property--and I couldn't,by God, so much as bite my own tongue without feeling like a bloodymurderer--and being made to suffer for it, too.
Perhaps you don't think biting your tongue is any great privilege tohave to give up. Maybe not. But, no matter how you figure, you've gotto admit the situation was--well--confining.
And it lasted for over nine years.
Nine miserable years of semi-slavery? Well, no. I couldn't honestly saythat it was that bad. There were all the restrictions and limitations,but also there was my perfect health; and what you might call a sort ofa sense of inner well-being. Added to that, there was my sensationallysuccessful career. And the money.
All at once, almost anything I undertook to do was sensationallysuccessful. I wrote, in several different styles and fields and under anumber of different names; I was terrific. My painting was the talk ofthe art world. "Superb," said the critics. "An astonishingother-worldly quality." How right they were--even if they didn't knowwhy. I patented a few little inventions, just for fun; and I invested.The money poured in so fast I couldn't count it. I hired people tocount it, and to help guide it through the tax loopholes--althoughthere I was able to give them a few sneaky little ideas that even oursharpest tax lawyers hadn't worked out.
Of course the catch in all that was that, actually, I was not so much arich, brilliant, successful man. I was a booming, prosperous nation.
The satisfaction I could take in all my success was limited by myknowledge that it was a group effort. How could I help beingsuccessful? I had a very fair part of the resources of a societysubstantially ahead of our own working for me. As for knowledge of ourworld, they didn't just know everything I did. They knew everything Iever had known--or seen, heard, read, dreamed or thought of. They coulddig up anything, explore it, expand it and use it in ways I couldn'thave worked out in a thousand years. Sure, I was successful. I did stayout of sports--too dangerous; entertainment--didn't lend itself toowell to the group approach; and music--they had never developed or usedsound, and we agreed not to go into it. As I figured it, music in thesoul may be very beautiful; but a full-size symphony in a sinus I coulddo without.
So I had success. And there was another thing I had too. Company.
Privacy? No, I had less privacy than any man who ever lived, although Iadmit that my people, as long as I obeyed the rules, were never pushyor intrusive. They didn't come barging into my thoughts unless Iinvited them. But they were always ready. And if those nine years wereless than perfect, at least I was never lonesome. Success, with me, wasnot a lonely thing.
And there were women.
Yes, there were women. And finally, at the end of it, there was awoman--and that was it.
As they had explained it, they were prepared to be tolerant aboutmy--ah--relations with women as long as I was "reasonable" in myselection. Come to find out, they were prepared to be not just tolerantbut insistent--and very selective.
First there was Helga.
Helga was Uncle John's secretary, a great big, healthy, rosy-cheeked,blonde Swedish girl, terrific if you liked the type. Me, I hadn't evermade a move in her direction, partly because she was so close to UncleJohn, but mostly because my tastes always ran to the smaller types. Buttastes can be changed.
Ten days after that first conversation with my people I'd alreadycleared something like $50,000 in a few speculations in the commoditymarket. I was feeling a little moody in spite of it, and I decided toquit my job. So I went up that afternoon to Uncle John's office to tellhim.
Uncle John was out. Helga was in. There she was, five foot eleven ofbig, bouncy, blonde smorgasbord. Wow! Before, I'd seen Helga a hundredtimes, looked with mild admiration but not one real ripple inside. Andnow, all at once, wow! That was my people, of course, manipulatingglands, thoughts, feelings. "Wow!" it was.
First things first. "Helga, Doll! Ah! Where's Uncle John?"
"Johnny! That's the first time you ever called me--hm-m--Mr. Barth hasgone for the day ... Johnny."
She hadn't even looked at me before. My--uh--government was growingmore powerful. It was establishing outside spheres of influence. Ofcourse, at the time, I didn't take the trouble to analyze thesituation; I just went to work on it.
As they say, it is nice work if you can get it.
I could get it.
