Stairway to the Stars - Larry T Shaw

Stairway to the Stars by Larry Shaw.

Yes, Earth may be a sort of fenced-off area,

so far as other intelligent racists of the galaxy are concerned,

but not for the Grand Ruse reasons that some of them imagined.

It was a stairway leading down, but it also led out into space, indirectly.

And the situation had the aspects of a burlesque on Grand Hotel,

but John Andrew Farmer scoured at the occupants

that sprawled on his living room couch.

Rubbed his stubby jaw with a stubby fist and said,

I love you. Farmer was uncomfortable.

He was almost always uncomfortable for various reasons.

Though it rarely, if ever occurred to him,

as he considered each individual irritant,

that this was his normal state of existence.

Right now, he was acutely conscious of how ridiculous it must look for him

to be making love to an octopus,

but he was even more conscious of the very real pains of unrequited love.

It wasn't even a respectable, ordinary looking octopus.

To be accurate, it would have to be called a nonopus.

Each of the nine tentacles had a lobster-ish claw at his tip,

and there were various other unusual appendages.

It would be hard enough to explain an earthly octopus

in his living room if the necessity arose.

Farmer reflected for the tenthteenth time,

but how, in the name of Neptune, could he ever explain this?

It had all started with Judge Ray.

Ray had not been a real judge, obviously,

but had used a title in lieu of any other first name.

That was the first of the inexfelectable things.

Farmer could have expected the odd little oman

to call himself a professor of something or other,

but Ray insisted on Judge.

Ray had come to the office of the Stein Fine Brian's publishing company,

where Farmer was working as an assistant editor,

and announced that he was about to write

the greatest book of the age.

And yes, he wanted an advance against royalties.

It didn't have to be large, Ray lived simply.

To tie him over while doing the actual writing,

we shouldn't take more than a very few weeks.

Now, Farmer wasn't much of an editor, even as editors go.

The one useful quality he had was a homestone

ingratiating heir, which put nervous young geniuses at their ease,

so that they could give a reasonable coherent verbal picture

of what their books were about.

This often saves Stein Fine and Brian's

a lot of reading of unpublishable manuscripts.

At least that had been the theory when they gave Farmer the job.

As it worked out, John Andrew was a person

who found it virtually impossible to say no.

He generally took the manuscripts in hand,

and when he couldn't stick some other member of the firm with a task,

read them himself until the wee hours.

Farmer was not able to say no to Ray,

but even he looked dubious at the small,

Ray fellow's volatile outpouring of pseudo-scientific jargon.

Ray made sensitive by years of open sketchicism

on the part of many listeners,

cut the look and insisted on a demonstration of his fabulous invention.

So, the oddly assorted pair,

quick, box light little ray,

and big, awkward uncutable farmer,

spurtered out into long island sound

in an indescribable, old motor launch,

and the adventure was on.

Finally, Ray shut off the reckoning engine

and let the rusty anchor.

He opened a large wooden case

to show evidence of some really good cabinet work

and took out a peculiar machine,

which showed evidence of unarguably excellent machining.

These details were the first things that made Farmer think Ray

might not be a complete crackpot,

after all.

If he hadn't been feeling just the slightest touch of sea sickness,

John Andrew would have breathed a sigh of relief.

Ray polished off the somewhat rabbit from Hattie,

routine, by bringing out a portable television set,

connecting it to the boat's electrical generator,

and stringing an assortment of wires between it and his invention.

He would not allow Farmer even close to the latter,

but to the editor's un-technical eye,

it looked like a fairly ordinary radio set,

with more than enough dials and switches added to it,

to furnish the day's boards of several role choices.

Ray held up a hand, purely for drama,

since there was silence already.

This is a great moment in the course of human history,

he said.

You are about to witness the first demonstration of Ray's Ray,

the work of genius which will allow mankind

his first really close contact with the last remaining frontier

on his home planet, the bottom of the sea.

Farmer looked impressed,

and then began to realize what some of this meant.

He caught himself,

straightened out his face, and licked his lips.

You mean you've never tried this thing before?

He protested?

How do you know it will work?

Ray's glance took on a touch of icy fury,

the launch rocked gently in the swell of a long silent minute,

and Farmer began to feel slightly afraid,

was he alone in a spot like this with a madman,

the salty breeze turned colder.

