Robert A. Heinlein 
54 Books Robert A. Heinlein. All you zombies 
2217 Time Zone V (EST) 7 Nov. 1970-NTC- "Pop's Place": 
I was polishing a brandy snifter when the Unmarried Mother came 
in. I noted the time-10: 17 P. M. zone five, or eastern time, 
November 7th, 1970. Temporal agents always notice time and 
date; we must. 
The Unmarried Mother was a man twenty-five years old, 
no taller than I am, childish features and a touchy temper. I 
didn't like his looks - I never had - but he was a lad I was 
here to recruit, he was my boy. I gave him my best barkeep's 
smile. 
Maybe I'm too critical. He wasn't swish; his nickname 
came from what he always said when some nosy type asked him his 
line: "I'm an unmarried mother. -- If he felt less than 
murderous he would add: "at four cents a word. I write 
confession stories. -- 
If he felt nasty, he would wait for somebody to make 
something of it. He had a lethal style of infighting, like a 
female cop - reason I wanted him. Not the only one. 
He had a load on, and his face showed that he despised 
people more than usual. Silently I poured a double shot of Old 
Underwear and left the bottle. He drank it, poured another. 
I wiped the bar top. -- How's the "Unmarried Mother" 
racket? -- 
His fingers tightened on the glass and he seemed about 
to throw it at me; I felt for the sap under the bar. In 
temporal manipulation you try to figure everything, but there 
are so many factors that you never take needless risks. 
I saw him relax that tiny amount they teach you to 
watch for in the Bureau's training school. -- Sorry, " I said. 
-- Just asking, "How's business? " Make it "How's the weather? 
-- 
He looked sour. -- Business is okay. I write "em, they 
print "em, I eat. -- 
I poured myself one, leaned toward him. -- Matter of 
fact, " I said, "you write a nice stick - I've sampled a few. 
You have an amazingly sure touch with the woman's angle. -- 
It was a slip I had to risk; he never admitted what 
pen-names he used. But he was boiled enough to pick up only the 
last: "'Woman's angle! "" he repeated with a snort. -- Yeah, I 
know the woman's angle. I should. -- 
"So? -- I said doubtfully. -- Sisters? -- 
"No. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. -- 
"Now, now, " I answered mildly, "bartenders and 
psychiatrists learn that nothing is stranger than truth. Why, 
son, if you heard the stories I do-well, you'd make yourself 
rich. Incredible. -- 
"You don't know what "incredible" means! " 
"So? Nothing astonishes me. I've always heard worse. -- 
He snorted again. -- Want to bet the rest of the 
bottle? -- 
"I'll bet a full bottle. -- I placed one on the bar. 
"Well-" I signaled my other bartender to handle the 
trade. We were at the far end, a single-stool space that I kept 
private by loading the bar top by it with jars of pickled eggs 
and other clutter. A few were at the other end watching the 
fights and somebody was playing the juke box-private as a bed 
where we were. 
"Okay, " he began, "to start with, I'm a bastard. -- 
"No distinction around here, " I said. 
"I mean it, " he snapped. -- My parents weren't 
married. -- 
"Still no distinction, " I insisted. -- Neither were 
mine. -- 
"When-" He stopped, gave me the first warm look I ever 
saw on him. -- You mean that? -- 
"I do. A one-hundred-percent bastard. In fact, " I 
added, "no one in my family ever marries. All bastards. 
"Oh, that. -- I showed it to him. -- It just looks like 
a wedding ring; I wear it to keep women off. -- It is an 
antique I bought in 1985 from a fellow operative - he had 
fetched it from pre-Christian Crete. -- The Worm Ouroboros... 
the World Snake that eats its own tail, forever without end. A 
symbol of the Great Paradox. -- 
He barely glanced at it. -- if you're really a bastard, 
you know how it feels. When I was a little girl-" 
"Wups! " I said. -- Did I hear you correctly? -- "'Who's telling this story? When I was a little 
girl-Look, ever hear of Christine Jorgenson? Or Roberta Cowell? 
-- 
"Uh, sex-change cases? You're trying to tell me-" 
"Don't interrupt or swelp me, I won't talk. I was a 
foundling, left at an orphanage in Cleveland in 1945 when I was 
a month old. When I was a little girl, I envied kids with 
parents. Then, when I learned about sex-and, believe me, Pop, 
you learn fast in an orphanage-" 
"I know " 
"-I made a solemn vow that any kid of mine would have 
both a pop and a mom. It kept me "pure, " quite a feat in that 
vicinity - I had to learn to fight to manage it. Then I got 
older and realized I stood darn little chance of getting 
married - for the same reason I hadn't been adopted --. He 
scowled. I was horse-faced and buck-toothed, flat-chested and 
straight-haired. 
"You don't look any worse than I do. -- 
"Who cares how a barkeep looks? Or a writer? But peaple 
wanting to adopt pick little blue-eyed golden-haired moron. 
Later on, the boys want bulging breasts, a cute face, and an 
Oh-you-wonderful-male manner. -- He shrugged. I couldn't 
compete. So I decided to join the W. E. N. C. H. E. S. -- 
Eh? -- 
"Women's Emergency National Corps, Hospitality & 
Entertainment Section, what they now call "Space 
Angels'-Auxiliary Nursing Group, Extraterrestrial Legions. -- 
I knew both terms, once I had them chronized. We use 
still a third name, it's that elite military service corps: 
Women's Hospitality Order Refortifying & Encouraging Spacemen. 
Vocabulary shift is the worst hurdle in time-jumps - did you 
know that "service station" once fractions? Once on an 
assignment in the Churchill Era, a woman said to me, "Meet me 
at the service station next door -- - which is not what it 
sounds; a service station" (then) wouldn't have a bed in it. 
He went on: "It was when they first admitted you can't 
send men into space for months and years and not relieve the 
tension. You remember how the wowsers screamed? - that improved 
my chance, since volunteers were scarce. A gal had to be 
respectable, preferably virgin (they liked to train them from 
scratch), above average mentally, and stable emotionally. But 
most volunteers were old hookers, or neurotics who would crack 
up ten days off Earth. So I didn't need looks; if they accepted 
me, they would fix my buck teeth, put a wave in my hair, teach 
me to walk and dance and how to listen to a man pleasingly, and everything else - plus training for the prime duties. They 
would even use plastic surgery if it would help - nothing too 
good for our Boys. 
"Best yet, they made sure you didn't get pregnant 
during your enlistment - and you were almost certain to marry 
at the end of your hitch. Same way today, A. N. G. E. L. S. 
marry spacers - they talk the language. 
"When I was eighteen I was placed as a `mother's 
helper'. This family simply wanted a cheap servant, but I 
didn't mind as I couldn't enlist till I was twenty-one. I did 
housework and went to night school - pretending to continue my 
high school typing and shorthand but going to a charm class 
instead, to better my chances for enlistment. 
"Then I met this city slicker with his hundred-dollar 
bills. -- He scowled. The no-good actually did have a wad of 
hundred-dollar bills. He showed me one night, told me to help 
myself. 
"But I didn't. I liked him. He was the first man I ever 
met who was nice to me without trying games with me. I quit 
night school to see him oftener. It was the happiest time of my 
life. 
"Then one night in the park the games began. -- 
He stopped. I said, "And then? -- 
"And then nothing! I never saw him again. He walked me 
home and told me he loved me-and kissed me good-night and never 
came back. -- He looked grim. -- If I could find him, I'd kill 
him! " 
"Well, " I sympathized, "I know how you feel. But 
killing him-just for doing what comes naturally - hmm... Did 
you struggle? -- 
"Huh? What's that got to do with it? -- 
"Quite a bit. Maybe he deserves a couple of broken arms 
for running out on you, but-" 
"He deserves worse than that! Wait till you hear. 
Somehow I kept anyone from suspecting and decided it was all 
for the best. I hadn't really loved him and probably would 
never love anybody-and I was more eager to join the WE. N. C. 
H. E. S. than ever. I wasn't disqualified, they didn't insist 
on virgins. I cheered up. 
"It wasn't until my skirts got tight that I realized. 
-- 
"Pregnant? -- 
"He had me higher "n a kite! Those skinflints I lived 
with ignored it as long as I could work-then kicked me out, and 
the orphanage wouldn't take me back. I landed in a charity ward 
surrounded by other big bellies and trotted bedpans until my time came. 
"One night I found myself on an operating table, with a 
nurse saying, "Relax. Now breathe deeply. " 
"I woke up in bed, numb from the chest down. My surgeon 
came in. "How do you feel? " he says cheerfully. 
"Like a mummy. -- 
"Naturally. You're wrapped like one and full of dope to 
keep you numb. You'll get well-but a Cesarean isn't a hangnail. 
" 
Cesarean" I said. "Doc - did I lose the baby? " 
Oh, no. Your baby's fine. " 
Oh. Boy or girl? " 
"'A healthy little girt. Five pounds, three ounces. " 
"I relaxed. It's something, to have made a baby. I told 
myself I would go somewhere and tack "Mrs. " on my name and let 
the kid think her papa was dead -no orphanage for my kid! 
"But the surgeon was talking. "Tell me, uh-" He 
avoided my name. "did you ever think your glandular setup was 
odd? " 
"I said, "Huh? Of course not. What are you driving at? 
" 
"He hesitated. I'll give you this in one dose, then a 
hypo to let you sleep off your jitters. You'll have "em. " 
"'Why? I demanded. 
Ever hear of that Scottish physician who was female 
until she was thirtyfive? -then had surgery and became legally 
and medically a man? Got married. All okay. " 
'What's that got to do with me? " 
"'That's what I'm saying. You're a man. " 
"I tried to sit up. What? " 
"Take it easy. When I opened you, I found a mess. I 
sent for the Chief of Surgery while I got the baby out, then we 
held a consultation with you on the table-and worked for hours 
to salvage what we could. You had two full sets of organs, both 
immature, but with the female set well enough developed for you 
to have a baby. They could never be any use to you again, so we 
took them out and rearranged things so that you can develop 
properly as a man. He put a hand on me. "Don't worry. You're 
young, your bones will readjust, we'll watch your glandular 
balance - and make a fine young man out of you. " 
"I started to cry. "What about my baby? " 
"Well, you can't nurse her, you haven't milk enough for 
a kitten. If I were you, I wouldn't see her-put her up for 
adoption. " 
"'No! " "He shrugged. "The choice is yours; you're her mother - 
well, her parent. But don't worry now; we'll get you well 
first. " 
"Next day they let me see the kid and I saw her daily - 
trying to get used to her. I had never seen a brand-new baby 
and had no idea how awful they look - my daughter looked like 
an orange monkey. My feelings changed to cold determination to 
do right by her. But four weeks later that didn't mean 
anything. -- 
"Eh? -- 
"She was snatched. -- 
"'Snatched? -- 
The Unmarried Mother almost knocked over the bottle we 
had bet. -- Kidnapped - stolen from the hospital nursery! " He 
breathed hard. -- How's that for taking the last a man's got to 
live for? -- 
"A bad deal, " I agreed. -- Let's pour you another. No 
clues? -- 
"Nothing the police could trace. Somebody came to see 
her, claimed to be her uncle. While the nurse had her back 
turned, he walked out with her. -- 
"Description? -- 
"Just a man, with a face-shaped face, like yours or 
mine. -- He frowned. -- I think it was the baby's father. The 
nurse swore it was an older man but he probably used makeup. 
Who else would swipe my baby? Childless women pull such stunts 
- but whoever heard of a man doing it? -- 
"What happened to you then? -- 
"Eleven more months of that grim place and three 
operations. In four months I started to grow a beard; before I 
was out I was shaving regularly... and no longer doubted that I 
was male. -- He grinned wryly. -- I was staring down nurses 
necklines. -- 
"Well, " I said, "seems to me you came through okay. 
Here you are, a normal man, making good money, no real 
troubles. And the life of a female is not an easy one. -- 
He glared at me. -- A lot you know about it! " 
"So? -- 
"Ever hear the expression "a ruined woman'? -- 
"Mmm, years ago. Doesn't mean much today. -- 
"I was as ruined as a woman can be; that bum really 
ruined me - I was no longer a woman... and I didn't know how to 
be a man. -- 
"Takes getting used to, I suppose. -- 
"You have no idea. I don't mean learning how to dress, 
or not walking into the wrong rest room; I learned those in the hospital. But how could I live? What job could I get? Hell, I 
couldn't even drive a car. I didn't know a trade; I couldn't do 
manual labor-too much scar tissue, too tender. 
"I hated him for having ruined me for the W. E. N. C. 
H. E. S., too, but I didn't know how much until I tried to join 
the Space Corps instead. One look at my belly and I was marked 
unfit for military service. The medical officer spent time on 
me just from curiosity; he had read about my case. 
"So I changed my name and came to New York. I got by as 
a fry cook, then rented a typewriter and set myself up as a 
public stenographer - what a laugh! In four months I typed four 
letters and one manuscript. The manuscript was for Real Life 
Tales and a waste of paper, but the goof who wrote it sold it. 
Which gave me an idea; I bought a stack of confession magazines 
and studied them. -- He looked cynical. -- Now you know how I 
get the authentic woman's angle on 
an unmarried-mother story... through the only version I 
haven't sold - the true one. Do I win the bottle? -- 
I pushed it toward him. I was upset myself, but there 
was work to do. I said, "Son, you still want to lay hands on 
that so-and-so? -- 
His eyes lighted up-a feral gleam. 
"Hold it! " I said. -- You wouldn't kill him? -- 
He chuckled nastily. -- Try me. -- 
"Take it easy. I know more about it than you think I 
do. I can help you. I know where he is. -- 
He reached across the bar. -- Where is he? -- 
I said softly, "Let go my shirt, sonny-or you'll land 
in the alley and we'll tell the cops you fainted. -- I showed 
him the sap. 
He let go. -- Sorry. But where is he? -- He looked at 
me. -- And how do you know so much? -- 
"All in good time. There are records - hospital 
records, orphanage records, medical records. The matron of your 
orphanage was Mrs. Fetherage - right? She was followed by Mrs. 
Gruenstein - right? Your name, as a girl, was "Jane" - right? 
And you didn't tell me any of this - right? -- 
I had him baffled and a bit scared. -- What's this? You 
trying to make trouble for me? -- 
"No indeed. I've your welfare at heart. I can put this 
character in your lap. You do to him as you see fit - and I 
guarantee that you'll get away with it. But I don't think 
you'll kill him. You'd be nuts to - and you aren't nuts. Not 
quite. -- 
He brushed it aside. -- Cut the noise. Where is he? -- 
I poured him a short one; he was drunk, but anger was offsetting it. -- Not so fast. I do something for you - you do 
something for me. -- 
"Uh... what? -- 
"You don't like your work. What would you say to high 
pay, steady work, unlimited expense account, your own boss on 
the job, and lots of variety and adventure? -- 
He stared. -- I'd say, "Get those goddam reindeer off 
my roof! " Shove it, Pop - there's no such job. -- 
"Okay, put it this way: I hand him to you, you settle 
with him, then try my job. If it's not all I claim - well, I 
can't hold you. -- 
He was wavering; the last drink did it "When d'yuh 
d'liver "im? -- he said thickly. 
He shoved out his hand. -- It's a deal! " 
"If it's a deal-right now! " 
I nodded to my assistant to watch both ends, noted the 
time - 2300 - started to duck through the gate under the bar - 
when the juke box blared out: "I'm My Own Grandpaw! " The 
service man had orders to load it with Americana and classics 
because I couldn't stomach the "music" of 1970, but I hadn't 
known that tape was in it. I called out, "Shut that off! Give 
the customer his money back. -- I added, "Storeroom, back in a 
moment, " and headed there with my Unmarried Mother following. 
It was down the passage across from the johns, a steel 
door to which no one but my day manager and myself had a key; 
inside was a door to an inner room to which only I had a key. 
We went there. 
He looked blearily around at windowless walls. -- Where 
is he? -- 
"Right away. -- I opened a case, the only thing in the 
room; it was a U. S. F. F. Coordinates Transformer Field Kit, 
series 1992, Mod. II - a beauty, no moving parts, weight 
twenty-three kilos fully charged, and shaped to pass as a 
suitcase. I had adjusted it precisely earlier that day; all I 
had to do was to shake out the metal net which limits the 
transformation field. 
Which I did. -- What's that? -- he demanded. 
"Time machine, " I said and tossed the net over us. 
"Hey! " he yelled and stepped back. There is a 
technique to this; the net has to be thrown so that the subject 
will instinctively step back onto the metal mesh, then you 
close the net with both of you inside completely-else you might 
leave shoe soles behind or a piece of foot, or scoop up a slice 
of floor. But that's all the skill it takes. Some agents con a 
subject into the net; I tell the truth and use that instant of 
utter astonishment to flip the switch. Which I did. 1030-VI-3 April 1963 - Cleveland, Ohio-Apex Bldg.: 
"Hey! " he repeated. -- Take this damn thing off! " 
"Sorry, " I apologized and did so, stuffed the net into 
the case, closed it. -- You said you wanted to find him. -- 
"But - you said that was a time machine! " 
I pointed out a window. -- Does that look like 
November? Or New York? -- While he was gawking at new buds and 
spring weather, I reopened the case, took out a packet of 
hundred-dollar bills, checked that the numbers and signatures 
were compatible with 1963. The Temporal Bureau doesn't care how 
much you spend (it costs nothing) but they don't like 
unnecessary anachronisms. Too many mistakes, and a general 
court-martial will exile you for a year in a nasty period, say 
1974 with its strict rationing and forced labor. I never make 
such mistakes; the money was okay. 
He turned around and said, "What happened? -- 
"He's here. Go outside and take him. Here's expense 
money. -- I shoved it at him and added, "Settle him, then I'll 
pick you up. -- 
Hundred-dollar bills have a hypnotic effect on a person 
not used to them. He was thumbing them unbelievingly as I eased 
him into the hall, locked him out. The next jump was easy, a 
small shift in era. 
7100-VI-10 March 1964 - Cleveland-Apex Bldg.: There was 
a notice under the door saying that my lease expired next week; 
otherwise the room looked as it had a moment before. Outside, 
trees were bare and snow threatened; I hurried, stopping only 
for contemporary money and a coat, hat, and topcoat I had left 
there when I leased the room. I hired a car, went to the 
hospital. It took twenty minutes to bore the nursery attendant 
to the point where I could swipe the baby without being 
noticed. We went back to the Apex Building. This dial setting 
was more involved, as the building did not yet exist in 1945. 
But I had precalculated it. 
0100-VI-20 Sept. 1945 - Cleveland-Skyview Motel:: Field 
kit, baby, and I arrived in a motel outside town. Earlier I had 
registered as "Gregory Johnson, Warren, Ohio, " so we arrived 
in a room with curtains closed, windows locked, and doors 
bolted, and the floor cleared to allow for waver as the machine 
hunts. You can get a nasty bruise from a chair where it 
shouldn't be - not the chair, of course, but backlash from the 
field. 
No trouble. Jane was sleeping soundly; I carried her out, put her in a grocery box on the seat of a car I had 
provided earlier, drove to the orphanage, put her on the steps, 
drove two blocks to a "service station" (the petroleum-products 
sort) and phoned the orphanage, drove back in time to see them 
taking the box inside, kept going and abandoned the car near 
the motel - walked to it and jumped forward to the Apex 
Building in 1963. 
2200-VI-24 April 1963 - Cleveland-Apex Bldg.: I had cut 
the time rather fine - temporal accuracy depends on span, 
except on return to zero. If I had it right, Jane was 
discovering, out in the park this balmy spring night, that she 
wasn't quite as nice a girl as she had thought., I grabbed a 
taxi to the home of those skinflints, had the hackie wait 
around a comer while I lurked in shadows. 
Presently I spotted them down the street, arms around 
each other. He took her up on the porch and made a long job of 
kissing her good-night-longer than I thought. Then she went in 
and he came down the walk, turned away. I slid into step and 
hooked an arm in his. -- That's all, son, " I announced 
quietly. -- I'm back to pick you up. -- 
"You! " He gasped and caught his breath. 
"Me. Now you know who he is - and after you think it 
over you'll know who you are... and if you think hard enough, 
you'll figure out who the baby is... and who I am. -- 
He didn't answer, he was badly shaken. It's a shock to 
have it proved to you that you can't resist seducing yourself. 
I took him to the Apex Building and we jumped again. 
2300-VIII, 12 Aug. 1985-Sub Rockies Base: I woke the 
duty sergeant, showed my I. D., told the sergeant to bed my 
companion down with a happy pill and recruit him in the moming. 
The sergeant looked sour, but rank is rank, regardless of era; 
he did what I said-thinking, no doubt, that the next time we 
met he might be the colonel and I the sergeant. Which can 
happen in our corps. -- What name? -- he asked. 
I wrote it out. He raised his eyebrows. -- Like so, eh? 
Hmm-" 
"You just do your job, Sergeant. -- I turned to my 
companion. 
"Son, your troubles are over. You're about to start the 
best job a man ever held-and you'll do well. I know. -- 
"That you will! " agreed the sergeant. -- Look at me - 
born in 1917-still around, still young, still enjoying life. -- 
I went back to the jump room, set everything on preselected 
zero. 
2301-V-7 Nov. 1970-NYC -"Pop's Place": I came out of 
the storeroom carrying a fifth of Drambuie to account for the 
minute I had been gone. My assistant was arguing with the 
customer who had been playing "I'm My Own Grand-paw! " I said, 
"Oh, let him play it, then unplug it. -- I was very tired. 
It's rough, but somebody must do it, and it's very hard 
to recruit anyone in the later years, since the Mistake of 
1972. Can you think of a better source than to pick people all 
fouled up where they are and give them well-paid, interesting 
(even though dangerous) work in a necessary cause? Everybody 
knows now why the Fizzle War of 1963 fizzled. The bomb with New 
York's number on it didn't go off, a hundred other things 
didn't go as planned-all arranged by the likes of me. 
But not the Mistake of "72; that one is not our 
fault-and can't be undone; there's no paradox to resolve. A 
thing either is, or it isn't, now and forever amen. But there 
won't be another like it; an order dated "1992" takes 
precedence any year. 
I closed five minutes early, leaving a letter in the 
cash register telling my day manager that I was accepting his 
offer to buy me out, to see my lawyer as I was leaving on a 
long vacation. The Bureau might or might not pick up his 
payments, but they want things left tidy. I went to the room in 
the back of the storeroom and forward to 1993. 
2200-VII- 12 Jan 1993-Sub Rockies Annex-HQ Temporal 
DOL: I checked in with the duty officer and went to my 
quarters, intending to sleep for a week. I had fetched the 
bottle we bet (after all, I won it) and took a drink before I 
wrote my report. It tasted foul, and I wondered why I had ever 
liked Old Underwear. But it was better than nothing; I don't 
like to be cold sober, I think too much. But I don't really hit 
the bottle either; other people have snakes-I have people. 
I dictated my report; forty recruitments all okayed by 
the Psych Bureau - counting my own, which I knew would be 
okayed. I was here, wasn't I? Then I taped a request for 
assignment to operations; I was sick of recruiting. I dropped 
both in the slot and headed for bed. 
My eye fell on "The By-Laws of Time, " over my bed: 
Never Do Yesterday What Should Be Done Tomorrow. 
If at Last You Do Succeed, Never Try Again. 
A Stitch in Time Saves Nine Billion. 
A Paradox May Be Paradoctored. 
It Is Earlier When You Think. 
Ancestors Are Just People. Even Jove Nods. 
They didn't inspire me the way they had when I was a 
recruit; thirty subjective-years of time-jumping wears you 
down. I undressed, and when I got down to the hide I looked at 
my belly. A Cesarean leaves a big scar, but I'm so hairy now 
that I don't notice it unless I look for it. 
Then I glanced at the ring on my finger. 
The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail, Forever and Ever. I 
know where I came from - but where did all you zombies come 
from? 
I felt a headache coming on, but a headache powder is 
one thing I do not take. I did once - and you all went away. 
So I crawled into bed and whistled out the light. 
You aren't really there at all. There isn't anybody but 
me - Jane - here alone in the dark. 
I miss you dreadfully! The Black Pits of Luna 
THE MORNING after we got to the Moon we went over to Rutherford. Dad and 
Mr. Latham - Mr. Latham is the man from the Harriman Trust that Dad came to Luna 
City to see. 
Dad and Mr. Latham had to go anyhow, on business. I got Dad to promise I could 
go along because it looked like just about my only chance to get out on the surface of the 
Moon. Luna City is all right, I guess, but I defy you to tell a corridor in Luna City from 
the sublevels in New York-except that you're light on your feet, of course. 
When Dad came into our hotel suite to say we were ready to leave, I was down on 
the floor, playing mumblety-peg with my kid brother. Mother was lying down and had 
asked me to keep the runt quiet. She had been dropsick all the way out from Earth and I 
guess she didn't feel very good. The runt had been fiddling with the lights, switching 
them from "dusk" to "desert suntan" and back again. I collared him and sat him down on 
the floor. 
Of course, I don't play mumblety-peg any more, but, on the Moon, it's a right 
good game. The knife practically floats and you can do all kinds of things with it. We 
made up a lot of new rules. 
Dad said, "Switch in plans, my dear. We're leaving for Rutherford right away. 
Let's pull ourselves together." 
Mother said, "Oh, mercy me-I don't think I'm up to it. You and Dickie run along. 
Baby Darling and I will just spend a quiet day right here." 
Baby Darling is the runt. 
I could have told her it was the wrong approach. He nearly put my eye out with 
the knife and said, "Who? What? I'm going too. Let's go!" 
Mother said, "Oh, now, Baby Darling-don't cause Mother Dear any trouble, We'll 
go to the movies, just you and I." 
The runt is seven years younger than I am, but don't call him "Baby Darling" if 
you want to get anything out of him. He started to bawl. "You said I could go!" he yelled. 
"No, Baby Darling. I haven't mentioned it to you. I-" 
"Daddy said I could go!" 
"Richard, did you tell Baby he could go?" 
"Why, no, my dear, not that I recall. Perhaps I-" 
The kid cut in fast. "You said I could go anywhere Dickie went. You promised me 
you promised me you promised me." Sometimes you have to hand it to the runt; he had 
them jawing about who told him what in nothing flat. Anyhow, that is how twenty 
minutes later, the four of us were up at the rocket port with Mr. Lathani and climbing into 
the shuttle for Rutherford. 
The trip only takes about ten minutes and you don't see much, just a glimpse of 
the Earth while the rocket is still near Luna City and then not even that, since the atom 
plants where we were going are all on the back side of the Moon, of course. There were 
maybe a dozen tourists along and most of them were dropsick as soon as we went into 
free flight. So was Mother. Some people never will get used to rockets. 
But Mother was all right as soon as we grounded and were inside again. 
Rutherford isn't like Luna City; instead of extending a tube out to the ship, they send a pressurized car out to latch on to the airlock of the rocket, then you jeep back about a 
mile to the entrance to underground. I liked that and so did the runt. Dad had to go off on 
business with Mr. Latham, leaving Mother and me and the runt to join up with the party 
of tourists for the trip through the laboratories. 
It was all right but nothing to get excited about. So far as I can see, one atomics 
plant looks about like another; Rutherford could just as well have been. the main plant 
outside Chicago. I mean to say everything that is anything is out of sight, covered up, 
shielded. All you get to see are some dials and instrument boards and people watching 
them. Remote control stuff, like Oak Ridge. The guide tells you about the experiments 
going on and they show you some movies - that's all. 
I liked our guide. He looked like Tom Jeremy in The Space Troopers. I asked him 
if he was a spaceman and he looked at me kind of funny and said, no, that he was just a 
Colonial Services ranger. Then he asked me where I went to school and if I belonged to 
the Scouts. He said he was scoutmaster of Troop One, Rutherford City, Moonbat Patrol. 
I found out there was just the one patrol-not many scouts on the Moon, I suppose. 
Dad and Mr. Latham joined us just as we finished the tour while Mr. Perrin - 
that's our guide - was announcing the trip outside. "The conducted tour of Rutherford," he 
said, talking as if it were a transcription, "includes a trip by spacesuit out on the surface 
of the Moon, without extra charge, to see the Devil's Graveyard and the site of the Great 
Disaster of 1984. The trip is optional. There is nothing particularly dangerous about it and 
we've never had any one hurt, but the Commission requires that you sign a separate 
release for your own safety if you choose to make this trip. The trip takes about one hour. 
Those preferring to remain behind will find movies and refreshments in the coffee shop." 
Dad was rubbing his hands together. "This is for me," he announced. "Mr. 
Latham, I'm glad we got back in time. I wouldn't have missed this for the world." 
"You'll enjoy it," Mr. Latham agreed, "and so will you, Mrs. Logan. I'm tempted 
to come along myself." 
"Why don't you?' Dad asked. 
"No, I want to have the papers ready for you and the Director to sign when you 
get back and before you leave for Luna City." 
"Why knock yourself out?" Dad urged him. "If a man's word is no good, his 
signed contract is no better. You can mail the stuff to me at New York." 
Mr. Latham shook his head. "No, really - I've been out on the surface dozens of 
times. But I'll come along and help you into your spacesuits." 
Mother said, "Oh dear," she didn't think she'd better go; she wasn't sure she could 
stand the thought of being shut up in a spacesuit and besides glaring sunlight always gave 
her a headache. 
Dad said, "Don't be silly, my dear; it's the chance of a lifetime," and Mr. Latham 
told her that the filters on the helmets kept the light from being glaring. Mother always 
objects and then gives in. I suppose women just don't have any force of character. Like 
the night before - earth-night, I mean, Luna City time - she had bought a fancy moonsuit 
to wear to dinner in the Earth-View room at the hotel, then she got cold feet. She 
complained to Dad that she was too plump to dare to dress like that. 
Well, she did show an awful lot of skin. Dad said, "Nonsense, my dear. You look 
ravishing." So she wore it and had a swell time, especially when a pilot tried to pick her 
up. It was like that this time. She came along. We went into the outfitting room and I 
looked around while Mr. Perrin was getting them all herded in and having the releases 
signed. There was the door to the airlock to the surface at the far end, with a bull's-eye 
window in it and another one like it in the door beyond. You could peek through and see 
the surface of the Moon beyond, looking hot and bright and sort of improbable, in spite of 
the amber glass in the windows. And there was a double row of spacesuits hanging up, 
looking like empty men. I snooped around until Mr. Perrin got around to our party. 
"We can arrange to leave the youngster in the care of the hostess in the coffee 
shop," he was telling Mother. He reached down and tousled the runt's hair. The runt tried 
to bite him and he snatched his hand away in a hurry. 
"Thank you, Mr. Perkins," Mother said, "I suppose that's best-though perhaps I 
had better stay behind with him." 
"'Perrin' is the name," Mr. Perrin said mildly. "It won't be necessary. The hostess 
will take good care of him." 
Why do adults talk in front of kids as if they couldn't understand English? They 
should have just shoved him into the coffee shop. By now the runt knew he was being 
railroaded. He looked around belligerently. "I go, too," he said loudly. "You promised 
me." 
"Now Baby Darling," Mother tried to stop him. "Mother Dear didn't tell you-" But 
she was just whistling to herself; the runt turned on the sound effects. 
"You said I could go where Dickie went; you promised me when I was sick. You 
promised me you promised me-" and on and on, his voice getting higher and louder all 
the time. 
Mr. Perrin looked embarrassed. Mother said, "Richard, you'll just have to deal 
with your child. After all, you were the one who promised him." 
"Me, dear?" Dad looked surprised. "Anyway, I don't see anything so complicated 
about it. Suppose we did promise him that he could do what Dickie does-we'll simply 
take him along; that's all." 
Mr. Perrin cleared his throat. "I'm afraid not. I can outfit your older son with a 
woman's suit; he's tall for his age. But we just don't make any provision for small 
children." 
Well, we were all tangled up in a mess in no time at all. The runt can always get 
Mother to go running in circles. Mother has the same effect on Dad. He gets red in the 
face and starts laying down the law to me. It's sort of a chain reaction, with me on the end 
and nobody to pass it along to. They came out with a very simple solution - I was to stay 
behind and take care of Baby Darling brat! 
"But, Dad, you said-" I started in. 
"Never mind!" he cut in. "I won't have this family disrupted in a public squabble. 
You heard what your mother said." 
I was desperate. "Look, Dad," I said, keeping my voice low, "if I go back to Earth 
without once having put on a spacesuit and set foot on the surface, you'll just have to find 
another school to send me to. I won't go back to Lawrenceville; I'd be the joke of the 
whole place." 
"We'll settle that when we get home." 
"But, Dad, you promised me specifically-" 
"That'll be enough out of you, young man. The matter is closed." Mr. Lathain had been standing near by, taking it in but keeping his mouth shut. At 
this point he cocked an eyebrow at Dad and said very quietly, "Well, R.J., I thought your 
word was your bond?" 
I wasn't supposed to hear it and nobody else did - a good thing, too, for it doesn't 
do to let Dad know that you know that he's wrong; it just makes him worse. I changed the 
subject in a hurry. "Look, Dad, maybe we all can go out. How about that suit over there?" 
I pointed at a rack that was inside a railing with a locked gate on it. The rack had a couple 
of dozen suits on it and at the far end, almost out of sight, was a small suit - the boots on 
it hardly came down to the waist of the suit next to it. 
"Huh?" Dad brightened up. "Why, just the thing! Mr. Perrin! Oh, Mr. Perrin-here 
a minute! I thought you didn't have any small suits, but here's one that I think will fit." 
Dad was fiddling at the latch of the railing gate. Mr. Perrin stopped him. "We 
can't use that suit, sir." 
"Uh? Why not?" 
"All the suits inside the railing are private property, not for rent." 
"What? Nonsense-Rutherford is a public enterprise. I want that suit for my child." 
"Well, you can't have it." 
"I'll speak to the Director." 
"I'm afraid you'll have to. That suit was specially built for his daughter." 
And that's just what they did. Mr. Latham got the Director on the line, Dad talked 
to him, then the Director talked to Mr. Perrin, then he talked to Dad again. The Director 
didn't mind lending the suit, not to Dad, anyway, but he wouldn't order Mr. Perrin to take 
a below-age child outside. 
Mr. Perrin was feeling stubborn and I don't blame him, but Dad soothed his 
feathers down and presently we were all climbing into our suits and getting pressure 
checks and checking our oxygen supply and switching on our walkie-talkies. Mr. Perrin 
was calling the roll by radio and reminding us that we were all on the same circuit, so we 
had better let him do most of the talking and not to make casual remarks or none of us 
would be able to hear. Then we were in the airlock and he was warning us to stick close 
together and not try to see how fast we could run or how high we could jump. My heart 
was rocking around in my chest. 
The outer door of the lock opened and we filed out on the face of the Moon. It 
was just as wonderful as I dreamed it would be, I guess, but I was so excited that I hardly 
knew it at the time. The glare of the sun was the brightest thing I ever saw and the 
shadows so inky black you could hardly see into them. You couldn't hear anything but 
voices over your radio and you could reach down and switch off that. 
The pumice was soft and kicked up around our feet like smoke, settling slowly, 
falling in slow motion. Nothing else moved. It was the deadest place you can imagine. 
We stayed on a path, keeping close together for company, except twice when I 
had to take out after the runt when he found out he could jump twenty feet. I wanted to 
smack him, but did you ever try to smack anybody wearing a spacesuit? It's no use. 
Mr. Perrin told us to halt presently and started his talk. "You are now in the 
Devil's Graveyard. The twin spires behind you are five thousand feet above the floor of 
the plain and have never been scaled. The spires, or monuments, have been named for 
apocryphal or mythological characters because of the fancied resemblance of this 
fantastic scene to a giant cemetery. Beelzebub, Thor, Siva, Cain, Set-" He pointed around us. "Lunologists are not agreed as to the origin of the strange shapes. Some claim to see 
indications of the action of air and water as well as volcanic action. If so, these spires 
must have been standing for an unthinkably long period, for today, as you see, the Moon- 
" It was the same sort of stuff you can read any month in Spaceways Magazine, only we 
were seeing it and that makes a difference, let me tell you. 
The spires reminded me a bit of the rocks below the lodge in the Garden of the 
Gods in Colorado Springs when we went there last summer, only these spires were lots 
bigger and, instead of blue sky, there was just blackness and hard, sharp stars overhead. 
Spooky. 
Another ranger bad come with us, with a camera. Mr. Perrin tried to say 
something else, but the runt had started yapping away and I had to switch off his radio 
before anybody could hear anything. I kept it switched off until Mr. Perrin finished 
talking. 
He wanted us to line up for a picture with the spires and the black sky behind us 
for a background. "Push your faces forward in your helmets so that your features will 
show. Everybody look pretty. There!" he added as the other guy snapped the shot. "Prints 
will be ready when you return, at ten dollars a copy." 
