A human brain-controlled spacecraft would
mean mechanical perfection. This was accomplished,
and something unforeseen: a strange entity called—

Mr. Spaceship

By

Philip K. Dick

Left side image
Right side image

 Kramer leaned back. “You
can see the situation. How
can we deal with a factor
like this? The perfect variable.”

“Perfect? Prediction should still
be possible. A living thing still
acts from necessity, the same as inanimate
material. But the cause-effect
chain is more subtle; there
are more factors to be considered.
The difference is quantitative, I
think. The reaction of the living
organism parallels natural causation,
but with greater complexity.”

Gross and Kramer looked up at the
board plates, suspended on the wall,
still dripping, the images hardening
into place. Kramer traced a line
with his pencil.

“See that? It’s a pseudopodium.
They’re alive, and so far, a weapon
we can’t beat. No mechanical system
can compete with that, simple
or intricate. We’ll have to scrap
the Johnson Control and find something
else.”

“Meanwhile the war continues as
it is. Stalemate. Checkmate. They
can’t get to us, and we can’t get
through their living minefield.”

Kramer nodded. “It’s a perfect
defense, for them. But there still
might be one answer.”

“What’s that?”

“Wait a minute.” Kramer turned
to his rocket expert, sitting with the
charts and files. “The heavy cruiser
that returned this week. It didn’t
actually touch, did it? It came
close but there was no contact.”

“Correct.” The expert nodded.
“The mine was twenty miles off.
The cruiser was in space-drive, moving
directly toward Proxima, line-straight,
using the Johnson Control,
of course. It had deflected a quarter
of an hour earlier for reasons unknown.
Later it resumed its
 course. That was when they got
it.”

“It shifted,” Kramer said. “But
not enough. The mine was coming
along after it, trailing it. It’s the
same old story, but I wonder about
the contact.”

“Here’s our theory,” the expert
said. “We keep looking for contact,
a trigger in the pseudopodium.
But more likely we’re witnessing a
psychological phenomena, a decision
without any physical correlative.
We’re watching for something that
isn’t there. The mine decides to
blow up. It sees our ship, approaches,
and then decides.”

“Thanks.” Kramer turned to Gross.
“Well, that confirms what I’m saying.
How can a ship guided by automatic
relays escape a mine that decides
to explode? The whole theory
of mine penetration is that you
must avoid tripping the trigger. But
here the trigger is a state of mind
in a complicated, developed life-form.”

“The belt is fifty thousand miles
deep,” Gross added. “It solves another
problem for them, repair and
maintenance. The damn things reproduce,
fill up the spaces by
spawning into them. I wonder what
they feed on?”

“Probably the remains of our
first-line. The big cruisers must be
a delicacy. It’s a game of wits, between
a living creature and a ship
piloted by automatic relays. The
ship always loses.” Kramer opened a
folder. “I’ll tell you what I suggest.”

“Go on,” Gross said. “I’ve already
heard ten solutions today.
What’s yours?”

“Mine is very simple. These
creatures are superior to any mechanical
system, but only because
they’re alive. Almost any other
life-form could compete with them,
any higher life-form. If the yuks
can put out living mines to protect
their planets, we ought to be able
to harness some of our own life-forms
in a similar way. Let’s make
use of the same weapon ourselves.”

“Which life-form do you propose
to use?”

“I think the human brain is the
most agile of known living forms.
Do you know of any better?”

“But no human being can withstand
outspace travel. A human
pilot would be dead of heart failure
long before the ship got anywhere
near Proxima.”

“But we don’t need the whole
body,” Kramer said. “We need only
the brain.”

“What?”

“The problem is to find a person
of high intelligence who would contribute,
in the same manner that
eyes and arms are volunteered.”

“But a brain….”

“Technically, it could be done.
Brains have been transferred several
times, when body destruction
made it necessary. Of course, to a
spaceship, to a heavy outspace
cruiser, instead of an artificial body,
that’s new.”

The room was silent.

“It’s quite an idea,” Gross said
 slowly. His heavy square face
twisted. “But even supposing it
might work, the big question is
whose brain?”

It was all very confusing, the
reasons for the war, the nature
of the enemy. The Yucconae had
been contacted on one of the outlying
planets of Proxima Centauri.
At the approach of the Terran ship,
a host of dark slim pencils had lifted
abruptly and shot off into the
distance. The first real encounter
came between three of the yuk pencils
and a single exploration ship
from Terra. No Terrans survived.
After that it was all out war, with
no holds barred.

Both sides feverishly constructed
defense rings around their systems.
Of the two, the Yucconae belt was
the better. The ring around Proxima
was a living ring, superior to
anything Terra could throw against
it. The standard equipment by
which Terran ships were guided in
outspace, the Johnson Control, was
not adequate. Something more was
needed. Automatic relays were not
good enough.

—Not good at all, Kramer
thought to himself, as he stood looking
down the hillside at the work
going on below him. A warm wind
blew along the hill, rustling the
weeds and grass. At the bottom, in
the valley, the mechanics had almost
finished; the last elements of
the reflex system had been removed
from the ship and crated
up.

All that was needed now was the
new core, the new central key that
would take the place of the mechanical
system. A human brain, the
brain of an intelligent, wary human
being. But would the human being
part with it? That was the problem.

Kramer turned. Two people were
approaching him along the road, a
man and a woman. The man was
Gross, expressionless, heavy-set,
walking with dignity. The woman
was—He stared in surprise and
growing annoyance. It was Dolores,
his wife. Since they’d separated he
had seen little of her….

“Kramer,” Gross said. “Look who
I ran into. Come back down with
us. We’re going into town.”

“Hello, Phil,” Dolores said.
“Well, aren’t you glad to see me?”

He nodded. “How have you been?
You’re looking fine.” She was still
pretty and slender in her uniform,
the blue-grey of Internal Security,
Gross’ organization.

“Thanks.” She smiled. “You seem
to be doing all right, too. Commander
Gross tells me that you’re
responsible for this project, Operation
Head, as they call it. Whose
head have you decided on?”

“That’s the problem.” Kramer lit
a cigarette. “This ship is to be
equipped with a human brain instead
of the Johnson system. We’ve
constructed special draining baths
for the brain, electronic relays to
catch the impulses and magnify
them, a continual feeding duct that
supplies the living cells with everything
 they need. But—”

“But we still haven’t got the brain
itself,” Gross finished. They began
to walk back toward the car. “If
we can get that we’ll be ready for
the tests.”

“Will the brain remain alive?”
Dolores asked. “Is it actually going
to live as part of the ship?”

“It will be alive, but not conscious.
Very little life is actually
conscious. Animals, trees, insects
are quick in their responses, but
they aren’t conscious. In this process
of ours the individual personality,
the ego, will cease. We only
need the response ability, nothing
more.”

Dolores shuddered. “How terrible!”

