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Gan picked up the black cube that was the Receiving Station and looked at it somberly. Three generations before it had been thought impossible to manufacture one with all the required properties in a space less than twenty cubic yards. They had it now; it was the size of his fist.
Gan said, “The thought field of intelligent brain cells can only follow certain well-defined patterns. All living creatures, on whatever planet they develop, must possess a protein base and an oxygen-water chemistry. If their world is livable for them, it is livable for us.”
Theory, thought Gan on a deeper level, always theory. He went on, “This does not mean that the body you find yourself in, its mind and its emotions, may not be completely alien. So we have arranged for three methods of activating the Receiving Station. If you are strong-limbed, you need only exert five hundred pounds of pressure on any face of the cube. If you are delicate-limbed, you need only press a knob, which you can reach through this single opening in the cube. If you are no-limbed, if your host body is paralyzed or in any other way helpless, you can activate the Station by mental energy alone. Once the Station is activated, we will have two points of reference, not one, and the Race can be transferred to Planet X by ordinary teleportation.”
“That,” said Rois “will mean we will use electromagnet energy.”
“And so?”
“It will take us ten years to transfer.”
“We will not be aware of duration.”
“I realize that, sir, but it will mean the Station will remain on Planet X for ten years. What if it is destroyed in the meantime?”
“We have thought of that, too. We have thought of everything. Once the Station is activated, it will generate a para-mass field. It will move in the direction of gravitational attraction, sliding through ordinary matter, until such time as a continuous medium of relatively high density exerts sufficient friction to stop it. It will take twenty feet of rock to do that. Anything of lower density won't affect it. It will remain twenty feet underground for ten years, at which time a counterfield will bring it to the surface. Then one by one, the Race will appear.”
“In that case, why not make the activation of the Station automatic? It has so many automatic attributes already-”
“You haven't thought it through, Roi. We have. Not all spots on the surface of Planet X may be suitable. If the inhabitants are powerful and advanced, you may have to find an unobtrusive place for the Station. It won't do for us to appear in a city square. And you will have to be certain that the immediate environment is not dangerous in other ways.”
“What other ways, sir?”
“I don't know. The ancient records of the surface record many things we no longer understand. They don't explain because they took those items for granted, but we have been away from the surface for almost a hundred thousand generations and we are puzzled. Our Techs aren't even in agreement on the physical nature of stars, and that is something the records mention and discuss frequently. But what are “storms.”
“earthquakes,“ “volcanoes.”
“tornadoes.”
“sleet,” “landslides.”
“floods.”
“lightning,” and so on? These are all terms which refer to surface phenomena that are dangerous, but we don't know what they are. We don't know how to guard against them. Through your host's mind, you may be able to learn what is needful and take appropriate action.”
“How much time will I have, sir?”
“The Resonizer ca
“I'm ready,” said Roi.
Gan led the way to the clouded glass cabinet. Roi took his seat, arranged his limbs in the appropriate depressions. His vibrissae dipped in mercury for good contact.
Roi said, “What if I find myself in a body on the point of death?”
Gan said as he adjusted the controls, “The thought field is distorted when a person is near death. No normal thought field such as yours would be in resonance.” Roi said, ”And if it is on the point of accidental death?” Gan said, ”We have thought of that, too. We can't guard against it, but the chances of death following so quickly that you have no time to activate the Station mentally are estimated as less than one in twenty trillion, unless the mysterious surface dangers are more deadly than we expect… You have one minute.”
For some strange reason, Roi's last thought before translation was of Wenda,
Five
Laura awoke with a sudden start. What happened? She felt as though she had been jabbed with a pin.
The afternoon sun was shining in her face and its dazzle made her blink. She lowered the shade and simultaneously bent to look at Walter.
She was a little surprised to find his eyes open. This wasn't one of his waking periods. She looked at her wrist watch. No, it wasn't. And it was a good hour before feeding time, too. She followed the demand-feeding system or the “if-you-want-it-holler-and-you'll-get-it” routine, but ordinarily Walter followed the clock quite conscientiously.
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Hungry, duckie?”
Walter did not respond at all and Laura was disappointed. She would have liked to have him smile. Actually, she wanted him to laugh and throw his pudgy arms about her neck and nuzzle her and say, “Mommie,” but she knew he couldn't do any of that. But he could smile.
She put a light finger to his chin and tapped it a bit. “Goo-goo-goo-goo.” He always smiled when you did that
But he only blinked at her.
She said, “I hope he isn't sick.” She looked at Mrs. Ellis in distress.
Mrs. Ells put down a magazine. “Is anything wrong, my dear?”
“I don't know. Walter just lies there.”
“Poor little thing. He's tired, probably.”
“Shouldn't he be sleeping, then?”
“He's in strange surroundings. He's probably wondering what it's all about.”
She rose, stepped across the aisle, and leaned across Laura to bring her own face close to Walter's. “You're wondering what's going on, you tiny little snookums. Yes, you are. You're saying, ”Where's my nice little crib and all my nice little fu
Then she made little squeaking sounds at him.
Walter turned his eyes away from his mother and watched Mrs. Ellis somberly.
Mrs. Ellis straightened suddenly and looked pained. She put a hand to her head for a moment and murmured, “Goodness! The queerest pain.”
“Do you think he's hungry?” asked Laura.
“Lord,” said Mrs. Ellis, the trouble in her face fading, “they let you know when they're hungry soon enough. There's nothing wrong with him. I've had three children, my dear. I know.”
“I think I'll ask the stewardess to warm up another bottle.”
“Well, if it will make you feel better…”
The stewardess brought the bottle and Laura lifted Walter out of his bassinette. She said, “You have your bottle and then I'll change you and then-”
She adjusted his head in the crook of her elbow, leaned over to peck him quickly on the cheek, then cradled him close to her body as she brought the bottle to his lips-
Walter screamed!
His mouth yawned open, his arms pushed before him with his fingers spread wide, his whole body as stiff and hard as though in tetany, and he screamed. It rang through the whole compartment.
Laura screamed too. She dropped the bottle and it smashed whitely.
Mrs. Ellis jumped up. Half a dozen others did. Mr. Ellis snapped out of a light doze.
“What's the matter?” asked Mrs. Ellis blankly.
“I don't know. I don't know.” Laura was shaking Walter frantically, putting him over her shoulder, patting his back.