I thought it over. I certainly needed one for my room at school and I wanted one 
to give to - anyhow, I needed another one. I had eighteen bucks left from my birthday 
money; I could sweet-talk Mother for the balance. So I ordered two of them. 
We climbed a long rise and suddenly we were staring out across the crater, the 
disaster crater, all that was left of the first laboratory. It stretched away from us, twenty 
miles across, with the floor covered with shiny, bubbly green glass instead of pumice. 
There was a monument. I read it: 
HERE ABOUT YOU ARE THE MORTAL REMAINS OF 
Kurt Schaeffer 
Maurice Feinstein 
Thomas Dooley 
Hazel Hayakawa 
Cl. Washington Slappey 
Sam Houston Adams 
WHO DIED FOR THE TRUTH THAT MAKES MEN FREE 
On the Eleventh Day of August 1984 
I felt sort of funny and backed away and went to listen to Mr. Perrin. Dad and 
some of the other men were asking him questions. "They don't know exactly," he was 
saying. "Nothing was left. Now we telemeter all the data back to Luna City, as it comes 
off the instruments, but that was before the line-of-sight relays were set up." 
"What would have happened," some man asked, "if this blast had gone off on 
Earth?" 
"I'd hate to try to tell you-but that's why they put the lab here, back of the Moon." 
He glanced at his watch. "Time to leave, everybody." They were milling around, heading 
back down toward the path, when Mother screamed. 
"Baby! Where's Baby Darling?" I was startled but I wasn't scared, not yet. The runt is always running around, first 
here and then there, but he doesn't go far away, because he always wants to have 
somebody to yap to. 
My father had one arm around Mother; he signaled to me with the other. "Dick," 
he snapped, his voice sharp in my earphones, "what have you done with your brother?' 
"Me?" I said. "Don't look at me-the last I saw Mother had him by the hand, 
walking up the hill here." 
"Don't stall around, Dick. Mother sat down to rest when we got here and sent him 
to you." 
"Well, if she did, he never showed up." At that, Mother started to scream in 
earnest. Everybody had been listening, of course-they had to; there was just the one radio 
circuit. Mr. Perrin stepped up and switched off Mother's talkie, making a sudden silence. 
"Take care of your wife, Mr. Logan," he ordered, then added, "When did you see 
your child last?" 
Dad couldn't help him any; when they tried switching Mother back into the hookup, 
they switched her right off again. She couldn't help and she deafened us. Mr. Perrin 
addressed the rest of us. "Has anyone seen the small child we had with us? Don't answer 
unless you have something to contribute. Did anyone see him wander away?" 
Nobody had. I figured he probably ducked out when everybody was looking at the 
crater and had their backs to him. I told Mr. Perrin so. "Seems likely," he agreed. 
"Attention, everybody! I'm going to search for the child. Stay right where you are. Don't 
move away from this spot. I won't be gone more than ten minutes." 
"Why don't we all go?" somebody wanted to know. 
"Because," said Mr. Perrin, "right now I've - only got one lost. I don't want to 
make it a dozen." Then he left, taking big easy lopes that covered fifty feet at a step. 
Dad started to take out after him, then thought better of it, for Mother suddenly 
keeled over, collapsing at the knees and floating gently to the ground. Everybody started 
talking at once. Some idiot wanted to take her helmet off, but Dad isn't crazy. I switched 
off my radio so I could hear myself think and started looking around, not leaving the 
crowd but standing up on the lip of the crater and trying to see as much as I could. 
I was looking back the way we had come; there was no sense in looking at the 
crater-if he had been in there he would have shown up like a fly on a plate. 
Outside the crater was different; you could have hidden a regiment within a block 
of us, rocks standing up every which way, boulders big as houses with blow holes all 
through them, spires, gulleys-it was a mess. I could see Mr. Perrin every now and then, 
casting around like a dog after a rabbit, and making plenty of time. He was practically 
flying. When he came to a big boulder he would jump right over it, leveling off face 
down at the top of his jump, so he could see better. 
Then he was heading back toward us and I switched my radio back on. There was 
still a lot of talk. Somebody was saying, "We've got to find him before sundown," and 
somebody else answered, "Don't be silly; the sun won't be down for a week. It's his air 
supply, I tell you. These suits are only good for four hours." The first voice said, "Oh!" 
then added softly, "like a fish out of water-" It was then I got scared. 
A woman's voice, sounding kind of choked, said, "The poor, poor darling! We've 
got to find him before he suffocates," and my father's voice cut in sharply, "Shut up 
talking that way!" I could hear somebody sobbing. It might have been Mother. Mr. Perrin was almost up to us and he cut in, "Silence everybody! I've got to call 
the base," and he added urgently, "Perrin, calling airlock control; Perrin, calling airlock 
control!" 
A woman's voice answered, "Come in, Perrin." He told her what was wrong and 
added, "Send out Smythe to take this party back in. I'm staying. I want every ranger 
who's around and get me volunteers from among any of the experienced Moon hands. 
Send out a radio direction-finder by the first ones to leave." 
We didn't wait long, for they came swarming toward us like grasshoppers. They 
must have been running forty or fifty miles an hour. It would have been something to see, 
if I hadn't been so sick at my stomach. 
Dad put up an argument about going back, but Mr. Perrin shut him up. "If you 
hadn't been so confounded set on having your own way, we wouldn't be in a mess. If you 
had kept track of your kid, he wouldn't be lost. I've got kids of my own; I don't let 'em go 
out on the face of the Moon when they're too young to take care of themselves. You go 
on back - I can't be burdened by taking care of you, too." 
I think Dad might even have gotten in a fight with him if Mother hadn't gotten 
faint again. We went on back with the party. 
The next couple of hours were pretty awful. They let us sit just outside the control 
room where we could hear Mr. Perrin directing the search, over the loudspeaker. I 
thought at first that they would snag the runt as soon as they started using the radio 
direction-finder-pick up his power hum, maybe, even if he didn't say anything-but no 
such luck; they didn't get anything with it. And the searchers didn't find anything either. 
A thing that made it worse was that Mother and Dad didn't even try to blame me. 
Mother was crying quietly and Dad was consoling her, when he looked over at me with 
an odd expression. I guess he didn't really see me at all, but I thought he was thinking that 
if I hadn't insisted on going out on the surface this wouldn't have happened. I said, "Don't 
go looking at me, Dad. Nobody told me to keep an eye on him. I thought he was with 
Mother." 
Dad just shook his head without answering. He was looking tired and sort of 
shrunk up. But Mother, instead of laying in to me and yelling, stopped her crying and 
managed to smile. "Come here, Dickie," she said, and put her other arm around me. 
"Nobody blames you, Dickie. Whatever happens, you weren't at fault. Remember that, 
Dickie." 
So I let her kiss me and then sat with them for a while, but I felt worse than 
before. I kept thinking about the runt, somewhere out there, and his oxygen running out. 
Maybe it wasn't my fault, but I could have prevented it and I knew it. I shouldn't have 
depended on Mother to look out for him; she's no good at that sort of thing. She's the kind 
of person that would mislay her head if it wasn't knotted on tight - the ornamental sort. 
Mother's good, you understand, but she's not practical. She would take it pretty hard if the 
runt didn't come back. And so would Dad-and so would I. The runt is an awful nuisance, 
but it was going to seem strange not to have him around underfoot. I got to thinking about 
that remark, "Like a fish out of water." I accidentally busted an aquarium once; I 
remember yet how they looked. Not pretty. If the runt was going to die like that - I shut 
myself up and decided I just had to figure out some way to help find him. 
After a while I had myself convinced that I could find him if they would just let 
me help look. But they wouldn't of course. Dr. Evans the Director showed up again-he'd met us when we first came in - and 
asked if there was anything he could do for us and how was Mrs. Logan feeling? "You 
know I wouldn't have had this happen for the world," he added. "We're doing all we can. 
I'm having some ore-detectors shot over from Luna City. We might be able to spot the 
child by the metal in his suit." 
Mother asked how about bloodhounds and Dr. Evans didn't even laugh at her. 
Dad suggested helicopters, then corrected himself and made it rockets. Dr. Evans pointed 
out that it was impossible to examine the ground closely from a rocket. 
I got him aside presently and braced him to let me join the hunt. He was polite but 
unimpressed, so I insisted. "What makes you think you can find him?", he asked me. 
"We've got the most experienced Moon men available out there now. I'm afraid, son, that 
you would get yourself lost or hurt if you tried to keep up with them. In this country, if 
you once lose sight of landmarks, you can get hopelessly lost." 
"But look, Doctor," I told him, "I know the runt-I mean my kid brother, better 
than anyone else in the world. I won't get lost-I mean I will get lost but just the way he 
did. You can send somebody to follow me." 
He thought about it. "It's worth trying," he said suddenly. "I'll go with you. Let's 
suit up." 
We made a fast trip out, taking thirty-foot strides-the best I could manage even 
with Dr. Evans hanging on to my belt to keep me from stumbling. Mr. Perrin was 
expecting us. He seemed dubious about my scheme. "Maybe the old 'lost mule' dodge 
will work," he admitted, "but I'll keep the regular search going just the same. Here, 
Shorty, take this flashlight. You'll need it in the shadows." 
I stood on the edge of the crater and tried to imagine I was the runt, feeling bored 
and maybe a little bit griped at the lack of attention. What would I do next? 
I went skipping down the slope, not going anywhere in particular, the way the 
runt would have done. Then I stopped and looked back, to see if Mother and Daddy and 
Dickie had noticed me. I was being followed all right; Dr. Evans and Mr. Perrin were 
close behind me. I pretended that no one was looking and went on. I was pretty close to 
the first rock outcroppings by now and I ducked behind the first one I came to. It wasn't 
high enough to hide me but it would have covered the runt. It felt like what he would do; 
he loved to play hide-and-go-seek - it made him the center of attention. 
I thought about it. When the runt played that game, his notion of hiding was 
always to crawl under something, a bed, or a sofa, or an automobile, or even under the 
sink. I looked around. There were a lot of good places; the rocks were filled with blow 
holes and overhangs. I started working them over. It seemed hopeless; there must have 
been a hundred such places right around close. 
Mr. Perrin came up to me as I was crawling out of the fourth tight spot. "The men 
have shined flashlights around in every one of these places," he told me. "I don't think it's 
much use, Shorty." 
"Okay," I said, but I kept at it. I knew I could get at spots a grown man couldn't 
reach; I just hoped the runt hadn't picked a spot I couldn't reach. 
It went on and on and I was getting cold and stiff and terribly tired. The direct 
sunlight is hot on the Moon, but the second you get in the shade, it's cold. Down inside 
those rocks it never got warm at all. The suits they gave us tourists are well enough 
insulated, but the extra insulation is in the gloves and the boots and the seats of the pants-
and I had been spending most of my time down on my stomach, wiggling into tight 
places. 
I was so numb I could hardly move and my whole front felt icy. Besides, it gave 
me one more thing to worry about - how about the runt? Was he cold, too? 
If it hadn't been for thinking how those fish looked and how, maybe, the runt 
would be frozen stiff before I could get to him, I would have quit. I was about beat. 
Besides, it's rather scary down inside those holes-you don't know what you'll come to 
next. 
Dr. Evans took me by the arm as I came out of one of them, and touched his 
helmet to mine, so that I got his voice directly. "Might as well give up, son. You're 
knocking your self out and you haven't covered an acre." I pulled away from him. 
The next place was a little overhang, not a foot off the ground. I flashed a light 
into it. It was empty and didn't seem to go anywhere. Then I saw there was a turn in it. I 
got down flat and wiggled in. The turn opened out a little and dropped off. I didn't think it 
was worthwhile to go any deeper as the runt wouldn't have crawled very far in the dark, 
but I scrunched ahead a little farther and flashed the light down. 
I saw a boot sticking out. 
That's about all there is to it. I nearly bashed in my helmet getting out of there, but 
I was dragging the runt after me. He was limp as a cat and his face was funny. Mr. Perrin 
and Dr. Evans were all over me as I came out, pounding me on the back and shouting. "Is 
he dead, Mr. Perrin?" I asked, when I could get my breath. "He looks awful bad." 
Mr. Perrin looked him over. "No . . . I can see a pulse in his throat. Shock and 
exposure, but this suit was specially built-we'll get him back fast." He picked the runt up 
in his arms and I took out after him. 
Ten minutes later the runt was wrapped in blankets and drinking hot cocoa. I had 
some, too. Everybody was talking at once and Mother was crying again, but she looked 
normal and Dad had filled out. 
He tried to write out a check for Mr. Perrin, but he brushed it off. "I don't need 
any reward; your boy found him. 
"You can do me just one favor-" 
"Yes?" Dad was all honey. 
"Stay off the Moon. You don't belong here; you're not the pioneer type." 
Dad took it. "I've already promised my wife that," he said without batting an eye. 
"You needn't worry." 
I followed Mr. Perrin as he left and said to him privately, "Mr. Perrin-I just 
wanted to tell you that I'll be back, if you don't mind." 
He shook hands with me and said, "I know you will, Shorty." Robert A Heinlein 
Blowups Happen 
"PUT down that wrench!" 
The man addressed turned slowly around and faced the speaker. His expression 
was hidden by a grotesque helmet, part of a heavy, lead-and-cadmium armor which 
shielded his entire body, but the tone of voice in which he answered showed nervous 
exasperation. 
"What the hell's eating on you, doc?" He made no move to replace the tool in 
question. 
They faced each other like two helmeted, arrayed fencers, watching for an 
opening. The first speaker's voice came from behind his mask a shade higher in key and 
more peremptory in tone. "You heard me, Harper. Put down that wrench at once, and 
come away from that 'trigger'. Erickson!" 
A third armored figure came from the far end of the control room. "What 'cha 
want, doe?" 
"Harper is relieved from watch. You take over as engineer-of-the-watch. Send for 
the standby engineer." 
"Very well." His voice and manner were phlegmatic, as he accepted the situation 
without comment. The atomic engineer whom he had just relieved glanced from one to 
the other, then carefully replaced the wrench in its rack. 
"Just as you say, Doctor Silard, but send for your relief, too. I shall demand an 
immediate hearing!" Harper swept indignantly out, his lead-sheathed boots clumping on 
the floorplates. 
Doctor Silard waited unhappily for the ensuing twenty minutes until his own 
relief arrived. Perhaps he had been hasty. Maybe he was wrong in thinking that Harper 
had at last broken under the strain of tending the most dangerous machine in the worldthe 
atomic breeder plant. But if he had made a mistake, it had to be on the safe side-slips 
must not happen in this business; not when a slip might result in atomic detonation of 
nearly ten tons of uranium-238, U-235, and plutonium. 
He tried to visualize what that would mean, and failed. He had 'been told that 
uranium was potentially twenty million times as explosive as T.N.T. The figure was 
meaningless that way. He thought of the pile instead as a hundred million tons of high 
explosive, or as a thousand Hiroshimas. It still did not mean anything. He had once seen 
an A-bomb dropped, when he had been serving as a temperament analyst for the Air 
Forces. He could not imagine the explosion of a thousand such bombs; his. brain balked. 
Perhaps these atomic engineers could. Perhaps, with their greater mathematical ability 
and closer comprehension of what actually went on inside the nuclear fission chamber, 
they had some vivid glimpse of the mind-shattering horror locked up beyond that shield. 
If so, no wonder they tended to blow up- He sighed. Erickson looked away from the 
controls of the linear resonant accelerator on which he had been making some 
adjustment. 
"What's the trouble, doc?" "Nothing. I'm sorry I had to relieve Harper." 
Silard could feel the shrewd glance of the big Scandinavian. "Not getting the 
jitters yourself, are you, doc? Sometimes you squirrel-sleuths blow up, too-" 
"Me? I don't think so. I'm scared of that thing in there-I'd be crazy if I weren't." 
"So am I," Erickson told him soberly, and went back to his work at the controls of 
the accelerator. The accelerator proper lay beyond another shielding barrier; its snout 
disappeared in the final shield between it and the pile and fed a steady stream of 
terrifically speeded up sub-atomic bullets to the beryllium target located within the pile 
itself. The tortured beryllium yielded up neutrons, which shot out in all directions through 
the uranium mass. Some of these neutrons struck uranium atoms squarely on their nuclei 
and split them in two. The fragments were new elements, barium, xenon, rubidiumdepending 
on the portions in which each atom split. The new elements were usually 
unstable isotopes and broke down into a, dozen more elements by radioactive 
disintegration in a progressive reaction. 
But these second transmutations were comparatively safe; it was the original 
splitting of the uranium nucleus, with the release of the awe-inspiring energy that bound 
it together-an incredible two hundred million electron volts-that was important-and 
perilous. 
For, while uranium was used to breed other fuels by bombarding it with neutrons, 
the splitting itself gives up more neutrons which in turn may land in other uranium nuclei 
and split them. If conditions are favorable to a progressively increasing reaction of this 
sort, it may get out of hand, build up in an unmeasurable fraction of a micro-second into a 
complete atomic explosion-an explosion which would dwarf an atom bomb to pop-gun 
size; an explosion so far beyond all human experience as to be as completely 
incomprehensible as the idea of personal death. It could be feared, but not understood. 
But a self-perpetuating sequence of nuclear splitting, just wider the level of 
complete explosion, was necessary to the operation of the breeder plant. To split the first 
uranium nucleus by bombarding it with neutrons from the beryllium target took more 
power than the death of the atom gave up. In order that the breeder pile continue to 
operate it was imperative that each atom split by a neutron from the beryllium target 
should cause the splitting of many more. 
It was equally imperative that this chain of reactions should always tend to 
dampen, to die out. It must not build up, or the uranium mass would explode within a 
time interval too short to be measured by any means whatsoever. 
Nor would there be anyone left to measure it. 
The atomic engineer on duty at the pile could control this reaction by means of 
the "trigger", a term the engineers used to include the linear resonant accelerator, the 
beryllium target, the cadmium damping rods, and adjacent controls, instrument board, 
and power sources. That is to say he could vary the bombardment on the beryllium target 
to increase or decrease the level of operation of the plant, he could change the "effective 
mass" of the pile with the cadmium dampers, and he could tell from his instruments that 
the internal reaction was dampened-or, rather, that it had been dampened the split second 
before. He could not possibly know what was actually happening now within the pilesubatomic 
speeds are too great and the time intervals too small. He was like the bird that 
flew backward; he could see where he had been, but never knew where he was going. Nevertheless, it was his responsibility, and his alone, not only to maintain the pile 
at a high efficiency, but to see that the reaction never passed the critical point and 
progressed into mass explosion. 
But that was impossible. He could not be sure; he could never be sure. 
He could bring to the job all of the skill and learning of the finest technical 
education, and use it to reduce the hazard to the lowest mathematical probability, but the 
blind laws of chance which appear to rule in sub-atomic action might turn up a royal 
flush against him and defeat his most skillful play. 
And each atomic engineer knew it, knew that he gambled not only with his own 
life, but with the lives of countless others, perhaps with the lives of every human being on 
the planet. Nobody knew quite what such an explosion would do. A conservative 
estimate assumed that, in addition to destroying the plant and its personnel completely, it 
would tear a chunk out of the populous and heavily traveled Los Angeles-Oklahoma 
Road-City a hundred miles to the north. 
The official, optimistic viewpoint on which the plant had been authorized by the 
Atomic Energy Commission was based on mathematics which predicted that such a mass 
of uranium would itself be disrupted on a molar scale, and thereby limit the area of 
destruction, before progressive and accelerated atomic explosion could infect the entire 
mass. 
The atomic engineers, by and large, did not place faith in the official theory. They 
judged theoretical mathematical prediction for what it was worth-precisely nothing, until 
confirmed by experiment. 
But even from the official viewpoint, each atomic engineer while on watch 
carried not only his own life in his hands, but the lives of many others-how many, it was 
better not to think about. No pilot, no general, no surgeon ever carried such a daily, 
inescapable, ever present weight of responsibility for the lives of others as these men 
carried every time they went on watch, every time they touched a venire screw, or read a 
dial. 
They were selected not alone for their intelligence and technical training, but 
quite as much for their characters and sense of social responsibility. Sensitive men were 
needed-men who could fully appreciate the importance of the charge entrusted to them; 
no other sort would do. But the burden of responsibility was too great to be borne 
indefinitely by a sensitive man. 
It was, of necessity, a psychologically unstable condition. Insanity was an 
occupational disease. 
Doctor Cummings appeared, still buckling the straps of the armor worn to guard 
against stray radiation. "What's up?" he asked Silard. 
"I had to relieve Harper." 
"So I guessed. I met him coming up. He was sore as hell-just glared at me." 
"I know. He wants an immediate hearing. That's why I had to send for you." 
Cummings grunted, then nodded toward the engineer, anonymous in all-enclosing 
armor. "Who'd I draw?" 
"Erickson." 
"Good enough. Squareheads can't go crazy-eh, Gus?" Erickson looked up momentarily, and answered, "That's your problem," and 
returned to his work. Cummings turned back to Silard, and commented, "Psychiatrists 
don't seem very popular around here. O.K.-I relieve you, sir." 
"Very well, sir." 
Silard threaded his way through the zig-zag in the outer shield which surrounded 
the control room. Once outside this outer shield, he divested himself of the cumbersome 
armor, disposed of it in the locker room provided, and hurried to a lift. He left the lift at 
the tube station, underground, and looked around for an unoccupied capsule. Finding one, 
he strapped himself in, sealed the gasketed door, and settled the back of his head into the 
rest against the expected surge of acceleration. 
Five minutes later he knocked at the door of the office of the general 
superintendent, twenty miles away. 
The breeder plant proper was located in a bowl of desert hills on the Arizona 
plateau. Everything not necessary to the immediate operation of the plant-administrative 
offices, television station, and so forth-lay beyond the hills. The buildings housing these 
auxiliary functions were of the most durable construction technical ingenuity could 
devise. It was hoped that, if the tag ever came, occupants would stand approximately the 
chance of survival of a man going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. 
Silard knocked again. He was greeted by a male secretary, Steinke. Silard recalled 
reading his case history. Formerly one of the most brilliant of the young engineers, he 
had suffered a blanking out of the ability to handle mathematical operations. A plain case 
of fugue, but there had been nothing that the poor devil could do about it- he had been 
anxious enough with his conscious mind to stay on duty. He had been rehabilitated as an 
office worker. 
Steinke ushered him into the superintendent's private office. Harper was there 
before him, and returned his greeting with icy politeness. The superintendent was cordial, 
but Silard thought he. looked tired, as if the twenty-four-hour-a-day strain was too much 
for him. 
"Come in, Doctor, come In. Sit down. Now. tell me about this. I'm a little' 
surprised. I thought Harper was one of my steadiest men." 
"I don't say he isn't, sir." 
"Well?" 
"He may be perfectly all right, but your instructions to me are not to take any 
chances." 
"Quite right" The superintendent gave the engineer, silent and tense in his chair, a 
troubled glance, then returned his attention to Silard. "Suppose you tell me about it." 
Silard took a deep breath. "While on watch as psychological observer at the 
control station I noticed that the engineer of the watch seemed preoccupied and less 
responsive to stimuli than usual. During my off-watch observation of this case, over a 
period of the past several days, I have suspected an increasing lack of attention. For 
example, while playing contract bridge, he now occasionally asks for a review of the 
bidding which is contrary to his former behavior pattern. 
"Other similar data are available. To cut it short, at 3:11 today, while on watch, I 
saw Harper, with no apparent reasonable purpose in mind, pick up a wrench used only for 
operating the valves of the water shield and approach the trigger. I relieved him of duty, 
and sent him out of the control room." "Chief!" Harper calmed himself somewhat and continued, "If this witch-doctor 
knew a wrench from an oscillator, he'd know what I was doing. The wrench was on the 
wrong rack. I noticed it, and picked it up to return it to its proper place. On the way, I 
stopped to check the readings!" 
The superintendent turned inquiringly to Doctor Shard. "That may be true- 
Granting that it is true," answered the psychiatrist doggedly, "my diagnosis still stands. 
Your behavior pattern has altered; your present actions are unpredictable, and I can't 
approve you for responsible work without a complete check-up." 
General Superintendent King drummed on the desktop, and sighed. Then he 
spoke slowly to Harper, "Cal, you're a good boy, and believe me, I know how you feel. 
But: there is no way to avoid it-you've got to go up for the psychometricals, and accept 
whatever disposition the board makes of you." He paused, but Harper maintained an 
expressionless silence. "Tell you what, son-why don't, you take a few days' leave? Then, 
when you come back,' you can go up before the board, or transfer to another department 
away from the bomb, whichever you prefer." He looked to Shard for approval, and 
received a nod. 
But Harper was not mollified. "No, chief," he protested. "It won't do. Can't you' 
see what's wrong? It's this constant supervision. Somebody always watching the back of 
your neck, expecting you to go crazy. A man can't even shave in private. We're jumpy 
about the most innocent acts, for fear some head doctor, half batty himself, will see it and 
decide it's a sign we're slipping-good grief, what do you expect!" 
His outburst having run its course, he subsided into a flippant cynicism that did" 
not quite jell. "O.K.-never mind the strait jacket; I'll go quietly. You're a good Joe in spite 
of it, chief," he added, "and I'm glad to have worked under you. Goodbye." 
King kept the pain in his eyes out of his voice. 'Wait a minute, Cal-you're not 
through here. Let's forget about the vacation.' I'm transferring you to the radiation 
laboratory. You belong in research anyhow; I'd never have spared you from it to stand 
watches if I hadn't been short on number-one men. 
"As for the constant psychological observation, I hate it as much as you 
do. I don't suppose you know that they watch me about twice as hard as they watch you 
duty engineers." 
Harper showed his surprise, but Shard nodded in sober conflation. "But we have 
to have this supervision. . . Do you remember Manning? No, he was before your time. 
We didn't have' psychological observers then. Manning was able and brilliant. 
Furthermore, he was always cheerful; nothing seemed to bother him. 
"I was glad to have him on the pile, for he was always alert, and never seemed 
nervous about working with it-in fact he grew more buoyant and cheerful the longer he 
stood control watches. I should have known that was a very bad sign, but I didn't, and 
there was no observer to 'tell me so. 
"His technician had to slug him one night. . . He found him dismounting the, 
safety interlocks on the cadmium assembly. Poor old Manning never pulled out of it- he's 
been violently insane ever since. After Manning cracked up, we worked out the present 
system of two qualified engineers and an observer for every watch. It seemed the only 
thing to do." 
"I suppose so, chief," Harper mused, his face no longer sullen, but still unhappy. 
"It's a hell of a situation just the same." "That's putting it mildly." He got up and put out his hand. "Cal, unless you're dead 
set on leaving us, I'll expect to see you at the radiation laboratory tomorrow. Another 
thing-I don't often recommend this, but it might do you good to get drunk tonight." 
King had signed to Shard to remain after the young man left. Once the door was 
closed he turned back to the psychiatrist. "There goes another one-and one of the best. 
Doctor, what am I going to do?" 
Silard pulled at his cheek. "I don't know," he admitted. "The hell of it is, Harper's 
absolutely right. It does increase the strain on them to know that they are being watched... 
and yet they have to be watched. Your psychiatric staff isn't doing too well, either. It 
makes us nervous to be around the Big Bomb... the more so because we don't understand 
it. And it's a strain on us to be hated and despised as we are. Scientific detachment is 
difficult under such conditions; I'm getting jumpy myself." 
King ceased pacing the floor and faced the doctor. "But there must be some 
solution-" he insisted. 
Silard shook his head. "It's beyond me, Superintendent. I see no solution from the 
standpoint of psychology." 
"No? Hmm-Doctor, who is the top man in your field?" "Eh?" 
"Who is the recognized number-one man in handling this sort of thing?" 
"Why, that's hard to say. Naturally, there isn't any one, leading psychiatrist in the 
world; we specialize too much." I know what you mean, though. You don't want the best 
industrial temperament psychometrician; you want the" best all-around man for 
psychoses non-lesional and situational. That would be Lentz." 
"Go on." 
"Well- He covers the whole field of environment adjustment. He's the man that 
correlated the theory of optimum tonicity with the relaxation technique that Korzybski 
had developed empirically. He actually worked under, Korzybski himself, when he was a 
young student-it's the only thing he's vain about." 
"He did? Then he must be pretty old; Koxzybski died in- What year did he die?" 
"I started to say that you must know his work in symbology-theory of abstraction 
and calculus of statement, all that sort of thing-because of its applications to engineering 
and mathematical physics." 
"That Lentz-yes, of course. But I had never thought of him as a psychiatrist." 
"No, you wouldn't, in your field. Nevertheless, we are inclined to credit him with 
having done as much to check and reduce the pandemic neuroses of the Crazy Years as 
any other man, and more than any man left alive." 
"Where is he?" 
"Why, Chicago, I suppose. At the Institute." 
"Get him here." 
"Get him down here. Get on that visiphone and locate him. Then have Steinke call 
the Port of Chicago, and hire a stratocar to stand by for him. I want to see him as soon as 
possible-before the day is out." King sat up in his chair with the air of a man who is once 
more master of himself and the situation. His spirit knew that warming replenishment that 
comes only with reaching a decision. The harassed expression was gone. 
Silard looked dumbfounded. "But, superintendent," he expostulated, "you can't 
ring for Doctor Lentz as if he were a junior clerk. He's-he's Lentz." "Certainly-that's why I want him. But I'm not a neurotic clubwoman looking for 
sympathy, either. He'll come. If necessary, turn on the heat from Washington. Have the 
White House call him. But get him here at once. Move!" King strode out of the office. 
When Erickson came off watch he inquired around and found that Harper had left 
for town. Accordingly, he dispensed with dinner at the base, shifted into 
"drinkin'clothes", and allowed himself to be dispatched via tube to Paradise. Paradise, 
Arizona, was a hard little boom town, which owed its existence to the breeder plant. It 
was dedicated exclusively to the serious business of detaching the personnel of the plant 
from their inordinate salaries. In this worthy project they received much cooperation from 
the plant personnel themselves, each of whom was receiving from twice to ten times as 
much money each payday as he had ever received in any other job, and none of whom 
was certain of living long enough to justify saving for old' age. Besides, the company 
carried a sinking fund in Manhattan for their dependents; why be stingy? 
It was claimed, with some truth, that any entertainment or luxury obtainable in 
New York City could be purchased in Paradise. The local chamber of commerce had 
appropriated the slogan of Reno, Nevada, "Biggest Little City in the World." The Reno 
boosters retaliated by claiming that, while a town that close to the atomic breeder plant 
undeniably brought thoughts of death and the hereafter; Hell's Gates would be a more 
appropriate name. 
Erickson started making the rounds. There were twenty-seven places licensed to 
sell liquor in the six blocks of the main street of Paradise. He expected to find Harper in 
one of them, and, knowing the man's habits and tastes, he expected to find him in the first 
two three he tried. 
He was not mistaken. He found Harper sitting alone a table in the rear of 
deLancey's Sans Souci Bar. Lancey's was a favorite of both of them. There was oldfashioned 
comfort about its chrome-plated bar red leather furniture that appealed to them 
more than the spectacular fittings of the up-to-the-minute place. DeLancey was 
conservative; he stuck to indirect light and soft music; his hostesses were required to be 
fully clothed, even in the evening. The fifth of Scotch in front of Harper was about two 
thirds full. Erickson shoved three fingers in front Harper's face and demanded, "Count!" 
"Three," announced Harper. "Sit down, Gus." 
"That's correct," Erickson agreed, sliding his big frame into a low-slung chair. 
"You'll do-for now. What the outcome?" 
"Have a drink. Not," he went on, "that this Scotch any good. I think Lance has 
taken to watering it. I surrendered, horse and foot." 
"Lance wouldn't do that-stick to that theory anti you'll sink in the sidewalk up to 
your knees. How come you capitulated? I thought you planned to beat 'em about the head 
and shoulders, at least." ' I 
"I did," mourned Harper, "but, cripes, Gus, the chief is right. If a brain mechanic 
says you're punchy, he has got to back him up, and take you off the watch list. The chief 
can't afford to take a chance." 
"Yeah, the chief's all right, but I can't learn to love our dear psychiatrists. Tell you 
what-let's find us one, and, see if he can feel pain. I'll hold him while you slug 'im." 
"Oh, forget it, Gus. Have a drink." 
"A pious thought-but not Scotch. I'm going to have a martini; we ought to eat 
pretty soon." "I'll have one, too." 
"Do you good." Erickson lifted his blond head and bellowed, "Israfell" 
A large, black person appeared at his elbow. "Mistuh Erickson! Yes, sub!" 
"Izzy, fetch two martinis. Make mine with Italian." He turned back to Harper. 
"What are you going to do now, Cal?" 
"Radiation laboratory." 
"Well, that's not so bad. I'd like to have a go at the matter of rocket fuels 'myself. 
I've got some ideas." 
Harper looked mildly amused. "You mean atomic fuel for interplanetary flight? 
That problem's pretty well exhausted. No, son, the ionosphere is the ceiling until we think 
up something better than rockets. Of course, you could mount a pile in a ship, and figure 
out some jury rig to convert some of its output into push, but where does that get you? 
You would still have a terrible mass-ratio because of the shielding and I'm betting you 
couldn't convert one percent into thrust. That's disregarding the question of getting the 
company to lend you a power pile for anything that doesn't pay dividends." 
Erickson looked balky. "I don't concede that you've covered all the alternatives. 
What have we got? The early rocket boys went right ahead trying to build better rockets, 
serene in the belief that, by the time they could build rockets good enough to fly to the 
moon, a fuel would be perfected that would do the trick. And they did build ships that 
were good enough-you could take any ship that makes the Antipodes run, and refit it for 
the moon-if you had a fuel that was adequate. But they haven't got it. 
"And why not? Because we let 'em down, that's why. Because they're still 
depending on molecular energy, on chemical reactions, with atomic power sitting right 
here in our laps. It's not their fault-old D. D. Harriman had Rockets Consolidated 
underwrite the whole first issue of Antarctic Pitchblende, and took a big slice of it 
himself, in the expectation that we would produce something usable in the way of a 
concentrated rocket fuel. Did we do it? Like hell! The company went hog-wild for 
immediate commercial exploitation, and there's no atomic rocket fuel yet." 
"But you haven't stated it properly," Harper objected. "There are just two forms of 
atomic power-available, radioactivity and atomic disintegration. The first is too slow; the 
energy is there, but you can't wait years for it to come out-not in a rocket ship. The 
second we can only manage in a large power plant. There you are-stymied." 
"We haven't really tried," Erickson answered. "The power is there; we ought to 
give 'em a decent fuel" 
"What would you call a 'decent fuel'?" 
Erickson ticked it off. "A small enough critical mass so that all, or almost all, the 
energy could be taken up as heat by the reaction mass-I'd like the reaction mass to be 
ordinary water. Shielding that would have to be no more than a lead and cadmium jacket. 
And the whole thing controllable to a fine point." 
Harper laughed. "Ask for Angel's wings and be done with it. You couldn't store 
such fuel in a rocket; it would~ Set itself off before it reached the jet chamber." 
Erickson's Scandinavian stubbornness was just gathering for another try at the 
argument when the waiter arrived with the drinks. He set them down with a triumphant 
flourish. "There you are, suh!" 
"Want to roll for them, Izzy?" Harper inquired. 
"Don' mind if I do." The Negro produced a leather dice cup and Harper rolled. He selected his 
combinations with care and managed to get four aces and jack in three rolls. Israfel took 
the cup. He rolled in the grand manner with a backwards twist to his wrist. His score 
finished at five kings, and he courteously accepted the price of six drinks. Harper stirred 
the engraved cubes with his forefinger. 
"Izzy," he asked, "are these the same dice I rolled with?" 
"Why, Mistuh Harper!" The black's expression was pained. 
"Skip it," Harper conceded. "I should know better than to gamble with you. I 
haven't won a roll from you in six weeks. What did you start to say, Gus?" 
"I was just going to say that there ought to be a better way to get energy out of-" 
But they were joined again, this time by something very seductive in an evening gown 
that appeared to have been sprayed on her lush figure. She was young, perhaps nineteen 
or twenty. "You boys lonely?" she asked as she flowed into a chair. 
"Nice of you to ask, but we're not," Erickson denied with patient politeness. He 
jerked a thumb at a solitary figure seated across the room. "Go talk to Hannigan; he's not 
busy." 
She followed his gesture with her eyes, and answered with faint scorn, "Him? 
He's no use. He's been like that for three weeks-hasn't spoken to a soul. If you ask me, I'd 
say that he was cracking up." 
"That so?" he observed noncommittally. "Here-" He fished out a five-dollar bill 
and handed it to her. "Buy yourself a drink. Maybe we'll look you up later." 