“In time of war everything must
be tried,” Kramer said absently.
“If one life sacrificed will end the
war it’s worth it. This ship might
get through. A couple more like
it and there wouldn’t be any more
war.”

They got into the car. As they
drove down the road, Gross
said, “Have you thought of anyone
yet?”

Kramer shook his head. “That’s
out of my line.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m an engineer. It’s not in my
department.”

“But all this was your idea.”

“My work ends there.”

Gross was staring at him oddly.
Kramer shifted uneasily.

“Then who is supposed to do it?”
Gross said. “I can have my organization
prepare examinations of various
kinds, to determine fitness,
that kind of thing—”

“Listen, Phil,” Dolores said suddenly.

“What?”

She turned toward him. “I have
an idea. Do you remember that
professor we had in college. Michael
Thomas?”

Kramer nodded.

“I wonder if he’s still alive.” Dolores
frowned. “If he is he must be
awfully old.”

“Why, Dolores?” Gross asked.

“Perhaps an old person who didn’t
have much time left, but whose
mind was still clear and sharp—”

“Professor Thomas.” Kramer rubbed
his jaw. “He certainly was a
wise old duck. But could he still
be alive? He must have been seventy,
then.”

“We could find that out,” Gross
said. “I could make a routine
check.”

“What do you think?” Dolores
said. “If any human mind could
outwit those creatures—”

“I don’t like the idea,” Kramer
said. In his mind an image had appeared,
the image of an old man sitting
behind a desk, his bright gentle
eyes moving about the classroom.
The old man leaning forward, a
thin hand raised—

“Keep him out of this,” Kramer
said.

“What’s wrong?” Gross looked at
him curiously.

“It’s because I suggested it,” Dolores
 said.

“No.” Kramer shook his head.
“It’s not that. I didn’t expect
anything like this, somebody I knew,
a man I studied under. I remember
him very clearly. He was a very
distinct personality.”

“Good,” Gross said. “He sounds
fine.”

“We can’t do it. We’re asking
his death!”

“This is war,” Gross said, “and
war doesn’t wait on the needs of
the individual. You said that yourself.
Surely he’ll volunteer; we can
keep it on that basis.”

“He may already be dead,” Dolores
murmured.

“We’ll find that out,” Gross said
speeding up the car. They drove
the rest of the way in silence.

For a long time the two of them
stood studying the small wood
house, overgrown with ivy, set back
on the lot behind an enormous oak.
The little town was silent and
sleepy; once in awhile a car moved
slowly along the distant highway,
but that was all.

“This is the place,” Gross said to
Kramer. He folded his arms.
“Quite a quaint little house.”

Kramer said nothing. The two
Security Agents behind them were
expressionless.

Gross started toward the gate.
“Let’s go. According to the check
he’s still alive, but very sick. His
mind is agile, however. That seems
to be certain. It’s said he doesn’t
leave the house. A woman takes
care of his needs. He’s very frail.”

They went down the stone walk
and up onto the porch. Gross rang
the bell. They waited. After a
time they heard slow footsteps.
The door opened. An elderly woman
in a shapeless wrapper studied them
impassively.

“Security,” Gross said, showing
his card. “We wish to see Professor
Thomas.”

“Why?”

“Government business.” He glanced
at Kramer.

Kramer stepped forward. “I was
a pupil of the Professor’s,” he said.
“I’m sure he won’t mind seeing us.”

The woman hesitated uncertainly.
Gross stepped into the doorway.
“All right, mother. This is war
time. We can’t stand out here.”

The two Security agents followed
him, and Kramer came reluctantly
behind, closing the door. Gross
stalked down the hall until he came
to an open door. He stopped, looking
in. Kramer could see the white
corner of a bed, a wooden post and
the edge of a dresser.

He joined Gross.

In the dark room a withered old
man lay, propped up on endless pillows.
At first it seemed as if he
were asleep; there was no motion or
sign of life. But after a time Kramer
saw with a faint shock that
the old man was watching them intently,
his eyes fixed on them, unmoving,
unwinking.

“Professor Thomas?” Gross said.
“I’m Commander Gross of Security.
This man with me is perhaps known
to you—”

The faded eyes fixed on Kramer.

“I know him. Philip Kramer….
You’ve grown heavier, boy.” The
voice was feeble, the rustle of dry
ashes. “Is it true you’re married
now?”

“Yes. I married Dolores French.
You remember her.” Kramer came
toward the bed. “But we’re separated.
It didn’t work out very well.
Our careers—”

“What we came here about, Professor,”
Gross began, but Kramer
cut him off with an impatient wave.

“Let me talk. Can’t you and your
men get out of here long enough to
let me talk to him?”

Gross swallowed. “All right, Kramer.”
He nodded to the two men.
The three of them left the room,
going out into the hall and closing
the door after them.

The old man in the bed watched
Kramer silently. “I don’t think
much of him,” he said at last. “I’ve
seen his type before. What’s he
want?”

“Nothing. He just came along.
Can I sit down?” Kramer found a
stiff upright chair beside the bed.
“If I’m bothering you—”

“No. I’m glad to see you again,
Philip. After so long. I’m sorry
your marriage didn’t work out.”

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been very ill. I’m afraid
that my moment on the world’s
stage has almost ended.” The ancient
eyes studied the younger man
reflectively. “You look as if you
have been doing well. Like everyone
else I thought highly of. You’ve
gone to the top in this society.”

Kramer smiled. Then he became
serious. “Professor, there’s a project
we’re working on that I want
to talk to you about. It’s the first
ray of hope we’ve had in this whole
war. If it works, we may be able
to crack the yuk defenses, get some
ships into their system. If we can
do that the war might be brought
to an end.”

“Go on. Tell me about it, if you
wish.”

“It’s a long shot, this project.
It may not work at all, but we have
to give it a try.”

“It’s obvious that you came here
because of it,” Professor Thomas
murmured. “I’m becoming curious.
Go on.”

After Kramer finished the old
man lay back in the bed without
speaking. At last he sighed.

“I understand. A human mind,
taken out of a human body.” He
sat up a little, looking at Kramer.
“I suppose you’re thinking of me.”

Kramer said nothing.

“Before I make my decision I
want to see the papers on this, the
theory and outline of construction.
I’m not sure I like it.—For reasons
of my own, I mean. But I
want to look at the material. If
you’ll do that—”

“Certainly.” Kramer stood up
and went to the door. Gross and
the two Security Agents were standing
outside, waiting tensely. “Gross,
come inside.”

 They filed into the room.

“Give the Professor the papers,”
Kramer said. “He wants to study
them before deciding.”

Gross brought the file out of his
coat pocket, a manila envelope. He
handed it to the old man on the
bed. “Here it is, Professor. You’re
welcome to examine it. Will you
give us your answer as soon as
possible? We’re very anxious to begin,
of course.”

“I’ll give you my answer when
I’ve decided.” He took the envelope
with a thin, trembling hand.
“My decision depends on what I
find out from these papers. If I
don’t like what I find, then I will
not become involved with this work
in any shape or form.” He opened
the envelope with shaking hands.
“I’m looking for one thing.”