Then Ray smiled, a smile that was surprisingly soft and sweet.

John Andrew reached two decisions,

that he was safe and that he liked the judge.

One of Farmer's weaknesses,

in fact, was that though thoroughly masculine himself,

he completely distrusted women and was too trusting with men.

I could go into theories and scientific details, Ray said.

I could explain principles of operation and the construction of the machine for hours,

but you would be bored and wouldn't understand anyway.

It is sufficient to say that the Ray will work because I invented it.

Farmer caught himself nodding and blamed the boat's motion.

He shifted uneasy on the built-in seat and got a splinter in a vital spot.

He frowned. Ray was bending over his machine,

making motions designed to impress as well as to make it work.

In very simple terms, he was saying,

this is a combination of color television and super radar.

He will bring in a perfect color picture of the ocean at what are the depth I set it for,

or will set itself automatically to present a view of the ocean floor, yet will.

His voice trailed off.

The machine hiss snapped and crackled.

The television set flickered, honed, gave out a flashing dance of surrealistic doodles

and abruptly presented a picture.

It was a picture of Milton Burle.

Ray looked mad, started to aim a kick at the screen but thought better of it.

A small wave almost made him sit down on the deck before he got both feet planted again.

He swore and started to check the wiring.

Maybe there's something wrong inside the dingus itself, John Andrews,

suggested tentatively.

Ray turned on him with a look that would have seared the sphinx.

There's nothing wrong with the machine, he said.

Almost, but not quite shouting.

There's nothing wrong with the television.

There's nothing wrong with the wiring.

There must be something wrong at the other end,

where the ray is focused and I intend to find out.

Farmer pondered the idea of a transmitter that worked under water like a ballpoint pen.

Broadcasting weary, bog-billed routines, he scratched his head and looked

wistfully at the New England shoreline, or was that long island.

He wasn't sure anymore.

A clink and clatter brought his attention to the launch.

He got. Ray had thrown back a deck catch and produced a diving suit which looked as

unshipped shape as the rest of the boat's equipment.

Ray looked it over hastily, then turned a spectrally glance on Farmer.

He shook his head.

Too small for you, he murmured.

You wouldn't know what to look for anyway.

I'll have to go down myself.

Farmer changed his mind again about Ray's being cracked.

Listen, he said the first thing that came to his mind.

Didn't you say you rented this boat for the first time today?

How do you know that thing doesn't leak?

Ray smiled again as he climbed brisky into the suit.

I'll be alright, he said serenely.

You just keep an eye on things here.

But don't touch anything.

I'll be right back.

He settled a helmet on his head, motioned for Farmer to help him check the connections of

the suits, self-contained oxygen supply.

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John Andrew was straightening up from doing this when he saw the

nonopus for the first time.

He was climbing over the rail at the stern and already beginning to make a puddle on the deck.

Farmer froze and gulped wordlessly.

Behind the barred faceplate, Ray looked puzzled, then annoyed.

From the corner of his eye, Farmer could see Milton Burle still cavorting silently on the television screen.

And this seemed to add the final touch of insanity to the scene.

Farmer finally succeeded in pointing and Ray clumped slowly in a half circle,

just as the nonopus dropped to the deck with a plank shivering thump.

The scene assumed some of the aspects of a bad movie comedy.

The background wasn't out of focus blur, although Farmer was dimly conscious of motion in it somewhere.

Something else breaking the surface of the water as it emerged.

In the foreground, the boat and its occupants were sharply etched,

but seemed to have gone into slow motion.

The nonopus crept forward ponderously, and Farmer searched day-to-day for a weapon.

He was Ray who first started stumbling in the direction of the boat hook,

but John Andrew in a sudden fit of braverly,

showed past him and grabbed the fragile-looking thing from his cleats.

He swung to face the monster with a sick feeling and ecstemic,

and got another surprise, the thing had stopped moving,

straddling Ray all behind it, and similarly dripping was a, my god.

Yet he looked almost like a man, and that only made the difference worse.

The details resolved as Farmer stared at him.

The oddness about the head and shoulders became fanny crest,

and what looked at first like a red skin-tight costume became a scaly hide.

Farmer realized with a shock that the creature wasn't wearing anything.