It was a good thing Uncle John didn't come bustling back aftersomething he'd forgotten that afternoon.
I didn't get around to quitting my job that afternoon. Later on thatevening, I took her home. She wanted me to come in and meet herparents, yet! But I begged off that--and then she came up with asnapper. "But we will be married, Johnny darling. Won't we? Real soon!"
"Uh," I said, making a quick mental plane reservation for Rio, "sure,Doll. Sure we will." I broke away right quick after that. There was aproblem I wanted to get a little advice on.
What I did get, actually, was a nasty shock.
Back in my apartment--my big, new, plush apartment--I sat down to goover the thing with the Department of the Interior. The enthusiasticresponse I got surprised me. "Magnificent," was the word. "Superb.Great!"
Well, I thought myself that I had turned in a pretty outstandingperformance, but I hadn't expected such applause. "It is a first step,a splendid beginning! A fully equipped, well-armed expedition will havethe place settled, under cultivation and reasonably civilized inside ofa day or two, your time. It will be simple for them. So much more sothan in your case--since we now know precisely what to expect."
I was truly shocked. I felt guilty. "No!" I said. "Oh, no! What a thingto do. You _can't_!"
"Now, now. Gently," they said. "What, after all, oh Fatherland, mightbe the perfectly natural consequences of your own act?"
"What? You mean under other--that is----"
"Exactly. You could very well have implanted a new life in her, whichis all that we have done. Why should our doing so disturb you?"
Well, it did disturb me. But then, as they pointed out, they could havedeveloped less pleasant methods of spreading colonies. They had merelydecided that this approach would be the surest and simplest.
"Well, maybe," I told them, "but it still seems kind of sneaky to me.Besides, if you'd left it to me, I'd certainly never have picked agreat big ox like Helga. And now she says she's going to marry me,too!"
"You do not wish this? We understand. Do not be concerned. Wewill--ah--send instructions to our people the next time. She willchange her feelings about this."
She dropped the marriage bit completely.
We had what you might call an idyllic association, in spite of herbeing such a big, husky model--a fact which never bothered me when Iwas with her. "She is happy," I was assured, "very happy." She seemedpleased and contented enough, even if she developed, I thought, a sortof an inward look about her. She and I never discussed our--uh--people.We had a fast whirl for a couple of weeks. And then I'd quit my jobwith Uncle John, and we sort of drifted apart.
Next thing I heard of her, she married Uncle John.
Well. I have my doubts about how faithful a wife she was to him, butcertainly she seemed to make him happy. And my government assured meUncle John was not colonized. "Too late," they said. "He is too old tobe worth the risk of settling." But they respected my scruples about myuncle's wife and direct communication with Helgaland was broken off.
But there were others.
IV
For the next nine years--things came easy for me. I suppose therestrictions, the lack of freedom should have made me a lot moredissatisfied than I was. I know, though they didn't say so, that mypeople did a little manipulating of my moods by jiggering the glandsand hormones or something. It must have been that with the women.
I know that after Helga I felt guilty about the whole thing. I wouldn'tdo it again. But then one afternoon I was painting that big amazon of amodel and--Wow!
I couldn't help it. So, actually, I don't feel I should be blamed toomuch if, after the first couple of times, I quit trying to desert, soto speak.
And time went
by, although you wouldn't have guessed it to look at me.I didn't age. My health was perfect. Well, there were a couple of verylight headaches and a touch of fever, but that was only politics.
There were a couple of pretty tight elections which, of course, Ifollowed fairly closely. After all, I had my vote, along with everyoneelse and I didn't want to waste it--even though, really, the politicalparties were pretty much the same and the elections were more questionsof personality than anything else.
Then one afternoon I went to my broker's office to shift around a fewinvestments according to plans worked out the night before. I gave myinstructions. Old man Henry Schnable checked over the notes he hadmade.
"Now that's a funny thing," he said.
"You think I'm making a mistake?"
