case full of credentials and applications, opened the
door, and stepped onto the walkway. He turned to thank the driver, but
the cab was already gathering speed along the way.


                                  II

He looked after the dwindling cab a moment, then walked quickly
along the concrete toward the elevators. To his left, a procession
of assorted vehicles hurried in either direction through the tunnel.
Occasional cabters, long-cars, and congyribles pulled up to openings
in the railing to let out passengers who approached one or another
of the elevator doors. Herl passed three clumps of people waiting for
transportation to other floors and noticed that the panels beside the
doors, which listed the offices to be found on the ninth, eighth, and
seventh floors respectively, were all listings of headquarters of some
sort of civil control ... health insurance, building permits, fire
inspection, inoculations, etc.

There were both men and women among those waiting, most of them in what
Earth would call informal dress (a pair of simple trousers and knitted
shirt in gray or brown, often topped off with a heavy furred cape or
swathing capelike coat); and most of them were much more warmly dressed
than the driver of his cab. Apparently there was not such a shortage of
heat-holding fabrics as he had assumed.

As he reached the fourth elevator, the door opened and the group was
sucked into its recesses. Herl joined it and the doors closed. "Express
to the sixth floor: face the rear of the car please," said the tinny
voice from an overhead speaker. Twenty people stood glumly motionless
as the car glided up with the faintest of vibrations but with a heavy
pressure against the soles of Captain Hofner's feet.

A door opened at the rear of the elevator chamber and the crowd pushed
out and spread wide in the large lobby ahead. Herl Hofner shifted
his case to his left hand and looked around for some clue to the
whereabouts of Crawford's office. That worthy might have the whole
floor, but he must have his particular sanctum at some particular place.

Most of the lobby was filled by comfortable looking upholstered couches
and chairs, and these in turn were filled by what Herl judged to be
a couple of hundred people talking, reading pamphlets, or glancing
preoccupiedly through pages of forms that looked like the ones he'd
filled out earlier. In a chair near him, Herl saw an old man gazing
blankly ahead and approached him.

"I wonder if you would be so good as to tell me where I could find
Commissioner Crawford," he requested hopefully.

"What say?" the man blinked and turned his gaze on the red uniform
jacket at about the level of Herl's floating ribs.

"Where would I find Commissioner Crawford?"

"Down that way somewhere, I suppose." The man's voice was toneless as
he indicated direction with one elbow.

Yes, almost at the corner of the room was a broad paneled door on which
the stencilled name Mr. Commissioner A. G. Crawford became legible as
Herl approached it. He knocked briskly just below the letters; and the
door swung slowly inward to admit him.

Inside sat a receptionist at a switchboard. She looked up at Herl's
entrance; and he could see that she was a homely brunette with dull
skin and a shapeless figure. Her glance at his trim scarlet uniform
was approving and she said, "You're Captain Hofman from Galactic
Information, aren't you?"

"Hofner, from Coordination," he corrected. "May I see the Commissioner?
I believe he's expecting me."

"The Commissioner is in conference at the moment with some of the men
he wants you to talk to. If you could wait in the lobby a few minutes,
I'm sure he'll be ready to see you soon."

"Can't I wait in here?"

"I'm afraid not," she replied reluctantly. "It's a rule that no one can
wait in the offices. They'd be filling the place to the ceiling if we
let them get in this far. Not," she added with what she seemed to think
was a fascinating smile, "that you'd try to get in ahead of your
turn ... but some would."

       *       *       *       *       *

Herl retreated with his case of papers to the lobby and took the
nearest of two vacant chairs about fifteen feet from Crawford's
door. He sat down and pulled a stilo and permanote pad from his
breast pocket. Using his case as a writing desk he noted down several
questions he wanted to ask somebody. There were vacant planets in his
catalogue: maybe he had a market for one of those: and while there
wasn't any commission on such a 'sale', there was usually a lot of
kudos.

He glanced up at Crawford's door again, and a motion on his left
drew his eye. There was someone in the chair next to him only ten feet
away ... a woman, no, a girl. The thought flitted through his mind
that she was a quiet one to slip into the chair without his noticing.
She was looking at him, and he turned his head to look directly at her.

Shock like a heavy charge of electricity gripped and tingled in him.
This was no girl, it was a ... a ... a ... who knows what. Wrapped in a
thin golden haze, she sat, as if in the midst of an incandescent cloud,
through which her face shone as if it, too, were illumined from inside.
One bare arm lay along the upholstered arm of the chair, but not quite
touching it, as though the cloud gave a little support; but the perfect
arm was merely the lower frame for the exquisitely lovely face with
its blue eyes that seemed to penetrate his awareness to its depths and
the smile that smoothed his irritation at another tedious wait into
nothingness.

Herl sat and regarded her a long instant, a foreverness of perhaps ten
seconds. Then he came fumblingly to himself and smiled back at her.
"Waiting for Crawford, too?" he asked lamely.

The tones of her voice were rippling water, a chord on a stringed
instrument. "No."

Herl had a moment of ridiculous longing to stand up and see over the
thick arm of the chair to find out what the rest of her looked like.
Then embarrassment came and he lowered his eyes. "Excuse me," he
apologized, "I'm a stranger to Delight. I didn't mean to pry."

The voice was two tones of a flute. "I know."

"By the uniform?" He raised his eyes again to look at hers.

"By everything." The smile faded, replaced by a look of sober gravity.

Questions raced through Herl's mind: who she was; what the cloud was;
what she knew about him; even what she was wearing, for the cloud
thickened near the shoulder and neck and he could glimpse only a few
shining strands of waving amber hair through the concealing haze.

"You may ask me," she said.

"Ask you what?" he returned, surprised.

"Any of those questions. I will tell you."

Crawford's door opened and the receptionist came toward them. One
thought rose imperatively in Herl's mind.

"Will you be here when I come out?"

"No."

He grasped his case and got up. He could see now that she was literally
wearing nothing but the half-concealing haze that left her slim legs
and bare feet visible. "Will I ... can I ... see you again?"

"Yes."

Herl turned his head toward the receptionist.

"Commissioner Crawford can see you now," she smirked.

He looked back to ask the vision when and how he would find her but the
chair was as empty as when he came out of the office.

       *       *       *       *       *

Confused, like a man suddenly awakened from a fascinating dream, Herl
walked after the receptionist through the outer door and to the inner
one. She returned to her switchboard and he went on toward the door,
which slid into the wall at his approach. He gave his head a quick
clearing shake and looked inside the long, austere, uncarpeted office,
with its one window at the far end.

Directly ahead of him was a group of men sitting on both sides of
a long conference table ... little men, serious-faced, important,
earnest. At the far end, a man faced him ... a small, pleasant, but
harried-looking middle-aged man, almost bald. Herl identified his
outline against the window as that of Commissioner Crawford of the
vizor call.

"Come in, Captain Hofner," the Commissioner invited cordially.

Herl did so and looked curiously at the sober faces of the men at the
table while the door slid shut behind him.

"Come and sit down," Crawford indicated with his palm the empty chair
at Herl's end of the table. His voice was still mellow and cordial. "We
are all ready to discuss your officers and see your samples. You will
find that we are accustomed to doing business promptly on Delight ...
an agreeable feature of our culture, I think you'll find."

Herl smiled, pulled out the heavy chair and sat, pulling it back to the
table as he did so. Promptness would indeed be an agreeable feature
after those deaf mutes. He put his case upon the table.

"I didn't bring the tapes and films with me from the ship, gentlemen,"
he apologized. "They seem to have exceeded the weight limit which I
could bring into town without special permission. I suppose I shall
have to have all these papers approved before I can show you what
we have to sell." He opened the case and slipped out the stack of
applications. "However, I can make a preliminary survey of your needs
and what you have that you'd like an extra-planetary market for." He
reached into his jacket pocket for stilo and pad.

A bell sounded beyond the door, which opened; and the receptionist
stuck her head into the room.

"Miss Haulwell, would you be good enough to get a special messenger to
take these papers around to the proper offices and get 'em stamped?"
Crawford gestured to the stack. He scribbled on a pad by his hand, tore
off the sheet and held it out. "This will give my authorization for
complete clearance."

The shapeless Miss Haulwell came meekly around the table and took
the note, then returned to the other end to pick up the pile of
applications, handling them almost reverently. "Yes, Commissioner. Will
there be anything else, Commissioner?"

"No, not at the moment."

She retreated silently to her anteroom and the door closed.

Just as the door clicked shut, Herl saw the golden haze thickening
slowly behind the seated Crawford ... thickening and then fading to
nothing as if a cloud had changed its mind about coming into being.
Staring beyond the man, Herl missed the beginning of the sentence, but
picked it up before the meaning was lost.

"... have been discussing some of the things we need. We'd be
interested in seeing any electronic calculating equipment developed in
the last eighty years. And our requirements for reducing and storing
records, particularly photographic records, have so far exceeded our
production of file and development chemicals that we are definitely
in the market for such ... or any different improved methods. That's
right, isn't it, Mr. Jerrip? (Mr. Jerrip is our Commissioner of
Records.)"

A man down the table on Herl's left nodded agreement. "Exactly right,
Mr. Commissioner." His tone was most respectful.

Herl made a note on his pad. "Those are some of the most popular
numbers in our new listing. What next?"

"Well, we've been discussing the matter of permitting the use of
plastic housing materials and if we can come to some agreement, we may
be in the market for some plastic formulae and construction plans."

One of the men on Hofner's right grunted an objection.

"Housing Commissioner Ferguson, here, feels that as long as we can
continue to supply the expressed demand, there is no need to plan any
expansion."

Herl nodded agreeably toward Ferguson and suggested, "Since delivery
on heavy items like hot molds for plastics can't be guaranteed in less
than ten earth years, you might like to see what we have and reconsider
your needs in terms of the next fifty. Our department is trying to get
us sears-monkeys around more often than that, but we can't be sure of
doing it unless planet-hopping becomes a lot more popular with the boys
of the galaxy."

