room?”
At the head of the long conference table, Hilton studied his fourteen department heads,
all husky young men, and their assistants, all surprisingly attractive and well-built young
women. Bud Carroll and Sylvia Bannister of Sociology sat together. He was almost as
big as Karns; she was a green-eyed redhead whose five-ten and one-fifty would have
looked big except for the arrangement thereof. There were Bernadine and Hermione
van der Moen, the leggy, breasty, platinum-blonde twins—both of whom were Cowper
medalists in physics. There was Etienne de Vaux, the mathematical wizard; and
Rebecca Eisenstein, the black-haired, flashing-eyed ex-infant prodigy theoretical
astronomer. There was Beverly Bell, who made mathematically impossible chemical
syntheses-who swam channels for days on end and computed planetary orbits in her
sleekly-coiffured head.
“First, we’ll have a get-together,” Hilton said. “Nothing recorded; just to get acquainted.
You all know that our fourteen departments cover science, from astronomy to zoology.”
He paused, again his eyes swept the group. Stella Wing, who would have been a
grand-opera star except for her drive to know everything about language. Theodora
(Teddy) Blake, who would prove gleefully that she was the world’s best model-but was
in fact the most brilliantly promising theoretician who had ever lived.
“No other force like this has ever been assembled,” Hilton went on. “In more ways than
one. Sawtelle wanted Jeffers to head this group, instead of me. Everybody thought he
would head it.”
“And Hilton wanted Eggleston and got me,” Sandra said. “That’s right. And quite a few
of you didn’t want to come at all, but were told by the Board to come or else.”
The group stirred. Eyes met eyes, and there were smiles.
“I myself think Jeffers should have had the job. I’ve never handled anything half this big
and I’ll need a lot of help. But I’m stuck with it and you’re stuck with me, so we’ll all take
it and like it. You’ve noticed, of course, the accent on youth. The Navy crew is normal,
except for the commanders being unusually young. But we aren’t. None of us is thirty
yet, and none of us has ever been married. You fellows look like a team of professional
athletes, and you girls-well, if I didn’t know better I’d say the Board had screened you
for the front row of the chorus instead of for a top-bracket brain-gang. How they found
so many of you I’ll never know.”
“Virile men and nubile women!” Etienne de Vaux leered enthusiastically. “Vive le
Board!”
“Nubile! Bravo, Tiny! Quelle delicatesse de nuance!” “Three rousing cheers for the
Board!”
“Keep still, you nitwits! Let me ask a question!” This came from one of the twins.
“Before you give us the deduction, Jarvis-or will it be an intuition or an induction or a . .
.”
“Or an inducement,” the other twin suggested, helpfully. “Not that you would need very
much of that.”
“You keep still, too, Miney. I’m asking, Sir Moderator, if I can give my deduction first?”
“Sure, Bernadine: go ahead.”
“They figured we’re going to get completely lost. Then we’ll jettison the Navy, hunt up a
planet of our own and start a race to end all human races. Or would you call this a see-
duction instead of a dee-duction?”
This produced a storm of whistles, cheers and jeers that it took several seconds to
quell.
“But seriously, Jarvis,” Bernadine went on. “We’ve all been wondering and it doesn’t
make sense. Have you any idea at all of what the Board actually did have in mind?”
“I believe that the Board selected for mental, not physical, qualities, for the ability to
handle anything unexpected or unusual that comes up, no matter what it is.”
“You think it wasn’t double-barreled?” asked Kincaid, the psychologist. He smiled
quizzically. “That all this virility and nubility and glamor is pure coincidence?”
“No,” Hilton said, with an almost imperceptible flick of an eyelid. “Coincidence is as
meaningless as paradox. I think they found out that-breaking freaks-the best minds are
in the best bodies.”
“Could be. The idea has been propounded before.”
“Now let’s get to work.” Hilton flipped the switch of the recorder. “Starting with you,
Sandy, each of you give a twominute boil-down. What you found and what you think.”
Something over an hour later the meeting adjured and Hilton and Sandra strolled
toward the control room.
“I don’t know whether you convinced Alexander Q. Kincaid or not, but you didn’t quite
convince me,” Sandra said.
“Nor him, either.”
“Oh?” Sandra’s eyebrows went up.