"Thanks, boys." The money disappeared under her clothing, and she stood up. 
"Just ask for Edith." 
"Hannigan does look bad," Harper considered, noting the brooding stare and 
apathetic attitude, "and he has been awfully stand-offish lately, for him. Do you suppose 
we're obliged to report him?" 
"Don't let it worry you," advised Erickson, "there's a spotter on the job now. 
Look." Harper followed his companion's eyes and recognized Dr. Mott of the 
psychological staff. He was leaning against the far end of the bar and nursing a tall glass, 
which gave him protective coloration. But his stance was such that his field of vision 
included not only Hannigan, but Erickson and Harper as well. 
"Yeah, and he's studying us as well," Harper added.' "Damn it to hell, why does it 
make my back hair rise just to lay eyes on one of them?" 
The question was rhetorical, Erickson ignored it. "Let's get out of here," he 
suggested, "and have dinner some where else." 
"O.K." 
DeLancey himself waited on them as they left. "Going so soon, gentlemen?" 
he asked, in a voice that implied that their departure would leave him no reason to stay 
open. "Beautiful lobster thermidor tonight. If you do not like it, you need not pay." He 
smiled brightly. 
"No sea food, Lance," Harper told him, "not tonight. Tell me-why do you stick 
around here when you know that the pile is bound to get you in the long run? Aren't you 
afraid of it?" 
The tavern keeper's eyebrows shot up. "Afraid of this pile? But it is my friend!" 
"Makes you money, eh?" "Oh, I do not mean that." He leaned toward them confidentially. "Five years ago I 
come here to make some money quickly for my family before my cancer of the stomach, 
it kills me. At the clinic, with the wonderful new radiants you gentlemen make with the 
aid of the Big Bomb, I am cured-I live again. No, I am not afraid of the pile; it is my 
good friend." 
"Suppose it blows up?" 
"When the good Lord needs me, he will take me." He crossed himself quickly. 
As they turned away, Erickson commented in a low voice to Harper. "There's 
your answer, Cal-if all us engineers had his faith, the job wouldn't get us down." 
Harper was unconvinced. "I don't know," be mused. 'I don't think it's faith; I think 
it's lack of imagination and knowledge." 
Notwithstanding King's confidence, Lentz did not show up until the next day. The 
superintendent was subconsciously a little surprised at his visitor's appearance. He had 
pictured a master psychologist as wearing flowing hair, an imperial, and having piercing 
black eyes. But this man was not overly tall, was heavy in his framework, and fat-almost 
gross. He might have been a butcher. Little, piggy, faded-blue eyes peered merrily out 
from beneath shaggy blond brows. There was no hair anywhere else on the enormous 
skull, and the ape-like jaw was smooth and pink. He was dressed in mussed pajamas of 
unbleached linen. A long cigarette holder jutted permanently from one corner of a wide 
mouth, widened still more by a smile which suggested unmalicious amusement at the 
worst that life, or men, could do. He had gusto. King found him remarkably easy to talk 
to. 
At Lentz' suggestion the Superintendent went first into the history of atomic 
power plants, how the fission of the uranium atom by Dr. Otto Hahn in December, 1938, 
had opened up the way to atomic power. The door was opened just a crack; the process to 
be self perpetuating and commercially usable required an enormously greater knowledge 
than there was available in the entire civilized world at that time. 
In 1938 the amount of separated uranium-235 in the world was not the mass of 
the head of a pin. Plutonium was unheard of. Atomic power was abstruse theory and a 
single, esoteric laboratory experiment. World War II, the Manhattan Project, and 
Hiroshima changed that; by late 1945 prophets were rushing into print with predictions of 
atomic power, cheap, almost free atomic power, for everyone in a year or two. 
It did not work out that way. The Manhattan Project had been run with the singleminded 
purpose of making weapons; the engineering of atomic power was still in the 
future. 
The far future, so it seemed. The uranium piles used to make the atom bomb were 
literally no good for commercial power; they were designed to throw away power as a 
useless byproduct, nor could the design of a pile, once in operation, be changed. A 
design-on paper-for an economic, commercial power pile could be made, but it had two 
serious hitches. The first was that such a pile would give off energy with such fury, if 
operated at a commercially satisfactory level, that there was no known way of accepting 
that energy and putting it to work. 
This problem was solved first. A modification of the Douglas-Martin power 
screens, originally designed to turn the radiant energy of the sun (a natural atomic power 
pile itself) directly into electrical power, was used to receive the radiant fury of uranium 
fission and carry it away as electrical current. The second hitch seemed to be no hitch at all. An "enriched" pile-one in which 
U-235 or plutonium had been added to natural uranium-was a quite satisfactory source of 
commercial power. We knew how to get U-235 and plutonium; that was the primary 
accomplishment of the Manhattan Project. 
Or did we know how? Hanford produced plutonium; Oak Ridge extracted U-235, 
true-but the Hanford piles used more U-235 than they produced plutonium and Oak 
Ridge produced nothing but merely separated out the 7/10 of one percent of U-235 in 
natural uranium and "threw away" the 99%-plus of the energy which was still locked in 
the discarded U-238. Commercially ridiculous, economically fantastic! 
But there was another way to breed plutonium, by means of a high-energy, 
unmoderated pile of natural uranium somewhat enriched. At a million electron volts or 
more U-238 will fission at somewhat lower energies it turns to plutonium. Such a pile 
supplies its own "fire" and produces more "fuel" than it uses; it could breed fuel for many 
other power piles of the usual moderated sort. 
But an unmoderated power pile is almost by definition an atom bomb. 
The very name "pile" comes from the pile of graphite bricks and uranium slugs 
set up in a squash court at the University of Chicago at the very beginning of the 
Manhattan Project. Such a pile, moderated by graphite or heavy water, cannot explode. 
Nobody knew what an unmoderated, high-energy pile might do. It would breed 
plutonium in great quantities- but would it explode? Explode with such violence as to 
make the Nagasaki bomb seem like a popgun? 
Nobody knew. 
In the meantime the power-hungry technology of the United States grew still 
more demanding. The Douglas Martin sunpower screens met the immediate crisis when 
oil became too scarce to be wasted as fuel, but sunpower was limited to about one 
horsepower per square yard and was at the mercy of the weather. 
Atomic power was needed-demanded. 
Atomic engineers lived through the period in an agony of indecision. Perhaps a 
breeder pile could be controlled. Or perhaps if it did go out of control it would simply 
blow itself apart and thus extinguish its own fires. Perhaps it would explode like several 
atom bombs but with low efficiency. But it might-it just might-explode its whole mass of 
many tons of uranium at once and destroy the human race in the process. 
There is an old story, not true, which tells of a scientist who had made a machine 
which would instantly destroy the world, so he believed, if he closed one switch. He 
wanted to know whether or not lie was right. So he closed the switch-and never found 
out. 
The atomic engineers were afraid to close the switch. 
"It was Destry's mechanics of infinitesimals that showed a way out of the, 
dilemma," King went on. "His equations appeared to predict that such an atomic 
explosion, once started, would disrupt the molar mass enclosing it so rapidly that neutron 
loss through the outer surface of the fragments would dampen the progression of the 
atomic explosion to zero before complete explosion could be reached. In an atom bomb 
such damping actually occurs. 
"For the mass we use in the pile, his equations predicted possible force of 
explosion one-seventh of one percent of the force of complete explosion. That alone, of course, would be incomprehensibly destructive-enough to wreck this end of the state. 
Personally, I've never been sure that is all that would happen." 
"Then why did you accept this job?" inquired Lentz. 
King fiddled with items on his desk before replying. "I couldn't turn it down, 
doctor I couldn't. If I had refused, they would have gotten someone else-and it was an 
opportunity that comes to a physicist once in history." 
Lentz nodded. "And probably they would- have gotten someone not as competent. 
I understand, Dr. King-you were compelled by the 'truth-tropism' of the scientist. He 
must go where the data is to be found, even if it kills him. But about this fellow Destry, 
I've never liked his mathematics; he postulates too much." 
King looked up in quick surprise, then recalled that this was the man who had 
refined and given rigor to the calculus of statement. "That's just the hitch," he agreed. 
"His work is brilliant, but I've never been sure that his predictions were worth the paper 
they were written on. Nor, apparently," he added bitterly, "do my junior engineers." 
He told the psychiatrist Of the difficulties they had had with personnel, of how the 
most carefully selected men would, sooner or later, crack under the strain. "At first I 
thought it might be some degenerating effect from the neutron radiation that leaks out 
through the shielding, so we improved the screening and the personal armor. But it didn't 
help. One young fellow who had joined us after the new screening was installed became 
violent at dinner one night, and insisted that a pork chop was about to explode. I hate to 
think of what might have happened if he had been on duty at the pile when he blew up." 
The inauguration of the system of constant psychological observation had greatly 
reduced the probability of acute danger resulting from a watch engineer cracking up, but 
King was forced to admit that the system was not a success; there had actually been a 
marked increase in psychoneuroses, dating from that time. 
"And that's the picture, Dr. Lentz. It gets worse all the time. It's getting me now. 
The strain is telling on me; I can't sleep, and I don't think my judgment is as good as it 
used to be-I have trouble making up my mind, of coming to a decision. Do you think you 
can do anything for us?" 
But Lentz had no immediate relief for his anxiety. "Not so fast, superintendent," 
he countered. "You have given me the background, but I have no real data as yet. I must 
look around for a while, smell out the situation for myself, talk to your engineers, perhaps 
have a few drinks with them, and get acquainted. That is possible, is it not? Then in a few 
days, maybe, we know where we stand." 
King had no alternative but to agree. 
"And it is well that your young men do not know what I am here for. Suppose I 
am your old friend, a visiting physicist, eh?" 
"Why, yes-of course. I can see to it that that idea gets around. But say-" King was 
reminded again of something that had bothered him from the time Silard had first 
suggested Lentz' name. "May I ask a personal question?" 
The merry eyes were undisturbed. "Go ahead." 
"I can't help but be surprised that one man should attain eminence in two such 
widely differing fields as psychology and mathematics. And right now I'm perfectly 
convinced of your ability to pass yourself off as a physicist. I don't understand it." 
The smile was more amused, without being in the least patronizing, nor offensive. 
"Same subject," he answered. "Eh? How's that-" 
"Or rather, both mathematical physics and psychology are branches of the same 
subject, symbology. You are a specialist; it' would not necessarily come to your 
attention." 
"I still don't follow you." 
"No? Man lives in a world of ideas. Any phenomenon is so complex that he 
cannot possibly grasp the whole of it. He abstracts certain characteristics of a given 
phenomenon as an idea, then represents that idea as a symbol, be it a word or a 
mathematical sign. Human reaction is almost entirely reaction to symbols, and only 
negligibly to phenomena. As a matter Of fact," he continued, removing the cigarette 
holder from his mouth and settling into his subject, "it can be demonstrated that the 
human mind can think only in terms of symbols. 
"When we think, we let symbols operate on other symbols in certain, set fashionsrules 
of logic, or rules of mathematics. If the symbols have been abstracted so that they 
are structurally similar to the phenomena they stand for, and if the symbol operations are 
similar in structure and order to the operations of phenomena in the ~real~ world, we 
think sanely. If our logic-mathematics, or our word-symbols, have been poorly chosen, 
we think not sanely. 
"In mathematical physics you are concerned with making your symbology fit 
physical phenomena. In psychiatry I am concerned with precisely the same thing, except 
that I am more immediately concerned with the man who does the thinking than with the 
phenomena he is thinking about. But the same subject, always the dame subject." 
"We're not getting anyplace, Gus." Harper put down his slide rule and frowned. 
"Seems like it, Cal," Erickson grudgingly admitted. 
"Damn it, though-there ought to be some reasonable way of tackling the problem. 
What do we need? Some form of concentrated, controllable power for rocket fuel. What 
have we got? Power galore through fission. There must be some way to bottle that power, 
and serve it out when we need it-and the answer is some place in one of the radioactive~ 
series. I know it." He stared glumly around the laboratory as if expecting to find the 
answer written somewhere on the lead-sheathed walls. 
"Don't be so down in the mouth about it. You've got me convinced there is an 
answer; let's figure out how to find it. In the first place the three natural radioactive series 
are out, aren't they?" 
"Yes ... at least we had agreed that all that ground had been fully covered before." 
"Okay; we have to assume that previous investigators have done what their notes 
show they have done-otherwise we might as well not believe anything, and start checking 
on everybody from Archimedes to date. Maybe that is indicated, but Methuselah himself 
couldn't carry out such an assignment. What have we got left?" 
"Artificial radioactives." 
"All right. Let's set up a list of them, both those that have been made up to now, 
and those that might possibly be made in the future. Call that our group-or rather, field, if 
you want to be pedantic about definitions. There are a limited number of operations that 
can be performed on each member of the group, and on the members taken in 
combination. Set it up." 
Erickson did so, using the curious curlicues of the calculus of statement. Harper 
nodded. "All right-expand it." Erickson looked up after a few moments, and asked, "Cal, have you any idea how 
many terms there are in the expansion?" 
"No. . . hundreds, maybe thousands, I suppose." 
"You're conservative. It reaches four figures without considering possible new 
radioactives. We couldn't finish such a research in a century. He chucked his pencil down 
and looked morose. 
Cal Harper looked at him curiously, but with sympathy. "Gus," he said gently, 
"the job isn't getting you, too, is it?" 
"I don't think so. Why?" 
"I never saw you so willing to give up anything before. Naturally you and I will 
never finish any such job, but at the very worst we will have eliminated a lot of wrong 
answers for somebody else. Look at Edison-sixty years of experimenting, twenty hours a 
day, yet he never found out the one thing he was most interested in knowing. I guess if he 
could take it, we can." 
Erickson pulled out of his funk to some extent. "I suppose so," he agreed. 
"Anyhow, maybe we could work out some techniques for carrying a lot of experiments 
simultaneously." 
Harper slapped him on the shoulder. "That's the ol' fight. Besides, we may not 
need to finish the research, or anything like it, to find a satisfactory fuel. The way I see it, 
there are probably a dozen, maybe a hundred, right answers. We may run across one of 
them any day. Anyhow, since you're willing to give me a hand with it in your off watch 
time, I'm game to peck away at it till hell freezes." 
Lentz puttered around the plant and the administration center for several days, 
until he was known to everyone by sight He made himself pleasant and asked questions. 
He was soon regarded as a harmless nuisance, to be tolerated because he was a friend of 
the superintendent. He even poked his nose into the commercial power end of the plant, 
and had the radiation-to-electric-power sequence explained to him in detail. This alone 
would have been sufficient to disarm any suspicion that he might be a psychiatrist, for the 
staff psychiatrists paid no attention to the hard-bitten technicians of the power-conversion 
unit. There was no need to; mental instability on their part could not affect the pile, nor 
were they subject to the strain of social responsibility. Theirs was simply a job personally 
dangerous, a type of strain strong men have been inured to since the jungle. 
In due course he got around to the unit of the radiation laboratory set aside for 
Calvin Harper's use. He rang the bell and waited. Harper answered the door, his 
antiradiation helmet shoved back from his face like some grotesque sunbonnet. "What is 
it?" he asked. "Oh-it's you, Doctor Lentz. Did you want to see me?" 
"Why, yes, and no," the older man answered, "I was just looking around the 
experimental station and wondered what you do in here. Will I be in the way?" 
"Not at all. Come in. Gus!" 
Erickson got up from where he had been fussing over the power leads to their 
trigger a modified betatron rather than a resonant accelerator. "Hello." 
"Gus, this is Doctor Lentz-Gus Erickson." 
"We've met," said Erickson, pulling off his gauntlet to shake hands. He had had a 
couple of drinks with Lentz in town and considered him a "nice old duck." "You're just 
between shows, but stick around and we'll start another run-not that there is much to see." While Erickson continued with the set-up, Harper conducted Lentz around the 
laboratory, explaining the line of research they were conducting, as happy as a father 
showing off twins. The psychiatrist listened with one ear and made appropriate comments 
while he studied the young scientist for signs of the instability he had noted to be 
recorded against him. 
"You see," Harper explained, oblivious to the interest in himself, "we are testing 
radioactive materials to see if we can produce disintegration of the sort that takes place in 
the pile, but in a minute, almost microscopic, mass. If we are successful, we can use the 
breeder pile to make a safe, convenient, atomic fuel for rockets-or for anything else." He 
went on to explain their schedule of experimentation. 
"I see," Lentz observed politely. "What element are you examining now" 
Harper told him. "But it's not a case of examining one element-we've finished 
Isotope II of this element with negative results. Our schedule calls next for running the 
same test on Isotope V. Like this." He hauled out a lead capsule, and showed the label to 
Lentz. He hurried away to the shield around the target of the betatron, left open by 
Erickson. Lentz saw that he had opened the capsule, and was performing some operation 
on it with 'a long pair of tongs in a gingerly manner, having first lowered his helmet. 
Then he closed and clamped the target shield. 
"Okay, Gus?" he called out. "Ready to roll?" 
"Yeah, I guess so," Erickson assured him, coming around from behind the 
ponderous apparatus, and rejoining them. They crowded behind a thick metal and 
concrete shield that cut them off from direct sight of the set up. 
"Will I need to put- on armor?" inquired Lentz. 
"No," Erickson reassured him, "we wear it because we are around the stuff day in 
and day out. You just stay behind the shield and you'll be all right." 
Erickson glanced at Harper, who nodded, and fixed his, eyes on a panel of 
instruments mounted behind the shield. Lentz saw Erickson press a push button at the top 
of the board, then heard a series of relays click on the far side of~ the shield. There was a 
short moment of silence. 
The floor slapped his feet like some incredible bastinado. The concussion that 
beat on his ears was so intense that it paralyzed the auditory nerve almost before it could 
be recorded as sound. The air-conducted concussion wave flailed every inch of his body 
with a single, stinging, numbing blow. As he picked himself up, he found he was 
trembling uncontrollably and realized, for the first time, that he was getting old. 
Harper was seated on the floor and had commenced to bleed from the nose. 
Erickson had gotten up, his cheek was cut. He touched a hand to the wound, then stood 
there, regarding the blood on his fingers with a puzzled expression on his face. 
"Are you hurt?" Lentz inquired inanely. "What happened?" 
Harper cut in. "Gus, we've done it! We've done it! Isotope Five has turned the 
trick!" 
Erickson looked still more bemused. "Five?" he said stupidly, "-but that wasn't 
Five, that was Isotope IL I put it in myself." 
"You put it in? I put it in! It was Five, I tell you!" 
They stood staring at each other, still confused by the explosion, and each a little 
annoyed at the boneheaded stupidity the other displayed in the face of the obvious. Lentz 
diffidently interceded. "Wait a minute, boys," he suggested, "maybe there's a reason-Gus, you placed a 
quantity of the second isotope in the receiver?" 
"Why, yes, certainly. I wasn't satisfied with the last run, and I wanted to check it." 
Lentz nodded. "It's my fault, gentlemen," he admitted ruefully. "I came in, 
disturbed your routine, and both of you charged the receiver. I know Harper did, for I saw 
him do it with Isotope V. I'm sorry." 
Understanding broke over Harper's face, and he slapped the older man on the 
shoulder. "Don't be sorry," he laughed; "you can come around to our lab and help us 
make mistakes anytime you feel in the mood- Can't he, Gus? This is the answer, Doctor 
Lentz, this is it!" 
"But," the psychiatrist pointed out, "you don't know which isotope blew up." 
"Nor care," Harper supplemented. "Maybe it was both, taken together. But we 
will know-this business is cracked now; we'll soon have it open." He gazed happily 
around at the wreckage. 
In spite of Superintendent King's anxiety, Lentz refused to be hurried in passing 
judgment on the situation. Consequently, when be did present himself at King's office, 
and announced that he was ready to report, King was pleasantly surprised as well as 
relieved. "Well, I'm delighted," he said. "Sit down, doctor, sit down. Have a cigar. What 
do we do about it?" 
But Lentz stuck to his perennial cigarette, and refused to be hurried. "I must have 
some information first: how important," he demanded, "is the power from your plant?" 
King understood the implication at once. "If you are thinking about shutting down 
- the plant for more than a limited period, it can't be done." 
"Why not? If the figures supplied me are correct, your power output is less than 
thirteen percent of the total power used in the country." 
"Yes, that is true, but we also supply another thirteen percent second hand through 
the plutonium we breed here-and you haven't analyzed the items that make up the 
balance. A lot of it is domestic power which householders get from sunscreens located on 
their roofs. Another big slice is power for the moving roadways-that's sunpower again. 
The portion we provide here directly or indirectly is the main power source for most of 
the heavy industries-steel, plastics, lithics, all kinds of manufacturing and processing. 
You might as well cut the heart out of a man-" 
"But the food industry isn't basically dependent on you?" Lentz persisted. 
"No ... Food isn't basically a power industry though we do supply a certain 
percentage of the power used in processing. I see your point, and will go on, concede that 
transportation, that is to say, distribution food, could get along without us. But good 
heavens, Doctor, you can't stop atomic power without causing the biggest panic this 
country has ever seen. It's the keystone our whole industrial system." 
"The country has lived through panics before, and we got past the oil shortage 
safely." 
"Yes because sunpower and atomic power had to take the place of oil. You don't 
realize what would mean, Doctor. It would be worse than a war; in system like ours, one 
thing depends on another. If you cut off the heavy industries all at once, everything else 
stops too." 
"Nevertheless, you had better dump the pile." The uranium in the pile was molten, 
its temperature bell greater than twenty-four hundred degrees centigrade. The pile could be dumped into a group of small containers when it was desired to shut it down. The 
mass into one container would be too small to maintain progressive atomic disintegration. 
Icing glanced involuntarily at the glass-enclosed relay mounted on his office wall, 
by which he, as well as the engineer on duty, could dump the pile, if need be. "But ~ 
couldn't do that ... or rather, if I did, the plant wouldn't stay shut down. The directors 
would simply replace me with someone who would operate it." 
"You're right, of course." Lentz silently considered the situation for some time, 
then said, "Superintendent, will you order a car to fly me back to Chicago?" 
"You're going, doctor?" 
"Yes." He took the cigarette holder from his face, and, for once, the smile of 
Olympian detachment was gone completely. His entire manner was sober, even tragic. 
"Short of shutting down the plant, there is no solution to your problem-none 
whatsoever!" 
"I owe you a full explanation," he continued, presently. 
"You are confronted here with recurring instances of situational psychoneurosis. 
Roughly, the symptoms manifest themselves as anxiety neurosis, or some form of 
hysteria. 
The partial amnesia of your secretary, Steinke, is a good example of the latter. He 
might be cured with shock technique, but it would hardly be a kindness, as he has 
achieved a stable adjustment which puts him beyond the reach of the strain he could not 
stand. 
"That other young fellow, Harper, whose blowup was the immediate cause of you 
sending for me, is an anxiety case. When the cause of the anxiety was eliminated from his 
matrix, he at once regained full sanity. But keep a close watch on his friend, Erickson- 
"However, it is the cause, and prevention, of situational psychoneurosis we are concerned 
with here, rather than the forms in which it is manifested. In plain language, 
psychoneurosis situational simply refers to the common fact that, if you put a man in a 
situation that worries him more than he can stand, in time he blows up, one way or 
another. 
"That is precisely the situation here. You take sensitive, intelligent young men, 
impress them with the fact that a single slip on their part, or even some fortuitous 
circumstance beyond their control, will result in the death of God knows how many other 
people, and then expect them to remain sane. It's ridiculous-impossible!" 
"But good heavens, doctor!-there must be some answer- There must!" He got up 
and paced around the room. Lentz noted, with pity, that King himself was riding the 
ragged edge of the very condition they were discussing. 
"No," he said slowly. "No ... let me explain. You don't dare entrust control to less 
sensitive, less socially conscious men. You might as well turn the controls over to a 
mindless idiot. And to psychoneurosis situational there are but two cures. The first 
obtains when the psychosis results from a misevaluation of environment. That cure calls 
for semantic readjustment. One assists the patient to evaluate correctly his environment. 
The worry disappears because there never was a real reason for worry in the situation 
itself, but simply in the wrong meaning the patient's mind had assigned to it. 
"The second case is when the patient has correctly evaluated the situation, and 
rightly finds in it cause for extreme worry. His worry is perfectly sane and proper, but he 
cannot stand up under it indefinitely; it drives him crazy. The only possible cure is to change the situation. I have stayed here long enough to assure myself that such is the 
condition here. You engineers have correctly evaluated the public danger of this thing, 
and it will, with dreadful certainty, drive all of you crazy! 
"The only possible solution is to dump the pile-and leave it dumped." 
King had continued his nervous pacing of the floor, as if the walls of the room 
itself were the cage of his dilemma. Now he stopped and appealed once more to the 
psychiatrist. "Isn't there anything I can do?" 
"Nothing to cure. To alleviate-well, possibly." 
"How?" 
"Situational psychosis results from adrenalin exhaustion. When a man is placed 
under a nervous strain, his adrenal glands increase their secretion to help compensate for 
the strain. If the strain is too great and lasts too long, the adrenals aren't equal to the task, 
and he cracks. That is what you have here. Adrenalin therapy might stave of a mental 
breakdown, but it most assuredly would hasten a physical breakdown. But that would be 
safer from a viewpoint of public welfare-even though it assumes that physicists are 
expendable! 
"Another thing occurs to me: If you selected any new watch engineers from the 
membership of churches that practice the confessional, it would increase the length of 
their usefulness." 
King was plainly surprised. "I don't follow you." 
"The patient unloads most of his worry on his confessor, who is not himself 
actually confronted by the situation, and can stand it. That is simply an ameliorative, 
however. I am convinced that in this situation, eventual insanity is inevitable. But there is 
a lot of good sense in the confessional," he mused. "It fills a basic human heed. I think 
that is why the early psychoanalysts were so surprisingly successful, for all their limited 
knowledge." He fell silent for a while, then added, "If you will be so kind as to order a 
stratocab for me-" 
"You've nothing more to suggest?' 
"No. You had better turn your psychological staff loose on means of alleviation; 
they're able men, all of them." 
King pressed a switch, and spoke briefly to Steinke. Turning back to Lentz, he 
said, "You'll wait here until your car is ready?" 
Lentz judged correctly that King desired it, and agreed. 
Presently the tube delivery on King's desk went "Ping!" 
The superintendent removed a small white pasteboard, a calling card. He studied 
it with surprise and passed it over to Lentz. "I can't imagine why he should be calling on 
me," he observed, and added, "Would you like to meet him?" 
Lentz read: 
THOMAS P. HARRINGTON 
Captain (Mathematics) 
United States Navy 
Director 
U.S. Naval Observatory 
"But I do know him," he said. "I'd be very pleased to see him." Harrington was a man with something on his mind. He seemed relieved when 
Steinke had finished ushering him in and had returned to the outer office. He commenced 
to speak at once, turning to Lentz, who was nearer to him than King. 
"You're King? Why, Doctor Lentz! What are you doing here?" 
"Visiting," answered Lentz, accurately - but incompletely, as he shook hands. 
"This is Superintendent King over here. Superintendent King-Captain Harrington." 
"How do you do, Captain-it's a pleasure to have you here." 
"It's an honor to be here sir." 
"Sit down?" 
"Thanks." He accepted a chair, and laid a briefcase at a corner of King's desk. 
"Superintendent, you are entitle to an explanation as to why I have broken in on you Ilk 
this-" 
"Glad to have you." In fact, the routine of formal politeness was an anodyne to 
King's frayed nerves. 
"That's kind of you, but that secretary chap, the one that brought me in here, 
would it be too much to as for you to tell him to forget my name? I know it seem strange- 
" 
"Not at all." King was mystified, but willing to grab any reasonable request of a 
distinguished colleague in science. He summoned Steinke to the interoffice visiphone and 
gave him his orders. 
Lentz stood up, and indicated that he was about to leave. He caught Harrington's 
eye. "I think you want private palaver, Captain." 
King looked from Harrington to Lentz, and back at Harrington. The astronomer 
showed momentary indecision, then protested, "I have no objection at all myself it's up to 
Doctor King. As a matter of fact," he added," might be a very good thing if you did sit in 
on it." 
"I don't know what it is, Captain," observed Kin~ "that you want to see me about, 
but Doctor Lentz is a ready here in a confidential capacity." 
"Good! Then that's settled .. I'll get right down I business. Doctor King, you know 
Destry's mechanics infinitesimals?" 
"Naturally." Lentz cocked a brow at King, who chose to ignore it. 
"Yes, of course. Do you remember - theorem six, an the transformation between 
equations thirteen and fourteen?" 
"I think so, but I'd want to see them." King got up and went over to a bookcase. 
Harrington stayed him with a hand. 
"Don't bother. I have them here." He hauled out a key, unlocked his briefcase, and 
drew out a large, much thumbed, loose-leaf notebook. "Here. You, too, Doctor Lentz. 
Are you familiar with this development?" 
Lentz nodded. "I've had occasion to look into them." 
"Good-I think it's agreed that the step between thirteen and fourteen is the key to 
the whole matter. Now the change from thirteen to fourteen looks perfectly valid and 
would be, in some fields. But suppose we expand it to show every possible phase of the 
matter, every link in the chain of reasoning." 
He turned a page, and showed them the same two equations broken down into 
nine intermediate equations. He placed a finger under an associated group of mathematical symbols. "Do you see that? Do you see what that implies?" He peered 
anxiously at their faces. 
King studied it, his lips moving. "Yes. .. . I -believe I do see. 'Odd... I never 
looked at it just that way before- yet I've studied those equations until I've dreamed about 
them." He turned to Lentz. "Do you agree, Doctor?" 
Lentz nodded slowly. "I believe so ... Yes, I think I may say so." 
Harrington should have been pleased; he wasn't. "I had hoped you could tell me I 
was wrong," he said, almost petulantly, "but I'm afraid there is no further doubt about it. 
Doctor Destry included an assumption valid in molar physics, but for which we have 
absolutely no assurance in atomic physics. I suppose you realize what this means to you, 
Doctor King?" 
King's voice was a dry whisper. "Yes," he said, "yes it means that if the Big Bomb 
out there ever blows up, we must assume that it will all go up all at once, rather than the 
way Destry predicted ... and God help the human race!" 
Captain Harrington cleared his throat to break the silence that followed. 
"Superintendent," he said, "I would not have ventured to call had it been simply a matter 
of disagreement as to interpretation of theoretical predictions-" 
"You have something more to go on?" 
"Yes, and no. Probably you gentlemen think of the Naval Observatory as being 
exclusively preoccupied with ephemeredes and tide tables. In a way you would be rightbut 
we still have some time to devote to research as long as it doesn't cut into the 
appropriation. My special interest has always been lunar theory. 
"I don't mean lunar ballistics," he continued, "I mean the much more interesting 
problem of its origin and history, the problem the younger Darwin struggled with, as well 
as my Illustrious predecessor, Captain T. J. J. See. I think that it is obvious that any 
theory of lunar origin and history must take into account the surface features of the 
moon-especially the mountains, the craters, that mark its face so prominently." 
He paused momentarily, and Superintendent King put in, "Just a minute, Captain- 
I may be stupid, or perhaps I missed something, but-is there a connection between what 
we were discussing before and lunar theory?" 
"Bear with me for a few moments, Doctor King," Harrington apologized; "there is 
a connection-at least, I'm afraid there is a connection-but I would rather present my points 
in their proper order before making my conclusions." They granted him an alert silence; 
he went on: 
"Although we are in the habit of referring to the 'craters' of the moon, we know 
they are not volcanic craters. Superficially, they follow none of the rules of terrestrial 
volcanoes in appearance or distribution, but when Rutter came out in 952 with his 
monograph on the dynamics of vulcanology, he proved rather conclusively that the lunar 
craters could not be caused by anything that we know as volcanic action. 
"That left the bombardment theory as the simplest hypothesis. It looks good, on 
the face of it, and a few minutes spent throwing pebbles in to a patch of mud will 
convince anyone that the lunar craters could have been formed by falling meteors. 
"But there are difficulties. If the moon was struck so repeatedly, why not the 
earth? It hardly seems necessary to mention that the earth's atmosphere would be no 
protection against masses big enough to form craters like Endymion, or Plato. And if they 
fell after the moon was a dead world while the earth was still young enough to change its face and erase the marks of bombardment, why did the meteors avoid so nearly 
completely the dry basins we call the seas? 
"I want to cut this short; you'll find the data and the mathematical investigations 
from the data here in my notes. There is one other major objection to the meteor 
bombardment theory: the great rays that spread from 
Tycho across almost the entire surface of the moon. It makes the moon look like a 
crystal ball that had been struck with a hammer, and impact from - outside seems evident, 
but there are difficulties. The striking mass, our hypothetical meteor, must have been 
smaller than the present crater of Tycho, but it must have the mass and speed to crack an 
entire planet." 
"Work it out for yourself-you must either postulate a chunk out of the core of a 
dwarf star, or speeds such as we have never observed within the system. It's conceivable 
but a far-fetched explanation" 
He turned to King. "Doctor, does anything occur to you that might account for a 
phenomenon like Tycho?" 
The Superintendent grasped the arms of his chair, then glanced at his palms. He 
fumbled for a handkerchief, and wiped them. "Go ahead," he said, almost inaudibly. 
"Very well then-" Harrington drew out of his briefcase a large photograph of the 
moon-a beautiful full-moon portrait made at Lick. "I want you to imagine the moon as 
she might have been sometime in the past. The dark areas we call the 'Seas' are actual 
oceans. It has an atmosphere, perhaps a heavier gas than oxygen and nitrogen, but an 
active gas, capable of supporting some conceivable form of life. 
"For this is an inhabited planet, inhabited by intelligent beings, beings capable of 
discovering atomic power and exploiting it!" 
He pointed out on the photograph, near the southern limb, the lime-white circle of 
Tycho, with its shining, incredible, thousand-mile-long rays spreading, thrusting, jutting 
out from it. "Here ... here at Tycho was located their main atomic plant." He moved his 
finger to a point near the equator, and somewhat east of meridian-the point where three 
great dark areas merged, Mare Nubium, Mare Imbriwn, Oceanus Procellarum-and picked 
out two bright splotches surrounded also by rays, but shorter, less distinct, and wavy. 
"And here at Copernicus and at Kepler, on islands at the middle of a great ocean, were 
secondary power stations." 
He paused, and interpolated soberly, "Perhaps they knew the danger they ran, but 
wanted power so badly that they were willing to gamble the life of their race. Perhaps 
they were ignorant of the ruinous possibilities of their little machines, or perhaps their 
mathematicians assured them that it could not happen. 
"But we will never know ... no one can ever know. For it blew up, and killed 
them-and it killed their planet. 
"It whisked off the gassy envelope and blew it into outer space. It may even have 
set up a chain reaction, in that atmosphere. It blasted great chunks of the planet's crust 
Perhaps some of that escaped completely, too, but all that did not reach the speed of 
escape fell back down in time and splashed great ring-shaped craters in the land. 
"The oceans cushioned the shock; only the more massive fragments formed 
craters through the water. Perhaps some life still remained in those ocean depths. If so, it 
was doomed to die-for the water, unprotected by atmospheric pressure, could not remain liquid and must inevitably escape lit time to outer space. Its life blood drained away. The 
planet was dead-dead by suicide! 
He met the grave eyes of his two silent listeners with an expression almost of 
appeal. "Gentlemen-this is only a theory I realize ... only a theory, a dream, a nightmare- 
But it has kept me awake so many nights that I had to come tell you about it, and see if 
you saw it the same way I do. 
As for the mechanics of it, it's all in there, in my notes. You can check it-and I 
pray that you find some error! But it is the only lunar theory I have examined which 
included all of the known data, and accounted for all of them." 
He appeared to have finished; Lentz spoke up. "Suppose, Captain, suppose we 
check your mathematics and find no flaw-what then?" 
Harrington flung out his hands. "That's what I came here to find out!" 
Although Lentz had asked the question, Harrington directed the appeal to King. 
The superintendent looked up; his eyes met the astronomer's, wavered, and dropped 
again. "There's nothing to be done," he said dully, "nothing at all." 
Harrington stared at him in open amazement. "But good God, man!" he burst out. 
"Don't you see it? That pile has got to be disassembled at once!" 
"Take it easy, Captain." Lentz's calm voice was a spray of cold water. "And don't 
be too harsh on poor King, this worries him even more than it does you. What he means 
is this; we're not faced with a problem in physics, but with a political and economic 
situation. Let's put it this way: King can no more dump his plant than a peasant with a 
vineyard on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius can abandon his holdings and pauperize his 
family simply because there will be an eruption someday. 