“What is it?” Gross said.

“That’s my affair. Leave me a
number by which I can reach you
when I’ve decided.”

Silently, Gross put his card down
on the dresser. As they went out
Professor Thomas was already reading
the first of the papers, the
outline of the theory.

Kramer sat across from Dale
Winter, his second in line.
“What then?” Winter said.

“He’s going to contact us.” Kramer
scratched with a drawing pen
on some paper. “I don’t know what
to think.”

“What do you mean?” Winter’s
good-natured face was puzzled.

“Look.” Kramer stood up, pacing
back and forth, his hands in his uniform
pockets. “He was my teacher
in college. I respected him as a
man, as well as a teacher. He was
more than a voice, a talking book.
He was a person, a calm, kindly
person I could look up to. I always
wanted to be like him, someday.
Now look at me.”

“So?”

“Look at what I’m asking. I’m
asking for his life, as if he were
some kind of laboratory animal kept
around in a cage, not a man, a
teacher at all.”

“Do you think he’ll do it?”

“I don’t know.” Kramer went
to the window. He stood looking
out. “In a way, I hope not.”

“But if he doesn’t—”

“Then we’ll have to find somebody
else. I know. There would
be somebody else. Why did Dolores
have to—”

The vidphone rang. Kramer pressed
the button.

“This is Gross.” The heavy features
formed. “The old man called me.
Professor Thomas.”

“What did he say?” He knew;
he could tell already, by the sound
of Gross’ voice.

“He said he’d do it. I was a
little surprised myself, but apparently
he means it. We’ve already
made arrangements for his admission
to the hospital. His lawyer is
drawing up the statement of liability.”

Kramer only half heard. He nodded
wearily. “All right. I’m glad.
I suppose we can go ahead, then.”

 “You don’t sound very glad.”

“I wonder why he decided to go
ahead with it.”

“He was very certain about it.”
Gross sounded pleased. “He called
me quite early. I was still in bed.
You know, this calls for a celebration.”

“Sure,” Kramer said. “It sure
does.”

Toward the middle of August
the project neared completion.
They stood outside in the hot autumn
heat, looking up at the sleek
metal sides of the ship.

Gross thumped the metal with
his hand. “Well, it won’t be long.
We can begin the test any time.”

“Tell us more about this,” an officer
in gold braid said. “It’s such
an unusual concept.”

“Is there really a human brain
inside the ship?” a dignitary asked,
a small man in a rumpled suit. “And
the brain is actually alive?”

“Gentlemen, this ship is guided by
a living brain instead of the usual
Johnson relay-control system. But
the brain is not conscious. It will
function by reflex only. The practical
difference between it and the
Johnson system is this: a human
brain is far more intricate than
any man-made structure, and its
ability to adapt itself to a situation,
to respond to danger, is far beyond
anything that could be artificially
built.”

Gross paused, cocking his ear.
The turbines of the ship were beginning
to rumble, shaking the
ground under them with a deep vibration.
Kramer was standing a
short distance away from the others,
his arms folded, watching silently.
At the sound of the turbines
he walked quickly around the
ship to the other side. A few workmen
were clearing away the last
of the waste, the scraps of wiring
and scaffolding. They glanced up
at him and went on hurriedly with
their work. Kramer mounted the
ramp and entered the control cabin
of the ship. Winter was sitting at
the controls with a Pilot from Space-transport.

“How’s it look?” Kramer asked.

“All right.” Winter got up. “He
tells me that it would be best to
take off manually. The robot controls—”
Winter hesitated. “I mean,
the built-in controls, can take over
later on in space.”

“That’s right,” the Pilot said.
“It’s customary with the Johnson
system, and so in this case we
should—”

“Can you tell anything yet?” Kramer
asked.

“No,” the Pilot said slowly. “I
don’t think so. I’ve been going over
everything. It seems to be in good
order. There’s only one thing I
wanted to ask you about.” He
put his hand on the control board.
“There are some changes here I
don’t understand.”

“Changes?”

“Alterations from the original design.
I wonder what the purpose
is.”

Kramer took a set of the plans
 from his coat. “Let me look.” He
turned the pages over. The Pilot
watched carefully over his shoulder.

“The changes aren’t indicated on
your copy,” the Pilot said. “I
wonder—” He stopped. Commander
Gross had entered the control cabin.

“Gross, who authorized alterations?”
Kramer said. “Some of the
wiring has been changed.”

“Why, your old friend.” Gross
signaled to the field tower through
the window.

“My old friend?”

“The Professor. He took quite
an active interest.” Gross turned to
the Pilot. “Let’s get going. We
have to take this out past gravity
for the test they tell me. Well, perhaps
it’s for the best. Are you
ready?”

“Sure.” The Pilot sat down and
moved some of the controls around.
“Anytime.”

“Go ahead, then,” Gross said.

“The Professor—” Kramer began,
but at that moment there was
a tremendous roar and the ship
leaped under him. He grasped one
of the wall holds and hung on as
best he could. The cabin was filling
with a steady throbbing, the
raging of the jet turbines underneath
them.

The ship leaped. Kramer closed
his eyes and held his breath. They
were moving out into space, gaining
speed each moment.

“Well, what do you think?”
Winter said nervously.
“Is it time yet?”

“A little longer,” Kramer said.
He was sitting on the floor of the
cabin, down by the control wiring.
He had removed the metal covering-plate,
exposing the complicated
maze of relay wiring. He was studying
it, comparing it to the wiring
diagrams.

“What’s the matter?” Gross said.

“These changes. I can’t figure
out what they’re for. The only pattern
I can make out is that for
some reason—”

“Let me look,” the Pilot said. He
squatted down beside Kramer. “You
were saying?”

“See this lead here? Originally
it was switch controlled. It closed
and opened automatically, according
to temperature change. Now it’s
wired so that the central control
system operates it. The same with
the others. A lot of this was still
mechanical, worked by pressure,
temperature, stress. Now it’s under
the central master.”

“The brain?” Gross said. “You
mean it’s been altered so that the
brain manipulates it?”

Kramer nodded. “Maybe Professor
Thomas felt that no mechanical
relays could be trusted. Maybe he
thought that things would be happening
too fast. But some of these
could close in a split second. The
brake rockets could go on as quickly
as—”

“Hey,” Winter said from the control
seat. “We’re getting near the
moon stations. What’ll I do?”

They looked out the port. The
 corroded surface of the moon gleamed
up at them, a corrupt and sickening
sight. They were moving
swiftly toward it.

“I’ll take it,” the Pilot said. He
eased Winter out of the way and
strapped himself in place. The ship
began to move away from the moon
as he manipulated the controls.
Down below them they could see
the observation stations dotting the
surface, and the tiny squares that
were the openings of the underground
factories and hangars. A
red blinker winked up at them and
the Pilot’s fingers moved on the
board in answer.

