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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32904-h.zip b/32904-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d99f97d --- /dev/null +++ b/32904-h.zip diff --git a/32904-h/32904-h.htm b/32904-h/32904-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..594cb5a --- /dev/null +++ b/32904-h/32904-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1678 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Huddlers, by William Campbell Gault. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Huddlers, by William Campbell Gault + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Huddlers + +Author: William Campbell Gault + +Illustrator: Ernie Barth + +Release Date: June 20, 2010 [EBook #32904] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUDDLERS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>The Huddlers</h1> + +<h2>By William Campbell Gault</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by Ernie Barth</h3> + +<p>[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science +Fiction May 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>He was a reporter from Venus with an assignment on Earth. He +got his story but, against orders, he fell in love—and therein lies +this story.</i></div> + + +<p>That's what <i>we</i> always called them, where I come from, huddlers. +Damnedest thing to see from any distance, the way they huddle. They had +one place, encrusting the shore line for miles on one of the land bodies +they called the Eastern Seaboard. A coagulation in this crust contained +eight million of the creatures, <i>eight million</i>.</p> + +<p>They called it New York, and it was bigger than most of the others, but +typical. It wasn't bad enough living side by side; the things built +mounds and lived one above the other. Apartments they called them. What +monstrosities they were.</p> + +<p>We couldn't figure this huddling, at first.</p> + +<p>All our attention since Akers' first penetration into space had been +directed another way in the galaxy, and though I'll grant you unified +and universal concentration may be considered unwise in some areas, it's +been our greatest strength. It's brought us rather rapidly to the front, +I'm sure you'll agree, and we're not the oldest planet, by a damned +sight.</p> + +<p>Well, by the time we got to the huddlers, Akers was dead and Murten was +just an old man with vacant eyes. Jars was handling the Department, +though you might say Deering ran it, being closer to most of the gang. +Jars was always so cold; nobody ever got to know him really well.</p> + +<p>They divided on the huddling. Fear, Jars said, and love, Deering said, +but who could say for sure?</p> + +<p>As Deering said to me, "What could they fear? They've got everything +they need, everything but knowledge and their better specimens are +getting closer to that, every day."</p> + +<p>In the laboratory, Deering said this, and how did we know old Jars was +in a corner, breaking down a spirigel?</p> + +<p>"They fear each other," Jars said, as though it was an official +announcement, as though any fact is permanent. "And they fear nature. +It's the most fear ridden colony of bipeds a sane mind could imagine."</p> + +<p>Deering looked at me, and winked.</p> + +<p>Jars went back to the spirigel.</p> + +<p>Deering said, "Love, love, love. All they sing about, all they write +about, all they talk about, love, love, love."</p> + +<p>Jars was just tracing a <i>z</i> line on the spirigel and he put down his +legort at that. "Rather superficial thinking, from a scientist," he said +quietly. "Surface manifestations to be considered as indicative. Oral +and verbal camouflage to be accepted as valid. Deering, old thing, +please—"</p> + +<p>Deering shrugged. "So I am—what do they call it, a Pollyanna. Isn't +that a pretty word? So, I'm a Pollyanna."</p> + +<p>"I rather think that describes you partially," Jars said, "and with this +particular planet we're discussing, it can be a dangerous attitude."</p> + +<p>"So?" Deering said, nudging me. "And could I ask why?"</p> + +<p>"Ask it."</p> + +<p>"I ask."</p> + +<p>"You've recorded the state of their development. They have, among other +things, achieved nuclear fission."</p> + +<p>"So? In the fourth grade we are teaching nuclear fission."</p> + +<p>"We are a scientific people. They haven't been, until very, very +recently. You have noted, I hope, their first extensive use of this new +discovery?"</p> + +<p>"Hero—Helo—" Deering shrugged. "My memory."</p> + +<p>"Hiroshima," Jars supplied. "Love—, my friend?"</p> + +<p>"I have noted it," Deering said. "We spoke, a while ago, of surface +manifestations."</p> + +<p>"We shall continue to. You have witnessed the mechanical excellence of +their machines, in some ways beyond ours, because of their greater +element wealth. You have noted the increased concentration of their +better minds, their scientific minds. How long do you think it will be, +friend, before they are ready for us?"</p> + +<p>"Ready, ready—? In what way, ready?"</p> + +<p>"The only way they know, the only thing they seem to have time +for—ready for war."</p> + +<p>"War—," Deering said, and sighed. "Oh, Jars, they will be beyond war, +certainly, before they are cognizant of us. They are no tribe of +incompetents; they grow each day."</p> + +<p>"They—?" Jars' smile was cynical. "Their scientists grow. Are their +scientists in command, sir?"</p> + +<p>That "sir" had been unnecessary; Jars was the senior mind, here. Deering +didn't miss it, and he flushed.</p> + +<p>Jars said softly, "I apologize. It was not a thing to say. I have spent +too much time in the study of these—monsters."</p> + +<p>They had gone to school, together, those two, and the bond was there and +the respect, but they were different, mentally, and each knew it.</p> + +<p>"You have a sharp tongue," Deering said, "but a sharper mind. I believe +I can stand it." He smiled. "Love, fear, hate—what does it matter to +us, except as phenomena?"</p> + +<p>"It matters to us, believe me, please. It concerns us very much, Arn."</p> + +<p>When Jars got to first names, he was emotionally wrought. I looked at +him in surprise. And so did Deering. We weren't ever going to warm up to +him, but he was our best mind and there wasn't a man in the department +who didn't appreciate that.</p> + +<p>We stared at him, and he sat down on the high bench near the Maling +converters. He looked old and he was tired, we could see. "Evil," he +said quietly. "Fear, hate, evil—which of the three is the father and +which are the sons? I suppose fear is the father."</p> + +<p>"I'd always thought so," Deering said, "though my education was almost +completely confined to the technical. I'm rather skimpy on the +humanities."</p> + +<p>"And I," Jars said, and now looked at me. "But not you, Werig."</p> + +<p>"I don't know them, sir," I said. "Surface manifestations, as we've said +before today. It would need a closer study. Their huddling is what +intrigues me the most."</p> + +<p>One of the rare smiles came to Jars' lined face as he looked at Deering. +"Huddling, the lad says. If you don't say it, I won't, Arn."</p> + +<p>Deering smiled in return. "We'll change the routine, this time; you say +'love' and I'll say 'fear'. But seriously, Jars, you fear +these—people?"</p> + +<p>"I fear them," Jars said. "Scientifically, perhaps, they are tyros, but +mechanically they are not. They have discovered forces and developed +machines which they do not understand, and yet, have achieved efficiency +with them. I fear any monster that powerful even though it is blind."</p> + +<p>"And you think there is a possibility of their becoming—aware of us +within any determinable time?"</p> + +<p>"I do. You will remember how quickly the Algreans developed, once they +achieved unity? You will remember how quickly they became a threat?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Deering said quietly, "and I have been trying a long time to +forget what we did to that planetoid."</p> + +<p>"It was necessary for survival," Jars said simply. "I think, by any +standards, we would be the ones chosen to survive."</p> + +<p>Deering's smile was cynical. "At least, by <i>our</i> standards. We had a +closer communication with them. About the huddlers, we know only what we +convert from their stronger video broadcasts. It is a device they seem +to use more for entertainment than for information."</p> + +<p>Jars nodded, and stood up. "And love is their major entertainment, +perhaps. Love and war. But we gabble. I had a plan in mind, a plan to +put before the assembly."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He had a plan, all right, and I was part of it. The humanities had been +no major with me, but they didn't want a scholar, they wanted a +reporter, anyway. Or perhaps I could be called a recorder.</p> + +<p>Jars talked and the assembly listened. They always do, when Jars talks.</p> + +<p>And I was their boy, and went into a concentrated and complete briefing. +They put me under the lucidate and poured it to me, night and day, all +the information we had on the huddlers and all the theories based on +that information.</p> + +<p>They put me into a space sphere, and said "good luck" and do our people +proud, young man. Oh, yes. And don't fall in love. Oh, no. They'd pick +me up, again, when they got a signal. They didn't expect to wait too +long for that, I guess, at the time.</p> + +<p>The sphere was a relic of the Algrean business, and Algrea hadn't been +this much of a trip. But Mechanics said it would do, and it did.</p> + +<p>I landed in the Pacific, about three-quarters of a mile off the Santa +Monica yacht basin, and let the sphere float north for a while until I +reached a secluded spot. In a small curve of the shore line, a few miles +above Santa Monica, I beached her, and opened the dissolving cocks.</p> + +<p>I watched her melt into the surging water, and turned to face the red +and green light almost immediately overhead. I walked up from the beach +to the road, not even knowing what they looked like. Their evolution +should have matched ours, but who could be sure?</p> + +<p>For all I knew, I might be a freak to them. I should have thought of +that before dissolving the ship.</p> + +<p>Above, the light changed from red to green and across the street, I saw +a sign. This was Sunset Boulevard, and the Pacific Coast Highway. This +was open country, but Los Angeles.</p> + +<p>Along the Coast Highway, a pair of lights were bearing down on me, and +they seemed to waver, as though the machine were under imperfect +control.</p> + +<p>I moved back, out of the way, and the light overhead turned to red. The +car stopped about even with me, its motor running.