"King doesn't own that plant out there; he's only the custodian. If he dumps it 
against the wishes of the legal owners, they'll simply oust him and put in someone more 
amenable. No, we have to convince the owners." 
"The President could make them do it," suggested Harrington. "I could get to the 
President-" 
"No doubt you could, through your department. And you might even convince 
him. But could he help much?" 
"Why, of course he could. He's the President!" 
"Wait a minute. You're Director of the Naval Observatory; suppose you took a 
sledge hammer and tried to smash the big telescope-how far would you get?" 
"Not very far," Farrington conceded. "We guard the big fellow pretty closely." 
"Nor can the President act in an arbitrary manner," Lentz persisted. "He's not an 
unlimited monarch. If he shuts down this plant without due process of law, the federal 
courts will tie him in knots. I admit that Congress isn't helpless, since the Atomic Energy 
Commission takes orders from it, but-would you like to try to give a congressional 
committee a course in the mechanics of infinitesimals?" 
Harrington readily stipulated the point. "But there is another way," he pointed out. 
"Congress is responsive to public opinion. What we need to do is to convince the public 
that the pile is a menace to everybody. That could be done without ever trying to explain 
things in terms of higher mathematics." 
"Certainly it could," Lentz agreed. "You could go on the air with it and scare 
everybody half to death. You could create the damnedest panic this slightly slug-nutty 
country has ever seen. No, thank you. I, for one, would rather have us all take the chance of being quietly killed than bring on a mass psychosis that would destroy the culture we 
are building up. I think one taste of the Crazy Years is enough." 
"Well, then, what do you suggest?" 
Lentz considered shortly, then answered, "All I see is a forlorn hope. We've got to 
work on the Board of Directors and try to beat some sense in their heads." 
King, who had been following the discussion with attention in spite of his tired 
despondency, interjected a remark. "How would you go about that?" 
"I don't know," Lentz admitted. "It will take some thinking. But it seems the most 
fruitful line of approach. If it doesn't work, we can always fall back on Harrington's 
notion of publicity-I don't insist that the world commit suicide to satisfy my criteria of 
evaluation." 
Harrington glanced at his wrist watch-a bulky affair-and whistled. "Good 
heavens," he exclaimed, "I forgot the time! I'm supposed officially to be at the Flag staff 
Observatory." 
King had automatically noted the time shown by the Captain's watch as it was 
displayed. "But it can't be that late," he had objected. Harrington looked puzzled, then 
laughed. 
"It isn't-not by two hours. We are in zone plus-seven; this shows zone plus-fiveit's 
radio-synchronized with the master clock at Washington." 
"Did you say radio-synchronized?" 
"Yes. Clever, isn't it?" He held it out for inspection. "I call it a telechronometer; 
it's the only one of its sort to date. My nephew designed it for me. He's a bright one, that 
boy. He'll go far. That is"-his face clouded, as if the little interlude had only served to 
emphasize the tragedy that hung over them-"if any of us live that long!" 
A signal light glowed at King's desk, and Steinke's face showed on the 
communicator screen. King answered him, then said, "Your car is ready, Doctor Lentz." 
"Let Captain Harrington have it." 
"Then you're not going back to Chicago?" 
"No. The situation has changed. If you want me, I'm stringing along." 
The following Friday Steinike ushered Lentz into King's office. King looked 
almost happy as he shook hands. "When did you ground, Doctor? I didn't expect you 
back for anot. Heinlein 
54 Books Robert A. Heinlein. All you zombies 
2217 Time Zone V (EST) 7 Nov. 1970-NTC- "Pop's Place": 
I was polishing a brandy snifter when the Unmarried Mother came 
in. I noted the time-10: 17 P. M. zone five, or eastern time, 
November 7th, 1970. Temporal agents always notice time and 
date; we must. 
The Unmarried Mother was a man twenty-five years old, 
no taller than I am, childish features and a touchy temper. I 
didn't like his looks - I never had - but he was a lad I was 
here to recruit, he was my boy. I gave him my best barkeep's 
smile. 
Maybe I'm too critical. He wasn't swish; his nickname 
came from what he always said when some nosy type asked him his 
line: "I'm an unmarried mother. -- If he felt less than 
murderous he would add: "at four cents a word. I write 
confession stories. -- 
If he felt nasty, he would wait for somebody to make 
something of it. He had a lethal style of infighting, like a 
female cop - reason I wanted him. Not the only one. 
He had a load on, and his face showed that he despised 
people more than usual. Silently I poured a double shot of Old 
Underwear and left the bottle. He drank it, poured another. 
I wiped the bar top. -- How's the "Unmarried Mother" 
racket? -- 
His fingers tightened on the glass and he seemed about 
to throw it at me; I felt for the sap under the bar. In 
temporal manipulation you try to figure everything, but there 
are so many factors that you never take needless risks. 
I saw him relax that tiny amount they teach you to 
watch for in the Bureau's training school. -- Sorry, " I said. 
-- Just asking, "How's business? " Make it "How's the weather? 
-- 
He looked sour. -- Business is okay. I write "em, they 
print "em, I eat. -- 
I poured myself one, leaned toward him. -- Matter of 
fact, " I said, "you write a nice stick - I've sampled a few. 
You have an amazingly sure touch with the woman's angle. -- 
It was a slip I had to risk; he never admitted what 
pen-names he used. But he was boiled enough to pick up only the 
last: "'Woman's angle! "" he repeated with a snort. -- Yeah, I 
know the woman's angle. I should. -- 
"So? -- I said doubtfully. -- Sisters? -- 
"No. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. -- 
"Now, now, " I answered mildly, "bartenders and 
psychiatrists learn that nothing is stranger than truth. Why, 
son, if you heard the stories I do-well, you'd make yourself 
rich. Incredible. -- 
"You don't know what "incredible" means! " 
"So? Nothing astonishes me. I've always heard worse. -- 
He snorted again. -- Want to bet the rest of the 
bottle? -- 
"I'll bet a full bottle. -- I placed one on the bar. 
"Well-" I signaled my other bartender to handle the 
trade. We were at the far end, a single-stool space that I kept 
private by loading the bar top by it with jars of pickled eggs 
and other clutter. A few were at the other end watching the 
fights and somebody was playing the juke box-private as a bed 
where we were. 
"Okay, " he began, "to start with, I'm a bastard. -- 
"No distinction around here, " I said. 
"I mean it, " he snapped. -- My parents weren't 
married. -- 
"Still no distinction, " I insisted. -- Neither were 
mine. -- 
"When-" He stopped, gave me the first warm look I ever 
saw on him. -- You mean that? -- 
"I do. A one-hundred-percent bastard. In fact, " I 
added, "no one in my family ever marries. All bastards. 
"Oh, that. -- I showed it to him. -- It just looks like 
a wedding ring; I wear it to keep women off. -- It is an 
antique I bought in 1985 from a fellow operative - he had 
fetched it from pre-Christian Crete. -- The Worm Ouroboros... 
the World Snake that eats its own tail, forever without end. A 
symbol of the Great Paradox. -- 
He barely glanced at it. -- if you're really a bastard, 
you know how it feels. When I was a little girl-" 
"Wups! " I said. -- Did I hear you correctly? -- "'Who's telling this story? When I was a little 
girl-Look, ever hear of Christine Jorgenson? Or Roberta Cowell? 
-- 
"Uh, sex-change cases? You're trying to tell me-" 
"Don't interrupt or swelp me, I won't talk. I was a 
foundling, left at an orphanage in Cleveland in 1945 when I was 
a month old. When I was a little girl, I envied kids with 
parents. Then, when I learned about sex-and, believe me, Pop, 
you learn fast in an orphanage-" 
"I know " 
"-I made a solemn vow that any kid of mine would have 
both a pop and a mom. It kept me "pure, " quite a feat in that 
vicinity - I had to learn to fight to manage it. Then I got 
older and realized I stood darn little chance of getting 
married - for the same reason I hadn't been adopted --. He 
scowled. I was horse-faced and buck-toothed, flat-chested and 
straight-haired. 
"You don't look any worse than I do. -- 
"Who cares how a barkeep looks? Or a writer? But peaple 
wanting to adopt pick little blue-eyed golden-haired moron. 
Later on, the boys want bulging breasts, a cute face, and an 
Oh-you-wonderful-male manner. -- He shrugged. I couldn't 
compete. So I decided to join the W. E. N. C. H. E. S. -- 
Eh? -- 
"Women's Emergency National Corps, Hospitality & 
Entertainment Section, what they now call "Space 
Angels'-Auxiliary Nursing Group, Extraterrestrial Legions. -- 
I knew both terms, once I had them chronized. We use 
still a third name, it's that elite military service corps: 
Women's Hospitality Order Refortifying & Encouraging Spacemen. 
Vocabulary shift is the worst hurdle in time-jumps - did you 
know that "service station" once fractions? Once on an 
assignment in the Churchill Era, a woman said to me, "Meet me 
at the service station next door -- - which is not what it 
sounds; a service station" (then) wouldn't have a bed in it. 
He went on: "It was when they first admitted you can't 
send men into space for months and years and not relieve the 
tension. You remember how the wowsers screamed? - that improved 
my chance, since volunteers were scarce. A gal had to be 
respectable, preferably virgin (they liked to train them from 
scratch), above average mentally, and stable emotionally. But 
most volunteers were old hookers, or neurotics who would crack 
up ten days off Earth. So I didn't need looks; if they accepted 
me, they would fix my buck teeth, put a wave in my hair, teach 
me to walk and dance and how to listen to a man pleasingly, and everything else - plus training for the prime duties. They 
would even use plastic surgery if it would help - nothing too 
good for our Boys. 
"Best yet, they made sure you didn't get pregnant 
during your enlistment - and you were almost certain to marry 
at the end of your hitch. Same way today, A. N. G. E. L. S. 
marry spacers - they talk the language. 
"When I was eighteen I was placed as a `mother's 
helper'. This family simply wanted a cheap servant, but I 
didn't mind as I couldn't enlist till I was twenty-one. I did 
housework and went to night school - pretending to continue my 
high school typing and shorthand but going to a charm class 
instead, to better my chances for enlistment. 
"Then I met this city slicker with his hundred-dollar 
bills. -- He scowled. The no-good actually did have a wad of 
hundred-dollar bills. He showed me one night, told me to help 
myself. 
"But I didn't. I liked him. He was the first man I ever 
met who was nice to me without trying games with me. I quit 
night school to see him oftener. It was the happiest time of my 
life. 
"Then one night in the park the games began. -- 
He stopped. I said, "And then? -- 
"And then nothing! I never saw him again. He walked me 
home and told me he loved me-and kissed me good-night and never 
came back. -- He looked grim. -- If I could find him, I'd kill 
him! " 
"Well, " I sympathized, "I know how you feel. But 
killing him-just for doing what comes naturally - hmm... Did 
you struggle? -- 
"Huh? What's that got to do with it? -- 
"Quite a bit. Maybe he deserves a couple of broken arms 
for running out on you, but-" 
"He deserves worse than that! Wait till you hear. 
Somehow I kept anyone from suspecting and decided it was all 
for the best. I hadn't really loved him and probably would 
never love anybody-and I was more eager to join the WE. N. C. 
H. E. S. than ever. I wasn't disqualified, they didn't insist 
on virgins. I cheered up. 
"It wasn't until my skirts got tight that I realized. 
-- 
"Pregnant? -- 
"He had me higher "n a kite! Those skinflints I lived 
with ignored it as long as I could work-then kicked me out, and 
the orphanage wouldn't take me back. I landed in a charity ward 
surrounded by other big bellies and trotted bedpans until my time came. 
"One night I found myself on an operating table, with a 
nurse saying, "Relax. Now breathe deeply. " 
"I woke up in bed, numb from the chest down. My surgeon 
came in. "How do you feel? " he says cheerfully. 
"Like a mummy. -- 
"Naturally. You're wrapped like one and full of dope to 
keep you numb. You'll get well-but a Cesarean isn't a hangnail. 
" 
Cesarean" I said. "Doc - did I lose the baby? " 
Oh, no. Your baby's fine. " 
Oh. Boy or girl? " 
"'A healthy little girt. Five pounds, three ounces. " 
"I relaxed. It's something, to have made a baby. I told 
myself I would go somewhere and tack "Mrs. " on my name and let 
the kid think her papa was dead -no orphanage for my kid! 
"But the surgeon was talking. "Tell me, uh-" He 
avoided my name. "did you ever think your glandular setup was 
odd? " 
"I said, "Huh? Of course not. What are you driving at? 
" 
"He hesitated. I'll give you this in one dose, then a 
hypo to let you sleep off your jitters. You'll have "em. " 
"'Why? I demanded. 
Ever hear of that Scottish physician who was female 
until she was thirtyfive? -then had surgery and became legally 
and medically a man? Got married. All okay. " 
'What's that got to do with me? " 
"'That's what I'm saying. You're a man. " 
"I tried to sit up. What? " 
"Take it easy. When I opened you, I found a mess. I 
sent for the Chief of Surgery while I got the baby out, then we 
held a consultation with you on the table-and worked for hours 
to salvage what we could. You had two full sets of organs, both 
immature, but with the female set well enough developed for you 
to have a baby. They could never be any use to you again, so we 
took them out and rearranged things so that you can develop 
properly as a man. He put a hand on me. "Don't worry. You're 
young, your bones will readjust, we'll watch your glandular 
balance - and make a fine young man out of you. " 
"I started to cry. "What about my baby? " 
"Well, you can't nurse her, you haven't milk enough for 
a kitten. If I were you, I wouldn't see her-put her up for 
adoption. " 
"'No! " "He shrugged. "The choice is yours; you're her mother - 
well, her parent. But don't worry now; we'll get you well 
first. " 
"Next day they let me see the kid and I saw her daily - 
trying to get used to her. I had never seen a brand-new baby 
and had no idea how awful they look - my daughter looked like 
an orange monkey. My feelings changed to cold determination to 
do right by her. But four weeks later that didn't mean 
anything. -- 
"Eh? -- 
"She was snatched. -- 
"'Snatched? -- 
The Unmarried Mother almost knocked over the bottle we 
had bet. -- Kidnapped - stolen from the hospital nursery! " He 
breathed hard. -- How's that for taking the last a man's got to 
live for? -- 
"A bad deal, " I agreed. -- Let's pour you another. No 
clues? -- 
"Nothing the police could trace. Somebody came to see 
her, claimed to be her uncle. While the nurse had her back 
turned, he walked out with her. -- 
"Description? -- 
"Just a man, with a face-shaped face, like yours or 
mine. -- He frowned. -- I think it was the baby's father. The 
nurse swore it was an older man but he probably used makeup. 
Who else would swipe my baby? Childless women pull such stunts 
- but whoever heard of a man doing it? -- 
"What happened to you then? -- 
"Eleven more months of that grim place and three 
operations. In four months I started to grow a beard; before I 
was out I was shaving regularly... and no longer doubted that I 
was male. -- He grinned wryly. -- I was staring down nurses 
necklines. -- 
"Well, " I said, "seems to me you came through okay. 
Here you are, a normal man, making good money, no real 
troubles. And the life of a female is not an easy one. -- 
He glared at me. -- A lot you know about it! " 
"So? -- 
"Ever hear the expression "a ruined woman'? -- 
"Mmm, years ago. Doesn't mean much today. -- 
"I was as ruined as a woman can be; that bum really 
ruined me - I was no longer a woman... and I didn't know how to 
be a man. -- 
"Takes getting used to, I suppose. -- 
"You have no idea. I don't mean learning how to dress, 
or not walking into the wrong rest room; I learned those in the hospital. But how could I live? What job could I get? Hell, I 
couldn't even drive a car. I didn't know a trade; I couldn't do 
manual labor-too much scar tissue, too tender. 
"I hated him for having ruined me for the W. E. N. C. 
H. E. S., too, but I didn't know how much until I tried to join 
the Space Corps instead. One look at my belly and I was marked 
unfit for military service. The medical officer spent time on 
me just from curiosity; he had read about my case. 
"So I changed my name and came to New York. I got by as 
a fry cook, then rented a typewriter and set myself up as a 
public stenographer - what a laugh! In four months I typed four 
letters and one manuscript. The manuscript was for Real Life 
Tales and a waste of paper, but the goof who wrote it sold it. 
Which gave me an idea; I bought a stack of confession magazines 
and studied them. -- He looked cynical. -- Now you know how I 
get the authentic woman's angle on 
an unmarried-mother story... through the only version I 
haven't sold - the true one. Do I win the bottle? -- 
I pushed it toward him. I was upset myself, but there 
was work to do. I said, "Son, you still want to lay hands on 
that so-and-so? -- 
His eyes lighted up-a feral gleam. 
"Hold it! " I said. -- You wouldn't kill him? -- 
He chuckled nastily. -- Try me. -- 
"Take it easy. I know more about it than you think I 
do. I can help you. I know where he is. -- 
He reached across the bar. -- Where is he? -- 
I said softly, "Let go my shirt, sonny-or you'll land 
in the alley and we'll tell the cops you fainted. -- I showed 
him the sap. 
He let go. -- Sorry. But where is he? -- He looked at 
me. -- And how do you know so much? -- 
"All in good time. There are records - hospital 
records, orphanage records, medical records. The matron of your 
orphanage was Mrs. Fetherage - right? She was followed by Mrs. 
Gruenstein - right? Your name, as a girl, was "Jane" - right? 
And you didn't tell me any of this - right? -- 
I had him baffled and a bit scared. -- What's this? You 
trying to make trouble for me? -- 
"No indeed. I've your welfare at heart. I can put this 
character in your lap. You do to him as you see fit - and I 
guarantee that you'll get away with it. But I don't think 
you'll kill him. You'd be nuts to - and you aren't nuts. Not 
quite. -- 
He brushed it aside. -- Cut the noise. Where is he? -- 
I poured him a short one; he was drunk, but anger was offsetting it. -- Not so fast. I do something for you - you do 
something for me. -- 
"Uh... what? -- 
"You don't like your work. What would you say to high 
pay, steady work, unlimited expense account, your own boss on 
the job, and lots of variety and adventure? -- 
He stared. -- I'd say, "Get those goddam reindeer off 
my roof! " Shove it, Pop - there's no such job. -- 
"Okay, put it this way: I hand him to you, you settle 
with him, then try my job. If it's not all I claim - well, I 
can't hold you. -- 
He was wavering; the last drink did it "When d'yuh 
d'liver "im? -- he said thickly. 
He shoved out his hand. -- It's a deal! " 
"If it's a deal-right now! " 
I nodded to my assistant to watch both ends, noted the 
time - 2300 - started to duck through the gate under the bar - 
when the juke box blared out: "I'm My Own Grandpaw! " The 
service man had orders to load it with Americana and classics 
because I couldn't stomach the "music" of 1970, but I hadn't 
known that tape was in it. I called out, "Shut that off! Give 
the customer his money back. -- I added, "Storeroom, back in a 
moment, " and headed there with my Unmarried Mother following. 
It was down the passage across from the johns, a steel 
door to which no one but my day manager and myself had a key; 
inside was a door to an inner room to which only I had a key. 
We went there. 
He looked blearily around at windowless walls. -- Where 
is he? -- 
"Right away. -- I opened a case, the only thing in the 
room; it was a U. S. F. F. Coordinates Transformer Field Kit, 
series 1992, Mod. II - a beauty, no moving parts, weight 
twenty-three kilos fully charged, and shaped to pass as a 
suitcase. I had adjusted it precisely earlier that day; all I 
had to do was to shake out the metal net which limits the 
transformation field. 
Which I did. -- What's that? -- he demanded. 
"Time machine, " I said and tossed the net over us. 
"Hey! " he yelled and stepped back. There is a 
technique to this; the net has to be thrown so that the subject 
will instinctively step back onto the metal mesh, then you 
close the net with both of you inside completely-else you might 
leave shoe soles behind or a piece of foot, or scoop up a slice 
of floor. But that's all the skill it takes. Some agents con a 
subject into the net; I tell the truth and use that instant of 
utter astonishment to flip the switch. Which I did. 1030-VI-3 April 1963 - Cleveland, Ohio-Apex Bldg.: 
"Hey! " he repeated. -- Take this damn thing off! " 
"Sorry, " I apologized and did so, stuffed the net into 
the case, closed it. -- You said you wanted to find him. -- 
"But - you said that was a time machine! " 
I pointed out a window. -- Does that look like 
November? Or New York? -- While he was gawking at new buds and 
spring weather, I reopened the case, took out a packet of 
hundred-dollar bills, checked that the numbers and signatures 
were compatible with 1963. The Temporal Bureau doesn't care how 
much you spend (it costs nothing) but they don't like 
unnecessary anachronisms. Too many mistakes, and a general 
court-martial will exile you for a year in a nasty period, say 
1974 with its strict rationing and forced labor. I never make 
such mistakes; the money was okay. 
He turned around and said, "What happened? -- 
"He's here. Go outside and take him. Here's expense 
money. -- I shoved it at him and added, "Settle him, then I'll 
pick you up. -- 
Hundred-dollar bills have a hypnotic effect on a person 
not used to them. He was thumbing them unbelievingly as I eased 
him into the hall, locked him out. The next jump was easy, a 
small shift in era. 
7100-VI-10 March 1964 - Cleveland-Apex Bldg.: There was 
a notice under the door saying that my lease expired next week; 
otherwise the room looked as it had a moment before. Outside, 
trees were bare and snow threatened; I hurried, stopping only 
for contemporary money and a coat, hat, and topcoat I had left 
there when I leased the room. I hired a car, went to the 
hospital. It took twenty minutes to bore the nursery attendant 
to the point where I could swipe the baby without being 
noticed. We went back to the Apex Building. This dial setting 
was more involved, as the building did not yet exist in 1945. 
But I had precalculated it. 
0100-VI-20 Sept. 1945 - Cleveland-Skyview Motel:: Field 
kit, baby, and I arrived in a motel outside town. Earlier I had 
registered as "Gregory Johnson, Warren, Ohio, " so we arrived 
in a room with curtains closed, windows locked, and doors 
bolted, and the floor cleared to allow for waver as the machine 
hunts. You can get a nasty bruise from a chair where it 
shouldn't be - not the chair, of course, but backlash from the 
field. 
No trouble. Jane was sleeping soundly; I carried her out, put her in a grocery box on the seat of a car I had 
provided earlier, drove to the orphanage, put her on the steps, 
drove two blocks to a "service station" (the petroleum-products 
sort) and phoned the orphanage, drove back in time to see them 
taking the box inside, kept going and abandoned the car near 
the motel - walked to it and jumped forward to the Apex 
Building in 1963. 
2200-VI-24 April 1963 - Cleveland-Apex Bldg.: I had cut 
the time rather fine - temporal accuracy depends on span, 
except on return to zero. If I had it right, Jane was 
discovering, out in the park this balmy spring night, that she 
wasn't quite as nice a girl as she had thought., I grabbed a 
taxi to the home of those skinflints, had the hackie wait 
around a comer while I lurked in shadows. 
Presently I spotted them down the street, arms around 
each other. He took her up on the porch and made a long job of 
kissing her good-night-longer than I thought. Then she went in 
and he came down the walk, turned away. I slid into step and 
hooked an arm in his. -- That's all, son, " I announced 
quietly. -- I'm back to pick you up. -- 
"You! " He gasped and caught his breath. 
"Me. Now you know who he is - and after you think it 
over you'll know who you are... and if you think hard enough, 
you'll figure out who the baby is... and who I am. -- 
He didn't answer, he was badly shaken. It's a shock to 
have it proved to you that you can't resist seducing yourself. 
I took him to the Apex Building and we jumped again. 
2300-VIII, 12 Aug. 1985-Sub Rockies Base: I woke the 
duty sergeant, showed my I. D., told the sergeant to bed my 
companion down with a happy pill and recruit him in the moming. 
The sergeant looked sour, but rank is rank, regardless of era; 
he did what I said-thinking, no doubt, that the next time we 
met he might be the colonel and I the sergeant. Which can 
happen in our corps. -- What name? -- he asked. 
I wrote it out. He raised his eyebrows. -- Like so, eh? 
Hmm-" 
"You just do your job, Sergeant. -- I turned to my 
companion. 
"Son, your troubles are over. You're about to start the 
best job a man ever held-and you'll do well. I know. -- 
"That you will! " agreed the sergeant. -- Look at me - 
born in 1917-still around, still young, still enjoying life. -- 
I went back to the jump room, set everything on preselected 
zero. 
2301-V-7 Nov. 1970-NYC -"Pop's Place": I came out of 
the storeroom carrying a fifth of Drambuie to account for the 
minute I had been gone. My assistant was arguing with the 
customer who had been playing "I'm My Own Grand-paw! " I said, 
"Oh, let him play it, then unplug it. -- I was very tired. 
It's rough, but somebody must do it, and it's very hard 
to recruit anyone in the later years, since the Mistake of 
1972. Can you think of a better source than to pick people all 
fouled up where they are and give them well-paid, interesting 
(even though dangerous) work in a necessary cause? Everybody 
knows now why the Fizzle War of 1963 fizzled. The bomb with New 
York's number on it didn't go off, a hundred other things 
didn't go as planned-all arranged by the likes of me. 
But not the Mistake of "72; that one is not our 
fault-and can't be undone; there's no paradox to resolve. A 
thing either is, or it isn't, now and forever amen. But there 
won't be another like it; an order dated "1992" takes 
precedence any year. 
I closed five minutes early, leaving a letter in the 
cash register telling my day manager that I was accepting his 
offer to buy me out, to see my lawyer as I was leaving on a 
long vacation. The Bureau might or might not pick up his 
payments, but they want things left tidy. I went to the room in 
the back of the storeroom and forward to 1993. 
2200-VII- 12 Jan 1993-Sub Rockies Annex-HQ Temporal 
DOL: I checked in with the duty officer and went to my 
quarters, intending to sleep for a week. I had fetched the 
bottle we bet (after all, I won it) and took a drink before I 
wrote my report. It tasted foul, and I wondered why I had ever 
liked Old Underwear. But it was better than nothing; I don't 
like to be cold sober, I think too much. But I don't really hit 
the bottle either; other people have snakes-I have people. 
I dictated my report; forty recruitments all okayed by 
the Psych Bureau - counting my own, which I knew would be 
okayed. I was here, wasn't I? Then I taped a request for 
assignment to operations; I was sick of recruiting. I dropped 
both in the slot and headed for bed. 
My eye fell on "The By-Laws of Time, " over my bed: 
Never Do Yesterday What Should Be Done Tomorrow. 
If at Last You Do Succeed, Never Try Again. 
A Stitch in Time Saves Nine Billion. 
A Paradox May Be Paradoctored. 
It Is Earlier When You Think. 
Ancestors Are Just People. Even Jove Nods. 
They didn't inspire me the way they had when I was a 
recruit; thirty subjective-years of time-jumping wears you 
down. I undressed, and when I got down to the hide I looked at 
my belly. A Cesarean leaves a big scar, but I'm so hairy now 
that I don't notice it unless I look for it. 
Then I glanced at the ring on my finger. 
The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail, Forever and Ever. I 
know where I came from - but where did all you zombies come 
from? 
I felt a headache coming on, but a headache powder is 
one thing I do not take. I did once - and you all went away. 
So I crawled into bed and whistled out the light. 
You aren't really there at all. There isn't anybody but 
me - Jane - here alone in the dark. 
I miss you dreadfully! The Black Pits of Luna 
THE MORNING after we got to the Moon we went over to Rutherford. Dad and 
Mr. Latham - Mr. Latham is the man from the Harriman Trust that Dad came to Luna 
City to see. 
Dad and Mr. Latham had to go anyhow, on business. I got Dad to promise I could 
go along because it looked like just about my only chance to get out on the surface of the 
Moon. Luna City is all right, I guess, but I defy you to tell a corridor in Luna City from 
the sublevels in New York-except that you're light on your feet, of course. 
When Dad came into our hotel suite to say we were ready to leave, I was down on 
the floor, playing mumblety-peg with my kid brother. Mother was lying down and had 
asked me to keep the runt quiet. She had been dropsick all the way out from Earth and I 
guess she didn't feel very good. The runt had been fiddling with the lights, switching 
them from "dusk" to "desert suntan" and back again. I collared him and sat him down on 
the floor. 
Of course, I don't play mumblety-peg any more, but, on the Moon, it's a right 
good game. The knife practically floats and you can do all kinds of things with it. We 
made up a lot of new rules. 
Dad said, "Switch in plans, my dear. We're leaving for Rutherford right away. 
Let's pull ourselves together." 
Mother said, "Oh, mercy me-I don't think I'm up to it. You and Dickie run along. 
Baby Darling and I will just spend a quiet day right here." 
Baby Darling is the runt. 
I could have told her it was the wrong approach. He nearly put my eye out with 
the knife and said, "Who? What? I'm going too. Let's go!" 
Mother said, "Oh, now, Baby Darling-don't cause Mother Dear any trouble, We'll 
go to the movies, just you and I." 
The runt is seven years younger than I am, but don't call him "Baby Darling" if 
you want to get anything out of him. He started to bawl. "You said I could go!" he yelled. 
"No, Baby Darling. I haven't mentioned it to you. I-" 
"Daddy said I could go!" 
"Richard, did you tell Baby he could go?" 
"Why, no, my dear, not that I recall. Perhaps I-" 
The kid cut in fast. "You said I could go anywhere Dickie went. You promised me 
you promised me you promised me." Sometimes you have to hand it to the runt; he had 
them jawing about who told him what in nothing flat. Anyhow, that is how twenty 
minutes later, the four of us were up at the rocket port with Mr. Lathani and climbing into 
the shuttle for Rutherford. 
The trip only takes about ten minutes and you don't see much, just a glimpse of 
the Earth while the rocket is still near Luna City and then not even that, since the atom 
plants where we were going are all on the back side of the Moon, of course. There were 
maybe a dozen tourists along and most of them were dropsick as soon as we went into 
free flight. So was Mother. Some people never will get used to rockets. 
But Mother was all right as soon as we grounded and were inside again. 
Rutherford isn't like Luna City; instead of extending a tube out to the ship, they send a pressurized car out to latch on to the airlock of the rocket, then you jeep back about a 
mile to the entrance to underground. I liked that and so did the runt. Dad had to go off on 
business with Mr. Latham, leaving Mother and me and the runt to join up with the party 
of tourists for the trip through the laboratories. 
It was all right but nothing to get excited about. So far as I can see, one atomics 
plant looks about like another; Rutherford could just as well have been. the main plant 
outside Chicago. I mean to say everything that is anything is out of sight, covered up, 
shielded. All you get to see are some dials and instrument boards and people watching 
them. Remote control stuff, like Oak Ridge. The guide tells you about the experiments 
going on and they show you some movies - that's all. 
I liked our guide. He looked like Tom Jeremy in The Space Troopers. I asked him 
if he was a spaceman and he looked at me kind of funny and said, no, that he was just a 
Colonial Services ranger. Then he asked me where I went to school and if I belonged to 
the Scouts. He said he was scoutmaster of Troop One, Rutherford City, Moonbat Patrol. 
I found out there was just the one patrol-not many scouts on the Moon, I suppose. 
Dad and Mr. Latham joined us just as we finished the tour while Mr. Perrin - 
that's our guide - was announcing the trip outside. "The conducted tour of Rutherford," he 
said, talking as if it were a transcription, "includes a trip by spacesuit out on the surface 
of the Moon, without extra charge, to see the Devil's Graveyard and the site of the Great 
Disaster of 1984. The trip is optional. There is nothing particularly dangerous about it and 
we've never had any one hurt, but the Commission requires that you sign a separate 
release for your own safety if you choose to make this trip. The trip takes about one hour. 
Those preferring to remain behind will find movies and refreshments in the coffee shop." 
Dad was rubbing his hands together. "This is for me," he announced. "Mr. 
Latham, I'm glad we got back in time. I wouldn't have missed this for the world." 
"You'll enjoy it," Mr. Latham agreed, "and so will you, Mrs. Logan. I'm tempted 
to come along myself." 
"Why don't you?' Dad asked. 
"No, I want to have the papers ready for you and the Director to sign when you 
get back and before you leave for Luna City." 
"Why knock yourself out?" Dad urged him. "If a man's word is no good, his 
signed contract is no better. You can mail the stuff to me at New York." 
Mr. Latham shook his head. "No, really - I've been out on the surface dozens of 
times. But I'll come along and help you into your spacesuits." 
Mother said, "Oh dear," she didn't think she'd better go; she wasn't sure she could 
stand the thought of being shut up in a spacesuit and besides glaring sunlight always gave 
her a headache. 
Dad said, "Don't be silly, my dear; it's the chance of a lifetime," and Mr. Latham 
told her that the filters on the helmets kept the light from being glaring. Mother always 
objects and then gives in. I suppose women just don't have any force of character. Like 
the night before - earth-night, I mean, Luna City time - she had bought a fancy moonsuit 
to wear to dinner in the Earth-View room at the hotel, then she got cold feet. She 
complained to Dad that she was too plump to dare to dress like that. 
Well, she did show an awful lot of skin. Dad said, "Nonsense, my dear. You look 
ravishing." So she wore it and had a swell time, especially when a pilot tried to pick her 
up. It was like that this time. She came along. We went into the outfitting room and I 
looked around while Mr. Perrin was getting them all herded in and having the releases 
signed. There was the door to the airlock to the surface at the far end, with a bull's-eye 
window in it and another one like it in the door beyond. You could peek through and see 
the surface of the Moon beyond, looking hot and bright and sort of improbable, in spite of 
the amber glass in the windows. And there was a double row of spacesuits hanging up, 
looking like empty men. I snooped around until Mr. Perrin got around to our party. 
"We can arrange to leave the youngster in the care of the hostess in the coffee 
shop," he was telling Mother. He reached down and tousled the runt's hair. The runt tried 
to bite him and he snatched his hand away in a hurry. 
"Thank you, Mr. Perkins," Mother said, "I suppose that's best-though perhaps I 
had better stay behind with him." 
"'Perrin' is the name," Mr. Perrin said mildly. "It won't be necessary. The hostess 
will take good care of him." 
Why do adults talk in front of kids as if they couldn't understand English? They 
should have just shoved him into the coffee shop. By now the runt knew he was being 
railroaded. He looked around belligerently. "I go, too," he said loudly. "You promised 
me." 
"Now Baby Darling," Mother tried to stop him. "Mother Dear didn't tell you-" But 
she was just whistling to herself; the runt turned on the sound effects. 
"You said I could go where Dickie went; you promised me when I was sick. You 
promised me you promised me-" and on and on, his voice getting higher and louder all 
the time. 
Mr. Perrin looked embarrassed. Mother said, "Richard, you'll just have to deal 
with your child. After all, you were the one who promised him." 
"Me, dear?" Dad looked surprised. "Anyway, I don't see anything so complicated 
about it. Suppose we did promise him that he could do what Dickie does-we'll simply 
take him along; that's all." 
Mr. Perrin cleared his throat. "I'm afraid not. I can outfit your older son with a 
woman's suit; he's tall for his age. But we just don't make any provision for small 
children." 
Well, we were all tangled up in a mess in no time at all. The runt can always get 
Mother to go running in circles. Mother has the same effect on Dad. He gets red in the 
face and starts laying down the law to me. It's sort of a chain reaction, with me on the end 
and nobody to pass it along to. They came out with a very simple solution - I was to stay 
behind and take care of Baby Darling brat! 
"But, Dad, you said-" I started in. 
"Never mind!" he cut in. "I won't have this family disrupted in a public squabble. 
You heard what your mother said." 
I was desperate. "Look, Dad," I said, keeping my voice low, "if I go back to Earth 
without once having put on a spacesuit and set foot on the surface, you'll just have to find 
another school to send me to. I won't go back to Lawrenceville; I'd be the joke of the 
whole place." 
"We'll settle that when we get home." 
"But, Dad, you promised me specifically-" 
"That'll be enough out of you, young man. The matter is closed." Mr. Lathain had been standing near by, taking it in but keeping his mouth shut. At 
this point he cocked an eyebrow at Dad and said very quietly, "Well, R.J., I thought your 
word was your bond?" 
I wasn't supposed to hear it and nobody else did - a good thing, too, for it doesn't 
do to let Dad know that you know that he's wrong; it just makes him worse. I changed the 
subject in a hurry. "Look, Dad, maybe we all can go out. How about that suit over there?" 
I pointed at a rack that was inside a railing with a locked gate on it. The rack had a couple 
of dozen suits on it and at the far end, almost out of sight, was a small suit - the boots on 
it hardly came down to the waist of the suit next to it. 
"Huh?" Dad brightened up. "Why, just the thing! Mr. Perrin! Oh, Mr. Perrin-here 
a minute! I thought you didn't have any small suits, but here's one that I think will fit." 