“We’re past the moon,” the Pilot
said, after a time. The moon had
fallen behind them; the ship was
heading into outer space. “Well,
we can go ahead with it.”

Kramer did not answer.

“Mr. Kramer, we can go ahead
any time.”

Kramer started. “Sorry. I was
thinking. All right, thanks.” He
frowned, deep in thought.

“What is it?” Gross asked.

“The wiring changes. Did you
understand the reason for them when
you gave the okay to the workmen?”

Gross flushed. “You know I
know nothing about technical material.
I’m in Security.”

“Then you should have consulted
me.”

“What does it matter?” Gross
grinned wryly. “We’re going to
have to start putting our faith in
the old man sooner or later.”

The Pilot stepped back from the
board. His face was pale and set.
“Well, it’s done,” he said. “That’s
it.”

“What’s done?” Kramer said.

“We’re on automatic. The brain.
I turned the board over to it—to
him, I mean. The Old Man.” The
Pilot lit a cigarette and puffed nervously.
“Let’s keep our fingers
crossed.”

The ship was coasting evenly, in
the hands of its invisible pilot.
Far down inside the ship, carefully
armoured and protected, a soft human
brain lay in a tank of liquid,
a thousand minute electric charges
playing over its surface. As the
charges rose they were picked up
and amplified, fed into relay systems,
advanced, carried on through
the entire ship—

Gross wiped his forehead nervously.
“So he is running it, now. I
hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Kramer nodded enigmatically. “I
think he does.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Kramer walked to
the port. “I see we’re still moving
in a straight line.” He picked up
the microphone. “We can instruct
the brain orally, through this.” He
blew against the microphone experimentally.

“Go on,” Winter said.

“Bring the ship around half-right,”
Kramer said. “Decrease
speed.”

They waited. Time passed. Gross
looked at Kramer. “No change.
Nothing.”

 “Wait.”

Slowly, the ship was beginning to
turn. The turbines missed, reducing
their steady beat. The ship was
taking up its new course, adjusting
itself. Nearby some space debris
rushed past, incinerating in the
blasts of the turbine jets.

“So far so good,” Gross said.

They began to breathe more easily.
The invisible pilot had taken
control smoothly, calmly. The ship
was in good hands. Kramer spoke
a few more words into the microphone,
and they swung again. Now
they were moving back the way
they had come, toward the moon.

“Let’s see what he does when we
enter the moon’s pull,” Kramer said.
“He was a good mathematician, the
old man. He could handle any kind
of problem.”

The ship veered, turning away
from the moon. The great eaten-away
globe fell behind them.

Gross breathed a sigh of relief.
“That’s that.”

“One more thing.” Kramer picked
up the microphone. “Return to the
moon and land the ship at the first
space field,” he said into it.

“Good Lord,” Winter murmured.
“Why are you—”

“Be quiet.” Kramer stood, listening.
The turbines gasped and
roared as the ship swung full around,
gaining speed. They were moving
back, back toward the moon again.
The ship dipped down, heading toward
the great globe below.

“We’re going a little fast,” the
Pilot said. “I don’t see how he
can put down at this velocity.”

The port filled up, as the globe
swelled rapidly. The Pilot hurried
toward the board, reaching for
the controls. All at once the ship
jerked. The nose lifted and the
ship shot out into space, away from
the moon, turning at an oblique angle.
The men were thrown to the
floor by the sudden change in
course. They got to their feet
again, speechless, staring at each
other.

The Pilot gazed down at the
board. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t
touch a thing. I didn’t even get
to it.”

The ship was gaining speed each
moment. Kramer hesitated. “Maybe
you better switch it back to manual.”

The Pilot closed the switch. He
took hold of the steering controls
and moved them experimentally.
“Nothing.” He turned around.
“Nothing. It doesn’t respond.”

No one spoke.

“You can see what has happened,”
Kramer said calmly. “The old
man won’t let go of it, now that he
has it. I was afraid of this when
I saw the wiring changes. Everything
in this ship is centrally controlled,
even the cooling system, the
hatches, the garbage release. We’re
helpless.”

“Nonsense.” Gross strode to the
board. He took hold of the wheel
and turned it. The ship continued
on its course, moving away from the
moon, leaving it behind.

 “Release!” Kramer said into the
microphone. “Let go of the controls!
We’ll take it back. Release.”

“No good,” the Pilot said. “Nothing.”
He spun the useless wheel.
“It’s dead, completely dead.”

“And we’re still heading out,”
Winter said, grinning foolishly.
“We’ll be going through the first-line
defense belt in a few minutes.
If they don’t shoot us down—”

“We better radio back.” The Pilot
clicked the radio to send. “I’ll
contact the main bases, one of the
observation stations.”

“Better get the defense belt, at
the speed we’re going. We’ll be into
it in a minute.”

“And after that,” Kramer said,
“we’ll be in outer space. He’s moving
us toward outspace velocity. Is
this ship equipped with baths?”

“Baths?” Gross said.

“The sleep tanks. For space-drive.
We may need them if we
go much faster.”

“But good God, where are we going?”
Gross said. “Where—where’s
he taking us?”

The Pilot obtained contact. “This
is Dwight, on ship,” he said.
“We’re entering the defense zone
at high velocity. Don’t fire on us.”

“Turn back,” the impersonal
voice came through the speaker.
“You’re not allowed in the defense
zone.”

“We can’t. We’ve lost control.”

“Lost control?”

“This is an experimental ship.”

Gross took the radio. “This is
Commander Gross, Security. We’re
being carried into outer space.
There’s nothing we can do. Is there
any way that we can be removed
from this ship?”

A hesitation. “We have some
fast pursuit ships that could pick
you up if you wanted to jump. The
chances are good they’d find you.
Do you have space flares?”

“We do,” the Pilot said. “Let’s
try it.”

“Abandon ship?” Kramer said.
“If we leave now we’ll never see it
again.”

“What else can we do? We’re
gaining speed all the time. Do you
propose that we stay here?”

“No.” Kramer shook his head.
“Damn it, there ought to be a better
solution.”

“Could you contact him?” Winter
asked. “The Old Man? Try to
reason with him?”

“It’s worth a chance,” Gross said.
“Try it.”

“All right.” Kramer took the
microphone. He paused a moment.
“Listen! Can you hear me? This
is Phil Kramer. Can you hear me,
Professor. Can you hear me? I
want you to release the controls.”

There was silence.

“This is Kramer, Professor. Can
you hear me? Do you remember
who I am? Do you understand
who this is?”

Above the control panel the wall
speaker made a sound, a sputtering
static. They looked up.

“Can you hear me, Professor. This
 is Philip Kramer. I want you to
give the ship back to us. If you
can hear me, release the controls!
Let go, Professor. Let go!”

Static. A rushing sound, like the
wind. They gazed at each other.
There was silence for a moment.

“It’s a waste of time,” Gross said.

“No—listen!”