Ferguson grunted again. "In fifty years we probably won't need anything
but barracks for Eyefers."

Most of the men at the table laughed, a little self-consciously, it
seemed to Herl.

"How about those Eyefers?" Herl opened tentatively. "I don't quite
understand about them but I gather they're something of a drag on your
culture. We have a number of vacant planets. Would you be interested
in sending off a gang of them to colonize? Would they be interested in
going?"

       *       *       *       *       *

A tall man next to Ferguson spoke to Crawford. "How about it, Bert? My
household would get along more smoothly with about six less mouths to
feed and six less backs to cover."

A fat bearded man directly on Herl's left shook his head rapidly
several times. "No, no, no, no!"

Crawford spoke noncommittally. "Commissioner Guildris of Health and
Welfare objects."

Guildris stood up. "I certainly do. Not only are the Eyefers hardly
competent to colonize anything, but the whole success of our cultural
and genetic experiment hinges on their being here among us as an
example of what we must avoid if we are to succeed as a race!" He sat
down, plumph, on the air-cushion of his chair.

Crawford turned to Herl. "I can explain about the Eyefers while we are
waiting for your things from the ship," he assured Herl. "They are
really quite important in our scheme of things, as Guildris says."

Herl was startled. "You mean you're sending somebody for my things?" he
wanted to know.

"Certainly, if you like. If you don't trust a man to get them, I'll go
along with you and we can talk then."

Herl relaxed. "There may be a good many things you'll be interested in
when you see the pictures," he said.

The members of the group suddenly seemed a little tense.

"For instance," Herl looked round the ring of faces so sober and
intent, "how about entertainment and entertainers? There are nightclub
bleepers, and grand opera troupes, carnivals, dancers, magicians, and
bocko teams, theatrical companies, acrobats, and several thousand
individual artists of various talents ... all good, or Galactic
Coordination wouldn't be listing them. What's your preference,
gentlemen?"

Commissioner Guildris rose again, a heavy frown on his heavy features.
Looks of disapproval were obvious on several other faces also, although
one or two commissioners raised their eyebrows questioningly at
Crawford.

"I would not presume, Captain Hofner," Guildris stated, "to condemn
light entertainment for the peoples of the galaxy. It is, however,
an occupation from which we have been able to shield our people for
the time being. We have our own approved methods of relaxation and of
temporary escape from the pressures of daily living; but these are
mostly in the nature of solitary meditation and mechanical music."

Herl winced inwardly. These people would have been better approached
by a non-humanoid robot than a red-blooded terran boy. Six feet six of
healthy hungry handsome salesman was wasted here. And Guildris would
hardly go off on an extended sermon to a machine.

But a human audience was fair game for the paunchy commissioner. "The
danger to our citizens, you understand, is not in escapism, even though
that may have its own dangers. It is in the approval and possible
emulation of individuals ... individuals who, though talented, might
not be truly fitted for survival here. We cannot tolerate ... I repeat,
we cannot tolerate public distress and public pressure when a public
figure fails in his civic duties. Entertainers would be loved. The
public would want to forgive them their lapses. This we cannot have."

Herl glanced with a ghost of a smile at one of the men who had raised
his eyebrows at Crawford. "No dancers?" he said.

"No dancers," Crawford replied firmly, without giving the other a
chance to answer.

Herl returned equally firmly to his task. "And how do you plan to pay
for what you buy ... by Galactic Credits ... by man hours of assigned
labor ... or by barter? In other words, what do you want to sell among
the stars?"

A suave looking man with oily hair and an oilier manner looked at
Crawford. "May I, Mr. Commissioner?"

Crawford nodded. "Mr. Applegate, Commissioner of Raw Materials (and
that includes labor of course) will answer that."

Applegate turned to smirk at Herl.

"We have on Delight, Captain Hofner, a rich supply of natural
fuels, several strains of high-oxygen producing plants, and a most
remunerative taxation system. We can sell or barter or even pay for our
few needs, whichever proves most satisfactory to Galactic Coordination.
We have an untapped reservoir of unskilled labor in our Eyefers, whom
we have heretofore avoided exploiting but whom we can use if it seems
desirable for the good of our planet. Does that answer your question?"

Herl nodded, surprised that such a prosperous people hadn't gone
straight to Coordination for what they wanted years before.

Guildris of Health and Welfare added, "We are most fortunate in being
a completely self-sustaining planet. In our abundance of natural foods
and textile rawstuffs, we are probably capable of supporting twice our
present numbers. That is why we are able to make progress with the
great genetic experiment now in progress here. Because it works actual
hardship on no one!" he added proudly.

Herl looked at Crawford. "I suppose this experiment will be one of the
things you'll tell me about when we go to get my things?"

"Of course," blandly.

"Another matter you might be considering while we are getting the tapes
and films," Herl offered, "is transport. Have you enough home-owned
space tonnage to carry your exports and imports; or would you be
interested in purchase, rental, or simple contract for haulage? You
will get your orders much more quickly, I hardly have to tell you, if
you use your own ships; but there are a number of haulage companies
around the galaxy which would be very glad of your business. And if
you cared to send a representative to the nearest coordination center,
he could bring you our listings every couple of earth years and return
with your orders, so that you could be in much closer touch with what
the galaxy has to offer in the way of raw materials, manufactured
goods, technological advance, and markets." Herl looked inquiringly
around the table.

The rotund Guildris stood up again. "I believe I may speak for all of
us when I say that we are not overly anxious for increased contact
with the galaxy at this point in our social development. A great deal
of thought by some of our wisest men," he bowed to his colleagues
pompously, "has been expended on making Delight a self-sufficient
independent unit for the most worthy of purposes, the eventual
improvement of our race. In a few more generations, we may have
something to offer the galaxy ... not to sell but to offer to the need
of all other planets ... a strain of _homo sapiens_ so selected as to
be a hardy, keen, responsible and intelligent race of administrators
and leaders of the galaxy. Because we have dedicated ourselves to
this purpose, we must necessarily cut ourselves off from the pleasant
interdependence of thriving trade until we are ready to market the
noble fruits of our projected garden."

Guildris remained standing a moment, while a gentle handclapping from
both sides of the table indicated that his remarks were, indeed, the
opinion of all those present.

Herl kept a grave face with the greatest effort. Going to run the
galaxy in a few generations, were they? These little two-for-a-credit
bureaucrats? Wanted a few little calculators to make themselves the
final bosses of everything. He had seen a giant calculator ... an
electronic multi-brain, with fifty men coding information for it,
preparatory to making the selection of a minor planetary economic
advisor. It would be an interesting day when these little men came to
Earth to take over. All this flashed through his mind while Crawford
was rising to his feet.

"We shall be perfectly satisfied," said Crawford genially, "to have
delivery of our small order made by any means you care to contract:
but as you have heard, we are not interested in opening up Delight as
a trade center, so we have no need for regular shipping service. Now
I don't want to take these gentlemen's time with discussion of things
they already know," he looked around the table, "so if that's all we
can do now, I propose that we disband and meet again at sundown. That
will give us two hours to go out to the ship and back. Are there any
objections?"

The men were rising from their chairs.

Herl said, almost plaintively, "Doesn't anybody eat around here?
Couldn't we add time for a meal?"

Crawford laughed. "I forgot you didn't have your ration card yet. Make
that time one hour dark. If your papers aren't cleared yet, I'll stand
you to a meal."

Herl stood also, and the men filed past him, shaking his hand as
they went. Six commissioners who had not spoken during the meeting
added their names and positions. The last to go was a Commissioner
of Psychology and Psychiatry, to whom Herl said, "I'd like to see
you before I leave here, Commissioner. I think I've been having
hallucinations."

The man halted, still holding Herl's hand. "What sort of visions, my
boy?"

Herl grinned. "A pretty girl in a golden fog. Probably just the result
of months alone in a space ship."

The man sighed, relieved. "Oh, just a goddess. A local phenomenon.
Think nothing more of it. Commissioner Crawford will tell you all
about that, too." He followed the others out.

A local phenomenon! Maybe that girl was the 'noble fruit' Guildris was
talking about. If so, these people might have something after all.


                                  III

Commissioner Crawford had gone to a desk in one corner of the
conference room and was rummaging in one of the drawers. "Better hunt
up my guest permit for restaurants," he began, when a two-tone chime
sounded and the screen of a large vizor against the wall lit up.
"Excuse me," he said, sitting down in the desk chair facing the video.
"Crawford speaking," he said distinctly.

A young man with a narrow pimply countenance and sparse lightish hair
appeared on the screen. "Sub-commissioner Torrin of Highways and
Vehicles," he identified himself.

"Yes, Mr. Torrin?"

"I have here a set of application papers with your request for special
rapid clearance," Torrin said accusingly, holding up the sheaf of
papers which Herl recognized, although it was now much thinner than
when he had relinquished it to Miss Haulwell.

"That is correct. Don't tell me something's been omitted. This is
urgent, Torrin."

"Nothing has been omitted, Commissioner; but your note calls only for
clearance on papers for a Captain Herl Hofner," Torrin said curtly.

"Still correct. So?"

"There is also an application for driver's license here for a Miss
Agnes Haulwell ... and I've leafed down through the rest of the forms
and there are several more in her name: cooking fats and oils; crimp
yarn textile clothing; limited individual rental housing ... and then
there are others of the same type as requested for Captain Hofner. Did
you mean to authorize these also? Is she accompanying Captain Hofner
in his temporary stay here? If so, I hardly see why she should need a
number of these."

Crawford groaned and replied ruefully, "Haulwell's my receptionist
and secretary. Obviously going Eyefer and near-criminal as well.
Very discerning of you to have caught it." He sighed. "She was a good
secretary, though. Wonder where I'll get another."

Torrin requested coldly, "What shall I do with the applications?"