Dad was fiddling at the latch of the railing gate. Mr. Perrin stopped him. "We 
can't use that suit, sir." 
"Uh? Why not?" 
"All the suits inside the railing are private property, not for rent." 
"What? Nonsense-Rutherford is a public enterprise. I want that suit for my child." 
"Well, you can't have it." 
"I'll speak to the Director." 
"I'm afraid you'll have to. That suit was specially built for his daughter." 
And that's just what they did. Mr. Latham got the Director on the line, Dad talked 
to him, then the Director talked to Mr. Perrin, then he talked to Dad again. The Director 
didn't mind lending the suit, not to Dad, anyway, but he wouldn't order Mr. Perrin to take 
a below-age child outside. 
Mr. Perrin was feeling stubborn and I don't blame him, but Dad soothed his 
feathers down and presently we were all climbing into our suits and getting pressure 
checks and checking our oxygen supply and switching on our walkie-talkies. Mr. Perrin 
was calling the roll by radio and reminding us that we were all on the same circuit, so we 
had better let him do most of the talking and not to make casual remarks or none of us 
would be able to hear. Then we were in the airlock and he was warning us to stick close 
together and not try to see how fast we could run or how high we could jump. My heart 
was rocking around in my chest. 
The outer door of the lock opened and we filed out on the face of the Moon. It 
was just as wonderful as I dreamed it would be, I guess, but I was so excited that I hardly 
knew it at the time. The glare of the sun was the brightest thing I ever saw and the 
shadows so inky black you could hardly see into them. You couldn't hear anything but 
voices over your radio and you could reach down and switch off that. 
The pumice was soft and kicked up around our feet like smoke, settling slowly, 
falling in slow motion. Nothing else moved. It was the deadest place you can imagine. 
We stayed on a path, keeping close together for company, except twice when I 
had to take out after the runt when he found out he could jump twenty feet. I wanted to 
smack him, but did you ever try to smack anybody wearing a spacesuit? It's no use. 
Mr. Perrin told us to halt presently and started his talk. "You are now in the 
Devil's Graveyard. The twin spires behind you are five thousand feet above the floor of 
the plain and have never been scaled. The spires, or monuments, have been named for 
apocryphal or mythological characters because of the fancied resemblance of this 
fantastic scene to a giant cemetery. Beelzebub, Thor, Siva, Cain, Set-" He pointed around us. "Lunologists are not agreed as to the origin of the strange shapes. Some claim to see 
indications of the action of air and water as well as volcanic action. If so, these spires 
must have been standing for an unthinkably long period, for today, as you see, the Moon- 
" It was the same sort of stuff you can read any month in Spaceways Magazine, only we 
were seeing it and that makes a difference, let me tell you. 
The spires reminded me a bit of the rocks below the lodge in the Garden of the 
Gods in Colorado Springs when we went there last summer, only these spires were lots 
bigger and, instead of blue sky, there was just blackness and hard, sharp stars overhead. 
Spooky. 
Another ranger bad come with us, with a camera. Mr. Perrin tried to say 
something else, but the runt had started yapping away and I had to switch off his radio 
before anybody could hear anything. I kept it switched off until Mr. Perrin finished 
talking. 
He wanted us to line up for a picture with the spires and the black sky behind us 
for a background. "Push your faces forward in your helmets so that your features will 
show. Everybody look pretty. There!" he added as the other guy snapped the shot. "Prints 
will be ready when you return, at ten dollars a copy." 
I thought it over. I certainly needed one for my room at school and I wanted one 
to give to - anyhow, I needed another one. I had eighteen bucks left from my birthday 
money; I could sweet-talk Mother for the balance. So I ordered two of them. 
We climbed a long rise and suddenly we were staring out across the crater, the 
disaster crater, all that was left of the first laboratory. It stretched away from us, twenty 
miles across, with the floor covered with shiny, bubbly green glass instead of pumice. 
There was a monument. I read it: 
HERE ABOUT YOU ARE THE MORTAL REMAINS OF 
Kurt Schaeffer 
Maurice Feinstein 
Thomas Dooley 
Hazel Hayakawa 
Cl. Washington Slappey 
Sam Houston Adams 
WHO DIED FOR THE TRUTH THAT MAKES MEN FREE 
On the Eleventh Day of August 1984 
I felt sort of funny and backed away and went to listen to Mr. Perrin. Dad and 
some of the other men were asking him questions. "They don't know exactly," he was 
saying. "Nothing was left. Now we telemeter all the data back to Luna City, as it comes 
off the instruments, but that was before the line-of-sight relays were set up." 
"What would have happened," some man asked, "if this blast had gone off on 
Earth?" 
"I'd hate to try to tell you-but that's why they put the lab here, back of the Moon." 
He glanced at his watch. "Time to leave, everybody." They were milling around, heading 
back down toward the path, when Mother screamed. 
"Baby! Where's Baby Darling?" I was startled but I wasn't scared, not yet. The runt is always running around, first 
here and then there, but he doesn't go far away, because he always wants to have 
somebody to yap to. 
My father had one arm around Mother; he signaled to me with the other. "Dick," 
he snapped, his voice sharp in my earphones, "what have you done with your brother?' 
"Me?" I said. "Don't look at me-the last I saw Mother had him by the hand, 
walking up the hill here." 
"Don't stall around, Dick. Mother sat down to rest when we got here and sent him 
to you." 
"Well, if she did, he never showed up." At that, Mother started to scream in 
earnest. Everybody had been listening, of course-they had to; there was just the one radio 
circuit. Mr. Perrin stepped up and switched off Mother's talkie, making a sudden silence. 
"Take care of your wife, Mr. Logan," he ordered, then added, "When did you see 
your child last?" 
Dad couldn't help him any; when they tried switching Mother back into the hookup, 
they switched her right off again. She couldn't help and she deafened us. Mr. Perrin 
addressed the rest of us. "Has anyone seen the small child we had with us? Don't answer 
unless you have something to contribute. Did anyone see him wander away?" 
Nobody had. I figured he probably ducked out when everybody was looking at the 
crater and had their backs to him. I told Mr. Perrin so. "Seems likely," he agreed. 
"Attention, everybody! I'm going to search for the child. Stay right where you are. Don't 
move away from this spot. I won't be gone more than ten minutes." 
"Why don't we all go?" somebody wanted to know. 
"Because," said Mr. Perrin, "right now I've - only got one lost. I don't want to 
make it a dozen." Then he left, taking big easy lopes that covered fifty feet at a step. 
Dad started to take out after him, then thought better of it, for Mother suddenly 
keeled over, collapsing at the knees and floating gently to the ground. Everybody started 
talking at once. Some idiot wanted to take her helmet off, but Dad isn't crazy. I switched 
off my radio so I could hear myself think and started looking around, not leaving the 
crowd but standing up on the lip of the crater and trying to see as much as I could. 
I was looking back the way we had come; there was no sense in looking at the 
crater-if he had been in there he would have shown up like a fly on a plate. 
Outside the crater was different; you could have hidden a regiment within a block 
of us, rocks standing up every which way, boulders big as houses with blow holes all 
through them, spires, gulleys-it was a mess. I could see Mr. Perrin every now and then, 
casting around like a dog after a rabbit, and making plenty of time. He was practically 
flying. When he came to a big boulder he would jump right over it, leveling off face 
down at the top of his jump, so he could see better. 
Then he was heading back toward us and I switched my radio back on. There was 
still a lot of talk. Somebody was saying, "We've got to find him before sundown," and 
somebody else answered, "Don't be silly; the sun won't be down for a week. It's his air 
supply, I tell you. These suits are only good for four hours." The first voice said, "Oh!" 
then added softly, "like a fish out of water-" It was then I got scared. 
A woman's voice, sounding kind of choked, said, "The poor, poor darling! We've 
got to find him before he suffocates," and my father's voice cut in sharply, "Shut up 
talking that way!" I could hear somebody sobbing. It might have been Mother. Mr. Perrin was almost up to us and he cut in, "Silence everybody! I've got to call 
the base," and he added urgently, "Perrin, calling airlock control; Perrin, calling airlock 
control!" 
A woman's voice answered, "Come in, Perrin." He told her what was wrong and 
added, "Send out Smythe to take this party back in. I'm staying. I want every ranger 
who's around and get me volunteers from among any of the experienced Moon hands. 
Send out a radio direction-finder by the first ones to leave." 
We didn't wait long, for they came swarming toward us like grasshoppers. They 
must have been running forty or fifty miles an hour. It would have been something to see, 
if I hadn't been so sick at my stomach. 
Dad put up an argument about going back, but Mr. Perrin shut him up. "If you 
hadn't been so confounded set on having your own way, we wouldn't be in a mess. If you 
had kept track of your kid, he wouldn't be lost. I've got kids of my own; I don't let 'em go 
out on the face of the Moon when they're too young to take care of themselves. You go 
on back - I can't be burdened by taking care of you, too." 
I think Dad might even have gotten in a fight with him if Mother hadn't gotten 
faint again. We went on back with the party. 
The next couple of hours were pretty awful. They let us sit just outside the control 
room where we could hear Mr. Perrin directing the search, over the loudspeaker. I 
thought at first that they would snag the runt as soon as they started using the radio 
direction-finder-pick up his power hum, maybe, even if he didn't say anything-but no 
such luck; they didn't get anything with it. And the searchers didn't find anything either. 
A thing that made it worse was that Mother and Dad didn't even try to blame me. 
Mother was crying quietly and Dad was consoling her, when he looked over at me with 
an odd expression. I guess he didn't really see me at all, but I thought he was thinking that 
if I hadn't insisted on going out on the surface this wouldn't have happened. I said, "Don't 
go looking at me, Dad. Nobody told me to keep an eye on him. I thought he was with 
Mother." 
Dad just shook his head without answering. He was looking tired and sort of 
shrunk up. But Mother, instead of laying in to me and yelling, stopped her crying and 
managed to smile. "Come here, Dickie," she said, and put her other arm around me. 
"Nobody blames you, Dickie. Whatever happens, you weren't at fault. Remember that, 
Dickie." 
So I let her kiss me and then sat with them for a while, but I felt worse than 
before. I kept thinking about the runt, somewhere out there, and his oxygen running out. 
Maybe it wasn't my fault, but I could have prevented it and I knew it. I shouldn't have 
depended on Mother to look out for him; she's no good at that sort of thing. She's the kind 
of person that would mislay her head if it wasn't knotted on tight - the ornamental sort. 
Mother's good, you understand, but she's not practical. She would take it pretty hard if the 
runt didn't come back. And so would Dad-and so would I. The runt is an awful nuisance, 
but it was going to seem strange not to have him around underfoot. I got to thinking about 
that remark, "Like a fish out of water." I accidentally busted an aquarium once; I 
remember yet how they looked. Not pretty. If the runt was going to die like that - I shut 
myself up and decided I just had to figure out some way to help find him. 
After a while I had myself convinced that I could find him if they would just let 
me help look. But they wouldn't of course. Dr. Evans the Director showed up again-he'd met us when we first came in - and 
asked if there was anything he could do for us and how was Mrs. Logan feeling? "You 
know I wouldn't have had this happen for the world," he added. "We're doing all we can. 
I'm having some ore-detectors shot over from Luna City. We might be able to spot the 
child by the metal in his suit." 
Mother asked how about bloodhounds and Dr. Evans didn't even laugh at her. 
Dad suggested helicopters, then corrected himself and made it rockets. Dr. Evans pointed 
out that it was impossible to examine the ground closely from a rocket. 
I got him aside presently and braced him to let me join the hunt. He was polite but 
unimpressed, so I insisted. "What makes you think you can find him?", he asked me. 
"We've got the most experienced Moon men available out there now. I'm afraid, son, that 
you would get yourself lost or hurt if you tried to keep up with them. In this country, if 
you once lose sight of landmarks, you can get hopelessly lost." 
"But look, Doctor," I told him, "I know the runt-I mean my kid brother, better 
than anyone else in the world. I won't get lost-I mean I will get lost but just the way he 
did. You can send somebody to follow me." 
He thought about it. "It's worth trying," he said suddenly. "I'll go with you. Let's 
suit up." 
We made a fast trip out, taking thirty-foot strides-the best I could manage even 
with Dr. Evans hanging on to my belt to keep me from stumbling. Mr. Perrin was 
expecting us. He seemed dubious about my scheme. "Maybe the old 'lost mule' dodge 
will work," he admitted, "but I'll keep the regular search going just the same. Here, 
Shorty, take this flashlight. You'll need it in the shadows." 
I stood on the edge of the crater and tried to imagine I was the runt, feeling bored 
and maybe a little bit griped at the lack of attention. What would I do next? 
I went skipping down the slope, not going anywhere in particular, the way the 
runt would have done. Then I stopped and looked back, to see if Mother and Daddy and 
Dickie had noticed me. I was being followed all right; Dr. Evans and Mr. Perrin were 
close behind me. I pretended that no one was looking and went on. I was pretty close to 
the first rock outcroppings by now and I ducked behind the first one I came to. It wasn't 
high enough to hide me but it would have covered the runt. It felt like what he would do; 
he loved to play hide-and-go-seek - it made him the center of attention. 
I thought about it. When the runt played that game, his notion of hiding was 
always to crawl under something, a bed, or a sofa, or an automobile, or even under the 
sink. I looked around. There were a lot of good places; the rocks were filled with blow 
holes and overhangs. I started working them over. It seemed hopeless; there must have 
been a hundred such places right around close. 
Mr. Perrin came up to me as I was crawling out of the fourth tight spot. "The men 
have shined flashlights around in every one of these places," he told me. "I don't think it's 
much use, Shorty." 
"Okay," I said, but I kept at it. I knew I could get at spots a grown man couldn't 
reach; I just hoped the runt hadn't picked a spot I couldn't reach. 
It went on and on and I was getting cold and stiff and terribly tired. The direct 
sunlight is hot on the Moon, but the second you get in the shade, it's cold. Down inside 
those rocks it never got warm at all. The suits they gave us tourists are well enough 
insulated, but the extra insulation is in the gloves and the boots and the seats of the pants-
and I had been spending most of my time down on my stomach, wiggling into tight 
places. 
I was so numb I could hardly move and my whole front felt icy. Besides, it gave 
me one more thing to worry about - how about the runt? Was he cold, too? 
If it hadn't been for thinking how those fish looked and how, maybe, the runt 
would be frozen stiff before I could get to him, I would have quit. I was about beat. 
Besides, it's rather scary down inside those holes-you don't know what you'll come to 
next. 
Dr. Evans took me by the arm as I came out of one of them, and touched his 
helmet to mine, so that I got his voice directly. "Might as well give up, son. You're 
knocking your self out and you haven't covered an acre." I pulled away from him. 
The next place was a little overhang, not a foot off the ground. I flashed a light 
into it. It was empty and didn't seem to go anywhere. Then I saw there was a turn in it. I 
got down flat and wiggled in. The turn opened out a little and dropped off. I didn't think it 
was worthwhile to go any deeper as the runt wouldn't have crawled very far in the dark, 
but I scrunched ahead a little farther and flashed the light down. 
I saw a boot sticking out. 
That's about all there is to it. I nearly bashed in my helmet getting out of there, but 
I was dragging the runt after me. He was limp as a cat and his face was funny. Mr. Perrin 
and Dr. Evans were all over me as I came out, pounding me on the back and shouting. "Is 
he dead, Mr. Perrin?" I asked, when I could get my breath. "He looks awful bad." 
Mr. Perrin looked him over. "No . . . I can see a pulse in his throat. Shock and 
exposure, but this suit was specially built-we'll get him back fast." He picked the runt up 
in his arms and I took out after him. 
Ten minutes later the runt was wrapped in blankets and drinking hot cocoa. I had 
some, too. Everybody was talking at once and Mother was crying again, but she looked 
normal and Dad had filled out. 
He tried to write out a check for Mr. Perrin, but he brushed it off. "I don't need 
any reward; your boy found him. 
"You can do me just one favor-" 
"Yes?" Dad was all honey. 
"Stay off the Moon. You don't belong here; you're not the pioneer type." 
Dad took it. "I've already promised my wife that," he said without batting an eye. 
"You needn't worry." 
I followed Mr. Perrin as he left and said to him privately, "Mr. Perrin-I just 
wanted to tell you that I'll be back, if you don't mind." 
He shook hands with me and said, "I know you will, Shorty." Robert A Heinlein 
Blowups Happen 
"PUT down that wrench!" 
The man addressed turned slowly around and faced the speaker. His expression 
was hidden by a grotesque helmet, part of a heavy, lead-and-cadmium armor which 
shielded his entire body, but the tone of voice in which he answered showed nervous 
exasperation. 
"What the hell's eating on you, doc?" He made no move to replace the tool in 
question. 
They faced each other like two helmeted, arrayed fencers, watching for an 
opening. The first speaker's voice came from behind his mask a shade higher in key and 
more peremptory in tone. "You heard me, Harper. Put down that wrench at once, and 
come away from that 'trigger'. Erickson!" 
A third armored figure came from the far end of the control room. "What 'cha 
want, doe?" 
"Harper is relieved from watch. You take over as engineer-of-the-watch. Send for 
the standby engineer." 
"Very well." His voice and manner were phlegmatic, as he accepted the situation 
without comment. The atomic engineer whom he had just relieved glanced from one to 
the other, then carefully replaced the wrench in its rack. 
"Just as you say, Doctor Silard, but send for your relief, too. I shall demand an 
immediate hearing!" Harper swept indignantly out, his lead-sheathed boots clumping on 
the floorplates. 
Doctor Silard waited unhappily for the ensuing twenty minutes until his own 
relief arrived. Perhaps he had been hasty. Maybe he was wrong in thinking that Harper 
had at last broken under the strain of tending the most dangerous machine in the worldthe 
atomic breeder plant. But if he had made a mistake, it had to be on the safe side-slips 
must not happen in this business; not when a slip might result in atomic detonation of 
nearly ten tons of uranium-238, U-235, and plutonium. 
He tried to visualize what that would mean, and failed. He had 'been told that 
uranium was potentially twenty million times as explosive as T.N.T. The figure was 
meaningless that way. He thought of the pile instead as a hundred million tons of high 
explosive, or as a thousand Hiroshimas. It still did not mean anything. He had once seen 
an A-bomb dropped, when he had been serving as a temperament analyst for the Air 
Forces. He could not imagine the explosion of a thousand such bombs; his. brain balked. 
Perhaps these atomic engineers could. Perhaps, with their greater mathematical ability 
and closer comprehension of what actually went on inside the nuclear fission chamber, 
they had some vivid glimpse of the mind-shattering horror locked up beyond that shield. 
If so, no wonder they tended to blow up- He sighed. Erickson looked away from the 
controls of the linear resonant accelerator on which he had been making some 
adjustment. 
"What's the trouble, doc?" "Nothing. I'm sorry I had to relieve Harper." 
Silard could feel the shrewd glance of the big Scandinavian. "Not getting the 
jitters yourself, are you, doc? Sometimes you squirrel-sleuths blow up, too-" 
"Me? I don't think so. I'm scared of that thing in there-I'd be crazy if I weren't." 
"So am I," Erickson told him soberly, and went back to his work at the controls of 
the accelerator. The accelerator proper lay beyond another shielding barrier; its snout 
disappeared in the final shield between it and the pile and fed a steady stream of 
terrifically speeded up sub-atomic bullets to the beryllium target located within the pile 
itself. The tortured beryllium yielded up neutrons, which shot out in all directions through 
the uranium mass. Some of these neutrons struck uranium atoms squarely on their nuclei 
and split them in two. The fragments were new elements, barium, xenon, rubidiumdepending 
on the portions in which each atom split. The new elements were usually 
unstable isotopes and broke down into a, dozen more elements by radioactive 
disintegration in a progressive reaction. 
But these second transmutations were comparatively safe; it was the original 
splitting of the uranium nucleus, with the release of the awe-inspiring energy that bound 
it together-an incredible two hundred million electron volts-that was important-and 
perilous. 
For, while uranium was used to breed other fuels by bombarding it with neutrons, 
the splitting itself gives up more neutrons which in turn may land in other uranium nuclei 
and split them. If conditions are favorable to a progressively increasing reaction of this 
sort, it may get out of hand, build up in an unmeasurable fraction of a micro-second into a 
complete atomic explosion-an explosion which would dwarf an atom bomb to pop-gun 
size; an explosion so far beyond all human experience as to be as completely 
incomprehensible as the idea of personal death. It could be feared, but not understood. 
But a self-perpetuating sequence of nuclear splitting, just wider the level of 
complete explosion, was necessary to the operation of the breeder plant. To split the first 
uranium nucleus by bombarding it with neutrons from the beryllium target took more 
power than the death of the atom gave up. In order that the breeder pile continue to 
operate it was imperative that each atom split by a neutron from the beryllium target 
should cause the splitting of many more. 
It was equally imperative that this chain of reactions should always tend to 
dampen, to die out. It must not build up, or the uranium mass would explode within a 
time interval too short to be measured by any means whatsoever. 
Nor would there be anyone left to measure it. 
The atomic engineer on duty at the pile could control this reaction by means of 
the "trigger", a term the engineers used to include the linear resonant accelerator, the 
beryllium target, the cadmium damping rods, and adjacent controls, instrument board, 
and power sources. That is to say he could vary the bombardment on the beryllium target 
to increase or decrease the level of operation of the plant, he could change the "effective 
mass" of the pile with the cadmium dampers, and he could tell from his instruments that 
the internal reaction was dampened-or, rather, that it had been dampened the split second 
before. He could not possibly know what was actually happening now within the pilesubatomic 
speeds are too great and the time intervals too small. He was like the bird that 
flew backward; he could see where he had been, but never knew where he was going. Nevertheless, it was his responsibility, and his alone, not only to maintain the pile 
at a high efficiency, but to see that the reaction never passed the critical point and 
progressed into mass explosion. 
But that was impossible. He could not be sure; he could never be sure. 
He could bring to the job all of the skill and learning of the finest technical 
education, and use it to reduce the hazard to the lowest mathematical probability, but the 
blind laws of chance which appear to rule in sub-atomic action might turn up a royal 
flush against him and defeat his most skillful play. 
And each atomic engineer knew it, knew that he gambled not only with his own 
life, but with the lives of countless others, perhaps with the lives of every human being on 
the planet. Nobody knew quite what such an explosion would do. A conservative 
estimate assumed that, in addition to destroying the plant and its personnel completely, it 
would tear a chunk out of the populous and heavily traveled Los Angeles-Oklahoma 
Road-City a hundred miles to the north. 
The official, optimistic viewpoint on which the plant had been authorized by the 
Atomic Energy Commission was based on mathematics which predicted that such a mass 
of uranium would itself be disrupted on a molar scale, and thereby limit the area of 
destruction, before progressive and accelerated atomic explosion could infect the entire 
mass. 
The atomic engineers, by and large, did not place faith in the official theory. They 
judged theoretical mathematical prediction for what it was worth-precisely nothing, until 
confirmed by experiment. 
But even from the official viewpoint, each atomic engineer while on watch 
carried not only his own life in his hands, but the lives of many others-how many, it was 
better not to think about. No pilot, no general, no surgeon ever carried such a daily, 
inescapable, ever present weight of responsibility for the lives of others as these men 
carried every time they went on watch, every time they touched a venire screw, or read a 
dial. 
They were selected not alone for their intelligence and technical training, but 
quite as much for their characters and sense of social responsibility. Sensitive men were 
needed-men who could fully appreciate the importance of the charge entrusted to them; 
no other sort would do. But the burden of responsibility was too great to be borne 
indefinitely by a sensitive man. 
It was, of necessity, a psychologically unstable condition. Insanity was an 
occupational disease. 
Doctor Cummings appeared, still buckling the straps of the armor worn to guard 
against stray radiation. "What's up?" he asked Silard. 
"I had to relieve Harper." 
"So I guessed. I met him coming up. He was sore as hell-just glared at me." 
"I know. He wants an immediate hearing. That's why I had to send for you." 
Cummings grunted, then nodded toward the engineer, anonymous in all-enclosing 
armor. "Who'd I draw?" 
"Erickson." 
"Good enough. Squareheads can't go crazy-eh, Gus?" Erickson looked up momentarily, and answered, "That's your problem," and 
returned to his work. Cummings turned back to Silard, and commented, "Psychiatrists 
don't seem very popular around here. O.K.-I relieve you, sir." 
"Very well, sir." 
Silard threaded his way through the zig-zag in the outer shield which surrounded 
the control room. Once outside this outer shield, he divested himself of the cumbersome 
armor, disposed of it in the locker room provided, and hurried to a lift. Heinlein 
54 Books Robert A. Heinlein. All you zombies 
2217 Time Zone V (EST) 7 Nov. 1970-NTC- "Pop's Place": 
I was polishing a brandy snifter when the Unmarried Mother came 
in. I noted the time-10: 17 P. M. zone five, or eastern time, 
November 7th, 1970. Temporal agents always notice time and 
date; we must. 
The Unmarried Mother was a man twenty-five years old, 
no taller than I am, childish features and a touchy temper. I 
didn't like his looks - I never had - but he was a lad I was 
here to recruit, he was my boy. I gave him my best barkeep's 
smile. 
Maybe I'm too critical. He wasn't swish; his nickname 
came from what he always said when some nosy type asked him his 
line: "I'm an unmarried mother. -- If he felt less than 
murderous he would add: "at four cents a word. I write 
confession stories. -- 
If he felt nasty, he would wait for somebody to make 
something of it. He had a lethal style of infighting, like a 
female cop - reason I wanted him. Not the only one. 
He had a load on, and his face showed that he despised 
people more than usual. Silently I poured a double shot of Old 
Underwear and left the bottle. He drank it, poured another. 
I wiped the bar top. -- How's the "Unmarried Mother" 
racket? -- 
His fingers tightened on the glass and he seemed about 
to throw it at me; I felt for the sap under the bar. In 
temporal manipulation you try to figure everything, but there 
are so many factors that you never take needless risks. 
I saw him relax that tiny amount they teach you to 
watch for in the Bureau's training school. -- Sorry, " I said. 
-- Just asking, "How's business? " Make it "How's the weather? 
-- 
He looked sour. -- Business is okay. I write "em, they 
print "em, I eat. -- 
I poured myself one, leaned toward him. -- Matter of 
fact, " I said, "you write a nice stick - I've sampled a few. 
You have an amazingly sure touch with the woman's angle. -- 
It was a slip I had to risk; he never admitted what 
pen-names he used. But he was boiled enough to pick up only the 
last: "'Woman's angle! "" he repeated with a snort. -- Yeah, I 
know the woman's angle. I should. -- 
"So? -- I said doubtfully. -- Sisters? -- 
"No. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. -- 
"Now, now, " I answered mildly, "bartenders and 
psychiatrists learn that nothing is stranger than truth. Why, 
son, if you heard the stories I do-well, you'd make yourself 
rich. Incredible. -- 
"You don't know what "incredible" means! " 
"So? Nothing astonishes me. I've always heard worse. -- 
He snorted again. -- Want to bet the rest of the 
bottle? -- 
"I'll bet a full bottle. -- I placed one on the bar. 
"Well-" I signaled my other bartender to handle the 
trade. We were at the far end, a single-stool space that I kept 
private by loading the bar top by it with jars of pickled eggs 
and other clutter. A few were at the other end watching the 
fights and somebody was playing the juke box-private as a bed 
where we were. 
"Okay, " he began, "to start with, I'm a bastard. -- 
"No distinction around here, " I said. 
"I mean it, " he snapped. -- My parents weren't 
married. -- 
"Still no distinction, " I insisted. -- Neither were 
mine. -- 
"When-" He stopped, gave me the first warm look I ever 
saw on him. -- You mean that? -- 
"I do. A one-hundred-percent bastard. In fact, " I 
added, "no one in my family ever marries. All bastards. 
"Oh, that. -- I showed it to him. -- It just looks like 
a wedding ring; I wear it to keep women off. -- It is an 
antique I bought in 1985 from a fellow operative - he had 
fetched it from pre-Christian Crete. -- The Worm Ouroboros... 
the World Snake that eats its own tail, forever without end. A 
symbol of the Great Paradox. -- 
He barely glanced at it. -- if you're really a bastard, 
you know how it feels. When I was a little girl-" 
"Wups! " I said. -- Did I hear you correctly? -- "'Who's telling this story? When I was a little 
girl-Look, ever hear of Christine Jorgenson? Or Roberta Cowell? 
-- 
"Uh, sex-change cases? You're trying to tell me-" 
"Don't interrupt or swelp me, I won't talk. I was a 
foundling, left at an orphanage in Cleveland in 1945 when I was 
a month old. When I was a little girl, I envied kids with 
parents. Then, when I learned about sex-and, believe me, Pop, 
you learn fast in an orphanage-" 
"I know " 
"-I made a solemn vow that any kid of mine would have 
both a pop and a mom. It kept me "pure, " quite a feat in that 
vicinity - I had to learn to fight to manage it. Then I got 
older and realized I stood darn little chance of getting 
married - for the same reason I hadn't been adopted --. He 
scowled. I was horse-faced and buck-toothed, flat-chested and 
straight-haired. 
"You don't look any worse than I do. -- 
"Who cares how a barkeep looks? Or a writer? But peaple 
wanting to adopt pick little blue-eyed golden-haired moron. 
Later on, the boys want bulging breasts, a cute face, and an 
Oh-you-wonderful-male manner. -- He shrugged. I couldn't 
compete. So I decided to join the W. E. N. C. H. E. S. -- 
Eh? -- 
"Women's Emergency National Corps, Hospitality & 
Entertainment Section, what they now call "Space 
Angels'-Auxiliary Nursing Group, Extraterrestrial Legions. -- 
I knew both terms, once I had them chronized. We use 
still a third name, it's that elite military service corps: 
Women's Hospitality Order Refortifying & Encouraging Spacemen. 
Vocabulary shift is the worst hurdle in time-jumps - did you 
know that "service station" once fractions? Once on an 
assignment in the Churchill Era, a woman said to me, "Meet me 
at the service station next door -- - which is not what it 
sounds; a service station" (then) wouldn't have a bed in it. 
He went on: "It was when they first admitted you can't 
send men into space for months and years and not relieve the 
tension. You remember how the wowsers screamed? - that improved 
my chance, since volunteers were scarce. A gal had to be 
respectable, preferably virgin (they liked to train them from 
scratch), above average mentally, and stable emotionally. But 
most volunteers were old hookers, or neurotics who would crack 
up ten days off Earth. So I didn't need looks; if they accepted 
me, they would fix my buck teeth, put a wave in my hair, teach 
me to walk and dance and how to listen to a man pleasingly, and everything else - plus training for the prime duties. They 
would even use plastic surgery if it would help - nothing too 
good for our Boys. 
"Best yet, they made sure you didn't get pregnant 
during your enlistment - and you were almost certain to marry 
at the end of your hitch. Same way today, A. N. G. E. L. S. 
marry spacers - they talk the language. 
"When I was eighteen I was placed as a `mother's 
helper'. This family simply wanted a cheap servant, but I 
didn't mind as I couldn't enlist till I was twenty-one. I did 
housework and went to night school - pretending to continue my 
high school typing and shorthand but going to a charm class 
instead, to better my chances for enlistment. 
"Then I met this city slicker with his hundred-dollar 
bills. -- He scowled. The no-good actually did have a wad of 
hundred-dollar bills. He showed me one night, told me to help 
myself. 
"But I didn't. I liked him. He was the first man I ever 
met who was nice to me without trying games with me. I quit 
night school to see him oftener. It was the happiest time of my 
life. 
"Then one night in the park the games began. -- 
He stopped. I said, "And then? -- 
"And then nothing! I never saw him again. He walked me 
home and told me he loved me-and kissed me good-night and never 
came back. -- He looked grim. -- If I could find him, I'd kill 
him! " 
"Well, " I sympathized, "I know how you feel. But 
killing him-just for doing what comes naturally - hmm... Did 
you struggle? -- 
"Huh? What's that got to do with it? -- 
"Quite a bit. Maybe he deserves a couple of broken arms 
for running out on you, but-" 
"He deserves worse than that! Wait till you hear. 
Somehow I kept anyone from suspecting and decided it was all 
for the best. I hadn't really loved him and probably would 
never love anybody-and I was more eager to join the WE. N. C. 
H. E. S. than ever. I wasn't disqualified, they didn't insist 
on virgins. I cheered up. 
"It wasn't until my skirts got tight that I realized. 
-- 
"Pregnant? -- 
"He had me higher "n a kite! Those skinflints I lived 
with ignored it as long as I could work-then kicked me out, and 
the orphanage wouldn't take me back. I landed in a charity ward 
surrounded by other big bellies and trotted bedpans until my time came. 
"One night I found myself on an operating table, with a 
nurse saying, "Relax. Now breathe deeply. " 
"I woke up in bed, numb from the chest down. My surgeon 
came in. "How do you feel? " he says cheerfully. 
"Like a mummy. -- 
"Naturally. You're wrapped like one and full of dope to 
keep you numb. You'll get well-but a Cesarean isn't a hangnail. 
" 
Cesarean" I said. "Doc - did I lose the baby? " 
Oh, no. Your baby's fine. " 
Oh. Boy or girl? " 
"'A healthy little girt. Five pounds, three ounces. " 
"I relaxed. It's something, to have made a baby. I told 
myself I would go somewhere and tack "Mrs. " on my name and let 
the kid think her papa was dead -no orphanage for my kid! 
"But the surgeon was talking. "Tell me, uh-" He 
avoided my name. "did you ever think your glandular setup was 
odd? " 
"I said, "Huh? Of course not. What are you driving at? 
" 
"He hesitated. I'll give you this in one dose, then a 
hypo to let you sleep off your jitters. You'll have "em. " 
"'Why? I demanded. 
Ever hear of that Scottish physician who was female 
until she was thirtyfive? -then had surgery and became legally 
and medically a man? Got married. All okay. " 
'What's that got to do with me? " 
"'That's what I'm saying. You're a man. " 
"I tried to sit up. What? " 
"Take it easy. When I opened you, I found a mess. I 
sent for the Chief of Surgery while I got the baby out, then we 
held a consultation with you on the table-and worked for hours 
to salvage what we could. You had two full sets of organs, both 
immature, but with the female set well enough developed for you 
to have a baby. They could never be any use to you again, so we 
took them out and rearranged things so that you can develop 
properly as a man. He put a hand on me. "Don't worry. You're 
young, your bones will readjust, we'll watch your glandular 
balance - and make a fine young man out of you. " 
"I started to cry. "What about my baby? " 
"Well, you can't nurse her, you haven't milk enough for 
a kitten. If I were you, I wouldn't see her-put her up for 
adoption. " 
"'No! " "He shrugged. "The choice is yours; you're her mother - 
well, her parent. But don't worry now; we'll get you well 
first. " 
"Next day they let me see the kid and I saw her daily - 
trying to get used to her. I had never seen a brand-new baby 
and had no idea how awful they look - my daughter looked like 
an orange monkey. My feelings changed to cold determination to 
do right by her. But four weeks later that didn't mean 
anything. -- 
"Eh? -- 
"She was snatched. -- 
"'Snatched? -- 
The Unmarried Mother almost knocked over the bottle we 
had bet. -- Kidnapped - stolen from the hospital nursery! " He 
breathed hard. -- How's that for taking the last a man's got to 
live for? -- 
"A bad deal, " I agreed. -- Let's pour you another. No 
clues? -- 
"Nothing the police could trace. Somebody came to see 
her, claimed to be her uncle. While the nurse had her back 
turned, he walked out with her. -- 
"Description? -- 
"Just a man, with a face-shaped face, like yours or 
mine. -- He frowned. -- I think it was the baby's father. The 
nurse swore it was an older man but he probably used makeup. 
Who else would swipe my baby? Childless women pull such stunts 
- but whoever heard of a man doing it? -- 
"What happened to you then? -- 
"Eleven more months of that grim place and three 
operations. In four months I started to grow a beard; before I 
was out I was shaving regularly... and no longer doubted that I 
was male. -- He grinned wryly. -- I was staring down nurses 
necklines. -- 
"Well, " I said, "seems to me you came through okay. 
Here you are, a normal man, making good money, no real 
troubles. And the life of a female is not an easy one. -- 
He glared at me. -- A lot you know about it! " 
"So? -- 
"Ever hear the expression "a ruined woman'? -- 
"Mmm, years ago. Doesn't mean much today. -- 
"I was as ruined as a woman can be; that bum really 
ruined me - I was no longer a woman... and I didn't know how to 
be a man. -- 
"Takes getting used to, I suppose. -- 
"You have no idea. I don't mean learning how to dress, 
or not walking into the wrong rest room; I learned those in the hospital. But how could I live? What job could I get? Hell, I 
couldn't even drive a car. I didn't know a trade; I couldn't do 
manual labor-too much scar tissue, too tender. 