The sputter came again. Then,
mixed with the sputter, almost lost
in it, a voice came, toneless, without
inflection, a mechanical, lifeless
voice from the metal speaker in
the wall, above their heads.

“… Is it you, Philip? I can’t
make you out. Darkness…. Who’s
there? With you….”

“It’s me, Kramer.” His fingers
tightened against the microphone
handle. “You must release the controls,
Professor. We have to get
back to Terra. You must.”

Silence. Then the faint, faltering
voice came again, a little stronger
than before. “Kramer. Everything
so strange. I was right, though.
Consciousness result of thinking.
Necessary result. Cognito ergo sum.
Retain conceptual ability. Can you
hear me?”

“Yes, Professor—”

“I altered the wiring. Control. I
was fairly certain…. I wonder if
I can do it. Try….”

Suddenly the air-conditioning
snapped into operation. It snapped
abruptly off again. Down the corridor
a door slammed. Something
thudded. The men stood listening.
Sounds came from all sides of them,
switches shutting, opening. The
lights blinked off; they were in
darkness. The lights came back on,
and at the same time the heating
coils dimmed and faded.

“Good God!” Winter said.

Water poured down on them, the
emergency fire-fighting system.
There was a screaming rush of air.
One of the escape hatches had slid
back, and the air was roaring frantically
out into space.

The hatch banged closed. The
ship subsided into silence. The heating
coils glowed into life. As suddenly
as it had begun the weird exhibition
ceased.

“I can do—everything,” the dry,
toneless voice came from the wall
speaker. “It is all controlled.
Kramer, I wish to talk to you. I’ve
been—been thinking. I haven’t
seen you in many years. A lot to
discuss. You’ve changed, boy. We
have much to discuss. Your wife—”

The Pilot grabbed Kramer’s arm.
“There’s a ship standing off our
bow. Look.”

They ran to the port. A slender
pale craft was moving along
with them, keeping pace with them.
It was signal-blinking.

“A Terran pursuit ship,” the Pilot
said. “Let’s jump. They’ll
pick us up. Suits—”

He ran to a supply cupboard and
turned the handle. The door opened
and he pulled the suits out onto
the floor.

“Hurry,” Gross said. A panic
seized them. They dressed frantically,
pulling the heavy garments
 over them. Winter staggered to
the escape hatch and stood by it,
waiting for the others. They joined
him, one by one.

“Let’s go!” Gross said. “Open
the hatch.”

Winter tugged at the hatch. “Help
me.”

They grabbed hold, tugging together.
Nothing happened. The
hatch refused to budge.

“Get a crowbar,” the Pilot said.

“Hasn’t anyone got a blaster?”
Gross looked frantically around.
“Damn it, blast it open!”

“Pull,” Kramer grated. “Pull together.”

“Are you at the hatch?” the
toneless voice came, drifting and eddying
through the corridors of the
ship. They looked up, staring around
them. “I sense something nearby,
outside. A ship? You are leaving,
all of you? Kramer, you are leaving,
too? Very unfortunate. I had hoped
we could talk. Perhaps at some
other time you might be induced to
remain.”

“Open the hatch!” Kramer said,
staring up at the impersonal walls
of the ship. “For God’s sake, open
it!”

There was silence, an endless
pause. Then, very slowly, the hatch
slid back. The air screamed out,
rushing past them into space.

One by one they leaped, one after
the other, propelled away by
the repulsive material of the suits.
A few minutes later they were being
hauled aboard the pursuit ship.
As the last one of them was lifted
through the port, their own ship
pointed itself suddenly upward and
shot off at tremendous speed. It
disappeared.

Kramer removed his helmet, gasping.
Two sailors held onto him
and began to wrap him in blankets.
Gross sipped a mug of coffee, shivering.

“It’s gone,” Kramer murmured.

“I’ll have an alarm sent out,” Gross
said.

“What’s happened to your ship?”
a sailor asked curiously. “It sure
took off in a hurry. Who’s on it?”

“We’ll have to have it destroyed,”
Gross went on, his face grim. “It’s
got to be destroyed. There’s no telling
what it—what he has in mind.”
Gross sat down weakly on a metal
bench. “What a close call for us.
We were so damn trusting.”

“What could he be planning,”
Kramer said, half to himself. “It
doesn’t make sense. I don’t get it.”

As the ship sped back toward the
moon base they sat around the
table in the dining room, sipping hot
coffee and thinking, not saying very
much.

“Look here,” Gross said at last.
“What kind of man was Professor
Thomas? What do you remember
about him?”

Kramer put his coffee mug down.
“It was ten years ago. I don’t remember
much. It’s vague.”

He let his mind run back over
the years. He and Dolores had
been at Hunt College together, in
physics and the life sciences. The
 College was small and set back
away from the momentum of modern
life. He had gone there because it
was his home town, and his father
had gone there before him.

Professor Thomas had been at
the College a long time, as long as
anyone could remember. He was a
strange old man, keeping to himself
most of the time. There were
many things that he disapproved of,
but he seldom said what they were.

“Do you recall anything that
might help us?” Gross asked. “Anything
that would give us a clue as
to what he might have in mind?”

Kramer nodded slowly. “I remember
one thing….”

One day he and the Professor
had been sitting together in the
school chapel, talking leisurely.

“Well, you’ll be out of school,
soon,” the Professor had said.
“What are you going to do?”

“Do? Work at one of the Government
Research Projects, I suppose.”

“And eventually? What’s your
ultimate goal?”

Kramer had smiled. “The question
is unscientific. It presupposes
such things as ultimate ends.”

“Suppose instead along these
lines, then: What if there were no
war and no Government Research
Projects? What would you do, then?”

“I don’t know. But how can I
imagine a hypothetical situation
like that? There’s been war as
long as I can remember. We’re geared
for war. I don’t know what I’d
do. I suppose I’d adjust, get used
to it.”

The Professor had stared at him.
“Oh, you do think you’d get accustomed
to it, eh? Well, I’m glad of
that. And you think you could
find something to do?”

Gross listened intently. “What
do you infer from this, Kramer?”

“Not much. Except that he was
against war.”

“We’re all against war,” Gross
pointed out.

“True. But he was withdrawn,
set apart. He lived very simply,
cooking his own meals. His wife
died many years ago. He was born
in Europe, in Italy. He changed his
name when he came to the United
States. He used to read Dante and
Milton. He even had a Bible.”

“Very anachronistic, don’t you
think?”

“Yes, he lived quite a lot in the
past. He found an old phonograph
and records, and he listened to the
old music. You saw his house, how
old-fashioned it was.”

“Did he have a file?” Winter
asked Gross.

“With Security? No, none at all.
As far as we could tell he never engaged
in political work, never joined
anything or even seemed to have
strong political convictions.”

“No,” Kramer, agreed. “About all
he ever did was walk through the
hills. He liked nature.”

“Nature can be of great use to
a scientist,” Gross said. “There
wouldn’t be any science without it.”

