"Terribly sorry to break in on you this way," the lad said.
"Forget it," I said. "What were you doing out there?"
"Sir," he began, in treble tones, "I will have to start at the start. My father was a spaceship test pilot, and he died valiantly, trying to break the light barrier. Mother recently remarried. Her present husband is a large, black-haired man with narrow, shifty eyes and tightly compressed lips. Until recently he was employed as a ribbon clerk in a large department store."
"He resented my presence from the beginning. I suppose I reminded him of my dead father, with my blond curls, large oval eyes and merry, outgoing ways. Our relationship smouldered fitfully. Then an uncle of his died (under suspicious circumstances) and he inherited holdings in British Space."
"Accordingly, we set out in our spaceship. As soon as we reached this deserted area, he said to mother, 'Rachel, he's old enough to fend for himself. My mother said, 'Dirk, he's so young! But soft-hearted, laughing mother was no match for the inflexible will of the man I would never call father. He thrust me into my spacesuit, handed me a box of flares, put Flicker into his own little suit, and said, 'A lad can do all right for himself in space these days. 'Sir, I said, 'there is no planet within two hundred light years. 'You'll make out, he grinned, and thrust me upon this spur of rock."
The boy paused for breath, and his dog Flicker looked up at me with moist oval eyes. I gave the dog a bowl of milk and bread, and watched the lad eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Mavis carried the little chap into the bunk room and tenderly tucked him into bed.
I returned to the controls, started the ship again, and turned on the intercom.
"Wake up, you little idiot!" I heard Mavis say.
"Lemme sleep," the boy answered.
"Wake up! What did Congressional Investigation mean by sending you here? Don't they realize this is an FBI case?"
"He's been reclassified as a 10-F Suspect," the boy said. "That calls for full surveillance."
"Yes, but I'm here," Mavis cried.
"You didn't do so well on your last case," the boy said. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but Security comes first."
"So they send you," Mavis said, sobbing now. "A twelve-year-old child —"
"I'll be thirteen in seven months."
"A twelve-year-old child! And I've tried so hard! I've studied, read books, taken evening courses, listened to lectures —"
"It's a tough break," the boy said sympathetically. "Personally, I want to be a spaceship test pilot. At my age, this is the only way I can get in flying hours. Do you think he'll let me fly the ship?"
I snapped off the intercom. I should have felt wonderful. Two full-time Spies were watching me. It meant I was really someone, someone to be watched.
But the truth was, my Spies were only a girl and a twelve-year-old boy. They must have been scraping bottom when they sent those two.
My government was still ignoring me, in its own fashion.
We managed well on the rest of the flight. Young Roy, as the lad was called, took over the piloting of the ship, and his dog sat alertly in the co-pilot's seat. Mavis continued to cook and keep house. I spent my time patching seams. We were as happy a group of Spies and Suspect as you could find.
We found an uninhabited Earth-type planet. Mavis liked it because it was small and rather cute, with the green fields and gloomy forests she had read about in her poetry books. Young Roy liked the clear lakes, and the mountains, which were just the right height for a boy to climb.
We landed, and began to settle.
Young Roy found an immediate interest in the animals I animated from the Freezer. He appointed himself guardian of cows and horses, protector of ducks and geese, defender of pigs and chickens. This kept him so busy that his reports to the Senate became fewer and fewer, and finally stopped altogether.
You really couldn't expect any more from a Spy of his age.
And after I had set up the domes and force-seeded a few acres, Mavis and I took long walks in the gloomy forest, and in the bright green and yellow fields that bordered it.
One day we packed a picnic lunch and ate on the edge of a little waterfall. Mavis' unbound hair spread lightly over her shoulders, and there was a distant enchanted look in her blue eyes. All in all, she seemed extremely un-Spylike, and I had to remind myself over and over of our respective roles.
"Bill," she said after a while.
"Yes?" I said.
"Nothing." She tugged at a blade of grass.
I couldn't figure that one out. But her hand strayed somewhere near mine. Our fingertips touched, and clung.
We were silent for a long time. Never had I been so happy.
"Bill?"
"Yes?"
"Bill dear, could you ever —"
What she was going to say, and what I might have answered, I will never know. At that moment our silence was shattered by the roar of jets. Down from the sky dropped a spaceship.
Ed Wallace, the pilot, was a white-haired old man in a slouch hat and a stained trench coat. He was a salesman for Clear-Flo, an outfit that cleansed water on a planetary basis. Since I had no need for his services, he thanked me, and left.
But he didn't get very far. His engines turned over once, and stopped with a frightening finality.
I looked over his drive mechanism, and found that a sphinx valve had blown. It would take me a month to make him a new one with hand tools.
"This is terribly awkward," he murmured. "I suppose I'll have to stay here."
"I suppose so," I said.
He looked at his ship regretfully. "Can't understand how it happened," he said.
"Maybe you weakened the valve when you cut it with a hacksaw," I said, and walked off. I had seen the telltale marks.
Mr. Wallace pretended not to hear me. That evening I overheard his report on the interstellar radio, which functioned perfectly. His home office, interestingly enough, was not Clear-Flo, but Central Intelligence.
Mr. Wallace made a good vegetable farmer, even though he spent most of his time sneaking around with camera and notebook. His presence spurred Young Roy to greater efforts. Mavis and I stopped walking in the gloomy forest, and there didn't seem time to return to the yellow and green fields, to finish some unfinished sentences.
But our little settlement prospered. We had other visitors. A man and his wife from Regional Intelligence dropped by, posing as itinerant fruit pickers. They were followed by two girl photographers, secret representatives of the Executive Information Bureau, and then there was a young newspaper man, who was actually from the Idaho Council of Spatial Morals.
Every single one of them blew a sphinx valve when it came time to leave.
I didn't know whether to feel proud or ashamed. A half-dozen agents were watching me — but every one of them was a second rater. And invariably, after a few weeks on my planet, they became involved in farmwork and their Spying efforts dwindled to nothing.
I had bitter moments. I pictured myself as a testing ground for novices, something to cut their teeth on. I was the Suspect they gave to Spies who were too old or too young, inefficient, scatterbrained, or just plain incompetent. I saw myself as a sort of half-pay retirement plan Suspect, a substitute for a pension.
But it didn't bother me too much. I did have a position, although it was a little difficult to define. I was happier than I had ever been on Earth, and my Spies were pleasant and cooperative people.
Our little colony was happy and secure.
I thought it could go on forever.
Then, one fateful night, there was unusual activity. Some important message seemed to be coming in, and all radios were on. I had to ask a few Spies to share sets, to keep from burning out my generator.
Finally all radios were turned off, and the Spies held conferences. I heard them whispering into the small hours. The next morning, they were all assembled in the living room, and their faces were long and somber. Mavis stepped forward as spokeswoman.