"Approve Captain Hofner's and send the rest of his on through. I'll
get Haulwell's fraudulent forms from you tomorrow and put through her
Eyefer status officially then. I'm too busy now."

"Thank you, Commissioner." The screen went black.

Crawford's face when he turned back to Herl was tired and disgruntled.
"That's the third girl in a couple of years. They just have no
consideration for their jobs. She was the best of the three, too." He
riffled some more papers in the drawer and came up with a small green
card.

"Why didn't you tell him you meant to add her name to your note?" Herl
asked curiously. "You could have given her a scolding or something,
couldn't you?"

"Oh no. You don't understand. She might have married and had children
and I wouldn't have been able to say a thing, or I'd have been an
accessory after the fact." He pressed a button on his desk. "Being
Chief Commissioner of Delight is a responsible and tough job, Captain.
But we owe it to our children's children to make them a hundred times
as responsible and tough."

The door opened and Agnes Haulwell advanced a few steps into the room.
"You wanted me, Commissioner?"

"Yes, Miss Haulwell. You may leave now and go home and pack your
things. I'll phone Placement to get an assignment for you so you can go
right there to turn in your permits when you've packed."

"P-placement, Commissioner?"

"Eyefer placement, Miss Haulwell. Sub-commissioner Torrin has just
informed me about your having added a number of your personal
applications to the rush approvals for Captain Hofner."

Agnes Haulwell turned pale, then began to tremble and burst into tears.
"Oh, no, Commissioner. I ... I couldn't. None ... well almost none of
those permits has really lapsed ... I'm engaged ... I just can't," she
sobbed, "I mustn't ... you can't ... oh, I'll go to detention or ...
or ... temporary curtailment of privileges or anything, but you can't
make me go Eyefer!" she wound up defiantly.

Crawford was seemingly regretful, gentle. "Had the housing permit
lapsed? and the cooking fats? and the winter clothes?"

"Yes, but that was all. I forgot just those three. The others all had
hours to run yet."

"'I forgot, I forgot.' Miss Haulwell, there's one thing you can't
forget and that's that an adequate memory and constant attention is the
mark of those fitted to survive. Now I'm very disappointed in you," his
voice became more gentle as she sobbed anew, "but I would consider it a
personal favor if you'd come in in the morning to show your successor
how to operate the switchboard and doors and where the supplies are."

"OH!..." Miss Haulwell fairly shrieked and ran blubbering from the
room.

Crawford said sadly to Hofner. "They never do come in tomorrow morning.
It just shows they were Eyefer stuff from the beginning. I only wish
we had some way of weeding them out before they reached adulthood, but
we don't. Now let's go and eat. By the time we get back, your permits
should be here."

       *       *       *       *       *

The restaurant was in the basement. Progress between tables had been
slow as Commissioner Crawford acknowledged greetings from numerous
small groups and introduced Captain Hofner. Finally, however, they were
seated at a table for two at a corner of the yellow-brick walled room.

A brown-overalled waiter approached them.

"My guest permit," Crawford explained in loud clear tones, "is for
cereal foods and fruit. But you're probably in the mood for breakfast
anyway." He spoke to the waiter. "Bring him," he nodded at Herl, "one
of your regular breakfasts. I'll have steak and mushrooms and mashed
wathros ... and how's the bean puree to start with? and enchil salad
and thollet pudding for dessert. We'll both drink morgen."

To Herl he added, "Do you want your cereal hot or cold?"

"Hot, I guess, for this weather," replied the ravenous captain.

"Very wise. Hot cereal for my guest. Here's the card."

The waiter took the card and scanned it carefully. "Cereal card. Very
good, Commissioner." He departed on a zig-zag course among the tables.

Herl was hungry and tired and furious at the commissioner for ordering
a full and appetizing-sounding dinner, but he smiled a well-trained
smile and got back to his business.

"This might be a good time for you to tell me about the Eyefers,
Commissioner. According to Miss Haulwell, it doesn't seem a very
desirable condition to be in; and yet you don't want them to leave the
planet. What's the story?"

"I'll have to start at the beginning and rush through eighty Delight
years of history to tell you ... that's about two hundred earth years.

"As you probably know, our people came here from Madrilune as
volunteers to prevent overpopulation there. They were a picked group of
urbanites accustomed to the benefits of social control and convinced
that lack of sound economic policy integrated with the daily life
of every citizen had been at the root of Madrilune's troubles. The
shortages of basic necessities to be found on any raw planet were
little greater here than they had been on crowded Madrilune ...
rationing was very strict and justice heavily enforced so that all
might have their chance to survive.

"Delightites are hard workers; and in about twenty of our years there
was an abundance of foodstuff, textiles, and housing; and, as Guildris
told you, we're really most enviably situated."

"What about all this rationing now?" Herl looked distastefully at the
green card still lying on the table.

Crawford pocketed the card. "I'm coming to that," he replied.

"The Chief Commissioner at that time was a Buford Finchley and the
great experiment Guildris talked about was his idea. From the beginning
here, there had been a certain small proportion of the population which
consistently seemed unable to cope with the regulation of life which
was necessary to a pioneer planet. Some of them starved when their
private holdings failed; some of them became criminals when their
families were exposed to want, leaving themselves and their families
to be supported by the remainder of the population. When there was
finally plenty of food and clothing and shelter for everybody and an
end to the rationing system was proposed, the wise Commissioner Buford
saw that such an end would put the weaker citizens at the mercy of
the acquisitiveness of the stronger and threaten the stronger by the
latent criminality of the weaker. He reasoned that no one needs more
than enough of the necessities of life and that submission to socially
beneficial regimentation was the mark of the socially adapted, the
fitted to survive in a civilized age. So he began the present program
of the most extensive control of the necessities and luxuries of life
and the Eyefers were part of the natural result. They are the unfitted.

"They forget to apply for many of their types of rations: they forget
the special ordinances for seasons and parts of the cities: they forget
to re-register for all permits when they change their addresses: some
of them even forget to earn enough to pay for both permits and food,
and let the food go and get all the permits and have to be hospitalized
for malnutrition ... they're Eyefers, too. They have a thousand
excuses, but they all boil down to, 'I fergot.'"

Herl objected, "But you don't segregate them as you would criminals."

"No, of course not. They haven't committed any crime, usually; and we
have no intention of punishing them. They are simply recognized as
incompetent to manage their own affairs, sterilized, and guardians
appointed to look after and support them. We realize that we have no
right to interfere between an individual and his personal goals unless
that individual threatens the liberty of other individuals." Crawford
spoke self-confidently but without any show of self-righteousness.

The waiter approached with a loaded tray and began to place the food on
the table.

       *       *       *       *       *

Herl kept his gaze from the bowl of steaming gruel before him and the
tremendous steak before his companion. "You don't interfere with
them ... you just take away their jobs and their motivations to be
social and their obligations to be human beings?"

Crawford started to reply: the waiter put the last dishes on the table
and departed: Herl continued speaking hurriedly.

"I don't mean to sound critical of your experiment when I don't know
the whole story yet ... but I should think that Miss Haulwell's
competence to manage her own affairs (since you say that she was the
best of your last three secretaries) was hardly to be judged on the
basis of one small set of lapses."

"I'll talk about that in a moment," Crawford said, rising. "But first
if you'll just change places with me. I haven't been able to eat this
sort of thing for years," he waved at the full dinner, "since a job
like mine wrecks the digestion early. But I couldn't get the waiter in
trouble, you know."

The men changed places, and Herl found his mood of violent opposition
to the social system tempered somewhat by the pleasant prospect.

"For a man without a long experience of Eyefers, your reaction is more
than justified," Crawford continued, frowning at his bowl of mush.

"But our experience had given us certain data. In the first place, when
an individual goes Eyefer, it seems to be a symptom of a decreasing
conviction of social responsibility. When the condition was first
recognized, Eyefers were merely placed under guardianship and their
children's permits stamped to show that they were of Eyefer parentage
and so were debarred from breeding with more select stock. However,
Eyefers tended to reproduce so rapidly and irresponsibly that there
was danger of their becoming a parasitic burden too heavy for our
normal population. That irresponsibility spread to other spheres of
action as well ... they were careless about the property of their
guardians ... if they held jobs still, they had little incentive to
improve since they obviously could not manage their own moneys. Most of
their children grew up to be twice as irresponsible as their parents,
many of them never even applying for permits in the first place but
merely sponging on their parents' guardians.

"Obviously this was no way to build a superior race, a socially
adapted race. So we accepted the obvious solution. If Eyefers wished
to withdraw from social responsibility (as they must subconsciously do
or they wouldn't forget), we insist that they go the whole way. Miss
Haulwell _wants_ to be an Eyefer, in spite of her surface training, or
she wouldn't be one."

Herl nodded, cutting off another bite of the superb steak. The argument
was certainly plausible, and he pushed back the uncomfortable thought
that he should be quicker to see the flaws in it.

Lifting his gaze from his plate, however, he was confronted by the
outline of Crawford against the warm golden radiance of a cloud half
concealing the shining body of a man of such splendid proportions and
so noble and sympathetic a countenance that Herl remained a moment
as if paralyzed, his knife halfway through the steak. The shining
man was shaking his head slowly, regretfully, as if to indicate his
disagreement with Crawford's last remark.

Then Herl lifted his knife free of the meat and pointed with it over
Crawford's shoulder. "Your friend here seems to have another opinion."

Crawford turned in his chair and looked up at the glowing face. "Have I
said something wrong?" he asked the figure, conversationally.

The haze swirled around the long-limbed body and the man shook his head
again. "You really believe it," said the man in the tones of a great
bell. "It is not wrong to tell your belief."

"Will it interfere with my doing business with Captain Hofner?"
Crawford wanted to know.

"No."

"Is there anything you want me to tell him? Something I've left unsaid?"

"No."

"Then run along and let us eat in peace, there's a good chap."
Crawford's words were patronizing, his tone imploring.

