that were the word) which had led him to believe that it might have some
specific function.
It was a pyramid of spheres, succeeding smaller spheres set on larger
spheres. Some fourteen inches tall, it was a graceful piece, with each of
the spheres a different color-and not just a color painted on, but each
color so deep and true that one knew instinctively the color was intrinsic
to each sphere, that the entire sphere, from the center of it out to the
surface, was all of its particular color.
There was nothing to indicate that any gluelike medium had been used to
mount the spheres and hold them in their places. It looked for all the world
as if someone had simply piled the spheres, one atop the other, and they had
stayed that way.
Holding it in his hands, he tried to recall who had given it to him,
but he had no memory of it.
The whistle of the message machine still was calling and there was work
to do. He could not sit here, he told himself, mooning the afternoon away.
He put the pyramid of spheres back on the table top, and rising, went across
the room.
The message said:
NO. 406,302 TO STATION 18327. NATIVE OF VEGA XXI ARRIVING AT 16532.82.
DEPARTURE INDETERMINATE. NO LUGGAGE. CABINET ONLY, LOCAL CONDITIONS.
CONFIRM.
Enoch felt a glow of happiness, looking at the message. It would be
good to have a Hazer once again. It had been a month or more since one had
passed through the station.
He could remember back to that first day he had ever met a Hazer, when
the five of them had come. It must have been, he thought, back in 1914 or
maybe 1915. World War I, which everyone then was calling the Great War, was
under way, he knew.
The Hazer would be arriving at about the same time as Ulysses and the
three of them could spend a pleasant evening. It was not too often that two
good friends ever visited here at once.
He stood a bit aghast at thinking of the Hazer as a friend, for more
than likely the being itself was one he had never met. But that made little
difference, for a Hazer, any Hazer, would turn out to be a friend.
He got the cabinet in position beneath a materializer unit and
double-checked to be sure that everything was exactly as it should be, then
went back to the message machine and sent off the confirmation.
And all the time his memory kept on nagging at him. Had it been 1914,
or perhaps a little later?
At the catalogue cabinet, he pulled out a drawer and found Vega XXI and
the first date listed was July 12, 1915. He found the record book on the
shelf and pulled it out and brought it to the desk. He leafed through it
rapidly until he found the date.
14
July 12, 1915-Arrived this afternoon (3:20 P.M.) five beings from Vega
XXI, the first of their kind to pass through this station. They are biped
and humanoid, and one gains the impression that they are not made of
flesh-that flesh would be too gross for the kind of things they are-but, of
course, they are made of flesh the same as anyone. They glow, not with a
visible light, but there is about them an aura that goes with them wherever
they may be.
They were, I gathered, a sexual unit, the five of them, although I am
not so certain I understand, for it is most confusing. They were happy and
friendly and they carried with them an air of faint amusement, not at
anything in particular, but at the universe itself, as if they might have
enjoyed some sort of cosmic and very private joke that was known to no one
else. They were on a holiday and were en route to a festival (although that
may not be the precise word for it) on another planet, where other life
forms were gathering for a week of carnival. Just how they had been invited
or why they had been invited I was unable to determine. It must surely have
been a great honor for them to be going there, but so far as I could see
they did not seem to think so, but took it as their right. They were very
happy and without a care and extremely self-assured and poised, but thinking
back on it, I would suppose that they are always that way. I found myself
just a little envious at not being able to be as carefree and gay as they
were, and trying to imagine how fresh life and the universe must seem to
them, and a little resentful that they could be, so unthinkingly, as happy
as they were.
I had, according to instructions, hung hammocks so that they could
rest, but they did not use them. They brought with them hampers that were
filled with food and drink and sat down at my table and began to talk and
feast. They asked me to sit with them and they chose two dishes and a
bottle, which they assured me would be safe for me to eat and drink, the
rest of their fare being somewhat doubtful for a metabolism such as mine.
The food was delicious and of a kind I had never tasted-one dish being
rather like the rarest and most delicate of old cheeses, and the other of a
sweetness that was heavenly. The drink was somewhat like the finest of
brandies, yellow in color and no heavier than water.
They asked me about myself and about my planet and they were courteous
and seemed genuinely interested and they were quick of understanding in the
things I told them. They told me they were headed for a planet the name of
which I had not heard before, and they talked among themselves, gaily and
happily, but in such a way that I did not seem to be left out. From their
talk I gained the fact that some form of art was being presented at the
festival on this planet. The art form was not alone of music or painting,
but was composed of sound and color and emotion and form and other qualities
for which there seem to be no words in the language of the Earth, and which
I do not entirely recognize, only gaining the very faintest inkling of what
they were talking of in this particular regard. I gained the impression of a
three-dimensional symphony, although this is not entirely the right
expression, which had been composed, not by a single being, but by a team of
beings. They talked of the art form enthusiastically and I seemed to
understand that it would last for not only several hours, but for days, and
that it was an experience rather than a listening or seeing and that the
spectators or audience did not merely sit and listen, but could, if they
wished, and must, to get the most out of it, be participants. But I could
not understand how they participated and felt I should not ask. They talked
of the people they would meet and when they had met them last and gossiped
considerably about them, although in kindly fashion, leaving the impression
that they and many other people went from planet to planet for some happy
purpose. But whether there was any purpose other than enjoyment in their
going, I could not determine. I gathered that there might be.
They spoke of other festivals and not all of them were concerned with
the one art form, but with other more specialized aspects of the arts, of
which I could gain no adequate idea. They seemed to find a great and
exuberant happiness in the festivals and it seemed to me that some certain
significances aside from the art itself contributed to that happiness. I did
not join in this part of their conversation, for, frankly, there was no
opportunity. I would have liked to ask some questions, but I had no chance.
I suppose that if I had, my questions must have sounded stupid to them, but
given the chance, that would not have bothered me too much. And yet in spite
of this, they managed somehow to make me feel I was included in their
conversation. There was no obvious attempt to do this, and yet they made me
feel I was one with them and not simply a station keeper they would spend a
short time with. At times they spoke briefly in the language of their
planet, which is one of the most beautiful I have ever heard, but for the
most part they conversed in the vernacular used by a number of the humanoid
races, a sort of pidgin language made up for convenience, and I suspect that
this was done out of courtesy to me, and a great courtesy it was. I believe