“Kramer, what do you think his
plan is, taking control of the ship
 and disappearing?” Winter said.

“Maybe the transfer made him
insane,” the Pilot said. “Maybe
there’s no plan, nothing rational at
all.”

“But he had the ship rewired, and
he had made sure that he would retain
consciousness and memory before
he even agreed to the operation.
He must have had something
planned from the start. But what?”

“Perhaps he just wanted to stay
alive longer,” Kramer said. “He was
old and about to die. Or—”

“Or what?”

“Nothing.” Kramer stood up. “I
think as soon as we get to the moon
base I’ll make a vidcall to earth. I
want to talk to somebody about
this.”

“Who’s that?” Gross asked.

“Dolores. Maybe she remembers
something.”

“That’s a good idea,” Gross said.

“Where are you calling
from?” Dolores asked,
when he succeeded in reaching her.

“From the moon base.”

“All kinds of rumors are running
around. Why didn’t the ship come
back? What happened?”

“I’m afraid he ran off with it.”

“He?”

“The Old Man. Professor Thomas.”
Kramer explained what had
happened.

Dolores listened intently. “How
strange. And you think he planned
it all in advance, from the start?”

“I’m certain. He asked for the
plans of construction and the theoretical
diagrams at once.”

“But why? What for?”

“I don’t know. Look, Dolores.
What do you remember about him?
Is there anything that might give a
clue to all this?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. That’s the trouble.”

On the vidscreen Dolores knitted
her brow. “I remember he raised
chickens in his back yard, and once
he had a goat.” She smiled. “Do
you remember the day the goat got
loose and wandered down the main
street of town? Nobody could figure
out where it came from.”

“Anything else?”

“No.” He watched her struggling,
trying to remember. “He
wanted to have a farm, sometime, I
know.”

“All right. Thanks.” Kramer
touched the switch. “When I get
back to Terra maybe I’ll stop and
see you.”

“Let me know how it works out.”

He cut the line and the picture
dimmed and faded. He walked
slowly back to where Gross and
some officers of the Military were
sitting at a chart table, talking.

“Any luck?” Gross said, looking
up.

“No. All she remembers is that
he kept a goat.”

“Come over and look at this detail
chart.” Gross motioned him around
to his side. “Watch!”

Kramer saw the record tabs moving
furiously, the little white dots
racing back and forth.

 “What’s happening?” he asked.

“A squadron outside the defense
zone has finally managed to contact
the ship. They’re maneuvering
now, for position. Watch.”

The white counters were forming
a barrel formation around a black
dot that was moving steadily across
the board, away from the central
position. As they watched, the
white dots constricted around it.

“They’re ready to open fire,” a
technician at the board said. “Commander,
what shall we tell them to
do?”

Gross hesitated. “I hate to be
the one who makes the decision.
When it comes right down to it—”

“It’s not just a ship,” Kramer
said. “It’s a man, a living person.
A human being is up there, moving
through space. I wish we knew
what—”

“But the order has to be given.
We can’t take any chances. Suppose
he went over to them, to the
yuks.”

Kramer’s jaw dropped. “My God,
he wouldn’t do that.”

“Are you sure? Do you know
what he’ll do?”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

Gross turned to the technician.
“Tell them to go ahead.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but now the ship
has gotten away. Look down at the
board.”

Gross stared down, Kramer over
his shoulder. The black dot
had slipped through the white dots
and had moved off at an abrupt angle.
The white dots were broken
up, dispersing in confusion.

“He’s an unusual strategist,” one
of the officers said. He traced the
line. “It’s an ancient maneuver, an
old Prussian device, but it worked.”

The white dots were turning back.
“Too many yuk ships out that far,”
Gross said. “Well, that’s what you
get when you don’t act quickly.” He
looked up coldly at Kramer. “We
should have done it when we had
him. Look at him go!” He jabbed
a finger at the rapidly moving black
dot. The dot came to the edge of
the board and stopped. It had
reached the limit of the chartered
area. “See?”

—Now what? Kramer thought,
watching. So the Old Man had escaped
the cruisers and gotten away.
He was alert, all right; there was
nothing wrong with his mind. Or
with his ability to control his new body.

Body—The ship was a new
body for him. He had traded in
the old dying body, withered and
frail, for this hulking frame of metal
and plastic, turbines and rocket jets.
He was strong, now. Strong and
big. The new body was more
powerful than a thousand human
bodies. But how long would it last
him? The average life of a cruiser
was only ten years. With careful
handling he might get twenty out of
it, before some essential part failed
and there was no way to replace it.

And then, what then? What
would he do, when something failed
and there was no one to fix it for
him? That would be the end. Someplace,
 far out in the cold darkness
of space, the ship would slow down,
silent and lifeless, to exhaust its last
heat into the eternal timelessness of
outer space. Or perhaps it would
crash on some barren asteroid, burst
into a million fragments.

It was only a question of time.

“Your wife didn’t remember anything?”
Gross said.

“I told you. Only that he kept
a goat, once.”

“A hell of a lot of help that is.”

Kramer shrugged. “It’s not my
fault.”

“I wonder if we’ll ever see him
again.” Gross stared down at the indicator
dot, still hanging at the
edge of the board. “I wonder if
he’ll ever move back this way.”

“I wonder, too,” Kramer said.

That night Kramer lay in bed,
tossing from side to side, unable
to sleep. The moon gravity,
even artificially increased, was unfamiliar
to him and it made him
uncomfortable. A thousand thoughts
wandered loose in his head as he
lay, fully awake.

What did it all mean? What was
the Professor’s plan? Maybe they
would never know. Maybe the ship
was gone for good; the Old Man
had left forever, shooting into outer
space. They might never find out
why he had done it, what purpose—if
any—had been in his mind.

Kramer sat up in bed. He turned
on the light and lit a cigarette. His
quarters were small, a metal-lined
bunk room, part of the moon station
base.

The Old Man had wanted to talk
to him. He had wanted to discuss
things, hold a conversation, but in
the hysteria and confusion all they
had been able to think of was getting
away. The ship was rushing
off with them, carrying them into
outer space. Kramer set his jaw.
Could they be blamed for jumping?
They had no idea where they were
being taken, or why. They were
helpless, caught in their own ship,
and the pursuit ship standing by
waiting to pick them up was their
only chance. Another half hour
and it would have been too late.

But what had the Old Man wanted
to say? What had he intended
to tell him, in those first confusing
moments when the ship around them
had come alive, each metal strut and
wire suddenly animate, the body of
a living creature, a vast metal organism?

It was weird, unnerving. He could
not forget it, even now. He looked
around the small room uneasily.
What did it signify, the coming to
life of metal and plastic? All at
once they had found themselves inside
a living creature, in its stomach,
like Jonah inside the whale.

It had been alive, and it had talked
to them, talked calmly and rationally,
as it rushed them off, faster
and faster into outer space. The
wall speaker and circuit had become
the vocal cords and mouth, the
wiring the spinal cord and nerves,
the hatches and relays and circuit
breakers the muscles.

