“Yes, sir,” said Roberts, shaking hands. He introduced Hammell and Morrissey, and the colonel was just turning to lead them off, all one tight little group now, when three men standing to one side suddenly gave themselves a shake, and stepped forward.
“Hold it,” said one, wearing at his left lapel a small golden plow and still tinier letters that appeared to read “Tiens et” followed by something totally undecipherable. A second man, his branch of service indicated by a robed female figure holding a large ax, said angrily, “What’s this? You’re not trying to assign these men, are you?”
The third man, crossed spear and arrow at his lapel, said exasperatedly, “Listen, Val, we’ve got to question them. You can have them about two weeks from now.”
“Sorry, gentlemen,” said the colonel. “Why didn’t you mention this sooner?”
“Sooner? We were right here when they got out of the ship!”
“I can’t help that. They’re already in Operation New Vote.”
“Sorry. We’re assigning them to quarters on call for the next three weeks.”
“They’ve already freely agreed to go with me on Operation New Vote.”
“That’s preliminary, not final. Ted, get the project controller.”
The colonel said with icy politeness, “The project controller has already assigned them to Operation New Vote.”
“It’s not final till published in the Assigned List.”
“Oh, I imagine by now that’s taken care of.”
“Check it, Ted.”
The officer with the small golden plow at his lapel had slipped a little green and orange striped device from a belt case, and now held it to his lips. His lips moved, apparently without sound, and a moment later he glanced around. “Recruits Roberts, Hammell, and Morrissey are on the Assigned List for Operation New Vote.”
The officer with crossed spear and arrow at his lapel eyed the colonel as if he would like to cut him into small pieces and throw the pieces in a fish pond. The colonel smiled back cheerfully, glanced aside at his three recruits, and said, “Stay right with me, men.” He tossed back, over his shoulder, “You can take a memory simulation, if you want.”
“We will want. Listen, the Chief will—”
“The Chief has given me permission to draft anyone not already assigned. I’d avoid pointless antagonisms if I were you.”
The colonel moved away. After a moment, he turned to Roberts with a smile. “A shame, the way some officers will try to chain-gang new recruits into three weeks of interrogation and virtual house arrest, without anyone’s permission.”
“Yes, sir,” said Roberts blankly.
The colonel pulled open a door marked “Express” in glowing green letters, said “Operations Branch,” and motioned Roberts and the others to precede him.
Roberts stepped into the empty shaft, the gray walls blurred around him, seemed to wind, twist and bend, more and more rapidly, and then finally to change shape more slowly, until they came to a door marked with several numerals, and lettered “Operations.” This door came open, and they landed in a wide corridor.
The colonel said, “These men are recruits Roberts, Hammell, and Morrissey. They are to be allowed access to this floor, but for the time being can leave only with my permission.”
Roberts looked around, but there was no one there save themselves, the colonel, and the door. The door swung shut behind them, and as the colonel strode off, Roberts tried the door. The door wouldn’t budge.
Roberts glanced at Hammell and Morrissey, and the three men, frowning, followed the colonel up the corridor. The colonel stopped at a door numbered “14,” and opened it, to show a room with two sets of double bunks, one above the other, with four desks in pairs, back-to-back, their sides against the wall, and with four lockers against the wall. There were two more doors; one opened into a tiled lavatory, while the other held a round heavy glass porthole, through which shone what appeared to be bright sunlight.
The colonel said, “Captain Roberts, Recruits Hammell, Morrissey, and Bergen.”
Roberts glanced around. There was no one there but the colonel, standing in the doorway, making notes on a small pad. “All right, gentlemen,” said the colonel, “You’re free until 1800. At that time you will eat, in your room. At 1830 you will put on your uniforms, which you’ll find in your lockers. Don’t worry about the fit; they’ll be all right. You will then report to Room 18, just down the hall. There you will receive about an eight-hour orientation course; this will acquaint you with our methods, generally, and also with the specifics of Operation New Vote. You will then return here. Lights out at 2200.”