"Wait a minute!" Herl said sharply; but the haze seemed to be
dwindling, the figure of the man evaporating before his eyes. More than
anything he wanted to re-establish communication with the girl of the
lobby chair.

"Want to ask him something?" queried the Commissioner. "I think I can
find you another one after we're through eating. It's fairly easy to
get them to come but only hard to get rid of them if you want them to
go."

"Who are they and what are they?" demanded Herl.

"We call them gods. Not because we worship them, you understand, but
because they're so damned beautiful and because they are, for all
practical purposes, omniscient, omnipotent, and as omnipresent as they
want to be. I said 'for all practical purposes' but they don't serve
any practical purposes. They're a by-product of the Eyefers, as far as
we know (and they're strangely close-mouthed about that). I'll finish
my story and you'll know as much as I do."

       *       *       *       *       *

Herl drew a deep breath. If the goddess of the lobby were even partly
human, he was going to have to know her a great deal better. He
visualized her rounded smiling face, its look of utter awareness, her
graceful arm. Galaxy women were not like this. It must be for this he'd
stayed a bachelor.

Unable to admit aloud his desire and unable to look at Crawford when
thinking of her, he went back to carving the steak, half listening to
the exposition which Crawford continued.

"When people go Eyefer who already have children," the commissioner
went on between sipped spoonfuls of gruel, "we have to institutionalize
the kids. Sterilize them too, to protect the rest of us. You may even
get the idea that we're a planet of petty puritans because we care more
for our race than for particular children and because the 'mortality'
among scientists and artists was very high so that there are few such
among us these days. However, we've taken care of the latter recently
by appointing semi-guardians for the artists and scientists as soon as
they announce their professions. The semi-guardians take care of all
routines at their wards' expense. The architect of the Civil Center
here," he waved a spoon around to indicate their environment, "is that
gray-haired man over there. It justifies the change in rules."

"Why couldn't any rich man hire a 'semi-guardian' who would take care
of the formalities for him?" Herl asked.

Crawford looked shocked. "That would be grossly unfair to the rest of
the population," he insisted. "There is no particular advantage to a
society to perpetuate the strain of wealthy individuals; while we do
need scientists and artists. But to get back to the story ... shortly
after the sterilization program began, a noted psychologist went Eyefer
and managed to get himself assigned by placement to the head of one
of the children's asylums. He worked with the Eyefer children there
and somehow the gods are the result. They have perfect recall, perfect
bodies, telepathy, intuitive perception of the nature of matter,
teleportation, and some precognition. Occasionally even today, a child
disappears from one of the asylums and we have a new god or goddess.
And there you are."

"Are they what Commissioner Guildris was talking about? The Galaxy will
really be excited," Herl said eagerly.

"Heavens, no!" Crawford laughed heartily. "They wouldn't be any more
use to you than they are to us. Their bodies are changed in some way so
that they are nearly pure energy."

Herl had a tight sensation of loss, of incipient grief.

"They don't eat, they don't need clothes, they don't even reproduce.
As far as we can discover, they have no motivations at all except that
they seem to like to watch people doing things ... you could hardly
call it curiosity. So ... since they have no motivations there's no
way to get them to cooperate with society; they can't be bribed or
threatened, paid or deprived. And yet they'd beat any calculator made
if we just had some means of getting them to stay around while we put
the problems. They answer any questions you can ask correctly; but
there's no way we know of to get them to come around when we have the
questions. Oh, you can go out and pretend to do some crazy thing when
you have a problem with all the factors in your head. Maybe one of them
will turn up and you can ask the question before he reads your mind and
fades away ... and maybe you can't. So we call them gods and forget
about them."

Calculators indeed, was Herl's inner reaction, as he tried to recapture
the sensation of being completely understood which he had felt
upstairs in the lobby. She had to be a woman, not a supercalculator.
"But they're so beautiful, so perfect. There must be a reason for
them," he insisted.

"That's the worst thing about them," admitted Crawford. "They make
ordinary people look very drab and uninspired. The Eyefers actually
have several cults which worship them; and I suppose that's a good
thing. Keeps the Eyefers out of trouble. I never heard that they did
anything for their worshippers, though."

Herl thought, "We'll see about that. I think I know what to ask, next
time I get the chance." Aloud he added, "Don't go out of your way to
get one for me to question ... but if one turns up, I am curious about
some things."

"I see you're about through," noticed the commissioner. "Let's get back
up and see if your papers have come."


                                  IV

Not only had Herl's permits come when they returned to the office,
but so had an officer from Eyefer Placement who wanted to talk about
Agnes Haulwell and a number of other cases. Herl had no difficulty in
persuading the commissioner to let him go alone to get his listings
and films, when he assured Crawford that the latter's presence was not
essential to the trip.

Crawford called for his cabter to take Herl out to the ship; and Herl
started back for the elevator, stuffing his assorted cards and permit
slips in various pockets about his person.

He scrutinized the lobby for centers of golden light as he passed, but
there were no gods or goddesses to be seen there. There were none on
the nearly empty elevator going down. There were none on his side of
the walkway at the bottom, though he thought he glimpsed the glow far
away on the other side just before his cab drew up beside him.

The driver was the same sulky young fellow who had brought him in. Herl
settled back for a silent ride to the port, looked intently out the
window at the large warehouses, small shops, and low compact residences
as they headed for open country where the cab could take off. The
air seemed a little fresher as well as much colder. There were few
pedestrians to be seen on the chilly streets and those few seemed to be
in a great hurry ... whether merely because of the cold or because the
demands of life were so numerous, Herl could not tell. He wasn't even
sure this might not be a time of eating or sleeping for many of the
population. He turned his head to his companion.

"What's the daily schedule here?" he asked. "I mean, what hours do
stores and offices and families keep?"

"Stores and offices are open all day. Families have two ups: a day and
a night up, depends on their jobs and such whether it's morning and
first night or afternoon and second half night."

"What do they do in their night ups?"

"Kids go to school same as day. Rest of us have night jobs ... mostly
mining and factory work. My sister and I work in a viscose mill nights."

The cabter had arrived at a broad hardtop landing area. The driver
turned in, raised the copter vanes and took off. Herl watched the bleak
countryside drop away below. The air had the piercing dampness of
coming snow.

It occurred to Herl suddenly that the driver had volunteered some
personal information ... maybe he could get more.

"What's your name," he asked interestedly, turning to face the driver.

"Bill Haulwell."

"Oh, any relation to Agnes Haulwell?" Herl felt a little apprehensive.

"Brother."

Herl let the conversation drop right there. He'd have to fish for
information round-about. He watched miles of fields and pasture roll
behind, noticed an isolated house, used that.

"Lonely sort of place to live," he pointed downward. "Don't suppose
your people assign Eyefers to live out so far."

"Some do. What's it to them where they live?"

"Does it make any difference to a man's relatives when he goes Eyefer,
other than his wife and children, I mean? Crawford told me some but not
all about them," Herl added.

"Difference? They might as well have gone Eyefer themselves. They
usually give a man's wife some heavy routine job no matter what she's
been trained for. Say it's to keep her busy and take the mental strain
off while she readjusts. Other relatives generally get the same. If
they're close relatives they're suspected of being on the verge of
Eyefer, since they're from the same stock; so all their permits come
due within a month after. That's one reason I work so blamed hard
on this job.... Aggie's job means so much to her. She wants to get
married, too; and she'd have a deuce of a lot of trouble with that if
anything happened to me."

This long speech made Herl most uncomfortable. It wasn't any of his
business to tell Bill that Aggie had gone Eyefer only an hour since.
But maybe it would ease Bill's strain. If Bill was going to lose his
job when he got back to town anyway, it wouldn't make any difference if
he knew it now. Might even give him a chance to wrestle it out inside
himself.

"Bill," he began as if it were to be another question.

"Yeah?"

"Miss Haulwell went Eyefer an hour ago. Commissioner Crawford told me."

Bill Haulwell's face went whiter than it was by nature. "You're
kidding. And that's not the kind of joke I like," he said threateningly.

"It's no joke, I'm afraid."

Bill scanned Herl's face, saw it grave, sympathetic. He then opened the
door on his own side of the cabter and stepped out into the sky.

       *       *       *       *       *

Herl found himself sliding over to the driver's seat, reaching for the
loosely swinging door, peering down and out. Bill was a mere dwindling
spot below. Herl slammed the door shut by reflex action; then sat
numbly nauseated. The cab flew on evenly.

Herl took a couple of very deep breaths to subdue the nausea and looked
ahead to where the outline of the port tower was sharpening on the
horizon. Cautiously he tried the controls of the cabter ... up ...
down ... right ... left. He could manage it, he thought dully. He could
find no lever, no button, no pedal with which to reduce or increase the
forward speed, however. The brake pedal for surface control evoked
no response in the air. The tower came nearer and the image of the
dwindling, falling blob that had been Bill Haulwell faded from Herl's
mind as he sought frantically for the mechanism to cut his speed for
landing.

The tower rushed toward the cab ... and past. Herl set the cab into a
tight circle a little smaller than the circumference of the landing
area. Someone would notice him, someone would either signal him or, if
the power were broadcast, let him down slowly ... he hoped. If the cab
used its own fuel, that would have to run out with time. He circled and
circled, counterclockwise.

There seemed to be no diminution of speed so he began to spiral down
toward the ground. If he could hold the circle a few feet above the
ground, someone might at least come out and shout instructions.

There was no sign from the tower that his approach had been noticed. He
circled the _Krylla_ several times, then circled the tower. The place
seemed deserted in the growing twilight. He considered flying close to
the ground and jumping out but rejected that thought as he remembered
the towerman's remark about the pitting of the cinder surface ... and
remembered the paved runway at the edge of the field from which the
cabter had taken off on his trip to the city.