</p> + +<p>I couldn't see the occupants nor the driver. The light changed, the car +jerked, and the motor stopped.</p> + +<p>"Damn," somebody said. It was a female voice.</p> + +<p>There was a grinding noise, and another damn, and then a head appeared +through the open window on my side of the road.</p> + +<p>It was a blond head, and what I could see of the face looked attractive.</p> + +<p>"Are you sober?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Not always," I answered. "Some times I'm quite cheerful. But I'm some +distance from home, and have nothing to be cheerful about, at the +moment."</p> + +<p>"Try not to be a Cerf," she said angrily. "What I mean is, are you—have +you been drinking?"</p> + +<p>"Not recently, though I could use some water." I could see her face more +clearly now, and it was like the faces of our women, only prettier than +most, I thought.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3><i>I could see her face more clearly now, and it was like +the faces of our women, only prettier than most, I thought.</i></h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Look," she said, "I'm drunk. Could you drive this thing? Could you +drive me home?"</p> + +<p>"I'd be glad to," I answered, "if you will tell me where you live."</p> + +<p>She gave me an address on Sunset, and this was Sunset, this lateral +street, ending at the ocean. So, quite obviously, it was an address I +could find.</p> + +<p>I went over to climb in behind the wheel. There were two smells in that +pretty car with the canvas top. One smell was of gasoline, the other was +of alcohol.</p> + +<p>"There's obviously alcohol in the gasoline," I said, "though that +shouldn't prevent it from igniting."</p> + +<p>"A funny, funny man," she said. "Keep the dialogue to a minimum, will +you, Bogart? I'm not exactly sharp, right now."</p> + +<p>I depressed the starter button, and the motor caught. I swung left onto +Sunset, and started up the hill.</p> + +<p>The car was clearly a recent model, but Jars had been wrong about the +mechanical excellence of these huddlers. The machine simply had no life, +no zest.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>We drove past a shrine and around two curves, climbing all the while, +past some huddled houses on the left, and the whole shining sea spread +out on the right.</p> + +<p>The woman said, "If you know a place where the coffee is drinkable, +stop."</p> + +<p>"I have no money," I said. Diamonds I had, a bagful of them, for we knew +that huddlers treasured diamonds. But no money.</p> + +<p>"I've got money," she said. "I've got a hell of a lot more money than I +have sense. Have you ever been in love, Bogart?"</p> + +<p>"Never," I said.</p> + +<p>We were coming into a small huddled area, now. A sign read, <i>Pacific +Palisades</i>.</p> + +<p>"I have," she said. "I still am. Isn't it a miserable rotten world?"</p> + +<p>"This one?" I asked, and then said quickly, "I mean—this part of it?"</p> + +<p>"Any part of it," she said. "I've seen most of it, and any part where +there's men is bad, Bogart."</p> + +<p>"My name," I told her, "is not Bogart. My name is Fred Werig."</p> + +<p>"A pleasure, Fred," she said. "My name is Jean Decker. And I'm beginning +to feel better."</p> + +<p>"It couldn't be my company," I said, "so it must be the air. I haven't +seen any coffee places that are open."</p> + +<p>I caught a flare of light from the corner of my eye, and turned to see +her applying flame to something in her mouth. I remembered from our +history; she was smoking. It was a habit long dead where I came from.</p> + +<p>And then I remembered what she'd said about being drunk, and knew that, +too, as one of our long disused vices. What was it Akers had said about +'being directed'? A theory, but discredited now, since our scientific +advance. But this almost parallels evolution?</p> + +<p>"Cigarette?" she said, and I said, "No, thanks. I—don't smoke."</p> + +<p>"You're the only thing in Los Angeles that doesn't," she said bitterly. +"Where are you from, Fred?"</p> + +<p>"New York," I said. "Where are you from, Jean?"</p> + +<p>"Believe it or not, I was born here," she said. "I'm one of the three +people in this town who was born here."</p> + +<p>"It's a big town, isn't it?" I said. "Less huddled than the others."</p> + +<p>"Huddled," she said, and laughed. "Huddled. I like that. They huddle, +all right, and not just the football teams. The gregarious instinct, +Freddy boy."</p> + +<p>"Well, yes," I agreed, "but why, Jean? Why haven't they outgrown it? Is +it—fear?"</p> + +<p>"You would have to ask somebody bright," she said. "When you get to +Bundy, turn over toward Wilshire. We'll find an eating place that's +open."</p> + +<p>"You tell me when I get to Bundy," I said. "I'm not exactly familiar +with this part of town."</p> + +<p>She told me, and we got to Wilshire, eventually, and on Wilshire there +were many eating places.</p> + +<p>We went into one; it was too cold to eat outside. And it was bright in +there, and I got my first really clear look at the face and figure of +Jean Decker.</p> + +<p>Well, it was ridiculous, the attraction that seemed to emanate from her. +It actually made me weak.</p> + +<p>And she was staring at me, too.</p> + +<p>"If you're hungry," she said finally, "get a sandwich. You won't find me +stingy.... What in the world is that material in that suit, Fred?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," I said. "You are beautiful, Jean."</p> + +<p>She smiled. "Well, thanks. You can have a piece of pie, too, for that. +That certainly is a fine weave in that material. What did your tailor +call it?"</p> + +<p>We were next to a sort of alcove, furnished with a table and two +high-backed benches, and she sat down. I sat across from her.</p> + +<div class="figleft"> +<img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<p>"I don't have a tailor," I said. "Your lips are so red, Jean."</p> + +<p>She frowned. "Slowly, sailor."</p> + +<p>Then a waitress was there, and I saw how red her lips were, too, and I +realized it was another of the old vices I'd forgotten, cosmetics.</p> + +<p>"Just coffee, for me, black," Jean said. "Golden boy over there will +have a beef barbecue, probably, won't you, Fred?"</p> + +<p>"I guess," I said. "And some milk, cow's milk."</p> + +<p>Jean laughed. "It's my money. Have canary milk."</p> + +<p>"Not tonight," I said.</p> + +<p>The waitress went away, and there was a noticeable period of silence. +Jean was tracing some design on the table top with her index finger. Her +nails, too, were painted, I saw. I liked the effect of that.</p> + +<p>She looked up, and faced me gravely, "Fred, you're a very attractive +gent, which you undoubtedly know. Are you connected with pictures?"</p> + +<p>I shook my head. "Just a traveler, a tourist."</p> + +<p>She said, "Oh" and went back to tracing the design. I thought her finger +trembled.</p> + +<p>A very dim smile on her face, and she didn't look away from the table +top. "You've been—picked up before, undoubtedly."</p> + +<p>"No. What kind of talk is this, Jean?"</p> + +<p>Now, she looked up. "Crazy talk. You're no New Yorker, Freddy lad. +You're a Middle Westerner; you can't fool me. Fresh from the farm and +craving cow's milk."</p> + +<p>"I never saw a cow in my life," I told her truthfully, "though I've +heard about them. What makes you think I'm from a farm?"</p> + +<p>"Your freshness, your complexion and—everything about you."</p> + +<p>The waitress brought our food, then, and I didn't answer. I tried to +keep my eyes away from Jean as I ate; I had a mission, here, and no time +for attachments beyond the casual. I was sure, even then, that loving +Jean Decker would never qualify as casual.</p> + +<p>She drank her coffee and smoked; I ate.</p> + +<p>She asked, "Where are you staying, in town, Fred? I'm sober enough to +drive, now."</p> + +<p>"I'll get public transportation," I said. "You get home, and to bed."</p> + +<p>She laughed. "Public transportation? Freddy, you don't know this town. +There isn't any. Did you just get here, tonight?"</p> + +<p>I looked at her, and nodded.</p> + +<p>"On the bum?" she said quietly.</p> + +<p>"I—suppose," I said honestly, "though the word has connotations which +don't describe me." I put my hand in my jacket pocket and fumbled in the +open bag for one of the smaller diamonds. I brought one out about the +size of my little finger nail, and placed it on the table.</p> + +<p>All the light in the room seemed to be suddenly imprisoned there. She +stared at it, and up at me.</p> + +<p>"Fred—for heaven's sake—that's not—real, is it?"</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>"But—it—" She glanced from the diamond to me, her mouth partially +open. "Fred, what kind of monstrous gag is this? God, I thought I'd seen +everything, growing up in this town. Fred—"</p> + +<p>"I'd like to sell it," I said. "You, Jean, are my only friend in this +town. Could you help me arrange for its sale?"</p> + +<p>She was looking at me with wonder now, studying me. "Hot?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Hot—?"</p> + +<p>"Stolen—you know what I mean."</p> + +<p>"Stolen? Jean, you didn't mean to accuse me of that."</p> + +<p>Skepticism was ugly on her lovely face. "Fred, what's your angle? You +step out of the darkness like some man from Mars in a strange suit, with +no money, but a diamond that must be worth—"</p> + +<p>"We'll learn what it's worth," I said. "Mars isn't inhabited, Jean. +Don't you trust me? Have I done anything to cause you to distrust me?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," she said.</p> + +<p>"Do you distrust all men, Jean?"</p> + +<p>"No. Just the ones I've met. Oh, baby, and I thought you were a farmer." +She was crushing out her cigarette. "You haven't a place to stay, but +I've got a guest house, and you'll stay there, tonight. You aren't +stepping back into the darkness, tonight, Fred Werig. You, I want to +know about."</p> + +<p>The words held a threat, but not her meaning, I was sure. And what +better way to orient myself than in the home of a friend?</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>That was some home she had. Massive, in an architecture I'd assumed was +confined to the south-eastern United States. Two-story place, with huge, +two-story pillars and a house-wide front porch, the great lawn studded +with giant trees.</p> + +<p>And she lived there alone, excepting for the servants. She was no +huddler, and I told her that.</p> + +<p>"Dad owned a lot of property in this town," she said. "He was a great +believer in the future of this town."