Farmer crouched, the point of the boat hook wavered, aimed first at the nonopus then at the

feast-man. To the editor, both were alien, but he couldn't decide which one was more dangerous.

For a long moment, neither of them advanced, and he wondered if they could really be frightened

of his puny weapon. He doubted it. He was beginning to notice, among other things,

that the nonopus was more fearsome than it had seemed at first.

In addition to nine tentacles, claws, fangs, and antennae became apparent.

So did the big glassy-eyed disc of the eyes, and Farmer aimed to point at the hook at one of them,

started to thrust. It was wrenched from his hands and forced downward to stick quivering

in the deck. The development took Farmer completely unawares. Neither of the aliens moved.

It was Judge Ray who had disarmed him.

Judge Ray was now, frenically, trying to remove his diving helmet again. Excitement made his

motions ineffective, and a signal for Farmer to help him, then continued to fumble with the

fast things himself. John Andrew turned, feeling completely doomed, to a demand, and they started

getting in each other's way and slowing down the operation even more. They finally succeeded,

though, the helmet swung back, and Ray promptly showed Farmer aside. Some of Farmer's spirit gave

way to a man's foot at the little invaders' audacity, and what seemed to Farmer at least to be

foolishly optimistic scientific detachment. Ray said, my name is Ray. It is indeed fortunate that

you have met me immediately upon your arrival here, since I am the world's greatest genius,

and thoroughly equipped to tell you anything you wish to know about my people and civilization.

I take it you come from Atlantis. Amazingly, his tongue only got tangled once in the middle of

this speech, and he regained control a bit quickly then. John Andrew felt a touch of jealousy at

the little man's capability in assuming control of the situation. That, and a sudden idea of his own,

forced him to speak for himself. It was a sad attempt. Venus, spaceship, he managed to

croak before giving it up. The launch rock gently, the non-apust crowd's motionless, the

beast man stood firmly, as if untouched by anything around him, his arms folded and his faint smile

upon his damp lips. Finally, he spoke too. What he said was, Venus, spaceship, my name is Ray.

It is indeed fortunate that you have met me immediately upon your arrival here, since I am the

world's greatest genius. He broke off. Apparently, he interpreted the looks of consternation on the

faces of his audience correctly. First smile became more friendly, and he continued in occasional tone.

Excuse me, he said, I didn't speak your language before I arrived here, and I had to learn it and

become accustomed to its use through analyzing what you just said. I really didn't mean to puzzle you

or make you feel inferior by mimicking you. Farmer's mind worked chaoticly. This was puzzling,

he decided, and did make him feel inferior, that is. Yet did if the man in the red scales had really

picked up English so quickly, and if not, why lie? The fisherman came forward, his step was bouncy

as if he were used to a higher gravity or greater pressure. That farmer complimented himself on his

cleverness, made sense at least. But he extended his hand and said, put her there, like any ladies

whereby are at an annual convention. Ray and Farmer shook with him in turn. His hand was damp and

webbed, but felt fairly human for all that. My name is Garp, he said cheerfully. John Andrew tried

not to stare at him too noticeably, but Ray made no bows about it. Apparently, the fisherman thought

nothing at all of his state of nudity. Farmer shivered. He was Ray who brought the conversation

back to earth, or see again. He asked Garp directly exactly where he did come from. Garp looked

hesitant, then waved to the rail with him. See those he asked, they looked, and saw what seemed to

be a flight of steps, carved from stone, old and worn, starting abruptly just below the water level

and leading downward. There was nothing on either side of the steps, or underneath them as far as

could be seen. But ordinary ocean, I came up those Garp said, Farmer stared, and Ray stared.

The stairway shouldn't be there. It certainly hadn't been there before. Garp's explanations

it seemed only compounded the confusion caused by his presence. Farmer, muddled, looked again at

the non of us, which had apparently gone to sleep, even so it looked deadly.

Something bit him on the arm. He discovered Ray's fingers in the driving glove, digging into his

flesh in an amazingly powerful grip. Farmer hunched his shoulders, trying to break loose, and then

he saw what Ray was staring at. Garp had left him, and was strolling around the launch as if he

had just bought it, looking down his nose at it at the same time. Acting as if he could afford not to

give a damn how badly he had been stunned. But the starting thing was that he had picked up the

boat hook and was twirling it unconcernedly. He had not only picked it up, however, he had also

tied it in a knot. It should have splintered in his hands, assuming he was strong enough to bend

it at all. It hadn't. It was in perfect shape, except for the knot. Or so it seemed at least,

for even as Ray started forward without stretched hand, obviously hoping to examine the thing.