He headed for the runway in the direction from which he had originally
taken off, coming down to let the wheels skim the smooth pavement. The
cabter gathered speed rapidly as the end of the runway flung itself
toward him. He raised the machine into the air missing the rough ground
at the end of the way by scant feet.

Herl smiled grimly. Apparently power was somehow beamed at the runway.
He circled over the weedy pasture-like space and a copse of small
trees and headed back to the runway. Perhaps the power would be cut
if one approached from this end. Again he lowered the cab till the
wheels seemed but inches above the pavement ... and sure enough, the
speed decreased. Slower and more slowly he went; but the far end of
the runway approached all too rapidly. He tried to rise again, but the
response of the cab was sluggish now. By lightning judgment, Herl knew
that only a jump would save him from crashing with the cab among the
weeds. Those weeds swept toward him as he opened the door and rolled
out, relaxing to meet the pavement sliding past.

There was no tearing bruising impact, no sound of the cab's crash. Herl
opened his eyes suddenly to see, meaninglessly before him, the control
panel of his own _Krylla_. He was sitting in his own pneumatic control
chair.

A moment of dull wonder was replaced by a deep shuddering from
shoulders to hips and a feeling that his legs and arms had turned to
dough. His eyes regarded the shadow across the control panel without
trying to comprehend it; but the golden light reflected on both sides
of the shadow meant something. He turned to see the source ... and it
was the goddess of the lobby.

She smiled reassuringly, and the smile seemed to flow through his veins
and tingle along his nerves, pushing the numbness out and away. He was
alive and eager and yet utterly peaceful for the duration of her smile.
But as the corners of her mouth fell into a graver repose, his thoughts
sped back through the moment of expected impact ... through the frantic
struggle with the cabter ... through the moment of Haulwell's step from
the door.

"Bill Haulwell," Herl mumbled, "he ... he's...."

"He's in his cab halfway back to the city to report to Eyefer
Placement." The matter-of-fact words were sung in the triumphant
cadence of the close of a vast chorale, rich and full.

"You saved him ... and me?" Herl asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Clear recitative explained, "He had not earned his death; he did not
wish to die. No more had you."

Herl thought this over for a moment. Did no one die here till he was
ready? Were the gods personal guardians? Was the presence of human life
one of their conditions of being, one of their motivations? He started
to speak, then hesitated as he remembered his conclusion that there
were special ways of phrasing special questions for such beings as
these. His mind tried in vain to block the consciousness of fear that
she would leave him with his questions unasked ... and simply that she
would leave him.

But the cloud still swirled and glowed with a million pinpoints of deep
yellow incandescence. A sodium halo, Herl thought irrelevantly.

"Yes," she smiled again from her seat above the edge of the
paper-cluttered desk. "It's like sodium. And we are not guardians. We
do not care whether men live or die but we do ... enjoy ... their being
glad about living or dying. I will not leave you till you are sorry."
She stood and came near his chair.

Herl could not see that she walked in the air ... she was just nearer.
He rose and put out his hands as if to take hers to assure himself that
she would stay, but where his hands entered the cloud they disappeared
and felt nothing. He withdrew his offered embrace and his hands
reappeared.

"Sorry for what?" asked Herl's voice; and Herl's heart quickened and
his breathing forced, as he grew afraid to lose her and wild to keep
her with him.

"Just sorry."

       *       *       *       *       *

Regret was like a knife stab. He must lose her: a man couldn't go
around rejoicing forever. Anger succeeded regret, and he accused her
bitterly, "So that's why you do nothing for the poor Eyefers! Because
they're sorry to be that way! When you could save the poor creatures
even by picking them out of the air, it offends your sensibilities to
save them from a little red tape. Is that kind or just?"

His voice sneered 'kind' and 'just' as his mind pictured 'sympathetic'
and 'the best that men ought to receive.' He was angry for himself,
for the Eyefers. His anger grew with the hurt to include all humanity
betrayed by heartless beauty.

But a flood of intense living greenness washed through the control
room, blotting out the walls and lapping against Herl's red tunic above
the hip pockets, as if a strange sea rose about him to quench his anger.

He repeated his last words, vaguely, enthralled by the green waves, "Is
that kind or just?"

The green waves changed to living blue and he heard her voice like a
distant bell. "No."

Herl had a sensation as if the blueness washed completely through him
with a tingling coolness. Suddenly the room cleared and she was sitting
on the edge of the table still. In Herl's mind lay fresh and clear
the method he had planned hours ... or was it minutes ... earlier for
communicating with this glowing girl-thing, exact, detailed, perfect
questions for a perfect mind. His overwhelming intent to embrace her
was put neatly to one side as on a shelf; his anger was as if it had
never been.

"Do you have a name?" he looked coolly at her as if helping her fill
out a questionnaire.

"Yes."

"What is it please?" he asked, firm, polite.

"Abigail."

Herl smothered a grin. There could be something unexotic about a
goddess. "Can you offer data as well as supply data and computation on
demand?" he wanted to know.

"Yes."

"Will you be good enough to do so hereafter when I ask you questions?"

"If you will indicate the limitations you wish on additional data," she
replied gravely.

"Do you mean that there is so great a correlation between all extant
data that you would continue offering indefinitely if you were not
arbitrarily limited?" he asked curiously, feeling an interior warmth of
success. His method of communication was working indeed. Be explicit,
he told himself.

"Yes."

Herl sneaked a mental look at his urge to kiss her. As when eating
Crawford's steak, he found that he could forgive and forget a great
deal when confronted with considerable pleasure in prospect.

He continued. "Will you decide and tell me what questions I ought to
ask and what actions I ought to take and what limitations I should set
on the data you have to offer?" Now he would have communication by the
roots.

"No."

"Are you capable of doing so, Abigail?" A crucial question, asked
almost in a whisper.

"No."

Grief more bitter than anger ran through his veins like corrosive
poison. This was the wrong answer. She must be a machine-thing after
all, he concluded ... limited, arbitrary, unhuman, incapable of loving
him or being concerned for his welfare, incapable of sorting out good
from bad or valuable from expedient.

He withdrew his eyes from her brightness and from her delicate features
and from her rounded limbs and put his head in his hands. An agonized
sigh burst from him. No human woman could keep from giving him good
advice, particularly if she knew all the answers ... his mother never
had avoided the responsibilities of knowledge. So she could have
nothing human about her. She was just a thing.

"No ... no ... no," her music faded slowly away; and Herl looked up
to catch the faintest after-image of the brilliance that had centered
on the table. That, too, was gone in an instant; and no presence or
effects of a presence other than his own was visible before him.

He sat motionless in his supporting chair, his eyes staring unseeingly
at brown table and black film lockers and at the long blue chart
roll hung behind the table and at the calculator keys in their neat
meaningless ranks. In her absence, he felt compressed between the
backward thrust of disillusion and emptiness and the forward pull of
a tearing desire to be with her wherever she was. He would have done
anything she wanted, gone anywhere, been anything ... and there was
nothing she wanted of him. He remained slumped, drained of purpose.
Drained, he reflected, by a shiny machine more bound than he to
commands and limitations. At any rate he did have a few minor purposes
of his own.


                                   V

He got up stiffly and reached for the locker handles, squeezed the
metal, felt the latches withdraw, swung the doors open. Mechanically
he took down the reels of film and wire from their pegs and laid
them in squat pillars on the table top. Another locker yielded two
black rectangular carrying cases with handles. Herl loaded the reels
carefully into one case, checked the power pack in the base of the
other case with leads to a test-board in one drawer of the table.
Lifting both heavy cases, he started for the door.

The slightest clue of remembrance ting-tinged in his mind, and he
returned to his chair and phoned the control tower.

"Class M ship _Krylla_ on the field calling control tower," he bit off
the words tensely.

"Control tower to _Krylla_; come in _Krylla_." The voice was
high-pitched and boyish, obviously not Saem Berry.

"Did you see what became of the cabter that landed me here," Herl
referred to the chronometer on his instrument panel, "ten minutes ago?"

"Cabter KZ-351 returned to Delight City."

"Can you call me another cabter to take me to the city?" At any rate,
Herl thought, she really was powerful to be able to return an empty
cabter. He had an amusing mental image of Abigail stretching an extra
shining arm through the miles of air between the _Krylla_ and where a
shining hand supported the waiting and unconscious Bill Haulwell. He
might learn some tricks from her yet.

All he had to do was find out why she had rescued him and Bill. After
all, if she had no knowledge of valid selection of purposes, she must
be controlled by some command, some exterior compulsion, like the
familiar robots of earth, so carefully constructed with arbitrary
functions and prohibitions built in. Time to compute on that later. The
thought was rapid, finished before the answer came from the tower.

"I'll have to see your hired vehicle permit, if you have one." The thin
voice was sarcastic and a bit suspicious.

"I'll come right to the tower with it. Over."

Grasping a case in each hand he left the ship and headed for the tower
entrance. Almost there, the hum of an incoming copter made him turn
and look at the runway. The copter landed neatly and, even from that
distance, Herl could recognize the fur-coated figure of Commissioner
Crawford getting out.

The Commissioner raised an arm and hailed Captain Hofner. "Hey!"

"Hey, yourself," Herl turned from the tower and strode toward the
copter. "Did you come for me?"

"Sure," yelled the Commissioner. Turning to look up and wave at the
tower, he called, "It's all right, Alco. This is my guest." He halted
and waited for Herl to come up with him.

"Bill phoned me," began Crawford apologetically, "that he'd had the
word about Agnes and dashed back to straighten out the driving job so
someone else could take over." The two men walked side by side to the
copter. "That was a very decent thing for him to do, even if it did
leave you stranded out here ... so I came out for you. Find everything?"

"Oh I found everything, all right," Herl grinned wryly. "Did Bill tell
you about Abigail?"

"Abigail?" asked Crawford. "I don't seem to remember the name."

"She saved me from getting hurt during the landing. A goddess. Bill was
probably embarrassed to mention it. It was my own stupid fault."

Herl went around the copter to get in.

