The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

Frigate finally spoke up, asking the captain and Rider about their Terrestrial origins. Farrington said he’d been born in California, but he gave no birthdate or place. Rider said he’d been born in Pennsyl­vania in 1880. Yes, he had spent a lot of time, most of his life, in fact, in the West.

Frigate swore softly. He had thought the two looked familiar. However, they wore their hair longer than on Earth and the lack of Terrestrial clothes gave them a different appearance. What Rider needed was a big white ten-gallon hat and a flashy pseudo-Western coat and breeches and a pair of ornamented cowboy’s boots. And a horse to sit upon.

As a child, Frigate had seen him in just such garments and on a horse. That had been during a parade preceding a circus-Sells and Floto? Never mind. Frigate had stood with his father on Adams Street, just south of the courthouse, and waited eagerly for his favorite Western film hero to ride by. And so the hero had, but, being drunk, he had fallen off his horse. Unhurt, he had swung into the saddle again, riding off to the mingled laughter and cheers of the crowd. He must have sobered up after that, for he gave a great demonstration of riding and roping in the Wild West Show follow­ing the main events.

At that time, Frigate regarded drunkards as moral lepers and thus should have been completely disillusioned about Rider. But his worship of Rider was so intense that he was willing to forgive him. What a little prig he’d been!

Frigate was well acquainted with Farrington’s portrait since he’d seen it so many times in biographies and on the back of dust jackets. Frigate had begun reading his works at the age of ten, and when he was fifty-seven he had contributed a foreword to a collection of Farrington’s fantasies and science fiction,

For some reason, both his heroes were traveling under false names. He, Peter Frigate, was not going to expose them-not unless he had to. No, he wouldn’t do it even then, but if he were forced to threaten them with exposure, he would do so. He’d do almost anything to get aboard the Razlle Dazzle.

After a while, the Frisco Kid announced that he and Tex would now interview anyone who’d like to sign on as a deckhand. Two folding chairs were set up on the end of the dock, and the “employ­ment” line formed in front of the seated officers. Frigate im­mediately got into the line. Three men and a woman were ahead of him. This gave him a chance to listen to the questioning and to decide what he would tell his prospective employers.

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The Frisco Kid, sitting on a folding bamboo chair and smoking a cigarette, ran his eyes up and down Frigate.

“Peter Jairus Frigate, heh? American. Midwest. Right? You look strong enough, but what’s-your nautical experience?”

“Not much on Earth,” Peter said. “I used to sail a small boat on the Illinois River. But I’ve done a lot here. I sailed on a large single-masted catamaran for three years and I put in a year on a two-masted-schooner like yours.”

That was a lie. He’d only shipped on the two-master for three months. But that was enough for him to know, literally, the ropes.

“Hm. Did these ships make short local trips or were they on long voyages?”

“Long ones,” Frigate said. He was glad he hadn’t referred to the vessels as boats. Some sailors were very touchy about the distinc­tion between “boats” and “ships.” For Frigate, anything on a river was a boat. But Farrington was a seafaring man, even if there were no more seas.

“In those areas,” he added, “the wind was usually from up-River. So we were sailing close-hauled most of the time.”

“Yeah, anybody can sail with the wind,” Martin Farrington said.

” Why do you want to sign up?” Rider asked suddenly.

“Why? I’m fed up with life here. Rather, I’m dissatisfied with doing the same old thing day after day. I …”

“You know how it is on a ship,” Farrington said. “It’s cramped, and you spend most of your time with just a few people. And it’s pretty much the same old thing day after day.”