Garp gave it a final twirl and scaled it carelessly overboard.

John Andrew began to feel quick frozen again, being along at sea in a grickety craft with a

possible madman had been bad enough. To have a weird creature with superhuman powers,

and an impossible pet monster added to the crew was a little too much.

Garp turned his attention to the television set, which was still presenting his hysterical

Vodville. Great uncle's gills he exclaimed and laps into fascinated silence. He studied the

proceedings carefully, holding the arms crossed pose again. Finally he turned to Ray.

Once you say something about civilization a while ago,

Finless, he asked his voice for sneering. Ray Frown had said something about mass appeal.

Pay no attention to that he continued, just listen to me. I'll tell you about our civilization

and our science and his voice broke off as if he had been struck in the face. In a way he had.

Garp had deliberately turned his back on the old fellow. The judges bloodshot little eyes

darted about as if he wanted to pick up something heavy and hit Garp on the crest with it.

John Andrew's brain had finally resumed normal operations. He was thinking slowly but clearly.

He examined the evidence with care. He decided that Garp's superior attitude and powers

voted no good. That if the fishman once became slightly irritated, he would sick the nonapus

on Ray and himself. Probably in fact Garp would try to conquer the world anyway. That was how it

went in stories as corny as a situation. Farmer further decided that Ray was too egocentrically

eccentric to be trusted to get him out of this fix. He decided he'd have to do something himself.

Having decided all this, Farmer went back over the territory to see if he could find any flaws in

it or any other way out. It still made sense. He added a decision to get the boat back to shore as

fast as possible. He approached the engine. As it did so, the engine melted into a solid irregular

lump of metal. John Andrew gulped and put out a tenet of hand towards a fused mess.

It was not particularly warm but it had melted. Farmer looked at Garp again with fear and awe

and the fishman looked back with cold amusement but not for long. Garp turned to the judges' invention

and started to show some genuine interest for the first time since he had showed up. He stood over

the thing, webbed hands on scaly hips, peering at it intently. After a long silence, he knelt.

He started feeling over the machine with his webbed hands. Finally, he placed his fingers on the

largest of the control switches, then changed his mind and gestured imperatively to Judge Ray.

You, the intelligent one, he said. The quotes around intelligent were clear in his intonation.

Explain this to me. It's obviously what reactivated the gate. But whoever made it did a screw ball

job. There are all sorts of things that don't seem to belong and even the parts that should be there

seem wrong somehow. He paused. Of course he had it smuggly. I'm not a transportation expert.

If I were, I'd have made my own activator long ago and done some visiting on the closed

worlds before this. Not that they'd have kept me from getting bored for long, but yours looks as

if it's going to be slightly amusing at least. A struggle showed in Ray's face. Farmer saw

insulted and anger, hurt pride, a desire to brag about his gadgetry, a question about

Garth's last words and a caution that was not too far from fear. John Andrew had stopped trying

to hide his own fear and though he had plenty of questions of his own, he was mainly concerned

with looking for a means of escape. Garth was rising again, looking impatient. Ray reached a

decision, said, go to hell and turned his back on the peaceman. Garth looked astonished, then angry

and raised a hand. Ray jumped, not very far because of the heavy diving suit, stumbled on

oddly twisted legs and collapsed on the deck, writhing, moaning and turning red in the face.

The diving helmet clattered on the planks. Farmer got mad. He started to charge across the

deck at Garth, but his own feet went out from under him and he landed flat on his nose.

There were waves of fire chasing each other around his body and his stomach was trying to turn

itself inside out. As instantaneously as it had come, the pain left him. You left him weak and

quivering and John Andrew Farmer lay on his back waiting for his strength to seep back.