Crawford edged in behind the controls. "Bill probably wanted you
to keep out of trouble. He knows that we are apt to look with
considerable suspicion on people who have to be saved from their own
foolish mistakes by superhuman agencies. That doesn't apply to you,
of course, unless you're planning to settle and raise kids here." The
'perish-the-thought' tone was obvious.

"Frankly, as an outsider," Herl said, "it seems to me that these gods
and goddesses could be a very useful mechanism. I didn't mind missing a
bad fall at all."

"And frankly, as a local citizen and an ordinary one at that, I think
you were very lucky. You might even say that down underneath I'm just a
bit jealous." The copter slid through the upper air. "I sometimes dream
of having a chance to rescue some female not a tenth as luscious as a
goddess."

       *       *       *       *       *

Herl was surprised to hear the Commissioner snigger at his own remark.
Surprised but not disgusted. Females less perfect than goddesses seemed
to call for sniggers.

"Goddesses are only goddesses, but women are women," Herl commented
dryly.

"Oh! You found that out already, did you?" Crawford looked admiringly
at his companion. "You're a quick worker."

Hard bitterness surged through Herl. "I found out a lot of things.
They're nothing, absolutely nothing but mechanism. I wonder you people
haven't learned to use them in place of copters and television. They're
probably even capable of sorting your population in infancy so you
wouldn't have to go to the trouble of inventing a dozen new kinds of
red tape a day which must annoy your normal citizens even while it
screens the adults."

"No ... no ... no...." Crawford's descending cadence was oddly
reminiscent of some other falling cadence of no's. "You've got both
the gods and us all wrong, Captain Hofner. I don't know what you think
you found out from this Abigail, but you must have misinterpreted it
somewhere."

"Indeed?"

"Oh yes indeed. Mechanisms are made ... made for somebody's use. Our
best minds have never been able to find any use for gods. We can even
use natural phenomena like rain and heat and wind and gravity and such
because those things are governed by observable natural laws ... but
the gods? No. Absolutely random in appearance; absolutely unpredictable
in action. Whatever they are, it's not machines. Although," he added
curiously, "I shall be most interested to learn how and why you think
we could use them."

"Maybe I should sell you the secret. Selling is my business," suggested
Herl.

"The commissioners will be most willing to buy ... if you have anything
to sell," Crawford replied smoothly.

"You could use that childhood or prenatal screening, couldn't you?"

"Yes and no," answered Crawford. "That's another mistaken idea you have
about us. What you think of as red tape invented purely for screening
purposes is not so at all. It's an integral part of civilized life
and social responsibility. We'd all be pleased to spare a portion of
our children the strains of such a life if we could, but we have no
intention of reverting to savagery ourselves just to avoid filling out
a few miserable blanks at a few stated times."

"Oh, you like it?" Herl asked facetiously.

"We like having cars and living in houses and driving in comparative
safety and eating enough and not having people we've cheated or
oppressed or maimed in unnecessary accidents whining around on our
doorsteps making us feel guilty and miserable. We even like having
occasional strangers like you around so we can tell them all about it
and keep the beauties of civilization clear before our eyes, so to
speak."

"You win," Herl laughed. "I don't know whether there's a galactic
destiny ahead of your people, but as long as you're enjoying it so
much, that hardly matters."

"I hoped you'd see it that way," the Commissioner said genially. "And
as for the destiny, that'll take care of itself. Did you have quite a
talk with the goddess?" he added curiously.

"Quite a talk, but brief. I've had some training in cybernetics ...
that's how I was able to ask the right questions to find out that she
was a machine."

Crawford smiled to himself. "Then," he said slyly, "our experts must
have asked the right questions to find out that she wasn't."

Herl bit his tongue. "Maybe," he admitted. There was no object in
telling Crawford all about his method or his discoveries, or he'd have
nothing to sell. Not that he'd make the profit from such a sale but
somebody in coordination would appreciate his cleverness in selling a
planet something it already had and still being able to peddle the idea
to somebody else. If he were really clever, he could take a few gods on
with him to the places where they could do the most good. He certainly
would enjoy looking at Abigail, for instance, for a few months before
he unloaded her on a planet less fortunate than Delight. And, if he
were sorry to leave her behind, she'd stay there the more gladly. If
she wouldn't tell him what to do, obviously she would have to do what
he told her.

       *       *       *       *       *

The gray air of the planet seemed to be thickening as they landed
and drove back toward the Civil Building. A few more heavy-coated
pedestrians were hastening along the walks, and a solid stream of
small, lighted vehicles poured along the street in the opposite
direction. As Crawford's slowed automatically for an intersection, Herl
noticed flakes of snow in the air.

"Is this early spring or late fall?" he asked without enthusiasm.

"This is the way it always is at this altitude," Crawford replied,
surprised. "I've read about seasons, of course, but we don't have them
here. Our foodstuff is mostly grown further south. Around here and to
the north is mostly grazing and pelt land on the surface above the
mines."

At this moment the vehicle pulled to a stop in the middle of a
residential block; and Crawford growled, "What the...?"

Herl noticed that the opposing traffic had also halted. Then the air
was split with the deafeningly raucous hooting of some great signal
horn.

"Power's off! Emergency warning," Crawford shouted in Herl's ear.
"Sit tight and see what happens!" He gestured to the line of opposing
traffic from which passengers were popping out to run confusedly to the
sidewalk. "They know better than that," he fumed.

Herl looked at the crowd gathering on his side of the carpter, then
suddenly beyond it to the nearest house. Smoke was pouring out of two
of the front windows. Some of the people from the vehicles were running
toward the house, while the front door was flung open and two men and a
woman came running out. Herl grabbed Crawford's arm. "Fire!" he yelled.

Crawford leaned across Herl to look. "Can't be serious," he bellowed.
"Those places are practically fireproof. Inspected every two months."

Then he sounded puzzled and alarmed. "Where the devil are those three
going?" and he pointed to the people who had run from the house and who
were still running fleetly along the edges of lawns in the direction
faced by Crawford's carpter.

Herl opened the door and leaned out to watch. People were coming out of
houses further down the street, a few at a time, to follow or precede
the first three in the direction of the heart of the city.

Cries of "Fire!" could be heard on down the street. Flames showed
through the windows of other houses. The people who had got to the
sidewalks from their abandoned vehicles were moving hesitantly toward
the houses, apparently confused by the flight of those within.

A man appeared in the doorway of the house from which the first three
had come. "Hey!" he shouted at those stragglers nearest him, "some of
you come in here and help me put out the fire!" Several men ran into
the house behind him.

A few more single individuals ran by in the direction of the business
district. Herl turned to his companion.

"It looks as though those first three set the fire and ran off," he
shouted, puzzled. "What's up?"

Crawford put his hand on the door and shook his head. "Don't know, but
I recognized one of those fellows who just passed us. Eyefer named
Hanston. Used to be a clerk of mine. I'm going on down the line and see
what's doing."

"Not without me," Herl stated. "I can't operate one of these things,"
he waved his hand at the carpter, "and you may need help." Commissioner
Crawford hardly looked in condition for a long run.

"What about your things? Don't you want to keep an eye on them?"

"They'll be all right," Herl said flatly, knowing that he should never
let them out of his sight outside his own ship ... that they would be
impossible to replace without returning to Earth.

The older man slid out of his seat and jogged off down the middle of
the street till the younger caught up with him. Together they ran
toward the city.

       *       *       *       *       *

Between the lined-up cars they could see fires in many of the houses
they passed, and groups of people standing helplessly on sidewalks and
lawns. None of the houses appeared to be actually on fire, but window
draperies or something near the windows were blazing merrily. Through
some casements, people could be seen aiming fire extinguishers at the
flames or throwing water on them.

Crawford lumbered along rather slowly. Herl matched his pace. A young
man running rapidly passed them from behind.

"Going to the Civil Building to see the fun?" he panted out as he
passed.

"Sure," returned Herl, speeding up a little. "What's it all about?"

The young man looked back at Herl, seeming to notice the red tunic and
drum cap for the first time. "If you don't know ..." he gasped out,
"you'd better stay back. It's the Eyefer Plan." He sprinted on and Herl
turned back to wait for the Commissioner.

"It's something about the Eyefers," he told the trotting man as he fell
into step beside him. "He said he was going to the Civil Building to
see the fun, and he called it 'the Eyefer Plan.'"

"Can't imagine what ... that ... is," Crawford blurted out. "Keep
going."

They passed dark shops and closed warehouses. The lines of cars were
solid here and a tide of hurrying pedestrians on the sidewalks swept
toward town. Runners threaded among them, men in shabby clothes,
forlorn looking women pushing and stumbling ahead a little faster than
the general pace. The center of the street where Herl and Crawford
jogged on between the cars was almost deserted.

Crawford grasped Herl's sleeve and pulled him to a stop. "Look there!"

Herl looked where he pointed and saw the crowd milling about the door
of a shop. A man and a woman stood in the doorway tossing fur coats out
into the mob. Here and there a runner paused, grabbed up a coat where
it fell on or near a pedestrian, and ran on.

Crawford climbed over the bumpers of a couple of cars and got to the
sidewalk. Herl followed and joined him at the shop doorway in time to
hear the Commissioner say, "See here, my man, those coats are not yours
to give away. You're an Eyefer and you have no business at all here.
Now get on home."

He grabbed the man's elbow to start him on his way ... and recognized
him. "Good grief! Bill Haulwell!"

The woman in the doorway was Agnes. She laughed boisterously. "Get
along home yourself, old man. We want coats so we take coats. Here,
have one."

She threw a heavy fur coat over Crawford's head and as he tried to
fight clear of its folds, Bill held it down like a bag and hoisted the
small man along toward the edge of the crowd.

Herl caught him as he fell and pulled off the coat. Crawford threw it
angrily on the ground. "You can't get away with this," he shouted.
"The police will be here in a minute."