</p> + +<p>At the time I didn't understand what that had to do with her lack of +huddling.</p> + +<p>The guest house was small, but very comfortable, a place of three +bedrooms and two baths and a square living room with a natural stone +fireplace.</p> + +<p>I had my first night of sleep on this planet, and slept very well. I +woke to a cloudy morning, and the sound of someone knocking on the front +door.</p> + +<p>It was a servant, and she said, "Miss Decker sent me to inform you that +breakfast will be ready any time you want it, sir. We are eating inside, +this morning, because of the cold."</p> + +<p>"I'll be there, soon, thank you," I said, and she went away.</p> + +<p>Showering, I was thinking of Akers for some reason and his directed +theory and what was that other theory he'd had? Oh, yes, the twin +planets. Senile, he was, by that time and not much listened to, but a +mind like that? And who had he been associated with at that time? It was +before my birth, but I'd read about it, long ago. The Visitor, Akers had +called this man. The Earth man who had come to Venus. And what had his +name been?</p> + +<p>Beer—? Beers—? No, but like that—and it came.</p> + +<p>Ambrose Bierce.</p> + +<p>Jean wore a light green robe, for breakfast, and it was difficult for me +to take my eyes away from her.</p> + +<p>"I'm not usually this informal at mixed breakfasts," she told me, +smiling, "but I thought it might warm up enough for a swim a little +later."</p> + +<p>She threw the robe aside, and I saw she was wearing a scanty garment +beneath it. Evidently the huddlers didn't swim naked, and I wondered at +a moral code that sanctioned drinking alcohol but was ashamed of the +human body.</p> + +<p>I was glad the house had been cold when I answered the maid's summons, +for I had worn a robe I'd found there.</p> + +<p>Fruit juice and wheat cakes and sausage and toast and jelly and eggs and +milk. We ate in a small room, off a larger dining room, a small room +whose walls were glass on two sides.</p> + +<p>"It's too old a house to modernize completely," Jean told me. "I grew up +in this house."</p> + +<p>"You don't—work, Jean?"</p> + +<p>"No. Should I?"</p> + +<p>"Work or study. Life must be very dull if you don't do one of those."</p> + +<p>"You might have a point there," she said. "I tried everything from the +movies to sculpture. I wasn't very good at anything. What do you do, +Fred?"</p> + +<p>"I'm a perpetual guest," I said lightly. "Do you read much, Jean?"</p> + +<p>"Too much, though nothing very heavy, I grant you."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever read about a man named Ambrose Bierce?"</p> + +<p>"I've read everything he ever wrote. Why did you ask that, Fred?"</p> + +<p>"I—heard about him. I wondered who he was."</p> + +<p>"Where did you hear about him, Fred? In Mexico?"</p> + +<p>"No. I don't remember where I heard about him."</p> + +<p>"He disappeared," she said quietly, "some time right before the first +world war. I've forgotten the exact year. I think it was 1914."</p> + +<p>Before the war, before the "first" war.... And I thought of Jars' wife, +who had come to us just before this last planetary war—the "second" +world war. And what was his pet name for her? Guest, he called her, and +joked about her coming from another world. But didn't Jars defend the +discredited late-in-life theories of Akers? I tried to remember the name +of Jars' wife, and then it came.</p> + +<p>I asked, "And Amelia Earhart?"</p> + +<p>Jean's voice was rough. "July 2nd, 1937. I guess I'll never forget that, +when my god died. What are you trying to say? Is it some new damned cult +you're promoting, Fred?"</p> + +<p>"You called her a god. Why, Jean?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I was only thirteen when she died. But she was so clean, +so—so free and windswept, so—oh, what the spirit of America should +be—and isn't."</p> + +<p>I looked up to see tears in her eyes. Why was she moved? This girl who +certainly knew corruption, this worldly, lovely girl. I smiled at her.</p> + +<p>She wiped the tears with the back of her hand. "Fred, you are the +strangest—I know this town's a zoo, but you, Fred—"</p> + +<p>I continued to smile at her. "I'm just a guy trying to learn. May I +repeat something I said last night? You're beautiful, Jean."</p> + +<p>"You're no three-headed calf, yourself," she said.</p> + +<p>Twin planets and parallel evolution.... Parallel destiny? Not with a +third planetary war shaping up here. Three major wars in less than fifty +years. Why, why, why....</p> + +<p>She said, "Thinking, again? You do a lot of thinking, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I have to think of something besides you," I told her honestly. "I +can't afford to fall in love with you, Jean. I've too many places to go +and too many things to see."</p> + +<p>She just stared at me. It must have been a full minute before she said, +"Well, I'll be damned."</p> + +<p>After breakfast, it was still cold, and she said, "There'll be no swim +this morning, I see. If you want to get an appraisal on that diamond, +Fred, I'll phone one of our jewelers to come out."</p> + +<p>"I'd appreciate that," I said. "Would it be all right if I took these +newspapers back to my room, now?"</p> + +<p>"Just dandy," she said. "Sorry to be boring you."</p> + +<p>"You're not," I told her earnestly. "Believe me, you're not."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The papers were interesting. Nowhere was it stated, but a glance at the +front pages showed they were on opposite sides of the political fence. +On my planet, we keep the editorial opinion in the editorial columns. +Not so with these. The wire services were impartial and the accounts in +both papers identical. That was as far as the similarities went. Reading +the other accounts was like living in two worlds.</p> + +<p>An informed people will always be free. Well, perhaps these weren't +typical.</p> + +<p>I was to see papers a lot worse than these before long.</p> + +<p>I was just starting the want ads when the knock came at the door. It was +the maid, again; the jeweler was at the house.</p> + +<p>A small man, suave and dark, with the manners of a diplomat, fawning +like a puppy.</p> + +<p>It was a perfect stone, he decided. He had, he was sure, a customer who +would be interested. Would I accept eight thousand dollars for it?</p> + +<p>I said I would, and he left.</p> + +<p>We were in the living room, and Jean stood near the tall front windows. +She had changed to a suit of some soft blue material.</p> + +<p>"As soon as I get the money," I said, "we're going out for some fun, +aren't we? I owe you for a beef barbecue."</p> + +<p>"You don't owe me anything," she said. She didn't look at me.</p> + +<p>"You'll get over him," I said.</p> + +<p>"Him—?" She turned to look at me curiously.</p> + +<p>"That man you're in love with, that man you told me about last night."</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said. "Oh. I was drunk last night, Fred. I'm not in love."</p> + +<p>Silence. That attraction of hers pulling at me like some localized +gravity, silence, and the beating of my heart. Silence, my hands +trembling, my knees aching.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to see some fights," I said. "Would you like to?"</p> + +<p>She frowned. "Not particularly." She stared at me, shook her head, and +looked away.</p> + +<p>"Well," I said, "I haven't finished the want ads."</p> + +<p>"Of course," she said. "Get right back to them, Freddy. You never know +when you'll find a bargain."</p> + +<p>They weren't very interesting. I kept seeing her standing next to the +window, looking unhappy, frustrated, somehow. I kept seeing the soft +fabric of the suit clinging to her beautiful body and the proud grace of +her posture.</p> + +<p>I went back to the house, and she was sitting on the davenport near the +fireplace. She looked up without expression.</p> + +<p>I asked, "Is there a library around here?"</p> + +<p>She sighed, and rose. She said, "Follow me."</p> + +<p>She led me to a room whose four walls were lined with books. There was a +wide glass door leading out from this to the patio.</p> + +<p>"Dad's old retreat," she said. "Everything from Aristotle to Zola. If +there's something you don't see, don't hesitate to ask. We aim to +please."</p> + +<p>She closed the door behind her.</p> + +<p>I didn't gorge; I only nibbled. But fed enough to realize this was a +deep, rich culture; this planet had produced some first rate minds and +exceptional talents. But still, with all this to choose from, the people +seemed to prefer Milton Berle. And the people were in command.</p> + +<p>I was reading Ambrose Bierce when she came in. She looked at the book, +and at me. "Lunch," she said quietly.</p> + +<p>I put the book down, and rose. "The unwelcome guest?"</p> + +<p>"I'd tell you, if you were."</p> + +<p>"Would you, honestly?"</p> + +<p>She didn't answer that. She smiled, and said, "There are some fights at +Ocean Park, tonight."</p> + +<p>We saw those, and later, some amateur fights. Strange spectacles they +were, men belaboring each other, but fascinating, too. The amateurs were +less talented, but more friendly, leaving the ring arm in arm, if both +were still conscious. The professionals displayed no such amicability.</p> + +<p>Why? I asked Jean. What was the difference between the amateurs and the +professionals?</p> + +<p>"Money," she said, and looked at me strangely. "Didn't you really know +that?"</p> + +<p>I lied with a nod. "I wanted you to see it, and to word it for +yourself."</p> + +<p>"Look," she said with controlled irritation, "if I want any curbstone +philosophy, I can read one of those corny columnists. I certainly don't +have to sit in a screaming mob watching a couple of morons pound each +other bloody to arrive at a stupid generality like that."</p> + +<p>"Let's get a hamburger," I said.</p> + +<p>She just stood there, on the sidewalk. "You—you—"</p> + +<p>People were turning to stare.</p> + +<p>"Farmer?" I suggested.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "oh, oh—"</p> + +<p>"Or a cheeseburger," I added.</p> + +<p>There was a small crowd, now, openly watching. One man said, "Hey, this +is better than them jerks inside. Slug him, lady."</p> + +<p>Jean started to laugh, and so did I, and then all of us were laughing, +the whole crowd.</p> + +<p>We didn't go to a hamburger place. We went to a place where we could +dance, too, and I had a small glass of wine, and wondered why we'd +outgrown alcohol, on our planet.</p> + +<p>It was a night I will never forget. It was a night I learned how much +she meant to me. There wasn't ever going to be anybody else for me, +after that night.