This episode is brought to you by Spreaker, the platform responsible for a rapidly spreading

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well more microphones. Start your show today at spreaker.com. Spreaker, because if you're going to

talk to yourself for an hour, you might as well publish it. As a red haze drifted from before his

eyes, he realized that the launch had acquired another occupant. In appearance, she could easily

have been Garth's sister or his wife. Her figure was leaked and nicely curved. Her scale stopped

in eye-catching points just above her distinctly mammalian bosom. From there on up, she looked almost

completely human. She wasn't wearing anything either. The overall effect was oddly beautiful,

farmer blushed, hardly, and tried to keep his eyes on her face. Not that it made any difference to

her. She ignored everyone and everything but the fishman. Blaring at him angrily, she snapped out

his name in an icy voice. Garth? Thor? Garth was a changed fishman. He looked faintly frightened,

moderately worried, and definitely embarrassed. This passed and he started to smile in a placating

manner. Garth? Thor snapped again. She followed it up this time with a string of intricate,

foreign sounding words that even farmer could tell were hot and stinging.

The fishman backed away. He seemed to be growing angry himself now under the whiplashing woman's

tongue. Finally, he spoke in English. He called door a puddle snake. That wasn't all of what he

said by any means. The name was preceded by several adjectives and followed by an obscene command.

Door blocked slightly. Oh, yes, she said. Her voice dripping danger. I can speak this language too,

you know. I learned it years ago before the gate to this world was closed. And let me tell you

something else. She told him something else. John Andrew blushed furiously again and covered his

ears with his hands. Little Ray was on his feet, trying to get a word in edgewise, but not succeeding

at all. He too started to get angry. Farmer hauled himself upright hoping to approach Ray,

calm him, and get him to figure a way out of this madhouse. Garth yelled at

exploitative and gestured with his hand. A wave of pure heat swept over the boat, blistering

what paint it still boasted. The blow had been directed at door, and she showed that she had absorbed

most of it by wilting visibly. But Farmer felt as much of it as he wanted. It was as if a blast

furnace had suddenly opened beside him. He wondered how uncarkable he could get. A deadly silence

to send it. John Andrew was losing that he could swim when door smiles, and he began to be

interested in living again in spite of himself. The girl he thought was somehow radiant,

really lovely, in spite of her scales and feelings. He was peculiar. He had never liked women

at all, and had certainly never thought he had like a mermaid, but anyway he decided he wasn't going

to take sides if the two aliens were going to fight it out. His first interest was in saving his

own hide, his second in getting back to shore to give warning of the invasion. As for door,

John Andrew had lived this long without going to the aid of a damsel in distress. Without in fact

ever seeing one that he could remember, who wasn't obviously more capable of helping herself

than he was. He wasn't going to start rescuing Fair Maidens now, even if she needed rescuing.

Still there was something awfully attracting, dam, but he was confused.

Door smiled didn't really last that long. Farmer's thoughts were going fast now somehow.

He had finished those just described before door said, all right Garf, fun, spun. Now let's kiss

and make up. After all, it's illegal for us to be here. Not only our own cops, but the galactic

federation would be on our necks if they knew. Let's see if we can close up the gate ourselves,

or if this needs to be reported, and then let's go home. Garf grinned. Whatever you saved my dear,

he dipped an eyebrow in a wink. Behind door, the nonopus served sluggishly, extended a tentacle,

opened a claw, and nipped door neatly on the behind. She screeched.

There was an explosion in Farmer's brain. This was too much. Garf had gone too far. The

Burtley-Editor plunged across the desk, swinging a fist. To his surprise, Garf did nothing to stop him,

probably. John Andrew figured later. The fisherman expected no further trouble from the humans after

the treatment they had had. Farmer's handmaker connected. Garf stagged across the deck until he

brought up against the rail, holding his jaw and shaking his head musily. Farmer braced himself

for retaliation, hoping it would be something less than a bolt of barb lighting. But Garf remained

unpredictable. He mumble something that wasn't, oh the hell with it, but sounded like it,

and softly and silently slid overboard. He disappeared underwater with scarcely a ripple.

Good door said briskly. Now I'll just, she strode directly to raise invention.

And Farmer wondered why both aliens were so interested in a gadget that didn't work.