This time it was Bill who laughed. "They're all too busy at the Civil
Building to bother with coats." Agnes threw out a couple more coats
which had been handed to her by somebody within the shop.

"Besides, they already have coats," she added.

"We'd better get out of this," Herl told Crawford, starting back across
the cars.

"Yes," agreed the latter as he clambered up and over. "Better see
what's happening downtown. Sounds drastic."

The pair ran on faster now. From ahead grew a trembling roar which
swelled to a steady gentle thundering above which the alarm yapped and
blatted. A ruddy glow silhouetted the bodies of the cars they were
passing, and the center of the street was filling with runners. A few
hundred yards brought them to where Herl could see the shape of the
Civil Building and recognize the glow as fire spurting from the windows
of the two top storeys.

They stopped on the outskirts of an immense crowd circling the
building. Great streams of water shot aloft from immense hoses; but
the streams wobbled and wavered in a hundred directions as the nozzles
shifted everywhere but at the building itself. Herl and Crawford were
drenched twice before they could get close enough to see that the hoses
were being battled for by gangs of Eyefers against the sturdy teams of
firemen. The shouting and roar of the fire were so deafening that Herl
and the Commissioner were well into the crowd before the words were
comprehensible.

"Let 'em burn! Let the records burn! Let 'em burn up!"

"The records!" Crawford gave out a kind of spluttering screech that
made Herl turn in astonishment. "The records! My God! There won't be
any laws ... any Eyefers ... any _civilization_ if we lose the records!"

Herl thought the little man was going to faint, he trembled so
violently. Then, suddenly, Crawford took a great gulping breath,
wrenched himself from Herl's supporting grasp and, pushing his way
through the massed bodies, made for the cordon keeping the onlookers
out of the danger zone. Herl pressed after him but reached the front
line only in time to see Crawford jumping sidewise fifty feet ahead to
elude a fireman and dashing for the gaping mouth of the vehicle tunnel
through the building. Herl followed on the double, pointing ahead at
the disappearing figure of the Commissioner without trying to yell out
his destination to the hindering firemen.

A greater shout went up as a piece of the stone cornice fell from the
top of the building to the pavement below with the crash of nearby
blasting. Severed sections of hose blatted forth powerful torrents that
swept firemen and mob along the street into a line of cars. Herl dodged
among writhing pythons of hose toward the tunnel. Another surging shout
heralded another cataclysmic deed of fire; and Herl looked up to see
a piece of wall about twenty feet high falling slowly away from the
building above him.

He closed his eyes and dashed forward. He felt the tremendous jar of
the smashing stone force him to his knees, but no sound ... in fact all
sound had faded to utter stillness.

"Struck deaf," he thought wonderingly and opened his eyes to find
himself kneeling before the table in the silence of the _Krylla_. The
bright warmth of Abigail shone before him where she sat several inches
above the table top.

"Abigail," he shouted, scrambling to his feet. His voice rang through
the small cabin, and he lowered it to suit his surroundings. "Why did
you bring me here?"

"You were in danger," she replied pleasantly.

"So is Crawford. I've got to help him. Take me back!" he commanded.

"He's all right. No one will be hurt tonight who doesn't want to be
hurt." Her voice was sweetly matter of fact.

"I don't believe it. The Eyefers have run wild! Crawford ran right into
the building. He'll be killed. Take me back!" He pounded the table with
his fist.


                                  VI

He was back. The roar of the crowd and the fire and the hideous
'poot-poot-poot' of the alarm filled his consciousness. He was
stumbling forward into the pitchy blackness of the tunnel under the
building. He could see a man a hundred feet ahead scrambling up to the
walkway, illumined only by the glare from the tunnel mouth. Suddenly
brightness bloomed beside the man and the golden form of a god cradled
the man's body like a child, rose four or five feet into the air, and
faded abruptly into nothingness. The tunnel was dark and empty ahead.

Herl turned and strode back toward the mouth of the tunnel. Just under
the sheltering edge he paused to look out at the mob and to judge
whether another part of the building were about to fall.

The throng was now a series of rings of luridly red wild-faced beings
linked together at the elbows, swaying this way and that, howling in
unison, "Burn the records! No more Eyefers! Burn the records! No more
Eyefers!"

Hovering over the heads of the chanters, Herl could see at least half a
dozen great yellow lights which he took to be gods watching the doings.

"Some sense of humor," he said to himself, as he leaned out of the
shelter to look up.

The searing redness of the fire faded before his eyes to the cooler
radiance of Abigail; and he was looking up at her where she hung near
the ceiling of the _Krylla's_ cabin.

"They don't think it's funny at all," she replied reproachfully, as if
he had addressed his last remark to her. "They are simply preventing
accidents. Being trampled to death is not really a joke." This in a
minor cadence of muted violins.

"But don't the Eyefers intend death and destruction to the non-Eyefers?
That fire is no joke, either."

"No one will be hurt, as I told you. The Eyefer Plan calls only for the
destruction of the records. They burned all the individual permits they
could find before they left the houses. Now they burn the files. Nobody
could tell an Eyefer from anybody else without the papers; and papers
burn." She sounded quite pleased.

"Are you gods in on this?" Herl sat frustratedly on the edge of the
desk. "Why didn't you just vanish the papers years ago?"

"We only help when people are sure they know what they want to do. The
Eyefers had to be ready. After that they will do as they please and as
they can and must."

"But you are involved in this revolt somehow," he frowned, "and why
should this uprising come just when I arrive?"

"You are a catalyst," she giggled, a peal of tiny sleighbells, and
drifted down toward the pilot chair. "And we are just preventing the
Eyefers from being sorry for their plan as we prevented the civies from
being sorry for theirs. The civies made a mistake and we are saving
them from it." She laughed again. "They frown at people who are saved
from their mistakes by 'supernatural agencies' so the Eyefers will save
them."

Herl was ready to ask how he was a catalyst, but the words
'supernatural agencies' reminded him of Crawford and his own cases
resting on the stalled carpter.

"My cases," he said. "I've got to get them back here. Take me back
again, Abby." His thought continued that he would get a chance to see
more of the fight, that had been brewing for decades.

"I'll bring them to you," she assented, resting lightly in the chair.
"This isn't your squabble."

"But you said I was involved--as a catalyst at least."

"The reaction is self-sustaining now."

"But you don't know where the carpter is," he objected hopefully.

"You do ... so I do." The cases were on the table in front of him.

"What am I supposed to do now? Wait till Crawford calls to say all
deals are off?" Herl remarked irritated. Who did the girl think she
was, refusing like an over-solicitous mother to let him get back to the
riot?

"Yes. Mr. Crawford won't be able to call you till the power is restored
about noon tomorrow. And it will be months before he knows what he
wants to order. What you do is your own will, of course. I can't
penetrate that unless you can. I'm going back to the fire to help
there. I'll see you again unless you decide to blast off before I come
back."

Herl grabbed for her bare shoulders where they shone a mere yard in
front of him. "You're not going back without me!" he stormed but she
was quite gone before the sentence was complete, leaving him in the
utter darkness of an unillumined cabin.

He found the back of the chair, seated himself, touched the light
switch. He was indeed alone in the cabin. The heavy cases sat smug on
the motionless table. He felt numb, aware only of an unwillingness
to move and of the futility of trying to get back to the city if he
was only to find himself back in the _Krylla_ if he did. "Damned
interfering female," he muttered disgustedly, "I'll show her!" All he
had to do, she'd said, was blast off. Why not?

He switched on the phone, still set for the control tower.

"Class M ship _Krylla_ on the field, calling control tower," he
articulated crisply.

There was no response.

"Class M Ship," he repeated impatiently, "calling control tower. Come
in tower!"

There was no carrier hum from his receiver. The thing seemed dead. He
activated the viewscreen above the instrument panel and adjusted the
angle for a full sight of the tower.

The tower was there, all right, a black hulk against the slightly
luminous night sky, unlighted, solid, a mere chunk of construction.

"Hanh! Power's off, of course," Herl said aloud. Well, that meant
nobody else would try to land here, so takeoff should be safe if he
wanted to do his own manipulating out of the atmosphere.

But he'd have to leave some sort of message for Crawford, he realized.
He swivelled the chair and regarded the cases of film and wire blankly.
His job was coordination, not dashing off on a mad into space. He
calculated quickly ... twenty-two, twenty-three hours till daylight;
then maybe another ten hours or so till the power was restored and
he could talk to Crawford ... if Crawford would talk to him ... if
Crawford still had any power to negotiate extra-planetary purchases.
And if Crawford didn't, he, Herl, would have to wait around till
somebody did have the authority. Wait, wait, wait!

Every muscle in Herl's body seemed taut to the breaking point. He
couldn't just sit and wait thirty-two hours for the privilege of
waiting till the Eyefers formed a government and got ready to bargain!
He jumped hopefully for an instant at the thought of walking the eighty
miles to town. He could probably do that in thirty-two hours. Only to
have that woman catch up to him when he was halfway there and plump
him back in this ship.

       *       *       *       *       *

A metallic clanging against the skin of the ship brought him to
his feet. He moved to the inner lock door and opened it slowly,
noiselessly. Maybe the Eyefers had got control of the tower already!

Bang! Bang! the hammering continued. Not power hammering, more like
knocking.

Herl let the outer lock open a fraction of an inch toward him. The
voice from outside filled the lock with its bellow. "Hey! Anybody in
here? Hey, Captain."

It was the tower man of the first long wait.

"What d'you want?" Herl asked suspiciously, shoulder against the lock
door.

"It's Saem Berry. I need help. Power's off, Joe Alco's gone,
twenty-five hours mail is due in anytime. May try to land right on top
of us! You got a radio!"

"Sure," Herl's suspicions faded. "Come in." He opened the lock wide and
gave the heavy man a hand up. "Want me to try to contact the mail, huh?"

"Yeah. But you better let me talk to them." The towerman followed Herl
to the chair, adding the necessary instructions for calling the mail
ship.

