Untouched By Human Hands Part 6

He had to get closer.

Another Man came down the corridor. He looked sharply at Pid, started to speak, and then sprinted away.

Pid didn't know what was wrong, but he broke into a full sprint. The Displacer in his body pouch throbbed and pulsed, telling him he had almost reached the critical distance.

Suddenly a terrible doubt a.s.sailed his mind. All the expeditions had deserted! Every single Glom!

He slowed slightly.

Freedom of Shape...that was a strange notion. A disturbing notion.

And obviously a device of The Shapeless One, he told himself, and rushed on.

At the end of the corridor was a gigantic bolted door. Pid stared at it.

Footsteps hammered down the corridor, and Men were shouting.

What was wrong? How had they detected him? Quickly he examined himself and ran his fingers across his face.

He had forgotten to mold any features.

In despair he pulled at the door. He took the tiny Displacer out of his pouch, but the pulse beat wasn't quite strong enough. He had to get closer to the reactor.

He studied the door. There was a tiny crack running under it. Pid went quickly shapeless and flowed under, barely squeezing the Displacer through.

Inside the room he found another bolt on the inside of the door. He jammed it into place, and looked around for something to prop against the door.

It was a tiny room. On one side was a lead door, leading toward the reactor. There was a small window on another side, and that was all.

Pid looked at the Displacer. The pulse beat was right. At last he was close enough. Here the Displacer could work, drawing and altering the energy from the reactor. All he had to do was activate it But they had all deserted, every one of them.

Pid hesitated. All Glom are bom Shapeless. That was true. Glom children were amorphous, until old enough to be instructed in the caste-shape of their ancestors. But Freedom of Shape?

Pid considered the possibilities. To be able to take on any shape he wanted, without interference! On this paradise planet he could fulfill any ambition, become anything, do anything.

Nor would he be lonely. There were other Glom here as well, enjoying the benefits of Freedom of Shape.

The Men were beginning to break down the door. Pid was still uncertain.

What should he do? Freedom....

But not for him, he thought bitterly. It was easy enough to be a Hunter or a Thinker. But he was a Pilot. Piloting was his life and love. How could he do that here?

Of course, the Men had s.h.i.+ps. He could turn into a Man, find a s.h.i.+p....

Never. Easy enough to become a Tree or a Dog. He could never pa.s.s successfully as a Man.

The door was beginning to splinter from repeated blows.

Pid walked to the window to take a last look at the planet before activating the Displacer.

He looked-and almost collapsed from shock.

It was really true! He hadn't fully understood what Ger had meant when he said that there were species on this planet to satisfy every need. Every need! Even his!

Here he could satisfy a longing of the Pilot Caste that went even deeper than Piloting.

He looked again, then smashed the Displacer to the floor. The door burst open, and in the same instant he flung himself through the window.

The Men raced to the window and stared out. But they were unable to understand what they saw.

There was only a great white bird out there, flapping awkwardly but with increasing strength, trying to overtake a flight of birds in the distance.

THE IMPACTED MAN.

TO: CENTER.

Office 41 ATTN: Controller Miglese FROM: Contractor Carienomen SUB J: ATTALA Metagalaxy Dear Controller Miglese: This is to inform you that I have completed contract 13371A. In the region of s.p.a.ce coded ATTALA I have constructed one metagalaxy, incorporating 549 billion galaxies, with the normal distribution of star cl.u.s.ters, variables, novae, et cetera. See attached data sheet.

The outer limits of ATTALA metagalaxy are defined in the accompanying map.

Speaking for myself, as chief designer, and for my company, I am confident that we have done a sound construction job, as well as a work of great artistic merit.

We welcome your inspection.

Having fulfilled the terms of our contract, the agreed-upon fee is payable at any time.

Respectfully,

Carienomen

Enclosed: 1 data sheet, installations 1 map of metagalaxy ATTALA TO: Construction Headquarters 334132, Extension 12 ATTN: Chief Designer, Carienomen FROM: a.s.st. Controller Miglese SUB J: ATTALA Metagalaxy Dear Carienomen: We have inspected your construction, and have held up your fee accordingly. Artistic! I suppose it's artistic. But haven't you forgotten our prime concern in construction work?

Consistency, just to remind you.

Our inspectors discovered large amounts of unexplained data occurring even around the metagalactic center, a region one would think you would build with care. That can't go on. Luckily, the region is unpopulated.

And that's not all. Would you care to explain your spatial phenomena? What in chaos is this red s.h.i.+ft you've built in? I've read your explanation of it, and it doesn't make any sense to me. How will planetary observers take it?

Artistry is no excuse.

Furthermore, what kinds of atoms are you using? Carienomen, are you trying to save money with shoddy materials? A good percentage of those atoms were unstable! They break down at the touch of a finger, or even without the touch of a finger. Couldn't you figure out any other way of lighting your suns?

Enclosed is a data sheet, outlining the findings of our inspectors. No payment until they're cleared up.