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>We were married in Las Trenos at five-thirty the next morning.</p> + +<p>And still, I didn't tell her where I was from. When the time came, she +could go back with me, but I couldn't risk sharing that secret with her. +I didn't have the right to jeopardize my people by giving her +information she might divulge unintentionally.</p> + +<p>The world was our playground, and my study hall American first. We drove +east, taking our time, while I tried to get the temper of the people. I +never overlooked a chance to talk to people; the papers were no +substitute for that. And between the papers and the people, I found that +only the hysterics were voluble, only the biased articulate. And yet, it +was a country with a liberal and progressive tradition, a country that +should have been informed beyond the average.</p> + +<p>Knowledge had been made too easy; the glib were in command.</p> + +<p>Fear, Jars had said, and it was becoming increasingly clear to me that +he was closer to it than Deering. For Deering's viewpoint, I had a +working model, I had Jean.</p> + +<p>In the canyon city, New York, high in our room at the Empire-Hudson, she +said, "You're an awfully nosy guy, Dream Boat."</p> + +<p>"I like to talk to people," I said. "Haven't you been getting enough +attention?"</p> + +<p>"As much as I can handle," she said. "And I'm enjoying every second of +it. But it seems to be getting you down."</p> + +<p>"You or the people?" I asked, and mussed her hair.</p> + +<p>She didn't answer that. "Fred," she said, "do you remember that day at +breakfast, long ago? Do you remember asking about Ambrose Bierce and +Amelia Earhart?"</p> + +<p>"I guess I do."</p> + +<p>"Don't be evasive, Fred. You know you do."</p> + +<p>I pulled her close. "Is this going to be a questioning period? Is this +one of <i>those</i> marriages?"</p> + +<p>"Now, Fred—" she said, against my shoulder. "Be serious, please, Fred. +Please be serious—oh, you, Fred—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>We went to England. What's that phrase they have—"muddling through"? +That's what they were doing. Proudly, with a minimum of complaint, with +no thought of rebellion, with no rationalizing or projection, living as +the submerged tenth lives in America, and seeming to think that—well, +things <i>could</i> be worse.</p> + +<p>In Italy, it was the kids, the beggars and procurers and thieves and +even murderers who were kids. In Spain we found much of the same. In +France it was all the heat and no light, charges and counter-charges, +lies and counter-lies, confusion and corruption.</p> + +<p>In Berlin, it was Russia. The cloud that darkens the world looms darkest +in Berlin. The apathy that grips the world is epitomized in Berlin. A +people with no sense of guilt and no reason for hope, nor stirring to +the promise of a re-armed Germany. A bled and devastated people, shorn +of their chief strength, their national pride.</p> + +<p>Jean said, "I've seen enough. Haven't you, Fred? How much can you take?"</p> + +<p>"One more," I said. "Russia."</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly," she said. "How would we get into Russia?"</p> + +<p>"<i>We</i> wouldn't. But <i>I</i> would."</p> + +<p>"Look, baby, whither though goest, I—"</p> + +<p>"Up to here," I said. "Who's the big boss in this family?"</p> + +<p>"Now, Fred—"</p> + +<p>"Now, Jean—"</p> + +<p>"Get away from me. This time, it won't work. If you think that for one +second you're going into that no man's land alone—and—"</p> + +<p>It took some talking, to convince her, it took some lies. She'd wait, +she agreed finally, in Switzerland. In comfort for a change.</p> + +<p>It took two diamonds to get to the right man, and it took a formula from +there. A formula that is learned in the first year of college chemistry +on my planet, a formula for converting an element. A formula this planet +couldn't have been more than a decade short of learning, anyway.</p> + +<p>The last man I saw in Berlin went along, for which I was grateful, +though he didn't know that. I don't speak Russian, but he did.</p> + +<p>They were careful, they don't even trust themselves. I told Nilenoff the +formula came from America, and there were more, but I needed money. I +didn't tell him the fallacy in the formula; it had taken us three years +to realize what it was.</p> + +<p>My trips were limited, directed, and avoided the seamier side. I saw the +modern humming factories, and the mammoth farms. No unemployment, no +waste, no "capitalistic blood sucking"—and the lowest standard of +living in the industrialized world. A vast, bleak land peopled with +stringless puppets, with walking cadavers.</p> + +<p>I remembered the faces of the crowds and the strangely mixed people in +America, their obvious feelings, emotions and rivalries. There was +nothing strange about these people of Russia—they were dead, +spiritually dead.</p> + +<p>The country that could have been a cultural and industrial center of the +world was a robot-land of nine million square miles, getting ready for +war, getting ready to take over the dreams of Hitler and make them come +true.</p> + +<p>I came out with a promise of ten thousand American dollars for every one +of the future formulas I had assured them I could get to. I came out +with the knowledge that I'd be a watched man from now on.</p> + +<p>In Switzerland, Jean said, "Well—?"</p> + +<p>"I'm ready to go home," I told her.</p> + +<p>"America, you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Where else?"</p> + +<p>"I've been alone," she said, "and thinking. I've gone back to Sunset and +Pacific Coast Highway and traced it all forward from there. And I don't +think America's your home."</p> + +<p>Very cool her voice, very tense her face. I smiled at her.</p> + +<p>She didn't smile in return. "Fred—we're married."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad," I said. "Aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"It's no time for the light touch." Tears in her eyes. "Fred, are you +a—a Russian spy?"</p> + +<p>I shook my head.</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>It was a clear night, and I went to the window. How it shone, in that +clear air. Jean came over to stand next to me.</p> + +<p>I pointed, and said, "There's my home."</p> + +<p>"Venus," she said. "Fred, for heaven's sake—<i>I'm serious</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Some day," I said, "this planet will learn how to see through our +manufactured fog. Some day they will develop the vision we developed a +century ago. And—"</p> + +<p>"Damn it, Fred, be serious. If you'd know what I've gone through, alone +here, thinking back on all the crazy things you've said and done. What +have you told me about yourself, what do I know?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," I said. "And what have I asked you about yourself? It's a +matter of faith, Jean."</p> + +<p>"Faith? Running all over the country like fugitives, financed by those +damned diamonds, nosing into this and into that, and then running off to +Russia, all alone. <i>With what you'd learned, Fred?</i>"</p> + +<p>I shook my head, resentment stirring in me.</p> + +<p>"Remember when we met? In Santa Monica—right there, next to the beach. +You didn't have a thing but the clothes on your back and a bagful of +diamonds. Was it a sub that brought you that far, Fred?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said, "and you wouldn't believe me if I told you."</p> + +<p>"Try me, and see," she said. She was rigid, and near hysteria.</p> + +<p>"All right. I came there in a space sphere from Venus."</p> + +<p>She started to sob, a wild, lonely sound and I moved forward to take her +in my arms.</p> + +<p>Her fingers clawed my face, her high heel smashed my instep. "Get out," +she screamed, "get out, get out, get out—"</p> + +<p>I got out. I went to the first floor washroom and cleaned up my bloody +face, and then went into the bar. This was one habit I'd picked up on +the planet.</p> + +<p>When I came up to the suite, later, I didn't even check to see if she +was in the washroom. I flopped down on the davenport and didn't know +anything for the next twelve hours.</p> + +<p>She was gone, when I came to. She'd checked out before I'd come back to +the room, the night before.</p> + +<p>I missed the plane she took from France. I missed her by a day in New +York. I went back to the big house with the high pillars on Sunset +Boulevard.</p> + +<p>And she wasn't there.</p> + +<p>She'd come back to it, I knew. I moved in, to wait. I wasn't going home +without her; I wasn't even sure I was going home with her. I was +involved, now, in this planet, almost as crazy as the rest of them.</p> + +<p>I sat. I did some drinking, but mostly I sat, going back over all our +days, reading nothing, enjoying nothing, just remembering.</p> + +<p>The Korean business started and the headlines grew uglier, and the +jackals screamed and the people grew more confused.</p> + +<p>One day, the maid told me I had a visitor. I was in the library and I +told her to send him back.</p> + +<p>When he came in, he closed the door behind him. I'd never seen him, +before, but he said, "We've been looking for three weeks."</p> + +<p>"We?"</p> + +<p>"Thirty of us," he said. "What happened? Jars sent me."</p> + +<p>"Oh," I said. "I can't come, now. I'm—married—"</p> + +<p>He smiled. "If you knew what a mess it's been. We've got men all over +the planet. Does your wife—know?"</p> + +<p>"She thinks I'm crazy," I said. "Look, I—"</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to argue," he said. "Just make your report, and I'll pick +it up, tonight."</p> + +<p>Five minutes after he was gone, I was packing. I knew he wasn't coming +back for any report. He was coming back for <i>me</i>, and it didn't much +matter to him if I wanted to come, or not. I was coming, or staying +here—dead.</p> + +<p>What I didn't realize is that they wanted me to run, to get out where I +could be taken with a minimum of interference.</p> + +<p>They got me the other side of Blythe, in the middle of nowhere. A clear +night in the desert, and headlights coming up from behind and then the +big, black car crowding me off the flat road, into the sand.... And +darkness.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Deering sighed and shook his head. "Corruption, Werig? Was it the +corruption, or the girl?"</p> + +<p>"I've made my report," I said. "Don't worry about them. They've got +enough to worry about without worrying about us."</p> + +<p>"Another war, it looks like," Deering said. "It could be the last one, +you know. What was the girl—your wife like, Fred? Was she pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Beautiful," I said.