“No. He grabbed the out I offered him. I didn’t fool Teddy Blake or Temple Bells, either.
You four are all, though, I think.”
“Temple? You think she’s so smart?”
“I don’t think so, no. Don’t fool yourself, chick. Temple Bells looks and acts sweet and
innocent and virginal. Maybe-probably-she is. But she isn’t showing a fraction of the
stuff she’s really got. She’s heavy artillery, Sandy. And I mean heavy.”
“I think you’re slightly nuts there. But do you really believe that the Board was playing
Cupid?”
“Not trying, but doing. Cold-bloodedly and efficiently. Yes.”
“But it wouldn’t workl We aren’t going to get lost!” “We won’t need to. Propinquity will
do the work.”
“Phooie. You and me, for instance?” She stopped, put both hands on her hips, and
glared. “Why, I wouldn’t marry you if you…”
“I’ll tell the cockeyed world you won’t!” Hilton broke in. “Me marry a damned female
Ph.D.? Uh-uh. Mine will be a cuddly little brunette that thinks a slipstick is some kind of
lipstick and that an isotope’s something good to eat.”
“One like that copy of Murchison’s ‘Dark Lady’ that you keep under the glass on your
desk?” she sneered.
“Exactly . . .” He started to continue the battle, then shut himself off. “But listen, Sandy,
why should we get into a fight because we don’t want to marry each other? You’re doing
a swell job. I admire you tremendously for it and I like to work with you.”
“You’ve got a point there, Jarve, at that, and I’m one of the few who know what kind of
a job you’re doing, so I’ll relax.” She flashed him a gamin grin and they went on into the
control room.
It was too late in the day then to do any more exploring; but the next morning, early,
the Perseus lined out for the city of the humanoids.
Tula turned toward her fellows. Her eyes filled with a happily triumphant light and her
thought a lilting song. “I have been telling you from the first touch that it was the
Masters. It is the Masters! The Masters are returning to us Omans and their own home
world!”
“Captain Sawtelle,” Hilton said, “please land in the cradle below.”
“Land!” Sawtelle stormed. “On a planet like that? Not by . . .” He broke off and stared;
for now, on that cradle, there flamed out in screaming red the Perseus’ own
Navy-coded landing symbols!
“Your protest is recorded,” Hilton said. “Now, sir, land.” Fuming, Sawtelle landed.
Sandra looked pointedly at Hilton. “First contact is my dish, you know.”
“Not that I like it, but it is.” He turned to a burly youth with sun-bleached, crew-cut hair,
“Still safe, Frank?”
“Still abnormally low. Surprising no end, since all the rest of the planet is hotter than
the middle tail-race of hell.” “Okay, Sandy. Who will you want besides the top linguists?”
“Psych-both Alexa and Temple. And Teddy Blake. They’re over there. Tell them, will
you, while I buzz Teddy?” “Will do,” and Hilton stepped over to the two psychologists
and told them. Then, “I hope I’m not leading with my chin, Temple, but is that your real
first name or a professional?” “It’s real; it really is. My parents were romantics: dad says
they considered both ‘Golden’ and ‘Silver’!”
Not at all obviously, he studied her: the almost translucent, unblemished perfection of
her lightly tanned, old-ivory skin; the clear, calm, deep blueness of her eyes: the long,
thick mane of hair exactly the color of a field of dead-ripe wheat. “You know, I like it,” he
said then. “It fits you.” “I’m glad you said that, Doctor . . .”
“Not that, Temple. I’m not going to ‘Doctor’ you.”
“I’ll call you ‘boss’, then, like Stella does. Anyway, that lets me tell you that I like it
myself. I really think that it did something for me.”
“Something did something for you, that’s for sure. I’m mighty glad you’re aboard, and I
hope . . . here they come. Hi, Hark! Hi, Stella!”
“Hi, Jarve,” said Chief Linguist Harkins, and:
“Hi, boss-what’s holding us up?” asked the assistant, Stella Wing. She was about five
feet four. Her eyes were a tawny brown; her hair a flamboyant auburn mop. Perhaps it
owed a little of its spectacular refulgence to chemistry, Hilton thought, but not too much.
“Let us away! Let the lions roar and let the welkin ring!”
“Who’s been feeding you so much red meat, little squirt?” Hilton laughed and turned