 They had been helpless, completely
helpless. The ship had, in a brief
second, stolen their power away
from them and left them defenseless,
practically at its mercy. It was
not right; it made him uneasy. All
his life he had controlled machines,
bent nature and the forces of nature
to man and man’s needs. The
human race had slowly evolved until
it was in a position to operate things,
run them as it saw fit. Now all at
once it had been plunged back down
the ladder again, prostrate before a
Power against which they were children.

Kramer got out of bed. He put
on his bathrobe and began to search
for a cigarette. While he was searching,
the vidphone rang.

He snapped the vidphone on.

“Yes?”

The face of the immediate monitor
appeared. “A call from Terra,
Mr. Kramer. An emergency call.”

“Emergency call? For me? Put
it through.” Kramer came awake,
brushing his hair back out of his
eyes. Alarm plucked at him.

From the speaker a strange voice
came. “Philip Kramer? Is this
Kramer?”

“Yes. Go on.”

“This is General Hospital, New
York City, Terra. Mr. Kramer, your
wife is here. She has been critically
injured in an accident. Your
name was given to us to call. Is it
possible for you to—”

“How badly?” Kramer gripped
the vidphone stand. “Is it serious?”

“Yes, it’s serious, Mr. Kramer.
Are you able to come here? The
quicker you can come the better.”

“Yes.” Kramer nodded. “I’ll
come. Thanks.”

The screen died as the connection
was broken. Kramer
waited a moment. Then he tapped
the button. The screen relit again.
“Yes, sir,” the monitor said.

“Can I get a ship to Terra at
once? It’s an emergency. My wife—”

“There’s no ship leaving the moon
for eight hours. You’ll have to
wait until the next period.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“We can broadcast a general request
to all ships passing through
this area. Sometimes cruisers pass
by here returning to Terra for repairs.”

“Will you broadcast that for me?
I’ll come down to the field.”

“Yes sir. But there may be no
ship in the area for awhile. It’s a
gamble.” The screen died.

Kramer dressed quickly. He put
on his coat and hurried to the lift.
A moment later he was running
across the general receiving lobby,
past the rows of vacant desks and
conference tables. At the door the
sentries stepped aside and he went
outside, onto the great concrete
steps.

The face of the moon was in
shadow. Below him the field
stretched out in total darkness, a
black void, endless, without form.
He made his way carefully down the
steps and along the ramp along the
 side of the field, to the control
tower. A faint row of red lights
showed him the way.

Two soldiers challenged him at
the foot of the tower, standing in
the shadows, their guns ready.

“Kramer?”

“Yes.” A light was flashed in
his face.

“Your call has been sent out already.”

“Any luck?” Kramer asked.

“There’s a cruiser nearby that
has made contact with us. It has
an injured jet and is moving slowly
back toward Terra, away from
the line.”

“Good.” Kramer nodded, a flood
of relief rushing through him. He
lit a cigarette and gave one to each
of the soldiers. The soldiers lit up.

“Sir,” one of them asked, “is it
true about the experimental ship?”

“What do you mean?”

“It came to life and ran off?”

“No, not exactly,” Kramer said.
“It had a new type of control system
instead of the Johnson units. It
wasn’t properly tested.”

“But sir, one of the cruisers that
was there got up close to it, and a
buddy of mine says this ship acted
funny. He never saw anything like
it. It was like when he was fishing
once on Terra, in Washington State,
fishing for bass. The fish were
smart, going this way and that—”

“Here’s your cruiser,” the other
soldier said. “Look!”

An enormous vague shape was setting
slowly down onto the field.
They could make nothing out but
its row of tiny green blinkers. Kramer
stared at the shape.

“Better hurry, sir,” the soldiers
said. “They don’t stick around
here very long.”

“Thanks.” Kramer loped across
the field, toward the black shape
that rose up above him, extended
across the width of the field. The
ramp was down from the side of the
cruiser and he caught hold of it.
The ramp rose, and a moment later
Kramer was inside the hold of the
ship. The hatch slid shut behind
him.

As he made his way up the stairs
to the main deck the turbines roared
up from the moon, out into space.

Kramer opened the door to the
main deck. He stopped suddenly,
staring around him in surprise.
There was nobody in sight. The
ship was deserted.

“Good God,” he said. Realization
swept over him, numbing him. He
sat down on a bench, his head swimming.
“Good God.”

The ship roared out into space
leaving the moon and Terra farther
behind each moment.

And there was nothing he could
do.

“So it was you who put the call
through,” he said at last. “It
was you who called me on the vidphone,
not any hospital on Terra.
It was all part of the plan.” He
looked up and around him. “And
Dolores is really—”

“Your wife is fine,” the wall
speaker above him said tonelessly.
 “It was a fraud. I am sorry to
trick you that way, Philip, but it
was all I could think of. Another
day and you would have been back
on Terra. I don’t want to remain
in this area any longer than necessary.
They have been so certain
of finding me out in deep space that
I have been able to stay here without
too much danger. But even
the purloined letter was found eventually.”

Kramer smoked his cigarette nervously.
“What are you going to
do? Where are we going?”

“First, I want to talk to you. I
have many things to discuss. I
was very disappointed when you left
me, along with the others. I had
hoped that you would remain.” The
dry voice chuckled. “Remember
how we used to talk in the old days,
you and I? That was a long time
ago.”

The ship was gaining speed. It
plunged through space at tremendous
speed, rushing through the
last of the defense zone and out beyond.
A rush of nausea made Kramer
bend over for a moment.

When he straightened up the
voice from the wall went on, “I’m
sorry to step it up so quickly, but
we are still in danger. Another few
moments and we’ll be free.”

“How about yuk ships? Aren’t
they out here?”

“I’ve already slipped away from
several of them. They’re quite
curious about me.”

“Curious?”

“They sense that I’m different,
more like their own organic mines.
They don’t like it. I believe they will
begin to withdraw from this area,
soon. Apparently they don’t want
to get involved with me. They’re
an odd race, Philip. I would have
liked to study them closely, try to
learn something about them. I’m
of the opinion that they use no inert
material. All their equipment
and instruments are alive, in some
form or other. They don’t construct
or build at all. The idea of
making is foreign to them. They
utilize existing forms. Even their
ships—”

“Where are we going?” Kramer
said. “I want to know where you
are taking me.”

“Frankly, I’m not certain.”

“You’re not certain?”

“I haven’t worked some details
out. There are a few vague spots in
my program, still. But I think that
in a short while I’ll have them
ironed out.”

“What is your program?” Kramer
said.

“It’s really very simple. But don’t
you want to come into the control
room and sit? The seats are much
more comfortable than that metal
bench.”

Kramer went into the control
room and sat down at the control
board. Looking at the useless apparatus
made him feel strange.

“What’s the matter?” the speaker
above the board rasped.