"I hated him for having ruined me for the W. E. N. C. 
H. E. S., too, but I didn't know how much until I tried to join 
the Space Corps instead. One look at my belly and I was marked 
unfit for military service. The medical officer spent time on 
me just from curiosity; he had read about my case. 
"So I changed my name and came to New York. I got by as 
a fry cook, then rented a typewriter and set myself up as a 
public stenographer - what a laugh! In four months I typed four 
letters and one manuscript. The manuscript was for Real Life 
Tales and a waste of paper, but the goof who wrote it sold it. 
Which gave me an idea; I bought a stack of confession magazines 
and studied them. -- He looked cynical. -- Now you know how I 
get the authentic woman's angle on 
an unmarried-mother story... through the only version I 
haven't sold - the true one. Do I win the bottle? -- 
I pushed it toward him. I was upset myself, but there 
was work to do. I said, "Son, you still want to lay hands on 
that so-and-so? -- 
His eyes lighted up-a feral gleam. 
"Hold it! " I said. -- You wouldn't kill him? -- 
He chuckled nastily. -- Try me. -- 
"Take it easy. I know more about it than you think I 
do. I can help you. I know where he is. -- 
He reached across the bar. -- Where is he? -- 
I said softly, "Let go my shirt, sonny-or you'll land 
in the alley and we'll tell the cops you fainted. -- I showed 
him the sap. 
He let go. -- Sorry. But where is he? -- He looked at 
me. -- And how do you know so much? -- 
"All in good time. There are records - hospital 
records, orphanage records, medical records. The matron of your 
orphanage was Mrs. Fetherage - right? She was followed by Mrs. 
Gruenstein - right? Your name, as a girl, was "Jane" - right? 
And you didn't tell me any of this - right? -- 
I had him baffled and a bit scared. -- What's this? You 
trying to make trouble for me? -- 
"No indeed. I've your welfare at heart. I can put this 
character in your lap. You do to him as you see fit - and I 
guarantee that you'll get away with it. But I don't think 
you'll kill him. You'd be nuts to - and you aren't nuts. Not 
quite. -- 
He brushed it aside. -- Cut the noise. Where is he? -- 
I poured him a short one; he was drunk, but anger was offsetting it. -- Not so fast. I do something for you - you do 
something for me. -- 
"Uh... what? -- 
"You don't like your work. What would you say to high 
pay, steady work, unlimited expense account, your own boss on 
the job, and lots of variety and adventure? -- 
He stared. -- I'd say, "Get those goddam reindeer off 
my roof! " Shove it, Pop - there's no such job. -- 
"Okay, put it this way: I hand him to you, you settle 
with him, then try my job. If it's not all I claim - well, I 
can't hold you. -- 
He was wavering; the last drink did it "When d'yuh 
d'liver "im? -- he said thickly. 
He shoved out his hand. -- It's a deal! " 
"If it's a deal-right now! " 
I nodded to my assistant to watch both ends, noted the 
time - 2300 - started to duck through the gate under the bar - 
when the juke box blared out: "I'm My Own Grandpaw! " The 
service man had orders to load it with Americana and classics 
because I couldn't stomach the "music" of 1970, but I hadn't 
known that tape was in it. I called out, "Shut that off! Give 
the customer his money back. -- I added, "Storeroom, back in a 
moment, " and headed there with my Unmarried Mother following. 
It was down the passage across from the johns, a steel 
door to which no one but my day manager and myself had a key; 
inside was a door to an inner room to which only I had a key. 
We went there. 
He looked blearily around at windowless walls. -- Where 
is he? -- 
"Right away. -- I opened a case, the only thing in the 
room; it was a U. S. F. F. Coordinates Transformer Field Kit, 
series 1992, Mod. II - a beauty, no moving parts, weight 
twenty-three kilos fully charged, and shaped to pass as a 
suitcase. I had adjusted it precisely earlier that day; all I 
had to do was to shake out the metal net which limits the 
transformation field. 
Which I did. -- What's that? -- he demanded. 
"Time machine, " I said and tossed the net over us. 
"Hey! " he yelled and stepped back. There is a 
technique to this; the net has to be thrown so that the subject 
will instinctively step back onto the metal mesh, then you 
close the net with both of you inside completely-else you might 
leave shoe soles behind or a piece of foot, or scoop up a slice 
of floor. But that's all the skill it takes. Some agents con a 
subject into the net; I tell the truth and use that instant of 
utter astonishment to flip the switch. Which I did. 1030-VI-3 April 1963 - Cleveland, Ohio-Apex Bldg.: 
"Hey! " he repeated. -- Take this damn thing off! " 
"Sorry, " I apologized and did so, stuffed the net into 
the case, closed it. -- You said you wanted to find him. -- 
"But - you said that was a time machine! " 
I pointed out a window. -- Does that look like 
November? Or New York? -- While he was gawking at new buds and 
spring weather, I reopened the case, took out a packet of 
hundred-dollar bills, checked that the numbers and signatures 
were compatible with 1963. The Temporal Bureau doesn't care how 
much you spend (it costs nothing) but they don't like 
unnecessary anachronisms. Too many mistakes, and a general 
court-martial will exile you for a year in a nasty period, say 
1974 with its strict rationing and forced labor. I never make 
such mistakes; the money was okay. 
He turned around and said, "What happened? -- 
"He's here. Go outside and take him. Here's expense 
money. -- I shoved it at him and added, "Settle him, then I'll 
pick you up. -- 
Hundred-dollar bills have a hypnotic effect on a person 
not used to them. He was thumbing them unbelievingly as I eased 
him into the hall, locked him out. The next jump was easy, a 
small shift in era. 
7100-VI-10 March 1964 - Cleveland-Apex Bldg.: There was 
a notice under the door saying that my lease expired next week; 
otherwise the room looked as it had a moment before. Outside, 
trees were bare and snow threatened; I hurried, stopping only 
for contemporary money and a coat, hat, and topcoat I had left 
there when I leased the room. I hired a car, went to the 
hospital. It took twenty minutes to bore the nursery attendant 
to the point where I could swipe the baby without being 
noticed. We went back to the Apex Building. This dial setting 
was more involved, as the building did not yet exist in 1945. 
But I had precalculated it. 
0100-VI-20 Sept. 1945 - Cleveland-Skyview Motel:: Field 
kit, baby, and I arrived in a motel outside town. Earlier I had 
registered as "Gregory Johnson, Warren, Ohio, " so we arrived 
in a room with curtains closed, windows locked, and doors 
bolted, and the floor cleared to allow for waver as the machine 
hunts. You can get a nasty bruise from a chair where it 
shouldn't be - not the chair, of course, but backlash from the 
field. 
No trouble. Jane was sleeping soundly; I carried her out, put her in a grocery box on the seat of a car I had 
provided earlier, drove to the orphanage, put her on the steps, 
drove two blocks to a "service station" (the petroleum-products 
sort) and phoned the orphanage, drove back in time to see them 
taking the box inside, kept going and abandoned the car near 
the motel - walked to it and jumped forward to the Apex 
Building in 1963. 
2200-VI-24 April 1963 - Cleveland-Apex Bldg.: I had cut 
the time rather fine - temporal accuracy depends on span, 
except on return to zero. If I had it right, Jane was 
discovering, out in the park this balmy spring night, that she 
wasn't quite as nice a girl as she had thought., I grabbed a 
taxi to the home of those skinflints, had the hackie wait 
around a comer while I lurked in shadows. 
Presently I spotted them down the street, arms around 
each other. He took her up on the porch and made a long job of 
kissing her good-night-longer than I thought. Then she went in 
and he came down the walk, turned away. I slid into step and 
hooked an arm in his. -- That's all, son, " I announced 
quietly. -- I'm back to pick you up. -- 
"You! " He gasped and caught his breath. 
"Me. Now you know who he is - and after you think it 
over you'll know who you are... and if you think hard enough, 
you'll figure out who the baby is... and who I am. -- 
He didn't answer, he was badly shaken. It's a shock to 
have it proved to you that you can't resist seducing yourself. 
I took him to the Apex Building and we jumped again. 
2300-VIII, 12 Aug. 1985-Sub Rockies Base: I woke the 
duty sergeant, showed my I. D., told the sergeant to bed my 
companion down with a happy pill and recruit him in the moming. 
The sergeant looked sour, but rank is rank, regardless of era; 
he did what I said-thinking, no doubt, that the next time we 
met he might be the colonel and I the sergeant. Which can 
happen in our corps. -- What name? -- he asked. 
I wrote it out. He raised his eyebrows. -- Like so, eh? 
Hmm-" 
"You just do your job, Sergeant. -- I turned to my 
companion. 
"Son, your troubles are over. You're about to start the 
best job a man ever held-and you'll do well. I know. -- 
"That you will! " agreed the sergeant. -- Look at me - 
born in 1917-still around, still young, still enjoying life. -- 
I went back to the jump room, set everything on preselected 
zero. 
2301-V-7 Nov. 1970-NYC -"Pop's Place": I came out of 
the storeroom carrying a fifth of Drambuie to account for the 
minute I had been gone. My assistant was arguing with the 
customer who had been playing "I'm My Own Grand-paw! " I said, 
"Oh, let him play it, then unplug it. -- I was very tired. 
It's rough, but somebody must do it, and it's very hard 
to recruit anyone in the later years, since the Mistake of 
1972. Can you think of a better source than to pick people all 
fouled up where they are and give them well-paid, interesting 
(even though dangerous) work in a necessary cause? Everybody 
knows now why the Fizzle War of 1963 fizzled. The bomb with New 
York's number on it didn't go off, a hundred other things 
didn't go as planned-all arranged by the likes of me. 
But not the Mistake of "72; that one is not our 
fault-and can't be undone; there's no paradox to resolve. A 
thing either is, or it isn't, now and forever amen. But there 
won't be another like it; an order dated "1992" takes 
precedence any year. 
I closed five minutes early, leaving a letter in the 
cash register telling my day manager that I was accepting his 
offer to buy me out, to see my lawyer as I was leaving on a 
long vacation. The Bureau might or might not pick up his 
payments, but they want things left tidy. I went to the room in 
the back of the storeroom and forward to 1993. 
2200-VII- 12 Jan 1993-Sub Rockies Annex-HQ Temporal 
DOL: I checked in with the duty officer and went to my 
quarters, intending to sleep for a week. I had fetched the 
bottle we bet (after all, I won it) and took a drink before I 
wrote my report. It tasted foul, and I wondered why I had ever 
liked Old Underwear. But it was better than nothing; I don't 
like to be cold sober, I think too much. But I don't really hit 
the bottle either; other people have snakes-I have people. 
I dictated my report; forty recruitments all okayed by 
the Psych Bureau - counting my own, which I knew would be 
okayed. I was here, wasn't I? Then I taped a request for 
assignment to operations; I was sick of recruiting. I dropped 
both in the slot and headed for bed. 
My eye fell on "The By-Laws of Time, " over my bed: 
Never Do Yesterday What Should Be Done Tomorrow. 
If at Last You Do Succeed, Never Try Again. 
A Stitch in Time Saves Nine Billion. 
A Paradox May Be Paradoctored. 
It Is Earlier When You Think. 
Ancestors Are Just People. Even Jove Nods. 
They didn't inspire me the way they had when I was a 
recruit; thirty subjective-years of time-jumping wears you 
down. I undressed, and when I got down to the hide I looked at 
my belly. A Cesarean leaves a big scar, but I'm so hairy now 
that I don't notice it unless I look for it. 
Then I glanced at the ring on my finger. 
The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail, Forever and Ever. I 
know where I came from - but where did all you zombies come 
from? 
I felt a headache coming on, but a headache powder is 
one thing I do not take. I did once - and you all went away. 
So I crawled into bed and whistled out the light. 
You aren't really there at all. There isn't anybody but 
me - Jane - here alone in the dark. 
I miss you dreadfully! The Black Pits of Luna 
THE MORNING after we got to the Moon we went over to Rutherford. Dad and 
Mr. Latham - Mr. Latham is the man from the Harriman Trust that Dad came to Luna 
City to see. 
Dad and Mr. Latham had to go anyhow, on business. I got Dad to promise I could 
go along because it looked like just about my only chance to get out on the surface of the 
Moon. Luna City is all right, I guess, but I defy you to tell a corridor in Luna City from 
the sublevels in New York-except that you're light on your feet, of course. 
When Dad came into our hotel suite to say we were ready to leave, I was down on 
the floor, playing mumblety-peg with my kid brother. Mother was lying down and had 
asked me to keep the runt quiet. She had been dropsick all the way out from Earth and I 
guess she didn't feel very good. The runt had been fiddling with the lights, switching 
them from "dusk" to "desert suntan" and back again. I collared him and sat him down on 
the floor. 
Of course, I don't play mumblety-peg any more, but, on the Moon, it's a right 
good game. The knife practically floats and you can do all kinds of things with it. We 
made up a lot of new rules. 
Dad said, "Switch in plans, my dear. We're leaving for Rutherford right away. 
Let's pull ourselves together." 
Mother said, "Oh, mercy me-I don't think I'm up to it. You and Dickie run along. 
Baby Darling and I will just spend a quiet day right here." 
Baby Darling is the runt. 
I could have told her it was the wrong approach. He nearly put my eye out with 
the knife and said, "Who? What? I'm going too. Let's go!" 
Mother said, "Oh, now, Baby Darling-don't cause Mother Dear any trouble, We'll 
go to the movies, just you and I." 
The runt is seven years younger than I am, but don't call him "Baby Darling" if 
you want to get anything out of him. He started to bawl. "You said I could go!" he yelled. 
"No, Baby Darling. I haven't mentioned it to you. I-" 
"Daddy said I could go!" 
"Richard, did you tell Baby he could go?" 
"Why, no, my dear, not that I recall. Perhaps I-" 
The kid cut in fast. "You said I could go anywhere Dickie went. You promised me 
you promised me you promised me." Sometimes you have to hand it to the runt; he had 
them jawing about who told him what in nothing flat. Anyhow, that is how twenty 
minutes later, the four of us were up at the rocket port with Mr. Lathani and climbing into 
the shuttle for Rutherford. 
The trip only takes about ten minutes and you don't see much, just a glimpse of 
the Earth while the rocket is still near Luna City and then not even that, since the atom 
plants where we were going are all on the back side of the Moon, of course. There were 
maybe a dozen tourists along and most of them were dropsick as soon as we went into 
free flight. So was Mother. Some people never will get used to rockets. 
But Mother was all right as soon as we grounded and were inside again. 
Rutherford isn't like Luna City; instead of extending a tube out to the ship, they send a pressurized car out to latch on to the airlock of the rocket, then you jeep back about a 
mile to the entrance to underground. I liked that and so did the runt. Dad had to go off on 
business with Mr. Latham, leaving Mother and me and the runt to join up with the party 
of tourists for the trip through the laboratories. 
It was all right but nothing to get excited about. So far as I can see, one atomics 
plant looks about like another; Rutherford could just as well have been. the main plant 
outside Chicago. I mean to say everything that is anything is out of sight, covered up, 
shielded. All you get to see are some dials and instrument boards and people watching 
them. Remote control stuff, like Oak Ridge. The guide tells you about the experiments 
going on and they show you some movies - that's all. 
I liked our guide. He looked like Tom Jeremy in The Space Troopers. I asked him 
if he was a spaceman and he looked at me kind of funny and said, no, that he was just a 
Colonial Services ranger. Then he asked me where I went to school and if I belonged to 
the Scouts. He said he was scoutmaster of Troop One, Rutherford City, Moonbat Patrol. 
I found out there was just the one patrol-not many scouts on the Moon, I suppose. 
Dad and Mr. Latham joined us just as we finished the tour while Mr. Perrin - 
that's our guide - was announcing the trip outside. "The conducted tour of Rutherford," he 
said, talking as if it were a transcription, "includes a trip by spacesuit out on the surface 
of the Moon, without extra charge, to see the Devil's Graveyard and the site of the Great 
Disaster of 1984. The trip is optional. There is nothing particularly dangerous about it and 
we've never had any one hurt, but the Commission requires that you sign a separate 
release for your own safety if you choose to make this trip. The trip takes about one hour. 
Those preferring to remain behind will find movies and refreshments in the coffee shop." 
Dad was rubbing his hands together. "This is for me," he announced. "Mr. 
Latham, I'm glad we got back in time. I wouldn't have missed this for the world." 
"You'll enjoy it," Mr. Latham agreed, "and so will you, Mrs. Logan. I'm tempted 
to come along myself." 
"Why don't you?' Dad asked. 
"No, I want to have the papers ready for you and the Director to sign when you 
get back and before you leave for Luna City." 
"Why knock yourself out?" Dad urged him. "If a man's word is no good, his 
signed contract is no better. You can mail the stuff to me at New York." 
Mr. Latham shook his head. "No, really - I've been out on the surface dozens of 
times. But I'll come along and help you into your spacesuits." 
Mother said, "Oh dear," she didn't think she'd better go; she wasn't sure she could 
stand the thought of being shut up in a spacesuit and besides glaring sunlight always gave 
her a headache. 
Dad said, "Don't be silly, my dear; it's the chance of a lifetime," and Mr. Latham 
told her that the filters on the helmets kept the light from being glaring. Mother always 
objects and then gives in. I suppose women just don't have any force of character. Like 
the night before - earth-night, I mean, Luna City time - she had bought a fancy moonsuit 
to wear to dinner in the Earth-View room at the hotel, then she got cold feet. She 
complained to Dad that she was too plump to dare to dress like that. 
Well, she did show an awful lot of skin. Dad said, "Nonsense, my dear. You look 
ravishing." So she wore it and had a swell time, especially when a pilot tried to pick her 
up. It was like that this time. She came along. We went into the outfitting room and I 
looked around while Mr. Perrin was getting them all herded in and having the releases 
signed. There was the door to the airlock to the surface at the far end, with a bull's-eye 
window in it and another one like it in the door beyond. You could peek through and see 
the surface of the Moon beyond, looking hot and bright and sort of improbable, in spite of 
the amber glass in the windows. And there was a double row of spacesuits hanging up, 
looking like empty men. I snooped around until Mr. Perrin got around to our party. 
"We can arrange to leave the youngster in the care of the hostess in the coffee 
shop," he was telling Mother. He reached down and tousled the runt's hair. The runt tried 
to bite him and he snatched his hand away in a hurry. 
"Thank you, Mr. Perkins," Mother said, "I suppose that's best-though perhaps I 
had better stay behind with him." 
"'Perrin' is the name," Mr. Perrin said mildly. "It won't be necessary. The hostess 
will take good care of him." 
Why do adults talk in front of kids as if they couldn't understand English? They 
should have just shoved him into the coffee shop. By now the runt knew he was being 
railroaded. He looked around belligerently. "I go, too," he said loudly. "You promised 
me." 
"Now Baby Darling," Mother tried to stop him. "Mother Dear didn't tell you-" But 
she was just whistling to herself; the runt turned on the sound effects. 
"You said I could go where Dickie went; you promised me when I was sick. You 
promised me you promised me-" and on and on, his voice getting higher and louder all 
the time. 
Mr. Perrin looked embarrassed. Mother said, "Richard, you'll just have to deal 
with your child. After all, you were the one who promised him." 
"Me, dear?" Dad looked surprised. "Anyway, I don't see anything so complicated 
about it. Suppose we did promise him that he could do what Dickie does-we'll simply 
take him along; that's all." 
Mr. Perrin cleared his throat. "I'm afraid not. I can outfit your older son with a 
woman's suit; he's tall for his age. But we just don't make any provision for small 
children." 
Well, we were all tangled up in a mess in no time at all. The runt can always get 
Mother to go running in circles. Mother has the same effect on Dad. He gets red in the 
face and starts laying down the law to me. It's sort of a chain reaction, with me on the end 
and nobody to pass it along to. They came out with a very simple solution - I was to stay 
behind and take care of Baby Darling brat! 
"But, Dad, you said-" I started in. 
"Never mind!" he cut in. "I won't have this family disrupted in a public squabble. 
You heard what your mother said." 
I was desperate. "Look, Dad," I said, keeping my voice low, "if I go back to Earth 
without once having put on a spacesuit and set foot on the surface, you'll just have to find 
another school to send me to. I won't go back to Lawrenceville; I'd be the joke of the 
whole place." 
"We'll settle that when we get home." 
"But, Dad, you promised me specifically-" 
"That'll be enough out of you, young man. The matter is closed." Mr. Lathain had been standing near by, taking it in but keeping his mouth shut. At 
this point he cocked an eyebrow at Dad and said very quietly, "Well, R.J., I thought your 
word was your bond?" 
I wasn't supposed to hear it and nobody else did - a good thing, too, for it doesn't 
do to let Dad know that you know that he's wrong; it just makes him worse. I changed the 
subject in a hurry. "Look, Dad, maybe we all can go out. How about that suit over there?" 
I pointed at a rack that was inside a railing with a locked gate on it. The rack had a couple 
of dozen suits on it and at the far end, almost out of sight, was a small suit - the boots on 
it hardly came down to the waist of the suit next to it. 
"Huh?" Dad brightened up. "Why, just the thing! Mr. Perrin! Oh, Mr. Perrin-here 
a minute! I thought you didn't have any small suits, but here's one that I think will fit." 
Dad was fiddling at the latch of the railing gate. Mr. Perrin stopped him. "We 
can't use that suit, sir." 
"Uh? Why not?" 
"All the suits inside the railing are private property, not for rent." 
"What? Nonsense-Rutherford is a public enterprise. I want that suit for my child." 
"Well, you can't have it." 
"I'll speak to the Director." 
"I'm afraid you'll have to. That suit was specially built for his daughter." 
And that's just what they did. Mr. Latham got the Director on the line, Dad talked 
to him, then the Director talked to Mr. Perrin, then he talked to Dad again. The Director 
didn't mind lending the suit, not to Dad, anyway, but he wouldn't order Mr. Perrin to take 
a below-age child outside. 
Mr. Perrin was feeling stubborn and I don't blame him, but Dad soothed his 
feathers down and presently we were all climbing into our suits and getting pressure 
checks and checking our oxygen supply and switching on our walkie-talkies. Mr. Perrin 
was calling the roll by radio and reminding us that we were all on the same circuit, so we 
had better let him do most of the talking and not to make casual remarks or none of us 
would be able to hear. Then we were in the airlock and he was warning us to stick close 
together and not try to see how fast we could run or how high we could jump. My heart 
was rocking around in my chest. 
The outer door of the lock opened and we filed out on the face of the Moon. It 
was just as wonderful as I dreamed it would be, I guess, but I was so excited that I hardly 
knew it at the time. The glare of the sun was the brightest thing I ever saw and the 
shadows so inky black you could hardly see into them. You couldn't hear anything but 
voices over your radio and you could reach down and switch off that. 
The pumice was soft and kicked up around our feet like smoke, settling slowly, 
falling in slow motion. Nothing else moved. It was the deadest place you can imagine. 
We stayed on a path, keeping close together for company, except twice when I 
had to take out after the runt when he found out he could jump twenty feet. I wanted to 
smack him, but did you ever try to smack anybody wearing a spacesuit? It's no use. 
Mr. Perrin told us to halt presently and started his talk. "You are now in the 
Devil's Graveyard. The twin spires behind you are five thousand feet above the floor of 
the plain and have never been scaled. The spires, or monuments, have been named for 
apocryphal or mythological characters because of the fancied resemblance of this 
fantastic scene to a giant cemetery. Beelzebub, Thor, Siva, Cain, Set-" He pointed around us. "Lunologists are not agreed as to the origin of the strange shapes. Some claim to see 
indications of the action of air and water as well as volcanic action. If so, these spires 
must have been standing for an unthinkably long period, for today, as you see, the Moon- 
" It was the same sort of stuff you can read any month in Spaceways Magazine, only we 
were seeing it and that makes a difference, let me tell you. 
The spires reminded me a bit of the rocks below the lodge in the Garden of the 
Gods in Colorado Springs when we went there last summer, only these spires were lots 
bigger and, instead of blue sky, there was just blackness and hard, sharp stars overhead. 
Spooky. 
Another ranger bad come with us, with a camera. Mr. Perrin tried to say 
something else, but the runt had started yapping away and I had to switch off his radio 
before anybody could hear anything. I kept it switched off until Mr. Perrin finished 
talking. 
He wanted us to line up for a picture with the spires and the black sky behind us 
for a background. "Push your faces forward in your helmets so that your features will 
show. Everybody look pretty. There!" he added as the other guy snapped the shot. "Prints 
will be ready when you return, at ten dollars a copy." 
I thought it over. I certainly needed one for my room at school and I wanted one 
to give to - anyhow, I needed another one. I had eighteen bucks left from my birthday 
money; I could sweet-talk Mother for the balance. So I ordered two of them. 
We climbed a long rise and suddenly we were staring out across the crater, the 
disaster crater, all that was left of the first laboratory. It stretched away from us, twenty 
miles across, with the floor covered with shiny, bubbly green glass instead of pumice. 
There was a monument. I read it: 
HERE ABOUT YOU ARE THE MORTAL REMAINS OF 
Kurt Schaeffer 
Maurice Feinstein 
Thomas Dooley 
Hazel Hayakawa 
Cl. Washington Slappey 
Sam Houston Adams 
WHO DIED FOR THE TRUTH THAT MAKES MEN FREE 
On the Eleventh Day of August 1984 
I felt sort of funny and backed away and went to listen to Mr. Perrin. Dad and 
some of the other men were asking him questions. "They don't know exactly," he was 
saying. "Nothing was left. Now we telemeter all the data back to Luna City, as it comes 
off the instruments, but that was before the line-of-sight relays were set up." 
"What would have happened," some man asked, "if this blast had gone off on 
Earth?" 
"I'd hate to try to tell you-but that's why they put the lab here, back of the Moon." 
He glanced at his watch. "Time to leave, everybody." They were milling around, heading 
back down toward the path, when Mother screamed. 
"Baby! Where's Baby Darling?" I was startled but I wasn't scared, not yet. The runt is always running around, first 
here and then there, but he doesn't go far away, because he always wants to have 
somebody to yap to. 
My father had one arm around Mother; he signaled to me with the other. "Dick," 
he snapped, his voice sharp in my earphones, "what have you done with your brother?' 
"Me?" I said. "Don't look at me-the last I saw Mother had him by the hand, 
walking up the hill here." 
"Don't stall around, Dick. Mother sat down to rest when we got here and sent him 
to you." 
"Well, if she did, he never showed up." At that, Mother started to scream in 
earnest. Everybody had been listening, of course-they had to; there was just the one radio 
circuit. Mr. Perrin stepped up and switched off Mother's talkie, making a sudden silence. 
"Take care of your wife, Mr. Logan," he ordered, then added, "When did you see 
your child last?" 
Dad couldn't help him any; when they tried switching Mother back into the hookup, 
they switched her right off again. She couldn't help and she deafened us. Mr. Perrin 
addressed the rest of us. "Has anyone seen the small child we had with us? Don't answer 
unless you have something to contribute. Did anyone see him wander away?" 
Nobody had. I figured he probably ducked out when everybody was looking at the 
crater and had their backs to him. I told Mr. Perrin so. "Seems likely," he agreed. 
"Attention, everybody! I'm going to search for the child. Stay right where you are. Don't 
move away from this spot. I won't be gone more than ten minutes." 
"Why don't we all go?" somebody wanted to know. 
"Because," said Mr. Perrin, "right now I've - only got one lost. I don't want to 
make it a dozen." Then he left, taking big easy lopes that covered fifty feet at a step. 
Dad started to take out after him, then thought better of it, for Mother suddenly 
keeled over, collapsing at the knees and floating gently to the ground. Everybody started 
talking at once. Some idiot wanted to take her helmet off, but Dad isn't crazy. I switched 
off my radio so I could hear myself think and started looking around, not leaving the 
crowd but standing up on the lip of the crater and trying to see as much as I could. 
I was looking back the way we had come; there was no sense in looking at the 
crater-if he had been in there he would have shown up like a fly on a plate. 
Outside the crater was different; you could have hidden a regiment within a block 
of us, rocks standing up every which way, boulders big as houses with blow holes all 
through them, spires, gulleys-it was a mess. I could see Mr. Perrin every now and then, 
casting around like a dog after a rabbit, and making plenty of time. He was practically 
flying. When he came to a big boulder he would jump right over it, leveling off face 
down at the top of his jump, so he could see better. 
Then he was heading back toward us and I switched my radio back on. There was 
still a lot of talk. Somebody was saying, "We've got to find him before sundown," and 
somebody else answered, "Don't be silly; the sun won't be down for a week. It's his air 
supply, I tell you. These suits are only good for four hours." The first voice said, "Oh!" 
then added softly, "like a fish out of water-" It was then I got scared. 
A woman's voice, sounding kind of choked, said, "The poor, poor darling! We've 
got to find him before he suffocates," and my father's voice cut in sharply, "Shut up 
talking that way!" I could hear somebody sobbing. It might have been Mother. Mr. Perrin was almost up to us and he cut in, "Silence everybody! I've got to call 
the base," and he added urgently, "Perrin, calling airlock control; Perrin, calling airlock 
control!" 
A woman's voice answered, "Come in, Perrin." He told her what was wrong and 
added, "Send out Smythe to take this party back in. I'm staying. I want every ranger 
who's around and get me volunteers from among any of the experienced Moon hands. 
Send out a radio direction-finder by the first ones to leave." 
We didn't wait long, for they came swarming toward us like grasshoppers. They 
must have been running forty or fifty miles an hour. It would have been something to see, 
if I hadn't been so sick at my stomach. 
Dad put up an argument about going back, but Mr. Perrin shut him up. "If you 
hadn't been so confounded set on having your own way, we wouldn't be in a mess. If you 
had kept track of your kid, he wouldn't be lost. I've got kids of my own; I don't let 'em go 
out on the face of the Moon when they're too young to take care of themselves. You go 
on back - I can't be burdened by taking care of you, too." 
I think Dad might even have gotten in a fight with him if Mother hadn't gotten 
faint again. We went on back with the party. 
The next couple of hours were pretty awful. They let us sit just outside the control 
room where we could hear Mr. Perrin directing the search, over the loudspeaker. I 
thought at first that they would snag the runt as soon as they started using the radio 
direction-finder-pick up his power hum, maybe, even if he didn't say anything-but no 
such luck; they didn't get anything with it. And the searchers didn't find anything either. 
A thing that made it worse was that Mother and Dad didn't even try to blame me. 
Mother was crying quietly and Dad was consoling her, when he looked over at me with 
an odd expression. I guess he didn't really see me at all, but I thought he was thinking that 
if I hadn't insisted on going out on the surface this wouldn't have happened. I said, "Don't 
go looking at me, Dad. Nobody told me to keep an eye on him. I thought he was with 
Mother." 
Dad just shook his head without answering. He was looking tired and sort of 
shrunk up. But Mother, instead of laying in to me and yelling, stopped her crying and 
managed to smile. "Come here, Dickie," she said, and put her other arm around me. 
"Nobody blames you, Dickie. Whatever happens, you weren't at fault. Remember that, 
Dickie." 
So I let her kiss me and then sat with them for a while, but I felt worse than 
before. I kept thinking about the runt, somewhere out there, and his oxygen running out. 
Maybe it wasn't my fault, but I could have prevented it and I knew it. I shouldn't have 
depended on Mother to look out for him; she's no good at that sort of thing. She's the kind 
of person that would mislay her head if it wasn't knotted on tight - the ornamental sort. 
Mother's good, you understand, but she's not practical. She would take it pretty hard if the 
runt didn't come back. And so would Dad-and so would I. The runt is an awful nuisance, 
but it was going to seem strange not to have him around underfoot. I got to thinking about 
that remark, "Like a fish out of water." I accidentally busted an aquarium once; I 
remember yet how they looked. Not pretty. If the runt was going to die like that - I shut 
myself up and decided I just had to figure out some way to help find him. 
After a while I had myself convinced that I could find him if they would just let 
me help look. But they wouldn't of course. Dr. Evans the Director showed up again-he'd met us when we first came in - and 
asked if there was anything he could do for us and how was Mrs. Logan feeling? "You 
know I wouldn't have had this happen for the world," he added. "We're doing all we can. 
I'm having some ore-detectors shot over from Luna City. We might be able to spot the 
child by the metal in his suit." 
Mother asked how about bloodhounds and Dr. Evans didn't even laugh at her. 
Dad suggested helicopters, then corrected himself and made it rockets. Dr. Evans pointed 
out that it was impossible to examine the ground closely from a rocket. 
I got him aside presently and braced him to let me join the hunt. He was polite but 
unimpressed, so I insisted. "What makes you think you can find him?", he asked me. 
"We've got the most experienced Moon men available out there now. I'm afraid, son, that 
you would get yourself lost or hurt if you tried to keep up with them. In this country, if 
you once lose sight of landmarks, you can get hopelessly lost." 
"But look, Doctor," I told him, "I know the runt-I mean my kid brother, better 
than anyone else in the world. I won't get lost-I mean I will get lost but just the way he 
did. You can send somebody to follow me." 
He thought about it. "It's worth trying," he said suddenly. "I'll go with you. Let's 
suit up." 
We made a fast trip out, taking thirty-foot strides-the best I could manage even 
with Dr. Evans hanging on to my belt to keep me from stumbling. Mr. Perrin was 
expecting us. He seemed dubious about my scheme. "Maybe the old 'lost mule' dodge 
will work," he admitted, "but I'll keep the regular search going just the same. Here, 
Shorty, take this flashlight. You'll need it in the shadows." 
I stood on the edge of the crater and tried to imagine I was the runt, feeling bored 
and maybe a little bit griped at the lack of attention. What would I do next? 
I went skipping down the slope, not going anywhere in particular, the way the 
runt would have done. Then I stopped and looked back, to see if Mother and Daddy and 
Dickie had noticed me. I was being followed all right; Dr. Evans and Mr. Perrin were 
close behind me. I pretended that no one was looking and went on. I was pretty close to 
the first rock outcroppings by now and I ducked behind the first one I came to. It wasn't 
high enough to hide me but it would have covered the runt. It felt like what he would do; 
he loved to play hide-and-go-seek - it made him the center of attention. 
I thought about it. When the runt played that game, his notion of hiding was 
always to crawl under something, a bed, or a sofa, or an automobile, or even under the 
sink. I looked around. There were a lot of good places; the rocks were filled with blow 
holes and overhangs. I started working them over. It seemed hopeless; there must have 
been a hundred such places right around close. 
Mr. Perrin came up to me as I was crawling out of the fourth tight spot. "The men 
have shined flashlights around in every one of these places," he told me. "I don't think it's 
much use, Shorty." 
"Okay," I said, but I kept at it. I knew I could get at spots a grown man couldn't 
reach; I just hoped the runt hadn't picked a spot I couldn't reach. 
It went on and on and I was getting cold and stiff and terribly tired. The direct 
sunlight is hot on the Moon, but the second you get in the shade, it's cold. Down inside 
those rocks it never got warm at all. The suits they gave us tourists are well enough 
insulated, but the extra insulation is in the gloves and the boots and the seats of the pants-
and I had been spending most of my time down on my stomach, wiggling into tight 
places. 
I was so numb I could hardly move and my whole front felt icy. Besides, it gave 
me one more thing to worry about - how about the runt? Was he cold, too? 
If it hadn't been for thinking how those fish looked and how, maybe, the runt 
would be frozen stiff before I could get to him, I would have quit. I was about beat. 
Besides, it's rather scary down inside those holes-you don't know what you'll come to 
next. 
Dr. Evans took me by the arm as I came out of one of them, and touched his 
helmet to mine, so that I got his voice directly. "Might as well give up, son. You're 
knocking your self out and you haven't covered an acre." I pulled away from him. 
The next place was a little overhang, not a foot off the ground. I flashed a light 
into it. It was empty and didn't seem to go anywhere. Then I saw there was a turn in it. I 
got down flat and wiggled in. The turn opened out a little and dropped off. I didn't think it 
was worthwhile to go any deeper as the runt wouldn't have crawled very far in the dark, 
but I scrunched ahead a little farther and flashed the light down. 
I saw a boot sticking out. 
That's about all there is to it. I nearly bashed in my helmet getting out of there, but 
I was dragging the runt after me. He was limp as a cat and his face was funny. Mr. Perrin 
and Dr. Evans were all over me as I came out, pounding me on the back and shouting. "Is 
he dead, Mr. Perrin?" I asked, when I could get my breath. "He looks awful bad." 
Mr. Perrin looked him over. "No . . . I can see a pulse in his throat. Shock and 
exposure, but this suit was specially built-we'll get him back fast." He picked the runt up 
in his arms and I took out after him. 