</p> + +<p>"And the people—fear, is it fear?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Their vice is fear, but they have some virtues."</p> + +<p>Deering's voice was quiet. "Jars wanted me to ask you—about your wife. +Where is she? Is she coming with you? It was forbidden."</p> + +<p>"I don't know where she is, she's not coming with me, and I know it was +forbidden. But where is Jars? He has been avoiding me, hasn't he? Why?"</p> + +<p>"He has been pleading for you, before the assembly." Deering rose, and +went to the window, to look out. "Who will win this war that's shaping +up among the huddlers, Fred?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I'm not sure I give a damn."</p> + +<p>Deering continued to look out the window. "The gray nation, the mixed +nation, this America; they have some promise of the light, have they +not?"</p> + +<p>"Some."</p> + +<p>"But this black nation, this nation of robots, there is no chance of of +light there?"</p> + +<p>"Not under their present leaders. If they should win the war the planet +would be set back five hundred years."</p> + +<p>Deering shook his head, and turned to face me sadly. "It would be worse +than that. If they should win this war shaping up, there would be no +planet for them to rule."</p> + +<p>I stared at him, not believing, still so bound up in my trip I couldn't +believe his words. <i>Love,—faith, fear, Jean</i>—were running through my +mind. And Jean...?</p> + +<p>Deering answered everything for me. "We can't take the chance," he said. +"We will abolish the planet. The assembly so decided this morning."</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Huddlers, by William Campbell Gault + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUDDLERS *** + +***** This file should be named 32904-h.htm or 32904-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/9/0/32904/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Huddlers + +Author: William Campbell Gault + +Illustrator: Ernie Barth + +Release Date: June 20, 2010 [EBook #32904] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUDDLERS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + The Huddlers + + By William Campbell Gault + + Illustrated by Ernie Barth + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from If Worlds of Science +Fiction May 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Sidenote: _He was a reporter from Venus with an assignment on Earth. He +got his story but, against orders, he fell in love--and therein lies +this story._] + + +That's what _we_ always called them, where I come from, huddlers. +Damnedest thing to see from any distance, the way they huddle. They had +one place, encrusting the shore line for miles on one of the land bodies +they called the Eastern Seaboard. A coagulation in this crust contained +eight million of the creatures, _eight million_. + +They called it New York, and it was bigger than most of the others, but +typical. It wasn't bad enough living side by side; the things built +mounds and lived one above the other. Apartments they called them. What +monstrosities they were. + +We couldn't figure this huddling, at first. + +All our attention since Akers' first penetration into space had been +directed another way in the galaxy, and though I'll grant you unified +and universal concentration may be considered unwise in some areas, it's +been our greatest strength. It's brought us rather rapidly to the front, +I'm sure you'll agree, and we're not the oldest planet, by a damned +sight. + +Well, by the time we got to the huddlers, Akers was dead and Murten was +just an old man with vacant eyes. Jars was handling the Department, +though you might say Deering ran it, being closer to most of the gang. +Jars was always so cold; nobody ever got to know him really well. + +They divided on the huddling. Fear, Jars said, and love, Deering said, +but who could say for sure? + +As Deering said to me, "What could they fear? They've got everything +they need, everything but knowledge and their better specimens are +getting closer to that, every day." + +In the laboratory, Deering said this, and how did we know old Jars was +in a corner, breaking down a spirigel? + +"They fear each other," Jars said, as though it was an official +announcement, as though any fact is permanent. "And they fear nature. +It's the most fear ridden colony of bipeds a sane mind could imagine." + +Deering looked at me, and winked. + +Jars went back to the spirigel. + +Deering said, "Love, love, love. All they sing about, all they write +about, all they talk about, love, love, love." + +Jars was just tracing a _z_ line on the spirigel and he put down his +legort at that. "Rather superficial thinking, from a scientist," he said +quietly. "Surface manifestations to be considered as indicative. Oral +and verbal camouflage to be accepted as valid. Deering, old thing, +please--" + +Deering shrugged. "So I am--what do they call it, a Pollyanna. Isn't +that a pretty word? So, I'm a Pollyanna." + +"I rather think that describes you partially," Jars said, "and with this +particular planet we're discussing, it can be a dangerous attitude." + +"So?" Deering said, nudging me. "And could I ask why?" + +"Ask it." + +"I ask." + +"You've recorded the state of their development. They have, among other +things, achieved nuclear fission." + +"So? In the fourth grade we are teaching nuclear fission." + +"We are a scientific people. They haven't been, until very, very +recently. You have noted, I hope, their first extensive use of this new +discovery?" + +"Hero--Helo--" Deering shrugged. "My memory." + +"Hiroshima," Jars supplied. "Love--, my friend?" + +"I have noted it," Deering said. "We spoke, a while ago, of surface +manifestations." + +"We shall continue to. You have witnessed the mechanical excellence of +their machines, in some ways beyond ours, because of their greater +element wealth. You have noted the increased concentration of their +better minds, their scientific minds. How long do you think it will be, +friend, before they are ready for us?" + +"Ready, ready--? In what way, ready?" + +"The only way they know, the only thing they seem to have time +for--ready for war." + +"War--," Deering said, and sighed. "Oh, Jars, they will be beyond war, +certainly, before they are cognizant of us. They are no tribe of +incompetents; they grow each day." + +"They--?" Jars' smile was cynical. "Their scientists grow. Are their +scientists in command, sir?" + +That "sir" had been unnecessary; Jars was the senior mind, here. Deering +didn't miss it, and he flushed. + +Jars said softly, "I apologize. It was not a thing to say. I have spent +too much time in the study of these--monsters." + +They had gone to school, together, those two, and the bond was there and +the respect, but they were different, mentally, and each knew it. + +"You have a sharp tongue," Deering said, "but a sharper mind. I believe +I can stand it." He smiled. "Love, fear, hate--what does it matter to +us, except as phenomena?" + +"It matters to us, believe me, please. It concerns us very much, Arn." + +When Jars got to first names, he was emotionally wrought. I looked at +him in surprise. And so did Deering. We weren't ever going to warm up to +him, but he was our best mind and there wasn't a man in the department +who didn't appreciate that. + +We stared at him, and he sat down on the high bench near the Maling +converters. He looked old and he was tired, we could see. "Evil," he +said quietly. "Fear, hate, evil--which of the three is the father and +which are the sons? I suppose fear is the father." + +"I'd always thought so," Deering said, "though my education was almost +completely confined to the technical. I'm rather skimpy on the +humanities." + +"And I," Jars said, and now looked at me. "But not you, Werig." + +"I don't know them, sir," I said. "Surface manifestations, as we've said +before today. It would need a closer study. Their huddling is what +intrigues me the most." + +One of the rare smiles came to Jars' lined face as he looked at Deering. +"Huddling, the lad says. If you don't say it, I won't, Arn." + +Deering smiled in return. "We'll change the routine, this time; you say +'love' and I'll say 'fear'. But seriously, Jars, you fear +these--people?" + +"I fear them," Jars said. "Scientifically, perhaps, they are tyros, but +mechanically they are not. They have discovered forces and developed +machines which they do not understand, and yet, have achieved efficiency +with them. I fear any monster that powerful even though it is blind." + +"And you think there is a possibility of their becoming--aware of us +within any determinable time?" + +"I do. You will remember how quickly the Algreans developed, once they +achieved unity? You will remember how quickly they became a threat?" + +"Yes," Deering said quietly, "and I have been trying a long time to +forget what we did to that planetoid." + +"It was necessary for survival," Jars said simply. "I think, by any +standards, we would be the ones chosen to survive." + +Deering's smile was cynical. "At least, by _our_ standards. We had a +closer communication with them. About the huddlers, we know only what we +convert from their stronger video broadcasts. It is a device they seem +to use more for entertainment than for information." + +Jars nodded, and stood up. "And love is their major entertainment, +perhaps. Love and war. But we gabble. I had a plan in mind, a plan to +put before the assembly." + + * * * * * + +He had a plan, all right, and I was part of it. The humanities had been +no major with me, but they didn't want a scholar, they wanted a +reporter, anyway. Or perhaps I could be called a recorder. + +Jars talked and the assembly listened. They always do, when Jars talks. + +And I was their boy, and went into a concentrated and complete briefing. +They put me under the lucidate and poured it to me, night and day, all +the information we had on the huddlers and all the theories based on +that information. + +They put me into a space sphere, and said "good luck" and do our people +proud, young man. Oh, yes. And don't fall in love. Oh, no. They'd pick +me up, again, when they got a signal. They didn't expect to wait too +long for that, I guess, at the time. + +The sphere was a relic of the Algrean business, and Algrea hadn't been +this much of a trip. But Mechanics said it would do, and it did. + +I landed in the Pacific, about three-quarters of a mile off the Santa +Monica yacht basin, and let the sphere float north for a while until I +reached a secluded spot. In a small curve of the shore line, a few