Door wasted no time. She bent over, picked up the machine, yanking wiring loose

carelessly, straightened up, turned a beaming smile on Farmer, and Ray said goodbye and headed

for the rail. Ray Yelped. He started after her, but his progress in the diving suit was

waddling and slow. She reached the rail first and went over. Ray was not too far behind,

and he slammed his helmet down angrily as he reached the rail. Farmer galvanized belatedly

gave chase as well. Door was picking her way slowly down the stone steps. The machine cradled

under her arm. Ray climbed up on the rail, posed there for a second, then attempted a swan dive.

John Andrew yelled at him as he arched forward, but it was too late. The old man dropped like a stone,

flapping his arms, bounced slightly on the top step, then slid forward down several more

steps on his face plate. Door hesitated. Her head just above water. She looked at the limp,

diving suited body beside her, then back at the launch and Farmer. Again, she came to a decision

quickly. Vending, leaving a trail of bubbles as her head went under, she set the judges' invention

down on a lower step and picked up the judge instead. Cradling him in her arm, she started back

up again, calling to Farmer to be ready to take her burden aboard. They got him on board to vote

with little difficulty, and John Andrew laid him on the deck as door spraying leasely over the rail

again, showing interest in the little fellas' condition. The diving helmet came off easily,

not having been properly passing down at all. Farmer bent anxiously over the judge looking for

signs of life. The diving suit had shipped some water, and the judge had gotten a nasty crack

on the head, but he was a tough bozo. There was no blood. His breathing seemed almost normal,

and he already showed signs of returning consciousness.

John Andrew turned to door. Well, I should thank you for bringing him back, I guess, he muttered,

but now that you're with us again, he shot out a big paw and grabbed her by the wrist.

How about explaining some of this? He was very gentle with the wrist. He didn't want to hurt her.

He was wondering already, in fact, what had made him get so rough at all, but she didn't seem to mind.

I've got to go quickly, she told him. I think Garth will be all right now,

but he may take a notion to come. This episode is brought to you by Spreaker, the platform

responsible for a rapidly spreading condition known as podcast brain. Symptoms include buying microphones

you don't need, explaining our SS feeds to confused relatives, and saying things like,

sorry, I can't talk right now, I'm editing audio. If this sounds familiar, you're probably already

a podcaster. The good news is, Spreaker makes the whole process simple. You record your show,

uploaded once, and Spreaker distributes it everywhere people listen. Apple podcasts, Spotify,

and about a dozen apps your cousins swears are the next big thing. Even better,

Spreaker helps you monetize your show with ads, meaning your podcast might someday pay for

well more microphones. Start your show today at spreaker.com. Spreaker, because if you're going to

talk to yourself for an hour, you might as well publish it. I'm back and I have to see that the

gate is closed before. What gate? Get back where? Farmer managed to put more curiosity than

impatient into his tone. Back to my own planet, Tam Divar, Sun No Gore, member of the Galactic

Federation, she said patiently. The gate is a matter transmitter between my world and yours.

It was once in constant use, but my government closed it when you people got to the point where you

were running around in submarines using depth bombs and just noticing our aircraft too much.

Somehow what popped into Farmer's head was a course of an old song he had sung in voice camp

when very young. There's a hole in the bottom of the sea. There's a log in the hole. Your machine

reactivated the gate from the side, even if that isn't what you designed it to do. Door went on.

It's a good thing I noticed the gate was open. Of course the area affected is enlarged. It includes

those steps and a lot of water around them. The gate will stay open now until it's closed from

our side, but I'll have to take your outfit back and destroy it anyway. Our cops would be tough

with you if they found you operating the thing, and Federation security men would be even tougher.

Take it as a warning. Don't do it again. She turned to go, but Farmer held on.

Watch this about a Galactic Federation, and if they banned all communication with Earth,

why haven't they just blasted the planet out of existence and gotten rid of it?

Of course, I know we're thoroughly uncivilized, too unwarlike for any other race to trust in all

that. I can see how Earth might be considered the plague spot of the universe. Door got and saw

that he was very serious. Then she threw back her head and laughed at Mary Laugh. Listen,

Frans, she said at last. The only real trouble with you Earth people is that you have a tremendous

inferiority complex, collectively and individually. As you've just illustrated, yet over that,

and you'll eliminate most of your trouble. As for the Federation, they let us in,

and most member racists have wars occasionally. They'll undoubtedly accept you once you develop

space travel. Just at the moment, of course, you're at a crossroads. You could jump in either direction,

blowing yourself up or taking the big step into space. I think you'll turn out okay,

but not everybody agrees, and the Federation can't take even small chances.