Ten minutes later the runt was wrapped in blankets and drinking hot cocoa. I had 
some, too. Everybody was talking at once and Mother was crying again, but she looked 
normal and Dad had filled out. 
He tried to write out a check for Mr. Perrin, but he brushed it off. "I don't need 
any reward; your boy found him. 
"You can do me just one favor-" 
"Yes?" Dad was all honey. 
"Stay off the Moon. You don't belong here; you're not the pioneer type." 
Dad took it. "I've already promised my wife that," he said without batting an eye. 
"You needn't worry." 
I followed Mr. Perrin as he left and said to him privately, "Mr. Perrin-I just 
wanted to tell you that I'll be back, if you don't mind." 
He shook hands with me and said, "I know you will, Shorty." Robert A Heinlein 
Blowups Happen 
"PUT down that wrench!" 
The man addressed turned slowly around and faced the speaker. His expression 
was hidden by a grotesque helmet, part of a heavy, lead-and-cadmium armor which 
shielded his entire body, but the tone of voice in which he answered showed nervous 
exasperation. 
"What the hell's eating on you, doc?" He made no move to replace the tool in 
question. 
They faced each other like two helmeted, arrayed fencers, watching for an 
opening. The first speaker's voice came from behind his mask a shade higher in key and 
more peremptory in tone. "You heard me, Harper. Put down that wrench at once, and 
come away from that 'trigger'. Erickson!" 
A third armored figure came from the far end of the control room. "What 'cha 
want, doe?" 
"Harper is relieved from watch. You take over as engineer-of-the-watch. Send for 
the standby engineer." 
"Very well." His voice and manner were phlegmatic, as he accepted the situation 
without comment. The atomic engineer whom he had just relieved glanced from one to 
the other, then carefully replaced the wrench in its rack. 
"Just as you say, Doctor Silard, but send for your relief, too. I shall demand an 
immediate hearing!" Harper swept indignantly out, his lead-sheathed boots clumping on 
the floorplates. 
Doctor Silard waited unhappily for the ensuing twenty minutes until his own 
relief arrived. Perhaps he had been hasty. Maybe he was wrong in thinking that Harper 
had at last broken under the strain of tending the most dangerous machine in the worldthe 
atomic breeder plant. But if he had made a mistake, it had to be on the safe side-slips 
must not happen in this business; not when a slip might result in atomic detonation of 
nearly ten tons of uranium-238, U-235, and plutonium. 
He tried to visualize what that would mean, and failed. He had 'been told that 
uranium was potentially twenty million times as explosive as T.N.T. The figure was 
meaningless that way. He thought of the pile instead as a hundred million tons of high 
explosive, or as a thousand Hiroshimas. It still did not mean anything. He had once seen 
an A-bomb dropped, when he had been serving as a temperament analyst for the Air 
Forces. He could not imagine the explosion of a thousand such bombs; his. brain balked. 
Perhaps these atomic engineers could. Perhaps, with their greater mathematical ability 
and closer comprehension of what actually went on inside the nuclear fission chamber, 
they had some vivid glimpse of the mind-shattering horror locked up beyond that shield. 
If so, no wonder they tended to blow up- He sighed. Erickson looked away from the 
controls of the linear resonant accelerator on which he had been making some 
adjustment. 
"What's the trouble, doc?" "Nothing. I'm sorry I had to relieve Harper." 
Silard could feel the shrewd glance of the big Scandinavian. "Not getting the 
jitters yourself, are you, doc? Sometimes you squirrel-sleuths blow up, too-" 
"Me? I don't think so. I'm scared of that thing in there-I'd be crazy if I weren't." 
"So am I," Erickson told him soberly, and went back to his work at the controls of 
the accelerator. The accelerator proper lay beyond another shielding barrier; its snout 
disappeared in the final shield between it and the pile and fed a steady stream of 
terrifically speeded up sub-atomic bullets to the beryllium target located within the pile 
itself. The tortured beryllium yielded up neutrons, which shot out in all directions through 
the uranium mass. Some of these neutrons struck uranium atoms squarely on their nuclei 
and split them in two. The fragments were new elements, barium, xenon, rubidiumdepending 
on the portions in which each atom split. The new elements were usually 
unstable isotopes and broke down into a, dozen more elements by radioactive 
disintegration in a progressive reaction. 
But these second transmutations were comparatively safe; it was the original 
splitting of the uranium nucleus, with the release of the awe-inspiring energy that bound 
it together-an incredible two hundred million electron volts-that was important-and 
perilous. 
For, while uranium was used to breed other fuels by bombarding it with neutrons, 
the splitting itself gives up more neutrons which in turn may land in other uranium nuclei 
and split them. If conditions are favorable to a progressively increasing reaction of this 
sort, it may get out of hand, build up in an unmeasurable fraction of a micro-second into a 
complete atomic explosion-an explosion which would dwarf an atom bomb to pop-gun 
size; an explosion so far beyond all human experience as to be as completely 
incomprehensible as the idea of personal death. It could be feared, but not understood. 
But a self-perpetuating sequence of nuclear splitting, just wider the level of 
complete explosion, was necessary to the operation of the breeder plant. To split the first 
uranium nucleus by bombarding it with neutrons from the beryllium target took more 
power than the death of the atom gave up. In order that the breeder pile continue to 
operate it was imperative that each atom split by a neutron from the beryllium target 
should cause the splitting of many more. 
It was equally imperative that this chain of reactions should always tend to 
dampen, to die out. It must not build up, or the uranium mass would explode within a 
time interval too short to be measured by any means whatsoever. 
Nor would there be anyone left to measure it. 
The atomic engineer on duty at the pile could control this reaction by means of 
the "trigger", a term the engineers used to include the linear resonant accelerator, the 
beryllium target, the cadmium damping rods, and adjacent controls, instrument board, 
and power sources. That is to say he could vary the bombardment on the beryllium target 
to increase or decrease the level of operation of the plant, he could change the "effective 
mass" of the pile with the cadmium dampers, and he could tell from his instruments that 
the internal reaction was dampened-or, rather, that it had been dampened the split second 
before. He could not possibly know what was actually happening now within the pilesubatomic 
speeds are too great and the time intervals too small. He was like the bird that 
flew backward; he could see where he had been, but never knew where he was going. Nevertheless, it was his responsibility, and his alone, not only to maintain the pile 
at a high efficiency, but to see that the reaction never passed the critical point and 
progressed into mass explosion. 
But that was impossible. He could not be sure; he could never be sure. 
He could bring to the job all of the skill and learning of the finest technical 
education, and use it to reduce the hazard to the lowest mathematical probability, but the 
blind laws of chance which appear to rule in sub-atomic action might turn up a royal 
flush against him and defeat his most skillful play. 
And each atomic engineer knew it, knew that he gambled not only with his own 
life, but with the lives of countless others, perhaps with the lives of every human being on 
the planet. Nobody knew quite what such an explosion would do. A conservative 
estimate assumed that, in addition to destroying the plant and its personnel completely, it 
would tear a chunk out of the populous and heavily traveled Los Angeles-Oklahoma 
Road-City a hundred miles to the north. 
The official, optimistic viewpoint on which the plant had been authorized by the 
Atomic Energy Commission was based on mathematics which predicted that such a mass 
of uranium would itself be disrupted on a molar scale, and thereby limit the area of 
destruction, before progressive and accelerated atomic explosion could infect the entire 
mass. 
The atomic engineers, by and large, did not place faith in the official theory. They 
judged theoretical mathematical prediction for what it was worth-precisely nothing, until 
confirmed by experiment. 
But even from the official viewpoint, each atomic engineer while on watch 
carried not only his own life in his hands, but the lives of many others-how many, it was 
better not to think about. No pilot, no general, no surgeon ever carried such a daily, 
inescapable, ever present weight of responsibility for the lives of others as these men 
carried every time they went on watch, every time they touched a venire screw, or read a 
dial. 
They were selected not alone for their intelligence and technical training, but 
quite as much for their characters and sense of social responsibility. Sensitive men were 
needed-men who could fully appreciate the importance of the charge entrusted to them; 
no other sort would do. But the burden of responsibility was too great to be borne 
indefinitely by a sensitive man. 
It was, of necessity, a psychologically unstable condition. Insanity was an 
occupational disease. 
Doctor Cummings appeared, still buckling the straps of the armor worn to guard 
against stray radiation. "What's up?" he asked Silard. 
"I had to relieve Harper." 
"So I guessed. I met him coming up. He was sore as hell-just glared at me." 
"I know. He wants an immediate hearing. That's why I had to send for you." 
Cummings grunted, then nodded toward the engineer, anonymous in all-enclosing 
armor. "Who'd I draw?" 
"Erickson." 
"Good enough. Squareheads can't go crazy-eh, Gus?" Erickson looked up momentarily, and answered, "That's your problem," and 
returned to his work. Cummings turned back to Silard, and commented, "Psychiatrists 
don't seem very popular around here. O.K.-I relieve you, sir." 
"Very well, sir." 
Silard threaded his way through the zig-zag in the outer shield which surrounded 
the control room. Once outside this outer shield, he divested himself of the cumbersome 
armor, disposed of it in the locker room provided, and hurried to a lift. Heinlein 
54 Books Robert A. Heinlein. All you zombies 
2217 Time Zone V (EST) 7 Nov. 1970-NTC- "Pop's Place": 
I was polishing a brandy snifter when the Unmarried Mother came 
in. I noted the time-10: 17 P. M. zone five, or eastern time, 
November 7th, 1970. Temporal agents always notice time and 
date; we must. 
The Unmarried Mother was a man twenty-five years old, 
no taller than I am, childish features and a touchy temper. I 
didn't like his looks - I never had - but he was a lad I was 
here to recruit, he was my boy. I gave him my best barkeep's 
smile. 
Maybe I'm too critical. He wasn't swish; his nickname 
came from what he always said when some nosy type asked him his 
line: "I'm an unmarried mother. -- If he felt less than 
murderous he would add: "at four cents a word. I write 
confession stories. -- 
If he felt nasty, he would wait for somebody to make 
something of it. He had a lethal style of infighting, like a 
female cop - reason I wanted him. Not the only one. 
He had a load on, and his face showed that he despised 
people more than usual. Silently I poured a double shot of Old 
Underwear and left the bottle. He drank it, poured another. 
I wiped the bar top. -- How's the "Unmarried Mother" 
racket? -- 
His fingers tightened on the glass and he seemed about 
to throw it at me; I felt for the sap under the bar. In 
temporal manipulation you try to figure everything, but there 
are so many factors that you never take needless risks. 
I saw him relax that tiny amount they teach you to 
watch for in the Bureau's training school. -- Sorry, " I said. 
-- Just asking, "How's business? " Make it "How's the weather? 
-- 
He looked sour. -- Business is okay. I write "em, they 
print "em, I eat. -- 
I poured myself one, leaned toward him. -- Matter of 
fact, " I said, "you write a nice stick - I've sampled a few. 
You have an amazingly sure touch with the woman's angle. -- 
It was a slip I had to risk; he never admitted what 
pen-names he used. But he was boiled enough to pick up only the 
last: "'Woman's angle! "" he repeated with a snort. -- Yeah, I 
know the woman's angle. I should. -- 
"So? -- I said doubtfully. -- Sisters? -- 
"No. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. -- 
"Now, now, " I answered mildly, "bartenders and 
psychiatrists learn that nothing is stranger than truth. Why, 
son, if you heard the stories I do-well, you'd make yourself 
rich. Incredible. -- 
"You don't know what "incredible" means! " 
"So? Nothing astonishes me. I've always heard worse. -- 
He snorted again. -- Want to bet the rest of the 
bottle? -- 
"I'll bet a full bottle. -- I placed one on the bar. 
"Well-" I signaled my other bartender to handle the 
trade. We were at the far end, a single-stool space that I kept 
private by loading the bar top by it with jars of pickled eggs 
and other clutter. A few were at the other end watching the 
fights and somebody was playing the juke box-private as a bed 
where we were. 
"Okay, " he began, "to start with, I'm a bastard. -- 
"No distinction around here, " I said. 
"I mean it, " he snapped. -- My parents weren't 
married. -- 
"Still no distinction, " I insisted. -- Neither were 
mine. -- 
"When-" He stopped, gave me the first warm look I ever 
saw on him. -- You mean that? -- 
"I do. A one-hundred-percent bastard. In fact, " I 
added, "no one in my family ever marries. All bastards. 
"Oh, that. -- I showed it to him. -- It just looks like 
a wedding ring; I wear it to keep women off. -- It is an 
antique I bought in 1985 from a fellow operative - he had 
fetched it from pre-Christian Crete. -- The Worm Ouroboros... 
the World Snake that eats its own tail, forever without end. A 
symbol of the Great Paradox. -- 
He barely glanced at it. -- if you're really a bastard, 
you know how it feels. When I was a little girl-" 
"Wups! " I said. -- Did I hear you correctly? -- "'Who's telling this story? When I was a little 
girl-Look, ever hear of Christine Jorgenson? Or Roberta Cowell? 
-- 
"Uh, sex-change cases? You're trying to tell me-" 
"Don't interrupt or swelp me, I won't talk. I was a 
foundling, left at an orphanage in Cleveland in 1945 when I was 
a month old. When I was a little girl, I envied kids with 
parents. Then, when I learned about sex-and, believe me, Pop, 
you learn fast in an orphanage-" 
"I know " 
"-I made a solemn vow that any kid of mine would have 
both a pop and a mom. It kept me "pure, " quite a feat in that 
vicinity - I had to learn to fight to manage it. Then I got 
older and realized I stood darn little chance of getting 
married - for the same reason I hadn't been adopted --. He 
scowled. I was horse-faced and buck-toothed, flat-chested and 
straight-haired. 
"You don't look any worse than I do. -- 
"Who cares how a barkeep looks? Or a writer? But peaple 
wanting to adopt pick little blue-eyed golden-haired moron. 
Later on, the boys want bulging breasts, a cute face, and an 
Oh-you-wonderful-male manner. -- He shrugged. I couldn't 
compete. So I decided to join the W. E. N. C. H. E. S. -- 
Eh? -- 
"Women's Emergency National Corps, Hospitality & 
Entertainment Section, what they now call "Space 
Angels'-Auxiliary Nursing Group, Extraterrestrial Legions. -- 
I knew both terms, once I had them chronized. We use 
still a third name, it's that elite military service corps: 
Women's Hospitality Order Refortifying & Encouraging Spacemen. 
Vocabulary shift is the worst hurdle in time-jumps - did you 
know that "service station" once fractions? Once on an 
assignment in the Churchill Era, a woman said to me, "Meet me 
at the service station next door -- - which is not what it 
sounds; a service station" (then) wouldn't have a bed in it. 
He went on: "It was when they first admitted you can't 
send men into space for months and years and not relieve the 
tension. You remember how the wowsers screamed? - that improved 
my chance, since volunteers were scarce. A gal had to be 
respectable, preferably virgin (they liked to train them from 
scratch), above average mentally, and stable emotionally. But 
most volunteers were old hookers, or neurotics who would crack 
up ten days off Earth. So I didn't need looks; if they accepted 
me, they would fix my buck teeth, put a wave in my hair, teach 
me to walk and dance and how to listen to a man pleasingly, and everything else - plus training for the prime duties. They 
would even use plastic surgery if it would help - nothing too 
good for our Boys. 
"Best yet, they made sure you didn't get pregnant 
during your enlistment - and you were almost certain to marry 
at the end of your hitch. Same way today, A. N. G. E. L. S. 
marry spacers - they talk the language. 
"When I was eighteen I was placed as a `mother's 
helper'. This family simply wanted a cheap servant, but I 
didn't mind as I couldn't enlist till I was twenty-one. I did 
housework and went to night school - pretending to continue my 
high school typing and shorthand but going to a charm class 
instead, to better my chances for enlistment. 
"Then I met this city slicker with his hundred-dollar 
bills. -- He scowled. The no-good actually did have a wad of 
hundred-dollar bills. He showed me one night, told me to help 
myself. 
"But I didn't. I liked him. He was the first man I ever 
met who was nice to me without trying games with me. I quit 
night school to see him oftener. It was the happiest time of my 
life. 
"Then one night in the park the games began. -- 
He stopped. I said, "And then? -- 
"And then nothing! I never saw him again. He walked me 
home and told me he loved me-and kissed me good-night and never 
came back. -- He looked grim. -- If I could find him, I'd kill 
him! " 
"Well, " I sympathized, "I know how you feel. But 
killing him-just for doing what comes naturally - hmm... Did 
you struggle? -- 
"Huh? What's that got to do with it? -- 
"Quite a bit. Maybe he deserves a couple of broken arms 
for running out on you, but-" 
"He deserves worse than that! Wait till you hear. 
Somehow I kept anyone from suspecting and decided it was all 
for the best. I hadn't really loved him and probably would 
never love anybody-and I was more eager to join the WE. N. C. 
H. E. S. than ever. I wasn't disqualified, they didn't insist 
on virgins. I cheered up. 
"It wasn't until my skirts got tight that I realized. 
-- 
"Pregnant? -- 
"He had me higher "n a kite! Those skinflints I lived 
with ignored it as long as I could work-then kicked me out, and 
the orphanage wouldn't take me back. I landed in a charity ward 
surrounded by other big bellies and trotted bedpans until my time came. 
"One night I found myself on an operating table, with a 
nurse saying, "Relax. Now breathe deeply. " 
"I woke up in bed, numb from the chest down. My surgeon 
came in. "How do you feel? " he says cheerfully. 
"Like a mummy. -- 
"Naturally. You're wrapped like one and full of dope to 
keep you numb. You'll get well-but a Cesarean isn't a hangnail. 
" 
Cesarean" I said. "Doc - did I lose the baby? " 
Oh, no. Your baby's fine. " 
Oh. Boy or girl? " 
"'A healthy little girt. Five pounds, three ounces. " 
"I relaxed. It's something, to have made a baby. I told 
myself I would go somewhere and tack "Mrs. " on my name and let 
the kid think her papa was dead -no orphanage for my kid! 
"But the surgeon was talking. "Tell me, uh-" He 
avoided my name. "did you ever think your glandular setup was 
odd? " 
"I said, "Huh? Of course not. What are you driving at? 
" 
"He hesitated. I'll give you this in one dose, then a 
hypo to let you sleep off your jitters. You'll have "em. " 
"'Why? I demanded. 
Ever hear of that Scottish physician who was female 
until she was thirtyfive? -then had surgery and became legally 
and medically a man? Got married. All okay. " 
'What's that got to do with me? " 
"'That's what I'm saying. You're a man. " 
"I tried to sit up. What? " 
"Take it easy. When I opened you, I found a mess. I 
sent for the Chief of Surgery while I got the baby out, then we 
held a consultation with you on the table-and worked for hours 
to salvage what we could. You had two full sets of organs, both 
immature, but with the female set well enough developed for you 
to have a baby. They could never be any use to you again, so we 
took them out and rearranged things so that you can develop 
properly as a man. He put a hand on me. "Don't worry. You're 
young, your bones will readjust, we'll watch your glandular 
balance - and make a fine young man out of you. " 
"I started to cry. "What about my baby? " 
"Well, you can't nurse her, you haven't milk enough for 
a kitten. If I were you, I wouldn't see her-put her up for 
adoption. " 
"'No! " "He shrugged. "The choice is yours; you're her mother - 
well, her parent. But don't worry now; we'll get you well 
first. " 
"Next day they let me see the kid and I saw her daily - 
trying to get used to her. I had never seen a brand-new baby 
and had no idea how awful they look - my daughter looked like 
an orange monkey. My feelings changed to cold determination to 
do right by her. But four weeks later that didn't mean 
anything. -- 
"Eh? -- 
"She was snatched. -- 
"'Snatched? -- 
The Unmarried Mother almost knocked over the bottle we 
had bet. -- Kidnapped - stolen from the hospital nursery! " He 
breathed hard. -- How's that for taking the last a man's got to 
live for? -- 
"A bad deal, " I agreed. -- Let's pour you another. No 
clues? -- 
"Nothing the police could trace. Somebody came to see 
her, claimed to be her uncle. While the nurse had her back 
turned, he walked out with her. -- 
"Description? -- 
"Just a man, with a face-shaped face, like yours or 
mine. -- He frowned. -- I think it was the baby's father. The 
nurse swore it was an older man but he probably used makeup. 
Who else would swipe my baby? Childless women pull such stunts 
- but whoever heard of a man doing it? -- 
"What happened to you then? -- 
"Eleven more months of that grim place and three 
operations. In four months I started to grow a beard; before I 
was out I was shaving regularly... and no longer doubted that I 
was male. -- He grinned wryly. -- I was staring down nurses 
necklines. -- 
"Well, " I said, "seems to me you came through okay. 
Here you are, a normal man, making good money, no real 
troubles. And the life of a female is not an easy one. -- 
He glared at me. -- A lot you know about it! " 
"So? -- 
"Ever hear the expression "a ruined woman'? -- 
"Mmm, years ago. Doesn't mean much today. -- 
"I was as ruined as a woman can be; that bum really 
ruined me - I was no longer a woman... and I didn't know how to 
be a man. -- 
"Takes getting used to, I suppose. -- 
"You have no idea. I don't mean learning how to dress, 
or not walking into the wrong rest room; I learned those in the hospital. But how could I live? What job could I get? Hell, I 
couldn't even drive a car. I didn't know a trade; I couldn't do 
manual labor-too much scar tissue, too tender. 
"I hated him for having ruined me for the W. E. N. C. 
H. E. S., too, but I didn't know how much until I tried to join 
the Space Corps instead. One look at my belly and I was marked 
unfit for military service. The medical officer spent time on 
me just from curiosity; he had read about my case. 
"So I changed my name and came to New York. I got by as 
a fry cook, then rented a typewriter and set myself up as a 
public stenographer - what a laugh! In four months I typed four 
letters and one manuscript. The manuscript was for Real Life 
Tales and a waste of paper, but the goof who wrote it sold it. 
Which gave me an idea; I bought a stack of confession magazines 
and studied them. -- He looked cynical. -- Now you know how I 
get the authentic woman's angle on 
an unmarried-mother story... through the only version I 
haven't sold - the true one. Do I win the bottle? -- 
I pushed it toward him. I was upset myself, but there 
was work to do. I said, "Son, you still want to lay hands on 
that so-and-so? -- 
His eyes lighted up-a feral gleam. 
"Hold it! " I said. -- You wouldn't kill him? -- 
He chuckled nastily. -- Try me. -- 
"Take it easy. I know more about it than you think I 
do. I can help you. I know where he is. -- 
He reached across the bar. -- Where is he? -- 
I said softly, "Let go my shirt, sonny-or you'll land 
in the alley and we'll tell the cops you fainted. -- I showed 
him the sap. 
He let go. -- Sorry. But where is he? -- He looked at 
me. -- And how do you know so much? -- 
"All in good time. There are records - hospital 
records, orphanage records, medical records. The matron of your 
orphanage was Mrs. Fetherage - right? She was followed by Mrs. 
Gruenstein - right? Your name, as a girl, was "Jane" - right? 
And you didn't tell me any of this - right? -- 
I had him baffled and a bit scared. -- What's this? You 
trying to make trouble for me? -- 
"No indeed. I've your welfare at heart. I can put this 
character in your lap. You do to him as you see fit - and I 
guarantee that you'll get away with it. But I don't think 
you'll kill him. You'd be nuts to - and you aren't nuts. Not 
quite. -- 
He brushed it aside. -- Cut the noise. Where is he? -- 
I poured him a short one; he was drunk, but anger was offsetting it. -- Not so fast. I do something for you - you do 
something for me. -- 
"Uh... what? -- 
"You don't like your work. What would you say to high 
pay, steady work, unlimited expense account, your own boss on 
the job, and lots of variety and adventure? -- 
He stared. -- I'd say, "Get those goddam reindeer off 
my roof! " Shove it, Pop - there's no such job. -- 
"Okay, put it this way: I hand him to you, you settle 
with him, then try my job. If it's not all I claim - well, I 
can't hold you. -- 
He was wavering; the last drink did it "When d'yuh 
d'liver "im? -- he said thickly. 
He shoved out his hand. -- It's a deal! " 
"If it's a deal-right now! " 
I nodded to my assistant to watch both ends, noted the 
time - 2300 - started to duck through the gate under the bar - 
when the juke box blared out: "I'm My Own Grandpaw! " The 
service man had orders to load it with Americana and classics 
because I couldn't stomach the "music" of 1970, but I hadn't 
known that tape was in it. I called out, "Shut that off! Give 
the customer his money back. -- I added, "Storeroom, back in a 
moment, " and headed there with my Unmarried Mother following. 
It was down the passage across from the johns, a steel 
door to which no one but my day manager and myself had a key; 
inside was a door to an inner room to which only I had a key. 
We went there. 
He looked blearily around at windowless walls. -- Where 
is he? -- 
"Right away. -- I opened a case, the only thing in the 
room; it was a U. S. F. F. Coordinates Transformer Field Kit, 
series 1992, Mod. II - a beauty, no moving parts, weight 
twenty-three kilos fully charged, and shaped to pass as a 
suitcase. I had adjusted it precisely earlier that day; all I 
had to do was to shake out the metal net which limits the 
transformation field. 
Which I did. -- What's that? -- he demanded. 
"Time machine, " I said and tossed the net over us. 
"Hey! " he yelled and stepped back. There is a 
technique to this; the net has to be thrown so that the subject 
will instinctively step back onto the metal mesh, then you 
close the net with both of you inside completely-else you might 
leave shoe soles behind or a piece of foot, or scoop up a slice 
of floor. But that's all the skill it takes. Some agents con a 
subject into the net; I tell the truth and use that instant of 
utter astonishment to flip the switch. Which I did. 1030-VI-3 April 1963 - Cleveland, Ohio-Apex Bldg.: 
"Hey! " he repeated. -- Take this damn thing off! " 
"Sorry, " I apologized and did so, stuffed the net into 
the case, closed it. -- You said you wanted to find him. -- 
"But - you said that was a time machine! " 
I pointed out a window. -- Does that look like 
November? Or New York? -- While he was gawking at new buds and 
spring weather, I reopened the case, took out a packet of 
hundred-dollar bills, checked that the numbers and signatures 
were compatible with 1963. The Temporal Bureau doesn't care how 
much you spend (it costs nothing) but they don't like 
unnecessary anachronisms. Too many mistakes, and a general 
court-martial will exile you for a year in a nasty period, say 
1974 with its strict rationing and forced labor. I never make 
such mistakes; the money was okay. 
He turned around and said, "What happened? -- 
"He's here. Go outside and take him. Here's expense 
money. -- I shoved it at him and added, "Settle him, then I'll 
pick you up. -- 
Hundred-dollar bills have a hypnotic effect on a person 
not used to them. He was thumbing them unbelievingly as I eased 
him into the hall, locked him out. The next jump was easy, a 
small shift in era. 
7100-VI-10 March 1964 - Cleveland-Apex Bldg.: There was 
a notice under the door saying that my lease expired next week; 
otherwise the room looked as it had a moment before. Outside, 
trees were bare and snow threatened; I hurried, stopping only 
for contemporary money and a coat, hat, and topcoat I had left 
there when I leased the room. I hired a car, went to the 
hospital. It took twenty minutes to bore the nursery attendant 
to the point where I could swipe the baby without being 
noticed. We went back to the Apex Building. This dial setting 
was more involved, as the building did not yet exist in 1945. 
But I had precalculated it. 
0100-VI-20 Sept. 1945 - Cleveland-Skyview Motel:: Field 
kit, baby, and I arrived in a motel outside town. Earlier I had 
registered as "Gregory Johnson, Warren, Ohio, " so we arrived 
in a room with curtains closed, windows locked, and doors 
bolted, and the floor cleared to allow for waver as the machine 
hunts. You can get a nasty bruise from a chair where it 
shouldn't be - not the chair, of course, but backlash from the 
field. 
No trouble. Jane was sleeping soundly; I carried her out, put her in a grocery box on the seat of a car I had 
provided earlier, drove to the orphanage, put her on the steps, 
drove two blocks to a "service station" (the petroleum-products 
sort) and phoned the orphanage, drove back in time to see them 
taking the box inside, kept going and abandoned the car near 
the motel - walked to it and jumped forward to the Apex 
Building in 1963. 
2200-VI-24 April 1963 - Cleveland-Apex Bldg.: I had cut 
the time rather fine - temporal accuracy depends on span, 
except on return to zero. If I had it right, Jane was 
discovering, out in the park this balmy spring night, that she 
wasn't quite as nice a girl as she had thought., I grabbed a 
taxi to the home of those skinflints, had the hackie wait 
around a comer while I lurked in shadows. 
Presently I spotted them down the street, arms around 
each other. He took her up on the porch and made a long job of 
kissing her good-night-longer than I thought. Then she went in 
and he came down the walk, turned away. I slid into step and 
hooked an arm in his. -- That's all, son, " I announced 
quietly. -- I'm back to pick you up. -- 
"You! " He gasped and caught his breath. 
"Me. Now you know who he is - and after you think it 
over you'll know who you are... and if you think hard enough, 
you'll figure out who the baby is... and who I am. -- 
He didn't answer, he was badly shaken. It's a shock to 
have it proved to you that you can't resist seducing yourself. 
I took him to the Apex Building and we jumped again. 
2300-VIII, 12 Aug. 1985-Sub Rockies Base: I woke the 
duty sergeant, showed my I. D., told the sergeant to bed my 
companion down with a happy pill and recruit him in the moming. 
The sergeant looked sour, but rank is rank, regardless of era; 
he did what I said-thinking, no doubt, that the next time we 
met he might be the colonel and I the sergeant. Which can 
happen in our corps. -- What name? -- he asked. 
I wrote it out. He raised his eyebrows. -- Like so, eh? 
Hmm-" 
"You just do your job, Sergeant. -- I turned to my 
companion. 
"Son, your troubles are over. You're about to start the 
best job a man ever held-and you'll do well. I know. -- 
"That you will! " agreed the sergeant. -- Look at me - 
born in 1917-still around, still young, still enjoying life. -- 
I went back to the jump room, set everything on preselected 
zero. 
2301-V-7 Nov. 1970-NYC -"Pop's Place": I came out of 
the storeroom carrying a fifth of Drambuie to account for the 
minute I had been gone. My assistant was arguing with the 
customer who had been playing "I'm My Own Grand-paw! " I said, 
"Oh, let him play it, then unplug it. -- I was very tired. 
It's rough, but somebody must do it, and it's very hard 
to recruit anyone in the later years, since the Mistake of 
1972. Can you think of a better source than to pick people all 
fouled up where they are and give them well-paid, interesting 
(even though dangerous) work in a necessary cause? Everybody 
knows now why the Fizzle War of 1963 fizzled. The bomb with New 
York's number on it didn't go off, a hundred other things 
didn't go as planned-all arranged by the likes of me. 
But not the Mistake of "72; that one is not our 
fault-and can't be undone; there's no paradox to resolve. A 
thing either is, or it isn't, now and forever amen. But there 
won't be another like it; an order dated "1992" takes 
precedence any year. 
I closed five minutes early, leaving a letter in the 
cash register telling my day manager that I was accepting his 
offer to buy me out, to see my lawyer as I was leaving on a 
long vacation. The Bureau might or might not pick up his 
payments, but they want things left tidy. I went to the room in 
the back of the storeroom and forward to 1993. 
2200-VII- 12 Jan 1993-Sub Rockies Annex-HQ Temporal 
DOL: I checked in with the duty officer and went to my 
quarters, intending to sleep for a week. I had fetched the 
bottle we bet (after all, I won it) and took a drink before I 
wrote my report. It tasted foul, and I wondered why I had ever 
liked Old Underwear. But it was better than nothing; I don't 
like to be cold sober, I think too much. But I don't really hit 
the bottle either; other people have snakes-I have people. 
I dictated my report; forty recruitments all okayed by 
the Psych Bureau - counting my own, which I knew would be 
okayed. I was here, wasn't I? Then I taped a request for 
assignment to operations; I was sick of recruiting. I dropped 
both in the slot and headed for bed. 
My eye fell on "The By-Laws of Time, " over my bed: 
Never Do Yesterday What Should Be Done Tomorrow. 
If at Last You Do Succeed, Never Try Again. 
A Stitch in Time Saves Nine Billion. 
A Paradox May Be Paradoctored. 
It Is Earlier When You Think. 
Ancestors Are Just People. Even Jove Nods. 
They didn't inspire me the way they had when I was a 
recruit; thirty subjective-years of time-jumping wears you 
down. I undressed, and when I got down to the hide I looked at 
my belly. A Cesarean leaves a big scar, but I'm so hairy now 
that I don't notice it unless I look for it. 
Then I glanced at the ring on my finger. 
The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail, Forever and Ever. I 
know where I came from - but where did all you zombies come 
from? 
I felt a headache coming on, but a headache powder is 
one thing I do not take. I did once - and you all went away. 
So I crawled into bed and whistled out the light. 
You aren't really there at all. There isn't anybody but 
me - Jane - here alone in the dark. 
I miss you dreadfully! The Black Pits of Luna 
THE MORNING after we got to the Moon we went over to Rutherford. Dad and 
Mr. Latham - Mr. Latham is the man from the Harriman Trust that Dad came to Luna 
City to see. 
Dad and Mr. Latham had to go anyhow, on business. I got Dad to promise I could 
go along because it looked like just about my only chance to get out on the surface of the 
Moon. Luna City is all right, I guess, but I defy you to tell a corridor in Luna City from 
the sublevels in New York-except that you're light on your feet, of course. 
When Dad came into our hotel suite to say we were ready to leave, I was down on 
the floor, playing mumblety-peg with my kid brother. Mother was lying down and had 
asked me to keep the runt quiet. She had been dropsick all the way out from Earth and I 
guess she didn't feel very good. The runt had been fiddling with the lights, switching 
them from "dusk" to "desert suntan" and back again. I collared him and sat him down on 
the floor. 
Of course, I don't play mumblety-peg any more, but, on the Moon, it's a right 
good game. The knife practically floats and you can do all kinds of things with it. We 
made up a lot of new rules. 
Dad said, "Switch in plans, my dear. We're leaving for Rutherford right away. 
Let's pull ourselves together." 
Mother said, "Oh, mercy me-I don't think I'm up to it. You and Dickie run along. 
Baby Darling and I will just spend a quiet day right here." 
Baby Darling is the runt. 
I could have told her it was the wrong approach. He nearly put my eye out with 
the knife and said, "Who? What? I'm going too. Let's go!" 
Mother said, "Oh, now, Baby Darling-don't cause Mother Dear any trouble, We'll 
go to the movies, just you and I." 
The runt is seven years younger than I am, but don't call him "Baby Darling" if 
you want to get anything out of him. He started to bawl. "You said I could go!" he yelled. 
"No, Baby Darling. I haven't mentioned it to you. I-" 
"Daddy said I could go!" 
"Richard, did you tell Baby he could go?" 
"Why, no, my dear, not that I recall. Perhaps I-" 
The kid cut in fast. "You said I could go anywhere Dickie went. You promised me 
you promised me you promised me." Sometimes you have to hand it to the runt; he had 
them jawing about who told him what in nothing flat. Anyhow, that is how twenty 
minutes later, the four of us were up at the rocket port with Mr. Lathani and climbing into 
the shuttle for Rutherford. 
The trip only takes about ten minutes and you don't see much, just a glimpse of 
the Earth while the rocket is still near Luna City and then not even that, since the atom 
plants where we were going are all on the back side of the Moon, of course. There were 
maybe a dozen tourists along and most of them were dropsick as soon as we went into 
free flight. So was Mother. Some people never will get used to rockets. 
But Mother was all right as soon as we grounded and were inside again. 
Rutherford isn't like Luna City; instead of extending a tube out to the ship, they send a pressurized car out to latch on to the airlock of the rocket, then you jeep back about a 
mile to the entrance to underground. I liked that and so did the runt. Dad had to go off on 
business with Mr. Latham, leaving Mother and me and the runt to join up with the party 
of tourists for the trip through the laboratories. 
It was all right but nothing to get excited about. So far as I can see, one atomics 
plant looks about like another; Rutherford could just as well have been. the main plant 
outside Chicago. I mean to say everything that is anything is out of sight, covered up, 
shielded. All you get to see are some dials and instrument boards and people watching 
them. Remote control stuff, like Oak Ridge. The guide tells you about the experiments 
going on and they show you some movies - that's all. 
I liked our guide. He looked like Tom Jeremy in The Space Troopers. I asked him 
if he was a spaceman and he looked at me kind of funny and said, no, that he was just a 
Colonial Services ranger. Then he asked me where I went to school and if I belonged to 
the Scouts. He said he was scoutmaster of Troop One, Rutherford City, Moonbat Patrol. 
