"Uh huh."
"Such as something I have not tried yet with a swimmer. I must use the English word: hypnotism."
Torrance said, "I didn't get that."
"Defined as an induced state of monomania."
"Oh, hypnotism."
"Larrry has studied it thoroughly, and even tried it out, and for him it works. On a swimmer it might be ineffective."
"He's already tried it," said Garner. "Anything else?"
"Garrnnrr, you must understand that the dolphin gurgle-buzz-SQUEEEE is not truly a practical joke. It is a way of looking at things. Putting a monkey wrench in machinery is often the only way to force somebody to repair, replace, or redesign the machinery. Especially legal or social machinery. Biting off somebody's fin at exactly the right time can change his whole attitude toward life, often for the better. Larrry understands this."
"I wish I did. Thanks for your time, Charley."
"Negative! Negative! Thank you for yours!"
An hour to the long jump. Luke's throat felt well used. He might still have time for a fifteen-minute cat nap, but he'd wake up feeling worse than ever.
He sat in the Struldbrugs' reading room and thought about Greenberg.
Why had he become an alien? Well, that was easy. With two sets of memories to choose from, he'd naturally chosen the identity most used to sorting itself out from other identities. But why cling to it? He must know by now that he was not the Sea Statue. And he'd had a happy life as Larry Greenberg.
His wife was something to envy and she loved him. According to Dr. Snyder, he was stable, well adjusted. He liked his work. He thought of himself as something special.
But the Sea Statue was all alone in the universe, the last of its race, marooned among hostiles. The Greenberg Sea Statue had also lost his ability of- well, telepathic hypnosis was close enough.
Any sane person would rather be Greenberg.
Garner thought, I'll have to assume that Greenberg as Greenberg literally cannot think with the Sea Statue memories in his mind. He must remain the Sea Statue to function at all. Otherwise he'd have at least tried to change back.
But that peculiar arrogance he'd displayed under interrogation. Not- a slave. Not human.
A robot bonged softly next to his ear. Garner turned and read in flowing light on the waiter's chest: "You are requested to call Mr. Charles Watson at once."
Chick Watson was fat, with thick lips and a shapeless putty nose. He wore crew-cut, bristly black hair and, at the moment, a gray seventeen-hundred shadow over cheeks and jaw. He had a harmless look. Centered on his desk was a large screen viewer running film at abnormal speed. Not one in a thousand could read that fast.
A buzzer sounded. Chick snapped off the reader and turned on the phone. For a fat man he moved quickly and accurately.
"Here."
"Lucas Garner calling, sir. Do you want to see him?"
"Desperately." Chick Watson's voice belied his appearance. It was a voice of command, a deep, ringing bass.
Luke looked tired. "You wanted me, Chick?"
"Yeah, Garner. I thought you could help me with some questions."
"Fine, but I'm pressed for time."
"I'll make it quick. First, this message from Ceres to Titan Enterprises. The Golden Circle made a takeoff under radio silence yesterday, from Topeka Base, and the Belt intends to submit a bill for tracking. Titan sent the notice here. They say their ship must have been stolen."
"That's right. Kansas City has the details. It's a very complicated story."
"An hour later the Navy ship Iwo Jima-"
"Also stolen."
"Any connection with the Sea Statue incident at UCLA?"
"Every connection. Look, Chick-»
"I know, get it from Kansas City. Finally…" Chick fumbled among the spools of film on his desk. His voice was suspiciously mild as he said, "Here it is. Your notification that you'll be leaving Topeka on a commandeered Navy ship, the Heinlein; departure: Topeka Base at twenty-one hundred; destination: unknown, probably Neptune; purpose: official business. Garner, I always said it would happen, but I never really believed it."
"I haven't gone senile, Chick. This is urgent."
"Fastest attack of senility I ever heard of. What could possibly be urgent enough to get you into space at your age?"
"It's that urgent."
"You can't explain?"
"No time."
"Suppose I order you not to go."
"I think that would cost lives. Lots of lives. It could also end human civilization."
"Melodramatic."
"It's the literal truth."
"Garner, you're asking me to assume my own ignorance and let you go ahead on your own because you're the only expert on the situation. Right?"
Hesitation. "I guess that's right."
"Fine. I hate making my own decisions. That's why they put me behind a desk. But, Garner, you must know things Kansas City doesn't. Why don't you call me after takeoff? I'll be studying in the meantime."
"In case I kick off? Good idea."
"Don't let it slip your mind, now."
"Sure not."
"And take your vitamins."
Like a feathered arrow the Golden Circle fell away from the sun. The comparison was hackneyed but accurate, for the glant triangular wing was right at the rear of the ship, with the slender shaft of the fusilage projecting deep into the forward apex. The small forward wings had folded into the sides shortly after takeoff. The big fin was a maze of piping. Live steam, heated by the drive, circled through a generator and through the cooling pipes before returning to start the journey again. Most of the power was fed into the fusion shield of the drive tube. The rest fed the life support system.
In one respect the «arrow» simile was inexact. The arrow flew sideways, riding the sun-hot torch which burned its belly.
Kzanol roared his displeasure. The cards had failed again! He swept the neat little array between his clublike hands, tapped them into deck formation, and ripped the deck across. Then, carefully, he got to his feet. The drive developed one terran gravity, and he hadn't quite had time to get used to the extra weight. He sat down at the casino table and dug into the locker underneath. He came out with a new deck, opened it, let the automatic shuffler play with it for a while, then took it out and began to lay it out solitaire style. The floor around him was littered with little pieces of magnetized plastic card. Perhaps he could think up some fitting punishment for the pilot, who had taught him this game.
The pilot and copilot sat motionless in the control room. From time to time the pilot used his hands to change course a trifle. Every fourteen hours or so the copilot would bring Kzanol a bowl of water and then return to her seat. Actinic gas streamed from the belly of the ship, pushing it to ever higher velocities.
It was a beautiful night. Years had passed since Garner last saw the stars; in the — cities they couldn't shine through the smog and the neon glare, and even the American continents were mostly city. Soon he would see them more clearly than he had in half a century. The air was like the breath of Satan. Garner was damp with sweat, and so were Anderson and Neumuth.
"I still say we could do this by ourselves," said Anderson.
"You wouldn't know what to look for," Gamer countered. "I've trained myself for this. I've been reading science fiction for decades. Centuries! Neumuth, where are you going?"