«However the law of averages does not always work out on anyone particular series. And it so happened that on this particular drawing twenty-nine women drew winning chances, and only one man won.
«There were loud protests from almost everyone except the winners, but the director stuck to his guns; the drawing had been honest and he refused to change the status of any of the winners. His only concession to appease male egos was to appoint Maxon, the one man, captain. The ship took off and had a successful voyage.
«And when the second expedition landed, they found the population doubled. Exactly doubled—every woman member of the expedition had a child, and one of them had twins, making a total of exactly thirty infants.
«Yes, Miss Ambrose, I see your hand, but please let me finish. No, there is nothing spectacular about what I have thus far told you. Although many people would think loose morals were involved, it is no great feat for one man, given time, to impregnate twenty-nine women.
«What gave Captain Maxon his nickname is the fact that work on the second ship went much faster than scheduled and the second expedition did not arrive one year later, but only nine months and two days later.
«Does that answer your question, Miss Ambrose?»
BRIGHT BEARD
She had been frightened, badly frightened, ever since her father had given her in marriage to the strange big man with the bright beard.
There was something so—so sinister about him, about his great strength, about his hawklike eyes and the way they watched her. And there was that rumor—but of course it was only a rumor—that he’d had other wives and that nobody knew what had happened to them. And there was that strange business of the closet which he had warned her that she must never enter or even look into.
Until today she had obeyed him—especially after she had tried the door of the closet and found that it was kept locked.
But now she stood in front of it with the key, or what she felt sure was the key, in her hand. It was a key she had found only an hour ago in her husband’s den; it had no doubt dropped from one of his pockets, and it looked just the right size for the keyhole of the door to the forbidden closet.
She tried it now and it was the right key; the door opened. Inside the closet was—not what she had, however subconsciously, feared to find, but something more bewildering. Bank upon bank of what looked like tremendously complicated electronic equipment.
«Well, my dear,» said a sardonic voice from just behind her, «do you know what it is?»
She whirled to face her husband. «Why—I think it’s—it looks like—»
«Exactly, my dear: It’s a radio, but an extremely powerful one which can transmit and receive over interplanetary distances. With it I can and do communicate with the planet Venus. You see, my dear, I am a Venusian.»
«But I don’t under—»
«You don’t have to understand, but I may as well tell you—now. I am a Venusian spy, advance guard, as it were, for a pending invasion of Earth. What did you think? That my beard is blue and that you would find a closet of murdered former wives? I know that you are color-blind, but surely your father told you my beard is red?»
«Of course, but—»
«But your father was wrong. He saw it as red, since whenever I leave the house I dye my hair and beard red, with an easily removable dye. At home, however, I prefer to have it its natural color, which is green. That is why I chose a color-blind wife, since she would not notice the difference.
«That is why all of my wives have been chosen, because they were color-blind.» He sighed deeply. «Alas, regardless of the color of my beard, sooner or later each one of them became too curious, too inquisitive, as you have. But I do not keep them in a closet; they are all buried in the cellar.»
His terribly strong hand closed about her upper arm.
«Come, my dear, and I will show you their graves.»
JAYCEE
«Walter, what’s a Jaycee?» Mrs. Ralston asked her husband, Dr. Ralston, across the breakfast table.
«Why—I believe it used to be a member of what they called a Junior Chamber of Commerce. I don’t know if they still have them or not. Why?»
«Martha said Henry was muttering something yesterday about Jaycees, fifty million Jaycees. And swore at her when she asked what he meant.» Martha was Mrs. Graham and Henry her husband, Dr. Graham. They lived next door and the two doctors and their wives were close friends.
«Fifty million,» said Dr. Ralston musingly. «That’s how many parthies there are.»
He should have known; he and Dr. Graham together were responsible for parthies—parthenogenetic births. Twenty years ago, in 1980, they had together engineered the first experiment in human parthenogenesis, the fertilization of a female cell without the help of a male one. The offspring of that experiment, named John, was now twenty years old and lived with Dr. and Mrs. Graham next door; he had been adopted by them after the death of his mother in an accident some years before.
No other parthie was more than half John’s age. Not until John was ten, and obviously healthy and normal, had the authorities let down bars and permitted any woman who wanted a child and who was either single or married to a sterile husband to have a child parthenogenetically. Due to the shortage of men—the disastrous testerosis epidemic of the 1970s had just killed off almost a third of the male population of the world—over fifty million women had applied for parthenogenetic children and borne them. Luckily for redressing the balance of the sexes, it had turned out that all parthenogenetically conceived children were males.
«Martha thinks,» said Mrs. Ralston, «that Henry’s worrying about John, but she can’t think why. He’s such a good boy.»
Dr. Graham suddenly and without knocking burst into the room. His face was white and his eyes wide as he stared at his colleague. «I was right,» he said.
«Right about what?»
«About John. I didn’t tell anyone, but do you know what he did when we ran out of drinks at the party last night?»
Dr. Ralston frowned. «Changed water into wine?»
«Into gin; we were having martinis. And just now he left to go water skiing—and he isn’t taking any water skis. Told me that with faith he wouldn’t need them.»
«Oh, no,» said Dr. Ralston. He dropped his head into his hands.
Once before in history there’d been a virgin birth. Now fifty million virgin-born boys were growing up. In ten more years there’d be fifty million—Jaycees.
«No,» sobbed Dr. Ralston, «no!»
CONTACT
Dhar Ry sat alone in his room, meditating. From outside the door he caught a thought wave equivalent to a knock, and, glancing at the door, he willed it to slide open. It slid open. «Enter, my friend,» he said. He could have projected the idea telepathically, but with only two persons present, speech was more polite.
Ejon Khee entered. «You are up late tonight, my leader,» he said.
«Yes, Khee. Within an hour the Earth rocket is due to land, and I wish to see it. Yes, I know, it will land a thousand miles away, if their calculations are correct. Beyond the horizon. But if it lands even twice that far the flash of the atomic explosion should be visible, and I have waited long for first contact. For even though no Earthman will be on that rocket, it will still be first contact—for them. Of course our telepath teams have been reading their thoughts for many centuries, but—this will be the first physical contact between Mars and Earth.»