He nodded to them, stepped out, and shut the door.
Roberts, Hammell, and Morrissey stared after him.
VI
Hammell said exasperatedly, “Am I confused?”
Roberts tried the door, and it opened readily enough. The colonel was already out of sight. But now that Roberts had the door open, he noticed the list of names on the outside of the door, below the number “14”:
Captain Roberts
Recruit Hammell
Recruit Morrissey
Recruit Bergen
Morrissey was saying, in a wondering voice, “At a little after 1830, we report to Room 18. There we get an eight-hour orientation course. Then we come back here, and put our lights out by 2200. But, eight hours, starting at 1830, brings it to 0230 tomorrow.”
Hammell said exasperatedly, “Either he meant we’d get back after lights out, or else we’ve gotten into the Inter-stellar Patrol’s private Institution for Mentally Disadvantaged Persons.”
Roberts ran his hand lightly across the lettering on the door. It felt perfectly dry, and smooth, as if the lettering had been put on with a very thin quick-drying paint—or as if the letters were inset flush with the door.
Roberts cleared his throat. “Before we jump to conclusions, what was on this door when we walked into the room?”
“Just a number,” said Hammell. “The number 14, I think.”
“Take a look at it now.”
Hammell and Morrissey came over, looked at the door, felt of it, and glanced around wonderingly.
“There’s more to this place than meets the eye.”
Roberts walked to the far door, where sunlight appeared to shine through. He was looking out on a broad sandy beach. To his far right, blue water sparkled, while, close by, white foaming surf rushed far up the beach. To his left was a kind of open park, with occasional tall spreading trees, and roughly-cut grass. As he watched, a mower went by, floating perhaps three inches above the ground, the cut grass pouring out in a green fountain, to be dispersed by a brisk wind.
Hammell shut the corridor door and came over. “That’s an effective illusion.”
Morrissey said, “Why put it in a door? In a larger window-type frame, it would be refreshing. This is just tantalizing. You don’t see enough to enjoy it, yet you can’t actually go out, either.”
Roberts glanced around, and spotted a small clock on the wall. This told him that ship time was a little after two in the afternoon, or 1400. That left almost four hours until 1800. The colonel had said they were “free” until 1800. Free to do what? He glanced back at the door, then reached out.
“Brace yourselves,” he said. “When I pull the handle, that will probably work some switch that will show us a snow scene, or a waterfall, or a beautiful girl sitting on a rock with spray splashing around her.”
Hammell shrugged. “Go ahead. Obviously, there’s nothing there. We know they don’t have a beach and half an ocean inside the ship.”
Roberts snapped the handle back, and pulled sharply.
The door swung open.
Bright sunlight and sea air filled the room.
Just beyond the threshold was a very short open passage, a second high threshold, and dazzling sand.
They simultaneously started forward, and then simultaneously gripped each other. “Wait a minute. Maybe this is alsens. But if it’s some kind of 6-V, we don’t want to smash into the projector heads.”
Morrissey said, “If it’s alsens, the whole room must be part of it. We could see it from across the room.”
“With the door shut,” said Hammell. “That could be 3-V. Then the alsens goes on when you open it.”
Roberts glanced around, saw no warning sign, and felt his way forward. He stepped over the second threshold, groped around in the air, felt nothing but sunlight and a fresh breeze, stooped, felt the hot sand, and glanced back.
“Morrissey, get back out of range of this. How does it look?”
Morrissey backed until he was across the room. “It still looks the same.”
Roberts shook his head. “One way to find out.” He scooped up a handful of the hot sand, and stepped back inside.
The sand, red grains and yellow grains with separate flecks of black, was still there in his hand.
They looked at each other in astonishment.
Roberts tossed the sand back on the beach, looked around exasperatedly, and said, “Well, you know it isn’t real, and I know it isn’t real, but can you think of any better way to spend the time from now till 1800?”