Kramer gestured helplessly.
“I’m—powerless. I can’t do
 anything. And I don’t like it. Do
you blame me?”

“No. No, I don’t blame you.
But you’ll get your control back,
soon. Don’t worry. This is only
a temporary expedient, taking you
off this way. It was something I
didn’t contemplate. I forgot that
orders would be given out to shoot
me on sight.”

“It was Gross’ idea.”

“I don’t doubt that. My conception,
my plan, came to me as
soon as you began to describe your
project, that day at my house. I
saw at once that you were wrong;
you people have no understanding
of the mind at all. I realized that
the transfer of a human brain from
an organic body to a complex artificial
space ship would not involve
the loss of the intellectualization faculty
of the mind. When a man
thinks, he is.

“When I realized that, I saw
the possibility of an age-old dream
becoming real. I was quite elderly
when I first met you, Philip. Even
then my life-span had come pretty
much to its end. I could look ahead
to nothing but death, and with it
the extinction of all my ideas. I
had made no mark on the world,
none at all. My students, one by
one, passed from me into the world,
to take up jobs in the great Research
Project, the search for better
and bigger weapons of war.

“The world has been fighting for
a long time, first with itself, then
with the Martians, then with these
beings from Proxima Centauri,
whom we know nothing about. The
human society has evolved war as
a cultural institution, like the science
of astronomy, or mathematics.
War is a part of our lives, a career,
a respected vocation. Bright, alert
young men and women move into
it, putting their shoulders to the
wheel as they did in the time of
Nebuchadnezzar. It has always
been so.

“But is it innate in mankind? I
don’t think so. No social custom
is innate. There were many human
groups that did not go to war;
the Eskimos never grasped the idea
at all, and the American Indians
never took to it well.

“But these dissenters were wiped
out, and a cultural pattern was established
that became the standard
for the whole planet. Now it
has become ingrained in us.

“But if someplace along the line
some other way of settling problems
had arisen and taken hold, something
different than the massing of
men and material to—”

“What’s your plan?” Kramer said.
“I know the theory. It was part
of one of your lectures.”

“Yes, buried in a lecture on plant
selection, as I recall. When you
came to me with this proposition I
realized that perhaps my conception
could be brought to life, after all.
If my theory were right that war
is only a habit, not an instinct, a
society built up apart from Terra
with a minimum of cultural roots
might develop differently. If it
failed to absorb our outlook, if it
 could start out on another foot, it
might not arrive at the same point
to which we have come: a dead end,
with nothing but greater and greater
wars in sight, until nothing is left
but ruin and destruction everywhere.

“Of course, there would have to
be a Watcher to guide the experiment,
at first. A crisis would undoubtedly
come very quickly, probably
in the second generation. Cain
would arise almost at once.

“You see, Kramer, I estimate that
if I remain at rest most of the time,
on some small planet or moon, I
may be able to keep functioning for
almost a hundred years. That would
be time enough, sufficient to see
the direction of the new colony. After
that—Well, after that it would
be up to the colony itself.

“Which is just as well, of course.
Man must take control eventually,
on his own. One hundred years,
and after that they will have control
of their own destiny. Perhaps
I am wrong, perhaps war is more
than a habit. Perhaps it is a law
of the universe, that things can only
survive as groups by group violence.

“But I’m going ahead and taking
the chance that it is only a habit,
that I’m right, that war is something
we’re so accustomed to that
we don’t realize it is a very unnatural
thing. Now as to the place!
I’m still a little vague about that.
We must find the place, still.

“That’s what we’re doing now.
You and I are going to inspect a few
systems off the beaten path, planets
where the trading prospects are low
enough to keep Terran ships away.
I know of one planet that might be
a good place. It was reported by
the Fairchild Expedition in their
original manual. We may look into
that, for a start.”

The ship was silent.

Kramer sat for a time, staring
down at the metal floor under
him. The floor throbbed dully
with the motion of the turbines. At
last he looked up.

“You might be right. Maybe our
outlook is only a habit.” Kramer
got to his feet. “But I wonder if
something has occurred to you?”

“What is that?”

“If it’s such a deeply ingrained
habit, going back thousands of
years, how are you going to get
your colonists to make the break,
leave Terra and Terran customs?
How about this generation, the first
ones, the people who found the colony?
I think you’re right that the
next generation would be free of all
this, if there were an—” He grinned.
“—An Old Man Above to
teach them something else instead.”

Kramer looked up at the wall
speaker. “How are you going to
get the people to leave Terra and
come with you, if by your own theory,
this generation can’t be saved,
it all has to start with the next?”

The wall speaker was silent. Then
it made a sound, the faint dry
chuckle.

“I’m surprised at you, Philip.
Settlers can be found. We won’t
need many, just a few.” The speaker
 chuckled again. “I’ll acquaint
you with my solution.”

At the far end of the corridor
a door slid open. There was sound,
a hesitant sound. Kramer turned.

“Dolores!”

Dolores Kramer stood uncertainly,
looking into the control room. She
blinked in amazement. “Phil! What
are you doing here? What’s going
on?”

They stared at each other.

“What’s happening?” Dolores
said. “I received a vidcall that you
had been hurt in a lunar explosion—”

The wall speaker rasped into life.
“You see, Philip, that problem is already
solved. We don’t really need
so many people; even a single couple
might do.”

Kramer nodded slowly. “I see,”
he murmured thickly. “Just one
couple. One man and woman.”

“They might make it all right, if
there were someone to watch and
see that things went as they should.
There will be quite a few things I
can help you with, Philip. Quite a
few. We’ll get along very well, I
think.”

Kramer grinned wryly. “You
could even help us name the animals,”
he said. “I understand that’s
the first step.”

“I’ll be glad to,” the toneless,
impersonal voice said. “As I recall,
my part will be to bring them
to you, one by one. Then you can
do the actual naming.”

“I don’t understand,” Dolores
faltered. “What does he mean,
Phil? Naming animals. What kind
of animals? Where are we going?”

Kramer walked slowly over to the
port and stood staring silently out,
his arms folded. Beyond the ship
a myriad fragments of light gleamed,
countless coals glowing in the dark
void. Stars, suns, systems. Endless,
without number. A universe of
worlds. An infinity of planets,
waiting for them, gleaming and
winking from the darkness.

He turned back, away from the
port. “Where are we going?” He
smiled at his wife, standing nervous
and frightened, her large eyes full
of alarm. “I don’t know where we
are going,” he said. “But somehow
that doesn’t seem too important
right now…. I’m beginning to see
the Professor’s point, it’s the result
that counts.”

And for the first time in many
months he put his arm around Dolores.
At first she stiffened, the
fright and nervousness still in her
eyes. But then suddenly she relaxed
against him and there were tears
wetting her cheeks.

“Phil … do you really think we
can start over again—you and I?”

He kissed her tenderly, then passionately.

And the spaceship shot swiftly
through the endless, trackless eternity
of the void….