Herl sat down and got to work.

Within five minutes the ship had been re-routed back to its last port
of call and Herl and Saem were relaxing over cups of haffy Herl had
opened in the galley. Saem tipped back in the pilot chair to reflect on
the state of things in the city, which Herl had given him in bits and
pieces as he relayed it to the oncoming mail ship.

"Well, Captain, I might as well get back to the tower and wait it out
unless you're willing to have me here for company, that is. There's no
other ship due till about morning."

"I'd be glad to have you stay," Herl said hesitantly, "but I haven't
decided just what to do myself. I don't suppose Crawford and the
commissioners will be in any position to trade now; and I'm not too
hopeful about trying to deal with an irresponsible gang like those
Eyefers. I could probably get back this way in, say, a couple of years
when things have settled down and they know what they need." His voice
was nonchalant, but with an undercurrent of eagerness for an excuse to
be gone.

"I wouldn't be in any hurry, son," Saem assured him, taking a deep swig
of haffy. "I don't think the Eyefers will try to run things at all. Not
only out of the habit, but they don't want to. They'd have everything
to lose by not using the present trade and power set-ups. All they want
is jobs and justice."

"And no questions asked?" Herl frowned. "You sound as if you approved
of this revolt."

"Why not?" Saem demanded truculently. "I had a kid all trained to
take over the second day shift ... best radioman I ever had. When his
mother went Eyefer they jerked him out of here to a bobbin job in the
mills so fast I had to work twenty-two hours a day for a month before
I got a replacement. I approve of anything that'll put a stop to such
stupidity."

Herl squirmed, pursed his lips. "You think I'd better stay, then?"

"Well, why not wait for that goddess to come back? She'll have a report
on what's going on and you can make up your mind then. She can give you
better advice than I could." The shock-headed Saem set his empty cup
down on the desk with a smack. "Got another of those?" he gestured at
the cup.

"Blast the haffy, man! This calls for something better than that." Herl
jumped down from the table. "I've got a bottle of bonded thiska for
medicinal purposes. That'll shorten the wait!" He bounded past Saem
through the galley door.

The towerman looked after him bewildered, watched him reach into a
locker and bring out the plastic flask, saw him take down two small
plastic beakers and come back past the doorway to perch jubilantly on
the desk again holding out the flask invitingly. Saem looked at him
questioningly.

"She said she wouldn't leave us as long as we're not sorry," Herl
announced. "So let's get just as unsorry as this bottle will let us."

Saem approached the desk hesitantly. "What is that stuff," he asked,
"something like beer?"

"Something like beer, the man says!" chuckled Herl. "Yes, boy,
something like beer. Here." He poured out a beaker full of amber
thiska and handed it to Saem. "One for me." He poured out another
beaker full. "To not being sorry," he raised his beaker and drained it.

Saem tasted his, then gulped also. "Whooeee! Something like beer, the
man says," he echoed and passed back his beaker. "Did you offer _this_
stuff to the commissioners?" he wanted to know.

"Silly old commissioners," Herl remarked archly, slopping out two more
drinks. "Didn't want girlie shows ... don't like people to get mixed
up with goddesses ... couldn't possibly appreciate bonded thiska.
Didn't even offer them any." He drew a deep breath. Thiska couldn't
work this fast on only one drink unless he were tired or upset. It must
be thinking about Abigail that made him feel he had an antigravitor
attached to his ears. Abigail!

"Here's to Abigail. May she never be sorry either!" he announced.

"Here's to Abby ... knows all, sees all, tells 'em nothing!" Saem
downed his drink and moved over to the swivel chair, sat, held out his
beaker.

"Say, Saem," Herl filled the extended beaker with deliberate care,
"what kind of a wife would a girl make if a man never knew where she'd
be next?"

"I dunno, son. Maybe you could anchor her at home with a pair of
electro-magnets." Saem laughed longer and louder than Herl expected,
downed his beaker and held it out again.

Herl looked at the proffered container, narrowed his eyes and looked at
Saem suspiciously. "That's about enough for you, Saem. You're beginning
to get blurry."

Saem looked down at his extended arm. Sure enough, a golden haze was
starting to form around the limb, a naked, ripplingly muscular arm.
He set his beaker with exaggerated precision on the edge of the desk
and slapped at the offending haze. "Get back in there," he commanded.
The haze cleared, the brown shirt sleeve regained complete opacity.
"Nothing wrong with me," he announced firmly. "You must be seeing
things. Give me another." He held up the beaker.

Herl shook his head and poured himself another. "I need this worse
than you do. I'm the one that I ... need Abigail not to leave me ...
myself and not you. You can get just as sorry as you like because then
when she comes back she'll leave you and not me and that means she'll
put you somewhere else. If I don't give you another drink, you'll be
sorry and I'll have her all to myself ... do you follow me? Hurry up,
Abigail!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A flare exploded brilliantly by the galley door and it was Abigail. Her
cloud of golden haze was forming into swirling tendrils which snapped
into sparks at the ends.

Herl widened his eyes at the frequent revelation of thigh, of bosom.

Her voice was an angry pizzicato of steel strings. "Saem Berry! Dad!
You're drunk! Get out of that matter this instant! The idea, Herl
Hofner, getting Saem drunk when he was supposed to be keeping _you_ out
of trouble!"

Her slender arm pointed accusingly at Saem. "Out of it!" she jangled,
"or I'll leave you to do all the explaining."

Herl's gaze followed her gesture and he watched, trancelike, as the
clothes of the transfiguring towerman disintegrated into wreaths of
shining golden smoke which clung around a superb sculptured torso
and swirled to leave a benign and thoughtful face regarding him with
sympathetic, almost regretful amusement.

Saem's voice was the pedal tones of a great organ improvising in a
minor key. "All that alcohol wasted when I put off the flesh," he sang
at Abigail. "A new sensation, and you take it from me."

"You can go back to your tower and re-materialize with all that poison
inside you, as soon as you've explained us and the rebellion to Herl.
He doesn't trust me very much, yet," she chimed.

Herl shook his head and looked at Abigail and back at Saem. He blinked
and straightened his spine and breathed deeply; but they didn't change
or go away.

Saem looked at him intently and, to Herl, the interior of the room was
filled with the liquid blue of his first tete-a-tete with Abigail ...
blue and green waves of coolness washing through him and then complete
clarity and sharpness of outline of everything about him.

"I'll synthesize you another flask of thiska," Saem apologized, "later."

Abigail relaxed her accusatory attitude, crossed her perfect legs and
sat in the air at the level of the desk. "Now tell him quickly," she
requested, "so he can leave if he wants to."

"Abby took one look at you and made up her mind," Saem said
matter-of-factly, "partly because she'd like to travel and partly
because most of us god-boys are younger than she and not ready to
materialize and settle down ... and partly because ... well, she can
tell you that herself."

"Oh?" Herl's clarity of mind did not prevent bewilderment at this
sudden revelation. He looked at Abigail who smiled seraphically back.

"But she didn't want to miss the fun of the Eyefer revolution she'd
been conniving at for years, so she had to precipitate that at once and
get it over with."

"I see," said Herl, "what kind of catalyst I was." And he was beginning
to.

"She was being quite literal when she told you she couldn't tell you
what you ought to do. Your own morals and ethics are so far inside that
she couldn't get at them without your full consent or hypnosis. But of
course, like any other gal, she knew perfectly what she wanted you to
do; and she did it."

"Aha," said Herl, whose grasp of the idea was sudden and complete.

"We can read formulated thoughts, of course, but not basic postulates
unstated ... as long as we are composed of space, time, and energy and
don't dabble in the slow stuff you call matter too much."

Herl looked at the shimmering Abigail keenly. "You mean to tell me that
you can take on a matter body and give up sliding through my mind?" he
demanded.

Abigail straightened her already straight posture. "If I want to," she
replied coolly.

Saem chuckled in bull-fiddle tones. "If she wants a family she'll have
to," he informed Herl. "The best babies are like the worst ... they all
have to be made out of matter."

Abigail's sodium haze deepened toward the neon. "Dad!"

Her father's look became affectionate. "I don't know where you'd be if
Mother and I hadn't settled down long ago with faked papers by the ream
and started raising little pre-goddesses."

To Herl he said, "Mother's a somatic surgeon, specializing in the
reversal of sterilization operations. That's one reason why they won't
be able to tell Eyefers from anybody else when the smoke clears. Oh,"
he added, remembering, "I forgot to ask about the little insurrection
and whether you think Delightites will want to buy anything from this
sears-monkey."

"You're a dear old Eyefer, Dad," Abigail laughed. "The excitement is
still on, but Hanner and Treece are smoothing things down." She turned
to Herl. "I hope it isn't a disappointment to you, but Delight won't
need to buy anything for years. They're just about to find out that
they can do anything they want to. You'll have to peddle your planets
and your calculators and your dancing girls somewhere else ... where
they're really needed."

And back to Saem, "You can go see the fire for yourself now, if you
like."

"I guess that's my cue," Saem stood up a foot or so above the floor,
extended his glowing hand. "Take care of my little girl and drop back
this way sometime soon."

Not knowing what else to do, Herl reached for the hand and saw his own
vanish into the cloud, felt nothing. "Good-bye, sir," he fumbled.

He withdrew his hand and said, "But...."

But Saem was just not there.

Abigail laughed, sweet, musical.

Herl turned and saw her, a woman in a silky blue gown. A woman with red
hair, not amber flames, a woman surrounded by a faint flowery scent,
not incandescent sodium vapor. A woman standing shyly on the floor, not
proudly seated on an airy throne.

He sprang down from the table and took her into his arms for a long
long moment.

She drew away for an instant and laughed. "I thought I'd given up
telepathy, dear, but I still seem to know just what you're thinking."

"And I know what I ought to do," he replied and did it.



*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Temptress Of Planet Delight" ***

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