So you can't be allowed to set off your atom bombs, or worse, where they might get through to another

planet. We can't actually interfere with you, so we close the gates. That's all. John Andrew's

thinking it over said, oh, and let go of her wrist. She turned and went back to the rail again,

after flashing him the most debuts smile so far. Farmer came out of a philosophic haze to notice

she was leaving. He said, hey, she looked over her shoulder. Farmer didn't know what to say,

but he wanted to delay her. Finally, he pointed to the nonapace and said, what about that monster?

You're not going to leave it here. She laughed again. Oh, the robot. It'll follow me. It's designed to

owe damn. The damn was for something she saw in the water as she looked back over the rail again.

John Andrew russed her side and looked as she got set for a dive. Garfie saw Meetley had returned and

was picking up the judges' invention. Put that down door's yell was high pitched. Garf faced

them, and Farmer could just make out his lazy contempt to smile through the murky water.

The feast band raised his arm in one of the now familiar gestures. The boat heaved,

wallowed, and sank. Farmer thought desperately again that he couldn't swim, and then he thought

wildly of the judge who hadn't regained full consciousness. He went under once and came up

choking and sputtering. He decided his ended come, and he didn't even know the identity of the

enemy who had done him in. He was ironic. He should have asked door to tell him more about Garf.

Was he a traitor or a tammed avarian gangster or what? John Andrew gasp and started sinking again.

To find himself hauled out of the water unsurmoniously by the scruff as his neck. As he rose,

Ropey tentacles twined around him, and he saw water saved him. He was being cradled gently but

firmly by the nonopus, which had judged right in another set of tentacles. In a nonopus it became

apparent was not only a water creature, it could also fly. Garf paddled idly around doors

apartment, pretending interest in the shell paintings that decorated the walls. He had presented her

at bouquet, in which rare blossoms hid slimy smelly weeds, and she was soar at him, again.

As he finished her conversation and switched off the two-way radio, he turned to her.

Door, he said softly. She looked at him hotly. Don't speak to me, she said.

I told you you'd have to stop your irresponsible practical joking and settle down. Some hard work

wouldn't hurt you even if you did inherit a fortune. I don't mind so much when you pull those

stunts on me, but when I think of how you practically drowned those poor defenseless earth creatures.

His mouth twisted, poor defenseless earth creatures. How was I to know they couldn't swim?

Just imagine, beings that live on a world with almost as much water as ours who can't use their

natural abilities any more than that. It's ridiculous. I never saw such morons. The big ugly one

especially. He had intended that to sting and it did. Door raised her nose another night.

I think he's cute, and I'm learning he's pretty intelligent too. He catches on fast to everything

I tell him. He and his little friend will have their spaceship finish soon now, and that's another

thing Garth snapped, keeping her on the defensive. Maybe I violated security by going to earth,

wouldn't they accidentally open the gate? But what are you doing? What would the fed say if they

knew you were giving out information? The earth men hadn't acquired by themselves, helping them

get into space. What about that? Door shrugged. I'm not telling them anything really, just dropping a

few hints of the most elementary sort. Things they'd have figured out soon anyway, and things they

still have to work hard to make practicable. Even if some of the adventures they've worked out so far,

haven't able to make enough money to live on nicely after all. Those things are the mere's toys

to us. What could it possibly matter? Garth considered. This bifing was, as usual, getting them

exactly nowhere. He gave up. All right, dear, he said. You win, you're right. Of course, and I'm wrong.

I only hope you don't bother so much with talking to that earth slug on the radio after we're married.

Door laughed, they tinkly laughed, and came into his waiting arms. Darlings seek food.

What a thing to say. I actually believe you're jealous, and you know I only love you.

Which wasn't strictly true. The big earth man was cute, she thought, and it was quaint of him to

be in love with her, and to tell her so every day over the radio belt into the robot nonopus.

Of course, he was inferior to her in every way, and she wouldn't think of marrying him or anything

like that, but even his inferiority was interesting in a way. Yes, it was nice to know he loved

her, and she loved him too, like an amusing baby brother. This concludes the reading of Star

Way to the Stars by Larry Shaw.