miles +above Santa Monica, I beached her, and opened the dissolving cocks. + +I watched her melt into the surging water, and turned to face the red +and green light almost immediately overhead. I walked up from the beach +to the road, not even knowing what they looked like. Their evolution +should have matched ours, but who could be sure? + +For all I knew, I might be a freak to them. I should have thought of +that before dissolving the ship. + +Above, the light changed from red to green and across the street, I saw +a sign. This was Sunset Boulevard, and the Pacific Coast Highway. This +was open country, but Los Angeles. + +Along the Coast Highway, a pair of lights were bearing down on me, and +they seemed to waver, as though the machine were under imperfect +control. + +I moved back, out of the way, and the light overhead turned to red. The +car stopped about even with me, its motor running. + +I couldn't see the occupants nor the driver. The light changed, the car +jerked, and the motor stopped. + +"Damn," somebody said. It was a female voice. + +There was a grinding noise, and another damn, and then a head appeared +through the open window on my side of the road. + +It was a blond head, and what I could see of the face looked attractive. + +"Are you sober?" she asked. + +"Not always," I answered. "Some times I'm quite cheerful. But I'm some +distance from home, and have nothing to be cheerful about, at the +moment." + +"Try not to be a Cerf," she said angrily. "What I mean is, are you--have +you been drinking?" + +"Not recently, though I could use some water." I could see her face more +clearly now, and it was like the faces of our women, only prettier than +most, I thought. + +[Illustration: _I could see her face more clearly now, and it was like +the faces of our women, only prettier than most, I thought._] + +"Look," she said, "I'm drunk. Could you drive this thing? Could you +drive me home?" + +"I'd be glad to," I answered, "if you will tell me where you live." + +She gave me an address on Sunset, and this was Sunset, this lateral +street, ending at the ocean. So, quite obviously, it was an address I +could find. + +I went over to climb in behind the wheel. There were two smells in that +pretty car with the canvas top. One smell was of gasoline, the other was +of alcohol. + +"There's obviously alcohol in the gasoline," I said, "though that +shouldn't prevent it from igniting." + +"A funny, funny man," she said. "Keep the dialogue to a minimum, will +you, Bogart? I'm not exactly sharp, right now." + +I depressed the starter button, and the motor caught. I swung left onto +Sunset, and started up the hill. + +The car was clearly a recent model, but Jars had been wrong about the +mechanical excellence of these huddlers. The machine simply had no life, +no zest. + + * * * * * + +We drove past a shrine and around two curves, climbing all the while, +past some huddled houses on the left, and the whole shining sea spread +out on the right. + +The woman said, "If you know a place where the coffee is drinkable, +stop." + +"I have no money," I said. Diamonds I had, a bagful of them, for we knew +that huddlers treasured diamonds. But no money. + +"I've got money," she said. "I've got a hell of a lot more money than I +have sense. Have you ever been in love, Bogart?" + +"Never," I said. + +We were coming into a small huddled area, now. A sign read, _Pacific +Palisades_. + +"I have," she said. "I still am. Isn't it a miserable rotten world?" + +"This one?" I asked, and then said quickly, "I mean--this part of it?" + +"Any part of it," she said. "I've seen most of it, and any part where +there's men is bad, Bogart." + +"My name," I told her, "is not Bogart. My name is Fred Werig." + +"A pleasure, Fred," she said. "My name is Jean Decker. And I'm beginning +to feel better." + +"It couldn't be my company," I said, "so it must be the air. I haven't +seen any coffee places that are open." + +I caught a flare of light from the corner of my eye, and turned to see +her applying flame to something in her mouth. I remembered from our +history; she was smoking. It was a habit long dead where I came from. + +And then I remembered what she'd said about being drunk, and knew that, +too, as one of our long disused vices. What was it Akers had said about +'being directed'? A theory, but discredited now, since our scientific +advance. But this almost parallels evolution? + +"Cigarette?" she said, and I said, "No, thanks. I--don't smoke." + +"You're the only thing in Los Angeles that doesn't," she said bitterly. +"Where are you from, Fred?" + +"New York," I said. "Where are you from, Jean?" + +"Believe it or not, I was born here," she said. "I'm one of the three +people in this town who was born here." + +"It's a big town, isn't it?" I said. "Less huddled than the others." + +"Huddled," she said, and laughed. "Huddled. I like that. They huddle, +all right, and not just the football teams. The gregarious instinct, +Freddy boy." + +"Well, yes," I agreed, "but why, Jean? Why haven't they outgrown it? Is +it--fear?" + +"You would have to ask somebody bright," she said. "When you get to +Bundy, turn over toward Wilshire. We'll find an eating place that's +open." + +"You tell me when I get to Bundy," I said. "I'm not exactly familiar +with this part of town." + +She told me, and we got to Wilshire, eventually, and on Wilshire there +were many eating places. + +We went into one; it was too cold to eat outside. And it was bright in +there, and I got my first really clear look at the face and figure of +Jean Decker. + +Well, it was ridiculous, the attraction that seemed to emanate from her. +It actually made me weak. + +And she was staring at me, too. + +"If you're hungry," she said finally, "get a sandwich. You won't find me +stingy.... What in the world is that material in that suit, Fred?" + +"I don't know," I said. "You are beautiful, Jean." + +She smiled. "Well, thanks. You can have a piece of pie, too, for that. +That certainly is a fine weave in that material. What did your tailor +call it?" + +We were next to a sort of alcove, furnished with a table and two +high-backed benches, and she sat down. I sat across from her. + +[Illustration] + +"I don't have a tailor," I said. "Your lips are so red, Jean." + +She frowned. "Slowly, sailor." + +Then a waitress was there, and I saw how red her lips were, too, and I +realized it was another of the old vices I'd forgotten, cosmetics. + +"Just coffee, for me, black," Jean said. "Golden boy over there will +have a beef barbecue, probably, won't you, Fred?" + +"I guess," I said. "And some milk, cow's milk." + +Jean laughed. "It's my money. Have canary milk." + +"Not tonight," I said. + +The waitress went away, and there was a noticeable period of silence. +Jean was tracing some design on the table top with her index finger. Her +nails, too, were painted, I saw. I liked the effect of that. + +She looked up, and faced me gravely, "Fred, you're a very attractive +gent, which you undoubtedly know. Are you connected with pictures?" + +I shook my head. "Just a traveler, a tourist." + +She said, "Oh" and went back to tracing the design. I thought her finger +trembled. + +A very dim smile on her face, and she didn't look away from the table +top. "You've been--picked up before, undoubtedly." + +"No. What kind of talk is this, Jean?" + +Now, she looked up. "Crazy talk. You're no New Yorker, Freddy lad. +You're a Middle Westerner; you can't fool me. Fresh from the farm and +craving cow's milk." + +"I never saw a cow in my life," I told her truthfully, "though I've +heard about them. What makes you think I'm from a farm?" + +"Your freshness, your complexion and--everything about you." + +The waitress brought our food, then, and I didn't answer. I tried to +keep my eyes away from Jean as I ate; I had a mission, here, and no time +for attachments beyond the casual. I was sure, even then, that loving +Jean Decker would never qualify as casual. + +She drank her coffee and smoked; I ate. + +She asked, "Where are you staying, in town, Fred? I'm sober enough to +drive, now." + +"I'll get public transportation," I said. "You get home, and to bed." + +She laughed. "Public transportation? Freddy, you don't know this town. +There isn't any. Did you just get here, tonight?" + +I looked at her, and nodded. + +"On the bum?" she said quietly. + +"I--suppose," I said honestly, "though the word has connotations which +don't describe me." I put my hand in my jacket pocket and fumbled in the +open bag for one of the smaller diamonds. I brought one out about the +size of my little finger nail, and placed it on the table. + +All the light in the room seemed to be suddenly imprisoned there. She +stared at it, and up at me. + +"Fred--for heaven's sake--that's not--real, is it?" + +I nodded. + +"But--it--" She glanced from the diamond to me, her mouth partially +open. "Fred, what kind of monstrous gag is this? God, I thought I'd seen +everything, growing up in this town. Fred--" + +"I'd like to sell it," I said. "You, Jean, are my only friend in this +town. Could you help me arrange for its sale?" + +She was looking at me with wonder now, studying me. "Hot?" she asked. + +"Hot--?" + +"Stolen--you know what I mean." + +"Stolen? Jean, you didn't mean to accuse me of that." + +Skepticism was ugly on her lovely face. "Fred, what's your angle? You +step out of the darkness like some man from Mars in a strange suit, with +no money, but a diamond that must be worth--" + +"We'll learn what it's worth," I said. "Mars isn't inhabited, Jean. +Don't you trust me? Have I done anything to cause you to distrust me?" + +"Nothing," she said. + +"Do you distrust all men, Jean?" + +"No. Just the ones I've met. Oh, baby, and I thought you were a farmer." +She was crushing out her cigarette. "You haven't a place to stay, but +I've got a guest house, and you'll stay there, tonight. You aren't +stepping back into the darkness, tonight, Fred Werig. You, I want to +know about." + +The words held a threat, but not her meaning, I was sure. And what +better way to orient myself than in the home of a friend? + + * * * * * + +That was some home she had. Massive, in an architecture I'd assumed was +confined to the south-eastern United States. Two-story place, with huge, +two-story pillars and a house-wide front porch, the great lawn studded +with giant trees. + +And she lived there alone, excepting for the servants. She was no +huddler, and I told her that. + +"Dad owned a lot of property in this town," she said. "He was a great +believer in the future of this town." + +At the time I didn't understand what that had to do with her lack of +huddling. + +The guest house was small, but very comfortable, a