And there is another serious matter, just brought to my attention. Evidently you weren't watching too closely for stresses and strains in your spatial fabric. We have detected a time-flaw near the periphery of one of your galaxies. It is small, at present, but it could grow. I suggest that you take care of it at once, before you have to rebuild a galaxy or two.

One of the inhabitants of a planet impinging on the flaw is impacted already; wedged into the flaw, due entirely to your carelessness. I suggest that you correct this before he moves out of his normal time-sequence, creating paradoxes right and left.

Get in touch with him, if need be.

Also, I have word of unexplained phenomena on some of your planets; items such as flying pigs, moving mountains, ghosts, and others, all enumerated in the complaint sheet.

We won't have this sort of thing, Carienomen. A paradox is strictly forbidden in the created galaxies, since a paradox is the inevitable forerunner of chaos.

Take care of that impaction at once. I don't know whether the impacted individual realizes it yet.

Miglese Enclosed: 1 complaint sheet Kay Masrin folded the last blouse into the suitcase, and, with her husband's a.s.sistance, closed it.

"That's that," Jack Masrin said, hefting the bulging case. "Say good-by to the old homestead." They looked around at the furnished room where they had spent their last year.

"Good-by, homestead," Kay said. "Let's not miss the train."

"Plenty of time." Masrin started to the door. "Shall we say good-by to Happy Boy?" They had given Mr. Harf, their landlord, that nickname because he smiled, once a month, when they handed him the rent. Of course, he immediately reshaped his mouth to its usual prim line.

"Let's not," Kay said, smoothing out her tailored suit. "He just might wish us luck, and what would happen then?"

"You're perfectly right," Masrin said. "No use starting a new life with Happy Boy's blessings. I'd rather have the Witch of Endor curse me."

With Kay following him, Masrin walked to the head of the stairs. He looked down at the first floor landing, started to take the first step, and stopped abruptly.

"What's wrong?" Kay asked.

"Have we forgotten anything?" Masrin asked, frowning.

"I checked all the drawers and under the bed. Come on, we'll be late."

Masrin looked down the stairs again. Something was bothering him. He searched quickly for the source of the trouble. Of course, they had practically no money. But that had never worried him in the past. He did have a teaching job, finally, even if it was in Iowa. That was the important thing, after a year of working in a bookstore. Everything was going right. Why should he be worried?

He took a step down, and stopped again. The feeling was stronger. There was something he shouldn't do. He glanced back at Kay.

"Do you hate leaving that much?" Kay asked. "Let's go, or Happy Boy'll charge us another month's rent. Which, for some strange reason, we haven't got."

Still Masrin hesitated. Kay pushed past him and trotted downstairs.

"See?" she said from the first floor landing. "It's easy. Come on. Walk to Mummy."

Masrin mumbled a few subdued curses and started down the stairs. The feeling became stronger.

He reached the eighth step, and- He was standing on a gra.s.sy plain. The transition was as sudden as that.

He gasped and blinked. The suitcase was still in his hand. But where was the brownstone? Where was Kay? Where, for that matter, was New York?

In the distance was a small blue mountain. There was a clump of trees nearby. In front of the clump were a dozen or so men.

Masrin was in a dreamlike state of shock. He observed, almost idly, that the men were short, swarthy, thickly muscled. They wore loin cloths, and carried beautifully carved and polished clubs.

They were watching him, and Masrin decided it was a tossup, who was the most surprised.

Then one of them grunted something, and they started moving toward him.

A club bounced off his suitcase.

The shock dissolved. Masrin turned, dropped the suitcase and ran like a greyhound. A club whacked his spine, nearly knocking him over. He was facing a little hill, and he bounded up it, arrows showering around him.

A few feet up, he realized that he was back in New York.

He was at the top of the stairs, still in full stride, and before he could stop himself he had run into the wall. Kay was on the first floor landing, looking up. She gasped when she saw him, but didn't say anything.

Masrin looked at the familiar murky mauve walls of the brownstone, and at his wife.

No savages.

"What happened?" Kay whispered, white-faced, coming up the stairs.

"What did you see?" Masrin asked. He didn't have a chance to feel the full impact of what had happened. Ideas were pouring into his head, theories, conclusions.

Kay hesitated, gnawing at her lower lip. "You walked down a couple of steps and then you were gone. I couldn't see you anymore. I just stood there and looked and looked. And then I heard a noise, and you were back on the stairs. Running."

They walked back to their room and opened the door. Kay sat down at once on the bed. Masrin walked around, catching his breath. Ideas were still pouring in, and he was having trouble sifting them.

"You won't believe me," he said.

"Oh won't I? Try me!"

He told her about the savages.

"You could tell me you were on Mars," Kay said. "I'd believe you. I saw you disappear!"

"My suitcase!" Masrin said suddenly, remembering that he had dropped it.

"Forget the suitcase," Kay said.

"I have to go back for it," Masrin said.

"No!"

"I must. Look, dear, it's pretty obvious what happened. I walked through some sort of time-flaw, which sent me back to the past. I must have landed in prehistoric times, to judge by the welcoming committee I met. I have to go back for that suitcase."

"Why?" Kay asked.