"Oh, no. You never have yet, so I don't suppose you are now. The funnything is that your moves here are almost exactly the same as thoseanother very unusual customer of mine gave me over the phone not anhour ago."
"Oh?" There was nothing very interesting about that. But, oddly enough,I was very interested.
"Yes. Miss Julia Reede. Only a child really, 21, but a brilliant girl.Possibly a genius. She comes from some little town up in the mountains.She has been in town here for just the past six months and herinvestments--well! Now I come to think about it, I believe they havevery closely paralleled yours all along the line. Fabulouslysuccessful. You advising her?"
"Never heard of the girl."
"Well, you really should meet her, Mr. Barth. You two have so much incommon, and such lovely investments. Why don't you wait around? MissReede is coming in to sign some papers this afternoon. You two shouldknow each other."
He was right. We _should_ know each other. I could feel it.
"Well, Henry," I said, "perhaps I will wait. I've got nothing else todo this afternoon."
That was a lie. I had plenty of things to do, including a date with thecaptain of a visiting women's track team from Finland. Strangely, mypeople and I were in full agreement on standing up the chesty Finn, letthe javelins fall where they may.
Henry was surprised too. "You are going to wait for her? Uh. Well now,Mr. Barth, your reputation--ah--that is, she's only a child, you know,from the country."
The buzzer on his desk sounded. His secretary spoke up on the intercom."Miss Reede is here."
Miss Reede came right on in the door without waiting for a furtherinvitation.
We stood there gaping at each other. She was small, about 5'2" maybe,with short, black, curly hair, surface-cool green eyes with fireunderneath, fresh, freckled nose, slim figure. Boyish? No. Not boyish.
I stared, taking in every little detail. Every little detail wasperfect and--well, I can't begin to describe it. That was for me. Icould feel it all through me, she was what I had been waiting for,dreaming of.
I made a quick call on the inside switchboard, determined to fight tooverride the veto I was sure was coming. I called.
No answer.
For the first time, I got no regular answer. Of course, by now I alwayshad a kind of a sense or feeling of what was going on. This time therewas a feeling of a celebration, rejoicing, everybody on a holiday.Which was exactly the way I felt as I looked at the girl. Noobjections? Then why ask questions?
"Julia," old Henry Schnable was saying, "this is Mr. John Barth. John,this is--John! John, remember----"
I had reached out and taken the girl's hand. I tucked her arm in mineand she looked up at me with the light, the fire in the green depthsswimming toward the surface. I didn't know what she saw in me--neitherof us knew then--but the light was there, glowing. We walked togetherout of Henry Schnable's office.
"John! Julia, your papers! You have to sign----"
Business? We had business elsewhere, she and I.
"Where?" I asked her in the elevator. It was the first word either ofus had spoken.
"My apartment," she said in a voice like a husky torch song. "It'sclose. The girl who rooms with me is spending the week back home withher folks. The show she was in closed. We can be alone."
We could. Five minutes in a cab and we were.
I never experienced anything remotely like it in all my life. I neverwill again.
And then there was the time afterwards, and then we knew.
It was late afternoon, turning to dusk. She lifted up on one elbowand half turned away from me to switch on the bedside lamp. Thelight came on and I looked down at her, lovingly, admiringly. Idly,I started to ask her, "How did you get those little scars on yourleg there and ... those little scars? Like buckshot! Julia! Once,along about ten years ago--you must have been a little girl then--inthe mountains--sure. You were hit by a meteor, weren't you??"
She turned and stared at me. I pointed at my own little pockmark scars.
"A meteor--about ten years ago!"
"Oh!"
"I knew it. You were."
"'Some damn fool, crazy hunter,' was what Pop said. He thought itreally was buckshot. So did I, at first. We all did. Of course aboutsix months later I found out what it was but we--my little people andI--agreed there was no sense in my telling anyone. But you know."