place of three +bedrooms and two baths and a square living room with a natural stone +fireplace. + +I had my first night of sleep on this planet, and slept very well. I +woke to a cloudy morning, and the sound of someone knocking on the front +door. + +It was a servant, and she said, "Miss Decker sent me to inform you that +breakfast will be ready any time you want it, sir. We are eating inside, +this morning, because of the cold." + +"I'll be there, soon, thank you," I said, and she went away. + +Showering, I was thinking of Akers for some reason and his directed +theory and what was that other theory he'd had? Oh, yes, the twin +planets. Senile, he was, by that time and not much listened to, but a +mind like that? And who had he been associated with at that time? It was +before my birth, but I'd read about it, long ago. The Visitor, Akers had +called this man. The Earth man who had come to Venus. And what had his +name been? + +Beer--? Beers--? No, but like that--and it came. + +Ambrose Bierce. + +Jean wore a light green robe, for breakfast, and it was difficult for me +to take my eyes away from her. + +"I'm not usually this informal at mixed breakfasts," she told me, +smiling, "but I thought it might warm up enough for a swim a little +later." + +She threw the robe aside, and I saw she was wearing a scanty garment +beneath it. Evidently the huddlers didn't swim naked, and I wondered at +a moral code that sanctioned drinking alcohol but was ashamed of the +human body. + +I was glad the house had been cold when I answered the maid's summons, +for I had worn a robe I'd found there. + +Fruit juice and wheat cakes and sausage and toast and jelly and eggs and +milk. We ate in a small room, off a larger dining room, a small room +whose walls were glass on two sides. + +"It's too old a house to modernize completely," Jean told me. "I grew up +in this house." + +"You don't--work, Jean?" + +"No. Should I?" + +"Work or study. Life must be very dull if you don't do one of those." + +"You might have a point there," she said. "I tried everything from the +movies to sculpture. I wasn't very good at anything. What do you do, +Fred?" + +"I'm a perpetual guest," I said lightly. "Do you read much, Jean?" + +"Too much, though nothing very heavy, I grant you." + +"Have you ever read about a man named Ambrose Bierce?" + +"I've read everything he ever wrote. Why did you ask that, Fred?" + +"I--heard about him. I wondered who he was." + +"Where did you hear about him, Fred? In Mexico?" + +"No. I don't remember where I heard about him." + +"He disappeared," she said quietly, "some time right before the first +world war. I've forgotten the exact year. I think it was 1914." + +Before the war, before the "first" war.... And I thought of Jars' wife, +who had come to us just before this last planetary war--the "second" +world war. And what was his pet name for her? Guest, he called her, and +joked about her coming from another world. But didn't Jars defend the +discredited late-in-life theories of Akers? I tried to remember the name +of Jars' wife, and then it came. + +I asked, "And Amelia Earhart?" + +Jean's voice was rough. "July 2nd, 1937. I guess I'll never forget that, +when my god died. What are you trying to say? Is it some new damned cult +you're promoting, Fred?" + +"You called her a god. Why, Jean?" + +"I don't know. I was only thirteen when she died. But she was so clean, +so--so free and windswept, so--oh, what the spirit of America should +be--and isn't." + +I looked up to see tears in her eyes. Why was she moved? This girl who +certainly knew corruption, this worldly, lovely girl. I smiled at her. + +She wiped the tears with the back of her hand. "Fred, you are the +strangest--I know this town's a zoo, but you, Fred--" + +I continued to smile at her. "I'm just a guy trying to learn. May I +repeat something I said last night? You're beautiful, Jean." + +"You're no three-headed calf, yourself," she said. + +Twin planets and parallel evolution.... Parallel destiny? Not with a +third planetary war shaping up here. Three major wars in less than fifty +years. Why, why, why.... + +She said, "Thinking, again? You do a lot of thinking, don't you?" + +"I have to think of something besides you," I told her honestly. "I +can't afford to fall in love with you, Jean. I've too many places to go +and too many things to see." + +She just stared at me. It must have been a full minute before she said, +"Well, I'll be damned." + +After breakfast, it was still cold, and she said, "There'll be no swim +this morning, I see. If you want to get an appraisal on that diamond, +Fred, I'll phone one of our jewelers to come out." + +"I'd appreciate that," I said. "Would it be all right if I took these +newspapers back to my room, now?" + +"Just dandy," she said. "Sorry to be boring you." + +"You're not," I told her earnestly. "Believe me, you're not." + + * * * * * + +The papers were interesting. Nowhere was it stated, but a glance at the +front pages showed they were on opposite sides of the political fence. +On my planet, we keep the editorial opinion in the editorial columns. +Not so with these. The wire services were impartial and the accounts in +both papers identical. That was as far as the similarities went. Reading +the other accounts was like living in two worlds. + +An informed people will always be free. Well, perhaps these weren't +typical. + +I was to see papers a lot worse than these before long. + +I was just starting the want ads when the knock came at the door. It was +the maid, again; the jeweler was at the house. + +A small man, suave and dark, with the manners of a diplomat, fawning +like a puppy. + +It was a perfect stone, he decided. He had, he was sure, a customer who +would be interested. Would I accept eight thousand dollars for it? + +I said I would, and he left. + +We were in the living room, and Jean stood near the tall front windows. +She had changed to a suit of some soft blue material. + +"As soon as I get the money," I said, "we're going out for some fun, +aren't we? I owe you for a beef barbecue." + +"You don't owe me anything," she said. She didn't look at me. + +"You'll get over him," I said. + +"Him--?" She turned to look at me curiously. + +"That man you're in love with, that man you told me about last night." + +"Oh," she said. "Oh. I was drunk last night, Fred. I'm not in love." + +Silence. That attraction of hers pulling at me like some localized +gravity, silence, and the beating of my heart. Silence, my hands +trembling, my knees aching. + +"I'd like to see some fights," I said. "Would you like to?" + +She frowned. "Not particularly." She stared at me, shook her head, and +looked away. + +"Well," I said, "I haven't finished the want ads." + +"Of course," she said. "Get right back to them, Freddy. You never know +when you'll find a bargain." + +They weren't very interesting. I kept seeing her standing next to the +window, looking unhappy, frustrated, somehow. I kept seeing the soft +fabric of the suit clinging to her beautiful body and the proud grace of +her posture. + +I went back to the house, and she was sitting on the davenport near the +fireplace. She looked up without expression. + +I asked, "Is there a library around here?" + +She sighed, and rose. She said, "Follow me." + +She led me to a room whose four walls were lined with books. There was a +wide glass door leading out from this to the patio. + +"Dad's old retreat," she said. "Everything from Aristotle to Zola. If +there's something you don't see, don't hesitate to ask. We aim to +please." + +She closed the door behind her. + +I didn't gorge; I only nibbled. But fed enough to realize this was a +deep, rich culture; this planet had produced some first rate minds and +exceptional talents. But still, with all this to choose from, the people +seemed to prefer Milton Berle. And the people were in command. + +I was reading Ambrose Bierce when she came in. She looked at the book, +and at me. "Lunch," she said quietly. + +I put the book down, and rose. "The unwelcome guest?" + +"I'd tell you, if you were." + +"Would you, honestly?" + +She didn't answer that. She smiled, and said, "There are some fights at +Ocean Park, tonight." + +We saw those, and later, some amateur fights. Strange spectacles they +were, men belaboring each other, but fascinating, too. The amateurs were +less talented, but more friendly, leaving the ring arm in arm, if both +were still conscious. The professionals displayed no such amicability. + +Why? I asked Jean. What was the difference between the amateurs and the +professionals? + +"Money," she said, and looked at me strangely. "Didn't you really know +that?" + +I lied with a nod. "I wanted you to see it, and to word it for +yourself." + +"Look," she said with controlled irritation, "if I want any curbstone +philosophy, I can read one of those corny columnists. I certainly don't +have to sit in a screaming mob watching a couple of morons pound each +other bloody to arrive at a stupid generality like that." + +"Let's get a hamburger," I said. + +She just stood there, on the sidewalk. "You--you--" + +People were turning to stare. + +"Farmer?" I suggested. + +"Oh," she said, "oh, oh--" + +"Or a cheeseburger," I added. + +There was a small crowd, now, openly watching. One man said, "Hey, this +is better than them jerks inside. Slug him, lady." + +Jean started to laugh, and so did I, and then all of us were laughing, +the whole crowd. + +We didn't go to a hamburger place. We went to a place where we could +dance, too, and I had a small glass of wine, and wondered why we'd +outgrown alcohol, on our planet. + +It was a night I will never forget. It was a night I learned how much +she meant to me. There wasn't ever going to be anybody else for me, +after that night. + + * * * * * + +We were married in Las Trenos at five-thirty the next morning. + +And still, I didn't tell her where I was from. When the time came, she +could go back with me, but I couldn't risk sharing that secret with her. +I didn't have the right to jeopardize my people by giving her +information she might divulge unintentionally. + +The world was our playground, and my study hall American first. We drove +east, taking our time, while I tried to get the temper of the people. I +never overlooked a chance to talk to people; the papers were no +substitute for that. And between the papers and the people, I found that +only the hysterics were voluble, only the biased articulate. And yet, it +was a country with a liberal and progressive tradition, a country that +should have been informed beyond the average. + +Knowledge had been made too easy; the glib were in command. + +Fear, Jars had said, and it was becoming