I found out there was just the one patrol-not many scouts on the Moon, I suppose. 
Dad and Mr. Latham joined us just as we finished the tour while Mr. Perrin - 
that's our guide - was announcing the trip outside. "The conducted tour of Rutherford," he 
said, talking as if it were a transcription, "includes a trip by spacesuit out on the surface 
of the Moon, without extra charge, to see the Devil's Graveyard and the site of the Great 
Disaster of 1984. The trip is optional. There is nothing particularly dangerous about it and 
we've never had any one hurt, but the Commission requires that you sign a separate 
release for your own safety if you choose to make this trip. The trip takes about one hour. 
Those preferring to remain behind will find movies and refreshments in the coffee shop." 
Dad was rubbing his hands together. "This is for me," he announced. "Mr. 
Latham, I'm glad we got back in time. I wouldn't have missed this for the world." 
"You'll enjoy it," Mr. Latham agreed, "and so will you, Mrs. Logan. I'm tempted 
to come along myself." 
"Why don't you?' Dad asked. 
"No, I want to have the papers ready for you and the Director to sign when you 
get back and before you leave for Luna City." 
"Why knock yourself out?" Dad urged him. "If a man's word is no good, his 
signed contract is no better. You can mail the stuff to me at New York." 
Mr. Latham shook his head. "No, really - I've been out on the surface dozens of 
times. But I'll come along and help you into your spacesuits." 
Mother said, "Oh dear," she didn't think she'd better go; she wasn't sure she could 
stand the thought of being shut up in a spacesuit and besides glaring sunlight always gave 
her a headache. 
Dad said, "Don't be silly, my dear; it's the chance of a lifetime," and Mr. Latham 
told her that the filters on the helmets kept the light from being glaring. Mother always 
objects and then gives in. I suppose women just don't have any force of character. Like 
the night before - earth-night, I mean, Luna City time - she had bought a fancy moonsuit 
to wear to dinner in the Earth-View room at the hotel, then she got cold feet. She 
complained to Dad that she was too plump to dare to dress like that. 
Well, she did show an awful lot of skin. Dad said, "Nonsense, my dear. You look 
ravishing." So she wore it and had a swell time, especially when a pilot tried to pick her 
up. It was like that this time. She came along. We went into the outfitting room and I 
looked around while Mr. Perrin was getting them all herded in and having the releases 
signed. There was the door to the airlock to the surface at the far end, with a bull's-eye 
window in it and another one like it in the door beyond. You could peek through and see 
the surface of the Moon beyond, looking hot and bright and sort of improbable, in spite of 
the amber glass in the windows. And there was a double row of spacesuits hanging up, 
looking like empty men. I snooped around until Mr. Perrin got around to our party. 
"We can arrange to leave the youngster in the care of the hostess in the coffee 
shop," he was telling Mother. He reached down and tousled the runt's hair. The runt tried 
to bite him and he snatched his hand away in a hurry. 
"Thank you, Mr. Perkins," Mother said, "I suppose that's best-though perhaps I 
had better stay behind with him." 
"'Perrin' is the name," Mr. Perrin said mildly. "It won't be necessary. The hostess 
will take good care of him." 
Why do adults talk in front of kids as if they couldn't understand English? They 
should have just shoved him into the coffee shop. By now the runt knew he was being 
railroaded. He looked around belligerently. "I go, too," he said loudly. "You promised 
me." 
"Now Baby Darling," Mother tried to stop him. "Mother Dear didn't tell you-" But 
she was just whistling to herself; the runt turned on the sound effects. 
"You said I could go where Dickie went; you promised me when I was sick. You 
promised me you promised me-" and on and on, his voice getting higher and louder all 
the time. 
Mr. Perrin looked embarrassed. Mother said, "Richard, you'll just have to deal 
with your child. After all, you were the one who promised him." 
"Me, dear?" Dad looked surprised. "Anyway, I don't see anything so complicated 
about it. Suppose we did promise him that he could do what Dickie does-we'll simply 
take him along; that's all." 
Mr. Perrin cleared his throat. "I'm afraid not. I can outfit your older son with a 
woman's suit; he's tall for his age. But we just don't make any provision for small 
children." 
Well, we were all tangled up in a mess in no time at all. The runt can always get 
Mother to go running in circles. Mother has the same effect on Dad. He gets red in the 
face and starts laying down the law to me. It's sort of a chain reaction, with me on the end 
and nobody to pass it along to. They came out with a very simple solution - I was to stay 
behind and take care of Baby Darling brat! 
"But, Dad, you said-" I started in. 
"Never mind!" he cut in. "I won't have this family disrupted in a public squabble. 
You heard what your mother said." 
I was desperate. "Look, Dad," I said, keeping my voice low, "if I go back to Earth 
without once having put on a spacesuit and set foot on the surface, you'll just have to find 
another school to send me to. I won't go back to Lawrenceville; I'd be the joke of the 
whole place." 
"We'll settle that when we get home." 
"But, Dad, you promised me specifically-" 
"That'll be enough out of you, young man. The matter is closed." Mr. Lathain had been standing near by, taking it in but keeping his mouth shut. At 
this point he cocked an eyebrow at Dad and said very quietly, "Well, R.J., I thought your 
word was your bond?" 
I wasn't supposed to hear it and nobody else did - a good thing, too, for it doesn't 
do to let Dad know that you know that he's wrong; it just makes him worse. I changed the 
subject in a hurry. "Look, Dad, maybe we all can go out. How about that suit over there?" 
I pointed at a rack that was inside a railing with a locked gate on it. The rack had a couple 
of dozen suits on it and at the far end, almost out of sight, was a small suit - the boots on 
it hardly came down to the waist of the suit next to it. 
"Huh?" Dad brightened up. "Why, just the thing! Mr. Perrin! Oh, Mr. Perrin-here 
a minute! I thought you didn't have any small suits, but here's one that I think will fit." 
Dad was fiddling at the latch of the railing gate. Mr. Perrin stopped him. "We 
can't use that suit, sir." 
"Uh? Why not?" 
"All the suits inside the railing are private property, not for rent." 
"What? Nonsense-Rutherford is a public enterprise. I want that suit for my child." 
"Well, you can't have it." 
"I'll speak to the Director." 
"I'm afraid you'll have to. That suit was specially built for his daughter." 
And that's just what they did. Mr. Latham got the Director on the line, Dad talked 
to him, then the Director talked to Mr. Perrin, then he talked to Dad again. The Director 
didn't mind lending the suit, not to Dad, anyway, but he wouldn't order Mr. Perrin to take 
a below-age child outside. 
Mr. Perrin was feeling stubborn and I don't blame him, but Dad soothed his 
feathers down and presently we were all climbing into our suits and getting pressure 
checks and checking our oxygen supply and switching on our walkie-talkies. Mr. Perrin 
was calling the roll by radio and reminding us that we were all on the same circuit, so we 
had better let him do most of the talking and not to make casual remarks or none of us 
would be able to hear. Then we were in the airlock and he was warning us to stick close 
together and not try to see how fast we could run or how high we could jump. My heart 
was rocking around in my chest. 
The outer door of the lock opened and we filed out on the face of the Moon. It 
was just as wonderful as I dreamed it would be, I guess, but I was so excited that I hardly 
knew it at the time. The glare of the sun was the brightest thing I ever saw and the 
shadows so inky black you could hardly see into them. You couldn't hear anything but 
voices over your radio and you could reach down and switch off that. 
The pumice was soft and kicked up around our feet like smoke, settling slowly, 
falling in slow motion. Nothing else moved. It was the deadest place you can imagine. 
We stayed on a path, keeping close together for company, except twice when I 
had to take out after the runt when he found out he could jump twenty feet. I wanted to 
smack him, but did you ever try to smack anybody wearing a spacesuit? It's no use. 
Mr. Perrin told us to halt presently and started his talk. "You are now in the 
Devil's Graveyard. The twin spires behind you are five thousand feet above the floor of 
the plain and have never been scaled. The spires, or monuments, have been named for 
apocryphal or mythological characters because of the fancied resemblance of this 
fantastic scene to a giant cemetery. Beelzebub, Thor, Siva, Cain, Set-" He pointed around us. "Lunologists are not agreed as to the origin of the strange shapes. Some claim to see 
indications of the action of air and water as well as volcanic action. If so, these spires 
must have been standing for an unthinkably long period, for today, as you see, the Moon- 
" It was the same sort of stuff you can read any month in Spaceways Magazine, only we 
were seeing it and that makes a difference, let me tell you. 
The spires reminded me a bit of the rocks below the lodge in the Garden of the 
Gods in Colorado Springs when we went there last summer, only these spires were lots 
bigger and, instead of blue sky, there was just blackness and hard, sharp stars overhead. 
Spooky. 
Another ranger bad come with us, with a camera. Mr. Perrin tried to say 
something else, but the runt had started yapping away and I had to switch off his radio 
before anybody could hear anything. I kept it switched off until Mr. Perrin finished 
talking. 
He wanted us to line up for a picture with the spires and the black sky behind us 
for a background. "Push your faces forward in your helmets so that your features will 
show. Everybody look pretty. There!" he added as the other guy snapped the shot. "Prints 
will be ready when you return, at ten dollars a copy." 
I thought it over. I certainly needed one for my room at school and I wanted one 
to give to - anyhow, I needed another one. I had eighteen bucks left from my birthday 
money; I could sweet-talk Mother for the balance. So I ordered two of them. 
We climbed a long rise and suddenly we were staring out across the crater, the 
disaster crater, all that was left of the first laboratory. It stretched away from us, twenty 
miles across, with the floor covered with shiny, bubbly green glass instead of pumice. 
There was a monument. I read it: 
HERE ABOUT YOU ARE THE MORTAL REMAINS OF 
Kurt Schaeffer 
Maurice Feinstein 
Thomas Dooley 
Hazel Hayakawa 
Cl. Washington Slappey 
Sam Houston Adams 
WHO DIED FOR THE TRUTH THAT MAKES MEN FREE 
On the Eleventh Day of August 1984 
I felt sort of funny and backed away and went to listen to Mr. Perrin. Dad and 
some of the other men were asking him questions. "They don't know exactly," he was 
saying. "Nothing was left. Now we telemeter all the data back to Luna City, as it comes 
off the instruments, but that was before the line-of-sight relays were set up." 
"What would have happened," some man asked, "if this blast had gone off on 
Earth?" 
"I'd hate to try to tell you-but that's why they put the lab here, back of the Moon." 
He glanced at his watch. "Time to leave, everybody." They were milling around, heading 
back down toward the path, when Mother screamed. 
"Baby! Where's Baby Darling?" I was startled but I wasn't scared, not yet. The runt is always running around, first 
here and then there, but he doesn't go far away, because he always wants to have 
somebody to yap to. 
My father had one arm around Mother; he signaled to me with the other. "Dick," 
he snapped, his voice sharp in my earphones, "what have you done with your brother?' 
"Me?" I said. "Don't look at me-the last I saw Mother had him by the hand, 
walking up the hill here." 
"Don't stall around, Dick. Mother sat down to rest when we got here and sent him 
to you." 
"Well, if she did, he never showed up." At that, Mother started to scream in 
earnest. Everybody had been listening, of course-they had to; there was just the one radio 
circuit. Mr. Perrin stepped up and switched off Mother's talkie, making a sudden silence. 
"Take care of your wife, Mr. Logan," he ordered, then added, "When did you see 
your child last?" 
Dad couldn't help him any; when they tried switching Mother back into the hookup, 
they switched her right off again. She couldn't help and she deafened us. Mr. Perrin 
addressed the rest of us. "Has anyone seen the small child we had with us? Don't answer 
unless you have something to contribute. Did anyone see him wander away?" 
Nobody had. I figured he probably ducked out when everybody was looking at the 
crater and had their backs to him. I told Mr. Perrin so. "Seems likely," he agreed. 
"Attention, everybody! I'm going to search for the child. Stay right where you are. Don't 
move away from this spot. I won't be gone more than ten minutes." 
"Why don't we all go?" somebody wanted to know. 
"Because," said Mr. Perrin, "right now I've - only got one lost. I don't want to 
make it a dozen." Then he left, taking big easy lopes that covered fifty feet at a step. 
Dad started to take out after him, then thought better of it, for Mother suddenly 
keeled over, collapsing at the knees and floating gently to the ground. Everybody started 
talking at once. Some idiot wanted to take her helmet off, but Dad isn't crazy. I switched 
off my radio so I could hear myself think and started looking around, not leaving the 
crowd but standing up on the lip of the crater and trying to see as much as I could. 
I was looking back the way we had come; there was no sense in looking at the 
crater-if he had been in there he would have shown up like a fly on a plate. 
Outside the crater was different; you could have hidden a regiment within a block 
of us, rocks standing up every which way, boulders big as houses with blow holes all 
through them, spires, gulleys-it was a mess. I could see Mr. Perrin every now and then, 
casting around like a dog after a rabbit, and making plenty of time. He was practically 
flying. When he came to a big boulder he would jump right over it, leveling off face 
down at the top of his jump, so he could see better. 
Then he was heading back toward us and I switched my radio back on. There was 
still a lot of talk. Somebody was saying, "We've got to find him before sundown," and 
somebody else answered, "Don't be silly; the sun won't be down for a week. It's his air 
supply, I tell you. These suits are only good for four hours." The first voice said, "Oh!" 
then added softly, "like a fish out of water-" It was then I got scared. 
A woman's voice, sounding kind of choked, said, "The poor, poor darling! We've 
got to find him before he suffocates," and my father's voice cut in sharply, "Shut up 
talking that way!" I could hear somebody sobbing. It might have been Mother. Mr. Perrin was almost up to us and he cut in, "Silence everybody! I've got to call 
the base," and he added urgently, "Perrin, calling airlock control; Perrin, calling airlock 
control!" 
A woman's voice answered, "Come in, Perrin." He told her what was wrong and 
added, "Send out Smythe to take this party back in. I'm staying. I want every ranger 
who's around and get me volunteers from among any of the experienced Moon hands. 
Send out a radio direction-finder by the first ones to leave." 
We didn't wait long, for they came swarming toward us like grasshoppers. They 
must have been running forty or fifty miles an hour. It would have been something to see, 
if I hadn't been so sick at my stomach. 
Dad put up an argument about going back, but Mr. Perrin shut him up. "If you 
hadn't been so confounded set on having your own way, we wouldn't be in a mess. If you 
had kept track of your kid, he wouldn't be lost. I've got kids of my own; I don't let 'em go 
out on the face of the Moon when they're too young to take care of themselves. You go 
on back - I can't be burdened by taking care of you, too." 
I think Dad might even have gotten in a fight with him if Mother hadn't gotten 
faint again. We went on back with the party. 
The next couple of hours were pretty awful. They let us sit just outside the control 
room where we could hear Mr. Perrin directing the search, over the loudspeaker. I 
thought at first that they would snag the runt as soon as they started using the radio 
direction-finder-pick up his power hum, maybe, even if he didn't say anything-but no 
such luck; they didn't get anything with it. And the searchers didn't find anything either. 
A thing that made it worse was that Mother and Dad didn't even try to blame me. 
Mother was crying quietly and Dad was consoling her, when he looked over at me with 
an odd expression. I guess he didn't really see me at all, but I thought he was thinking that 
if I hadn't insisted on going out on the surface this wouldn't have happened. I said, "Don't 
go looking at me, Dad. Nobody told me to keep an eye on him. I thought he was with 
Mother." 
Dad just shook his head without answering. He was looking tired and sort of 
shrunk up. But Mother, instead of laying in to me and yelling, stopped her crying and 
managed to smile. "Come here, Dickie," she said, and put her other arm around me. 
"Nobody blames you, Dickie. Whatever happens, you weren't at fault. Remember that, 
Dickie." 
So I let her kiss me and then sat with them for a while, but I felt worse than 
before. I kept thinking about the runt, somewhere out there, and his oxygen running out. 
Maybe it wasn't my fault, but I could have prevented it and I knew it. I shouldn't have 
depended on Mother to look out for him; she's no good at that sort of thing. She's the kind 
of person that would mislay her head if it wasn't knotted on tight - the ornamental sort. 
Mother's good, you understand, but she's not practical. She would take it pretty hard if the 
runt didn't come back. And so would Dad-and so would I. The runt is an awful nuisance, 
but it was going to seem strange not to have him around underfoot. I got to thinking about 
that remark, "Like a fish out of water." I accidentally busted an aquarium once; I 
remember yet how they looked. Not pretty. If the runt was going to die like that - I shut 
myself up and decided I just had to figure out some way to help find him. 
After a while I had myself convinced that I could find him if they would just let 
me help look. But they wouldn't of course. Dr. Evans the Director showed up again-he'd met us when we first came in - and 
asked if there was anything he could do for us and how was Mrs. Logan feeling? "You 
know I wouldn't have had this happen for the world," he added. "We're doing all we can. 
I'm having some ore-detectors shot over from Luna City. We might be able to spot the 
child by the metal in his suit." 
Mother asked how about bloodhounds and Dr. Evans didn't even laugh at her. 
Dad suggested helicopters, then corrected himself and made it rockets. Dr. Evans pointed 
out that it was impossible to examine the ground closely from a rocket. 
I got him aside presently and braced him to let me join the hunt. He was polite but 
unimpressed, so I insisted. "What makes you think you can find him?", he asked me. 
"We've got the most experienced Moon men available out there now. I'm afraid, son, that 
you would get yourself lost or hurt if you tried to keep up with them. In this country, if 
you once lose sight of landmarks, you can get hopelessly lost." 
"But look, Doctor," I told him, "I know the runt-I mean my kid brother, better 
than anyone else in the world. I won't get lost-I mean I will get lost but just the way he 
did. You can send somebody to follow me." 
He thought about it. "It's worth trying," he said suddenly. "I'll go with you. Let's 
suit up." 
We made a fast trip out, taking thirty-foot strides-the best I could manage even 
with Dr. Evans hanging on to my belt to keep me from stumbling. Mr. Perrin was 
expecting us. He seemed dubious about my scheme. "Maybe the old 'lost mule' dodge 
will work," he admitted, "but I'll keep the regular search going just the same. Here, 
Shorty, take this flashlight. You'll need it in the shadows." 
I stood on the edge of the crater and tried to imagine I was the runt, feeling bored 
and maybe a little bit griped at the lack of attention. What would I do next? 
I went skipping down the slope, not going anywhere in particular, the way the 
runt would have done. Then I stopped and looked back, to see if Mother and Daddy and 
Dickie had noticed me. I was being followed all right; Dr. Evans and Mr. Perrin were 
close behind me. I pretended that no one was looking and went on. I was pretty close to 
the first rock outcroppings by now and I ducked behind the first one I came to. It wasn't 
high enough to hide me but it would have covered the runt. It felt like what he would do; 
he loved to play hide-and-go-seek - it made him the center of attention. 
I thought about it. When the runt played that game, his notion of hiding was 
always to crawl under something, a bed, or a sofa, or an automobile, or even under the 
sink. I looked around. There were a lot of good places; the rocks were filled with blow 
holes and overhangs. I started working them over. It seemed hopeless; there must have 
been a hundred such places right around close. 
Mr. Perrin came up to me as I was crawling out of the fourth tight spot. "The men 
have shined flashlights around in every one of these places," he told me. "I don't think it's 
much use, Shorty." 
"Okay," I said, but I kept at it. I knew I could get at spots a grown man couldn't 
reach; I just hoped the runt hadn't picked a spot I couldn't reach. 
It went on and on and I was getting cold and stiff and terribly tired. The direct 
sunlight is hot on the Moon, but the second you get in the shade, it's cold. Down inside 
those rocks it never got warm at all. The suits they gave us tourists are well enough 
insulated, but the extra insulation is in the gloves and the boots and the seats of the pants-
and I had been spending most of my time down on my stomach, wiggling into tight 
places. 
I was so numb I could hardly move and my whole front felt icy. Besides, it gave 
me one more thing to worry about - how about the runt? Was he cold, too? 
If it hadn't been for thinking how those fish looked and how, maybe, the runt 
would be frozen stiff before I could get to him, I would have quit. I was about beat. 
Besides, it's rather scary down inside those holes-you don't know what you'll come to 
next. 
Dr. Evans took me by the arm as I came out of one of them, and touched his 
helmet to mine, so that I got his voice directly. "Might as well give up, son. You're 
knocking your self out and you haven't covered an acre." I pulled away from him. 
The next place was a little overhang, not a foot off the ground. I flashed a light 
into it. It was empty and didn't seem to go anywhere. Then I saw there was a turn in it. I 
got down flat and wiggled in. The turn opened out a little and dropped off. I didn't think it 
was worthwhile to go any deeper as the runt wouldn't have crawled very far in the dark, 
but I scrunched ahead a little farther and flashed the light down. 
I saw a boot sticking out. 
That's about all there is to it. I nearly bashed in my helmet getting out of there, but 
I was dragging the runt after me. He was limp as a cat and his face was funny. Mr. Perrin 
and Dr. Evans were all over me as I came out, pounding me on the back and shouting. "Is 
he dead, Mr. Perrin?" I asked, when I could get my breath. "He looks awful bad." 
Mr. Perrin looked him over. "No . . . I can see a pulse in his throat. Shock and 
exposure, but this suit was specially built-we'll get him back fast." He picked the runt up 
in his arms and I took out after him. 
Ten minutes later the runt was wrapped in blankets and drinking hot cocoa. I had 
some, too. Everybody was talking at once and Mother was crying again, but she looked 
normal and Dad had filled out. 
He tried to write out a check for Mr. Perrin, but he brushed it off. "I don't need 
any reward; your boy found him. 
"You can do me just one favor-" 
"Yes?" Dad was all honey. 
"Stay off the Moon. You don't belong here; you're not the pioneer type." 
Dad took it. "I've already promised my wife that," he said without batting an eye. 
"You needn't worry." 
I followed Mr. Perrin as he left and said to him privately, "Mr. Perrin-I just 
wanted to tell you that I'll be back, if you don't mind." 
He shook hands with me and said, "I know you will, Shorty." Robert A Heinlein 
Blowups Happen 
"PUT down that wrench!" 
The man addressed turned slowly around and faced the speaker. His expression 
was hidden by a grotesque helmet, part of a heavy, lead-and-cadmium armor which 
shielded his entire body, but the tone of voice in which he answered showed nervous 
exasperation. 
"What the hell's eating on you, doc?" He made no move to replace the tool in 
question. 
They faced each other like two helmeted, arrayed fencers, watching for an 
opening. The first speaker's voice came from behind his mask a shade higher in key and 
more peremptory in tone. "You heard me, Harper. Put down that wrench at once, and 
come away from that 'trigger'. Erickson!" 
A third armored figure came from the far end of the control room. "What 'cha 
want, doe?" 
"Harper is relieved from watch. You take over as engineer-of-the-watch. Send for 
the standby engineer." 
"Very well." His voice and manner were phlegmatic, as he accepted the situation 
without comment. The atomic engineer whom he had just relieved glanced from one to 
the other, then carefully replaced the wrench in its rack. 
"Just as you say, Doctor Silard, but send for your relief, too. I shall demand an 
immediate hearing!" Harper swept indignantly out, his lead-sheathed boots clumping on 
the floorplates. 
Doctor Silard waited unhappily for the ensuing twenty minutes until his own 
relief arrived. Perhaps he had been hasty. Maybe he was wrong in thinking that Harper 
had at last broken under the strain of tending the most dangerous machine in the worldthe 
atomic breeder plant. But if he had made a mistake, it had to be on the safe side-slips 
must not happen in this business; not when a slip might result in atomic detonation of 
nearly ten tons of uranium-238, U-235, and plutonium. 
He tried to visualize what that would mean, and failed. He had 'been told that 
uranium was potentially twenty million times as explosive as T.N.T. The figure was 
meaningless that way. He thought of the pile instead as a hundred million tons of high 
explosive, or as a thousand Hiroshimas. It still did not mean anything. He had once seen 
an A-bomb dropped, when he had been serving as a temperament analyst for the Air 
Forces. He could not imagine the explosion of a thousand such bombs; his. brain balked. 
Perhaps these atomic engineers could. Perhaps, with their greater mathematical ability 
and closer comprehension of what actually went on inside the nuclear fission chamber, 
they had some vivid glimpse of the mind-shattering horror locked up beyond that shield. 
If so, no wonder they tended to blow up- He sighed. Erickson looked away from the 
controls of the linear resonant accelerator on which he had been making some 
adjustment. 
"What's the trouble, doc?" "Nothing. I'm sorry I had to relieve Harper." 
Silard could feel the shrewd glance of the big Scandinavian. "Not getting the 
jitters yourself, are you, doc? Sometimes you squirrel-sleuths blow up, too-" 
"Me? I don't think so. I'm scared of that thing in there-I'd be crazy if I weren't." 
"So am I," Erickson told him soberly, and went back to his work at the controls of 
the accelerator. The accelerator proper lay beyond another shielding barrier; its snout 
disappeared in the final shield between it and the pile and fed a steady stream of 
terrifically speeded up sub-atomic bullets to the beryllium target located within the pile 
itself. The tortured beryllium yielded up neutrons, which shot out in all directions through 
the uranium mass. Some of these neutrons struck uranium atoms squarely on their nuclei 
and split them in two. The fragments were new elements, barium, xenon, rubidiumdepending 
on the portions in which each atom split. The new elements were usually 
unstable isotopes and broke down into a, dozen more elements by radioactive 
disintegration in a progressive reaction. 
But these second transmutations were comparatively safe; it was the original 
splitting of the uranium nucleus, with the release of the awe-inspiring energy that bound 
it together-an incredible two hundred million electron volts-that was important-and 
perilous. 
For, while uranium was used to breed other fuels by bombarding it with neutrons, 
the splitting itself gives up more neutrons which in turn may land in other uranium nuclei 
and split them. If conditions are favorable to a progressively increasing reaction of this 
sort, it may get out of hand, build up in an unmeasurable fraction of a micro-second into a 
complete atomic explosion-an explosion which would dwarf an atom bomb to pop-gun 
size; an explosion so far beyond all human experience as to be as completely 
incomprehensible as the idea of personal death. It could be feared, but not understood. 
But a self-perpetuating sequence of nuclear splitting, just wider the level of 
complete explosion, was necessary to the operation of the breeder plant. To split the first 
uranium nucleus by bombarding it with neutrons from the beryllium target took more 
power than the death of the atom gave up. In order that the breeder pile continue to 
operate it was imperative that each atom split by a neutron from the beryllium target 
should cause the splitting of many more. 
It was equally imperative that this chain of reactions should always tend to 
dampen, to die out. It must not build up, or the uranium mass would explode within a 
time interval too short to be measured by any means whatsoever. 
Nor would there be anyone left to measure it. 
The atomic engineer on duty at the pile could control this reaction by means of 
the "trigger", a term the engineers used to include the linear resonant accelerator, the 
beryllium target, the cadmium damping rods, and adjacent controls, instrument board, 
and power sources. That is to say he could vary the bombardment on the beryllium target 
to increase or decrease the level of operation of the plant, he could change the "effective 
mass" of the pile with the cadmium dampers, and he could tell from his instruments that 
the internal reaction was dampened-or, rather, that it had been dampened the split second 
before. He could not possibly know what was actually happening now within the pilesubatomic 
speeds are too great and the time intervals too small. He was like the bird that 
flew backward; he could see where he had been, but never knew where he was going. Nevertheless, it was his responsibility, and his alone, not only to maintain the pile 
at a high efficiency, but to see that the reaction never passed the critical point and 
progressed into mass explosion. 
But that was impossible. He could not be sure; he could never be sure. 
He could bring to the job all of the skill and learning of the finest technical 
education, and use it to reduce the hazard to the lowest mathematical probability, but the 
blind laws of chance which appear to rule in sub-atomic action might turn up a royal 
flush against him and defeat his most skillful play. 
And each atomic engineer knew it, knew that he gambled not only with his own 
life, but with the lives of countless others, perhaps with the lives of every human being on 
the planet. Nobody knew quite what such an explosion would do. A conservative 
estimate assumed that, in addition to destroying the plant and its personnel completely, it 
would tear a chunk out of the populous and heavily traveled Los Angeles-Oklahoma 
Road-City a hundred miles to the north. 
The official, optimistic viewpoint on which the plant had been authorized by the 
Atomic Energy Commission was based on mathematics which predicted that such a mass 
of uranium would itself be disrupted on a molar scale, and thereby limit the area of 
destruction, before progressive and accelerated atomic explosion could infect the entire 
mass. 
The atomic engineers, by and large, did not place faith in the official theory. They 
judged theoretical mathematical prediction for what it was worth-precisely nothing, until 
confirmed by experiment. 
But even from the official viewpoint, each atomic engineer while on watch 
carried not only his own life in his hands, but the lives of many others-how many, it was 
better not to think about. No pilot, no general, no surgeon ever carried such a daily, 
inescapable, ever present weight of responsibility for the lives of others as these men 
carried every time they went on watch, every time they touched a venire screw, or read a 
dial. 
They were selected not alone for their intelligence and technical training, but 
quite as much for their characters and sense of social responsibility. Sensitive men were 
needed-men who could fully appreciate the importance of the charge entrusted to them; 
no other sort would do. But the burden of responsibility was too great to be borne 
indefinitely by a sensitive man. 
It was, of necessity, a psychologically unstable condition. Insanity was an 
occupational disease. 
Doctor Cummings appeared, still buckling the straps of the armor worn to guard 
against stray radiation. "What's up?" he asked Silard. 
"I had to relieve Harper." 
"So I guessed. I met him coming up. He was sore as hell-just glared at me." 
"I know. He wants an immediate hearing. That's why I had to send for you." 
Cummings grunted, then nodded toward the engineer, anonymous in all-enclosing 
armor. "Who'd I draw?" 
"Erickson." 
"Good enough. Squareheads can't go crazy-eh, Gus?" Erickson looked up momentarily, and answered, "That's your problem," and 
returned to his work. Cummings turned back to Silard, and commented, "Psychiatrists 
don't seem very popular around here. O.K.-I relieve you, sir." 
"Very well, sir." 
Silard threaded his way through the zig-zag in the outer shield which surrounded 
the control room. Once outside this outer shield, he divested himself of the cumbersome 
armor, disposed of it in the locker room provided, and hurried to a lifttP˜tt

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<li><p class="chapeu">África do Sul</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883379&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Ex-dirigente de Fundo de Mandela julgado por posse de diamantes de Charles Taylor</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Somália</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883366&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Piratas somalís sequestram embarcação com 24 tripulantes</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Migração</p> 29/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10876475&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Brasileiros entre os mais afetados pelo endurecimento do controle sobre imigrantes na EuroptP˜tt

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<p class="quantas">3425 Notícias | 11 a 20</p>
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<li><p class="chapeu">África do Sul</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883379&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Ex-dirigente de Fundo de Mandela julgado por posse de diamantes de Charles Taylor</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Somália</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883366&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Piratas somalís sequestram embarcação com 24 tripulantes</a></li>
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</body></html>10&amp;canal=404">Ministro da Saúde inaugura Centro de Formação da CPLP em Cabo Verde</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Brasil</p> 27/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10866398&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Pernambuco registra primeira morte por superbactéria</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Prémio</p> 27/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10865663&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Seis ex-presidentes africanos designados para Prémio Mahatma Gandhi</a></li>
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<p class="quantas">3425 Notícias | 11 a 20</p>
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<li><p class="chapeu">África do Sul</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883379&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Ex-dirigente de Fundo de Mandela julgado por posse de diamantes de Charles Taylor</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Somália</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883366&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Piratas somalís sequestram embarcação com 24 tripulantes</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Migração</p> 29/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10876475&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Brasileiros entre os mais afetados pelo endurecimento do controle sobre imigrantes na EuroptP˜tt

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<li><p class="chapeu">Brasil</p> 27/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10866398&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Pernambuco registra primeira morte por superbactéria</a></li>
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<p class="quantas">3425 Notícias | 11 a 20</p>
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<li><p class="chapeu">África do Sul</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883379&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Ex-dirigente de Fundo de Mandela julgado por posse de diamantes de Charles Taylor</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Somália</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883366&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Piratas somalís sequestram embarcação com 24 tripulantes</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Migração</p> 29/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10876475&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Brasileiros entre os mais afetados pelo endurecimento do controle sobre imigrantes na EuroptP˜tt

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</body></html>10&amp;canal=404">Ministro da Saúde inaugura Centro de Formação da CPLP em Cabo Verde</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Brasil</p> 27/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10866398&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Pernambuco registra primeira morte por superbactéria</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Prémio</p> 27/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10865663&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Seis ex-presidentes africanos designados para Prémio Mahatma Gandhi</a></li>
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<p class="quantas">3425 Notícias | 11 a 20</p>
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<li><p class="chapeu">África do Sul</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883379&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Ex-dirigente de Fundo de Mandela julgado por posse de diamantes de Charles Taylor</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Somália</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883366&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Piratas somalís sequestram embarcação com 24 tripulantes</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Migração</p> 29/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10876475&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Brasileiros entre os mais afetados pelo endurecimento do controle sobre imigrantes na EuroptP˜tt

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<p class="quantas">3425 Notícias | 11 a 20</p>
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<li><p class="chapeu">África do Sul</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883379&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Ex-dirigente de Fundo de Mandela julgado por posse de diamantes de Charles Taylor</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Somália</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883366&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Piratas somalís sequestram embarcação com 24 tripulantes</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Migração</p> 29/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10876475&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Brasileiros entre os mais afetados pelo endurecimento do controle sobre imigrantes na EuroptP˜tt

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</body></html>10&amp;canal=404">Ministro da Saúde inaugura Centro de Formação da CPLP em Cabo Verde</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Brasil</p> 27/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10866398&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Pernambuco registra primeira morte por superbactéria</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Prémio</p> 27/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10865663&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Seis ex-presidentes africanos designados para Prémio Mahatma Gandhi</a></li>
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<p class="quantas">3425 Notícias | 11 a 20</p>
<ul id="listultimas">
<li><p class="chapeu">África do Sul</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883379&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Ex-dirigente de Fundo de Mandela julgado por posse de diamantes de Charles Taylor</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Somália</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883366&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Piratas somalís sequestram embarcação com 24 tripulantes</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Migração</p> 29/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10876475&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Brasileiros entre os mais afetados pelo endurecimento do controle sobre imigrantes na EuroptP˜tt

@T ô+‰l˜ÿÿÿÿ	l˜mO˜ðZ\8°Z\

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</body></html>10&amp;canal=404">Ministro da Saúde inaugura Centro de Formação da CPLP em Cabo Verde</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Brasil</p> 27/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10866398&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Pernambuco registra primeira morte por superbactéria</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Prémio</p> 27/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10865663&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Seis ex-presidentes africanos designados para Prémio Mahatma Gandhi</a></li>
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<p class="quantas">3425 Notícias | 11 a 20</p>
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<li><p class="chapeu">África do Sul</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883379&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Ex-dirigente de Fundo de Mandela julgado por posse de diamantes de Charles Taylor</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Somália</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883366&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Piratas somalís sequestram embarcação com 24 tripulantes</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Migração</p> 29/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10876475&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Brasileiros entre os mais afetados pelo endurecimento do controle sobre imigrantes na EuroptP˜tt

@T ô+‰l˜ÿÿÿÿ	l˜mO˜ðZ\8°Z\

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<p class="quantas">3425 Notícias | 11 a 20</p>
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<li><p class="chapeu">África do Sul</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883379&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Ex-dirigente de Fundo de Mandela julgado por posse de diamantes de Charles Taylor</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Somália</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883366&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Piratas somalís sequestram embarcação com 24 tripulantes</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Migração</p> 29/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10876475&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Brasileiros entre os mais afetados pelo endurecimento do controle sobre imigrantes na EuroptP˜tt

@T ô+‰l˜ÿÿÿÿ	l˜mO˜ðZ\8°Z\

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<p class="quantas">3425 Notícias | 11 a 20</p>
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<li><p class="chapeu">África do Sul</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883379&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Ex-dirigente de Fundo de Mandela julgado por posse de diamantes de Charles Taylor</a></li>
<li class="alt"><p class="chapeu">Somália</p> 31/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10883366&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Piratas somalís sequestram embarcação com 24 tripulantes</a></li>
<li><p class="chapeu">Migração</p> 29/10/2010<br> <a href="http://www.africa21digital.com/noticia.kmf?cod=10876475&amp;indice=10&amp;canal=404">Brasileiros entre os mais afetados pelo endurecimento do controle sobre imigrantes na EuroptP˜tt

@T ô+‰l˜ÿÿÿÿ	l˜mO˜ðZ\8°Z\

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