It was the other ship. There were two in this sector, each controlledto colonize a person. My own group always hoped and believed the othership might have landed safely. And now they knew.
We lay there, she and I, and we both checked internal communications.They were confused, not clear and precise as usual. It was a holiday infull swing. The glorious reunion! No one was working. No one waswilling to put in a lot of time at the communications center talking toJulia and me. They were too busy talking to each other. I was right.The other ship.
Of course, since the other ship's landfall had been a little girl then,the early movements of the group had been restricted. Expansion wasdelayed. She grew up. She came to the city. Then--well, I didn't haveto think about that.
We looked at each other, Julia and I. A doll she was in the first placeand a doll she still was. And then on top of that was the feeling ofcommunity, of closeness coming from our people. There was a sympathy.The two of us were in the same fix. And it may be that there was acertain sense of jealousy and resentment too--like the feeling, say,between North and South America. How did we feel?
"I feel like a drink."
We said it together and laughed. Then we got up and got the drinks. Iwas glad to find that Julia's absent roommate, an actress, had a prettyfair bar stock.
We had a drink. We had another. And a third.
Maybe nobody at all was manning the inner duty stations. Or maybe theywere visiting back and forth, both populations in a holiday mood. Theyfigured this was a once in a millennium celebration and, for once, thelimits were off. Even alcohol was welcome. That's a line of thoughtthat kills plenty of people every day out on the highway.
We had a couple more in a reckless toast. I kissed Julia. She kissedme. Then we had some more drinks.
Naturally it hit us hard; we weren't used to it. But still we didn'tstop drinking. The limits were off for the first time. Probably itwould never happen again. This was our chance of a lifetime and therewas a sort of desperation in it. We kept on drinking.
"Woosh," I said, finally, "wow. Let's have one more, wha' say? One morethem--an' one more those."
She giggled. "Aroun' an aroun', whoop, whoop! Dizzy. Woozy. Oughta havecup coffee."
"Naw. Not coffee. Gonna have hangover. Take pill. Apsirin."
"Can-_not_! Can-_not_ take pill. Won' lemme. 'Gains talla rules."
"Can."
"Can-_not_."
"Can. No rules. Rule soff. Can. Apsirin. C'mon."
Clinging to each other, we stumbled to the bathroom. Pills? Theroommate must have been a real hypochondriac. She had rows andbatteries of pills. I knocked a bottle off the cabinet shelf. Aspirin?Sure, fancy aspirin. Blue, special. I took a couple.
"Apsirin. See? Easy."
Her mouth made a little, red, round "O" of wonder. She took a couple.
"Gosh! Firs' time I c'd ever
take a pill."
"Good. Have 'nother?"
It was crazy, sure. The two of us were drunk. But it was more thanthat. We were like a couple of wild, irresponsible kids, out of controland running wild through the pill boxes. We reeled around the bathroom,sampling pills and laughing.
"Here's nice bottla red ones."
There was a nice bottle of red ones. I fumbled the top off the bottleand spilled the bright red pills bouncing across the white tilebathroom floor. We dropped to our knees after them, after the redpills, the red dots, the red, fiery moons, spinning suddenly, whirling,twirling, racing across the white floor. And then it got dark. Dark,and darker and even the red, red moons faded away.
Some eons later, light began to come back and the red moons, dim nowand pallid, whirled languidly across a white ceiling.
Someone said, "He's coming out of it, I think."
"Oh," I said. "Ugh!"
I didn't feel good. I'd almost forgotten what it was like, but I wassick. Awful. I didn't particularly want to look around but I did, eyesmoving rustily in their sockets. There was a nurse and a doctor. Theywere standing by my bed in what was certainly a hospital.
"Don't ask," said the doctor. I wasn't going to. I didn't even carewhere I was, but he told me anyway, "You are in the South SideHospital, Mr. Barth. You will be all right--which is a wonder,considering. Remarkable stamina! Please tell me, Mr. Barth, what kindof lunatic