increasingly clear to me that +he was closer to it than Deering. For Deering's viewpoint, I had a +working model, I had Jean. + +In the canyon city, New York, high in our room at the Empire-Hudson, she +said, "You're an awfully nosy guy, Dream Boat." + +"I like to talk to people," I said. "Haven't you been getting enough +attention?" + +"As much as I can handle," she said. "And I'm enjoying every second of +it. But it seems to be getting you down." + +"You or the people?" I asked, and mussed her hair. + +She didn't answer that. "Fred," she said, "do you remember that day at +breakfast, long ago? Do you remember asking about Ambrose Bierce and +Amelia Earhart?" + +"I guess I do." + +"Don't be evasive, Fred. You know you do." + +I pulled her close. "Is this going to be a questioning period? Is this +one of _those_ marriages?" + +"Now, Fred--" she said, against my shoulder. "Be serious, please, Fred. +Please be serious--oh, you, Fred--" + + * * * * * + +We went to England. What's that phrase they have--"muddling through"? +That's what they were doing. Proudly, with a minimum of complaint, with +no thought of rebellion, with no rationalizing or projection, living as +the submerged tenth lives in America, and seeming to think that--well, +things _could_ be worse. + +In Italy, it was the kids, the beggars and procurers and thieves and +even murderers who were kids. In Spain we found much of the same. In +France it was all the heat and no light, charges and counter-charges, +lies and counter-lies, confusion and corruption. + +In Berlin, it was Russia. The cloud that darkens the world looms darkest +in Berlin. The apathy that grips the world is epitomized in Berlin. A +people with no sense of guilt and no reason for hope, nor stirring to +the promise of a re-armed Germany. A bled and devastated people, shorn +of their chief strength, their national pride. + +Jean said, "I've seen enough. Haven't you, Fred? How much can you take?" + +"One more," I said. "Russia." + +"Don't be silly," she said. "How would we get into Russia?" + +"_We_ wouldn't. But _I_ would." + +"Look, baby, whither though goest, I--" + +"Up to here," I said. "Who's the big boss in this family?" + +"Now, Fred--" + +"Now, Jean--" + +"Get away from me. This time, it won't work. If you think that for one +second you're going into that no man's land alone--and--" + +It took some talking, to convince her, it took some lies. She'd wait, +she agreed finally, in Switzerland. In comfort for a change. + +It took two diamonds to get to the right man, and it took a formula from +there. A formula that is learned in the first year of college chemistry +on my planet, a formula for converting an element. A formula this planet +couldn't have been more than a decade short of learning, anyway. + +The last man I saw in Berlin went along, for which I was grateful, +though he didn't know that. I don't speak Russian, but he did. + +They were careful, they don't even trust themselves. I told Nilenoff the +formula came from America, and there were more, but I needed money. I +didn't tell him the fallacy in the formula; it had taken us three years +to realize what it was. + +My trips were limited, directed, and avoided the seamier side. I saw the +modern humming factories, and the mammoth farms. No unemployment, no +waste, no "capitalistic blood sucking"--and the lowest standard of +living in the industrialized world. A vast, bleak land peopled with +stringless puppets, with walking cadavers. + +I remembered the faces of the crowds and the strangely mixed people in +America, their obvious feelings, emotions and rivalries. There was +nothing strange about these people of Russia--they were dead, +spiritually dead. + +The country that could have been a cultural and industrial center of the +world was a robot-land of nine million square miles, getting ready for +war, getting ready to take over the dreams of Hitler and make them come +true. + +I came out with a promise of ten thousand American dollars for every one +of the future formulas I had assured them I could get to. I came out +with the knowledge that I'd be a watched man from now on. + +In Switzerland, Jean said, "Well--?" + +"I'm ready to go home," I told her. + +"America, you mean?" + +"Where else?" + +"I've been alone," she said, "and thinking. I've gone back to Sunset and +Pacific Coast Highway and traced it all forward from there. And I don't +think America's your home." + +Very cool her voice, very tense her face. I smiled at her. + +She didn't smile in return. "Fred--we're married." + +"I'm glad," I said. "Aren't you?" + +"It's no time for the light touch." Tears in her eyes. "Fred, are you +a--a Russian spy?" + +I shook my head. + +"But--" + +It was a clear night, and I went to the window. How it shone, in that +clear air. Jean came over to stand next to me. + +I pointed, and said, "There's my home." + +"Venus," she said. "Fred, for heaven's sake--_I'm serious_!" + +"Some day," I said, "this planet will learn how to see through our +manufactured fog. Some day they will develop the vision we developed a +century ago. And--" + +"Damn it, Fred, be serious. If you'd know what I've gone through, alone +here, thinking back on all the crazy things you've said and done. What +have you told me about yourself, what do I know?" + +"Nothing," I said. "And what have I asked you about yourself? It's a +matter of faith, Jean." + +"Faith? Running all over the country like fugitives, financed by those +damned diamonds, nosing into this and into that, and then running off to +Russia, all alone. _With what you'd learned, Fred?_" + +I shook my head, resentment stirring in me. + +"Remember when we met? In Santa Monica--right there, next to the beach. +You didn't have a thing but the clothes on your back and a bagful of +diamonds. Was it a sub that brought you that far, Fred?" + +"No," I said, "and you wouldn't believe me if I told you." + +"Try me, and see," she said. She was rigid, and near hysteria. + +"All right. I came there in a space sphere from Venus." + +She started to sob, a wild, lonely sound and I moved forward to take her +in my arms. + +Her fingers clawed my face, her high heel smashed my instep. "Get out," +she screamed, "get out, get out, get out--" + +I got out. I went to the first floor washroom and cleaned up my bloody +face, and then went into the bar. This was one habit I'd picked up on +the planet. + +When I came up to the suite, later, I didn't even check to see if she +was in the washroom. I flopped down on the davenport and didn't know +anything for the next twelve hours. + +She was gone, when I came to. She'd checked out before I'd come back to +the room, the night before. + +I missed the plane she took from France. I missed her by a day in New +York. I went back to the big house with the high pillars on Sunset +Boulevard. + +And she wasn't there. + +She'd come back to it, I knew. I moved in, to wait. I wasn't going home +without her; I wasn't even sure I was going home with her. I was +involved, now, in this planet, almost as crazy as the rest of them. + +I sat. I did some drinking, but mostly I sat, going back over all our +days, reading nothing, enjoying nothing, just remembering. + +The Korean business started and the headlines grew uglier, and the +jackals screamed and the people grew more confused. + +One day, the maid told me I had a visitor. I was in the library and I +told her to send him back. + +When he came in, he closed the door behind him. I'd never seen him, +before, but he said, "We've been looking for three weeks." + +"We?" + +"Thirty of us," he said. "What happened? Jars sent me." + +"Oh," I said. "I can't come, now. I'm--married--" + +He smiled. "If you knew what a mess it's been. We've got men all over +the planet. Does your wife--know?" + +"She thinks I'm crazy," I said. "Look, I--" + +"I'm not going to argue," he said. "Just make your report, and I'll pick +it up, tonight." + +Five minutes after he was gone, I was packing. I knew he wasn't coming +back for any report. He was coming back for _me_, and it didn't much +matter to him if I wanted to come, or not. I was coming, or staying +here--dead. + +What I didn't realize is that they wanted me to run, to get out where I +could be taken with a minimum of interference. + +They got me the other side of Blythe, in the middle of nowhere. A clear +night in the desert, and headlights coming up from behind and then the +big, black car crowding me off the flat road, into the sand.... And +darkness. + + * * * * * + +Deering sighed and shook his head. "Corruption, Werig? Was it the +corruption, or the girl?" + +"I've made my report," I said. "Don't worry about them. They've got +enough to worry about without worrying about us." + +"Another war, it looks like," Deering said. "It could be the last one, +you know. What was the girl--your wife like, Fred? Was she pretty?" + +"Beautiful," I said. + +"And the people--fear, is it fear?" + +"I don't know. Their vice is fear, but they have some virtues." + +Deering's voice was quiet. "Jars wanted me to ask you--about your wife. +Where is she? Is she coming with you? It was forbidden." + +"I don't know where she is, she's not coming with me, and I know it was +forbidden. But where is Jars? He has been avoiding me, hasn't he? Why?" + +"He has been pleading for you, before the assembly." Deering rose, and +went to the window, to look out. "Who will win this war that's shaping +up among the huddlers, Fred?" + +"I don't know. I'm not sure I give a damn." + +Deering continued to look out the window. "The gray nation, the mixed +nation, this America; they have some promise of the light, have they +not?" + +"Some." + +"But this black nation, this nation of robots, there is no chance of of +light there?" + +"Not under their present leaders. If they should win the war the planet +would be set back five hundred years." + +Deering shook his head, and turned to face me sadly. "It would be worse +than that. If they should win this war shaping up, there would be no +planet for them to rule." + +I stared at him, not believing, still so bound up in my trip I couldn't +believe his words. _Love,--faith, fear, Jean_--were running through my +mind. And Jean...? + +Deering answered everything for me. "We can't take the chance," he said. +"We will abolish the planet. The assembly so decided this morning." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Huddlers, by William Campbell Gault + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUDDLERS *** + +***** This file should be named 32904.txt or 32904.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/9/0/32904/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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