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Lieutenant Nelson, his first teacher, looking older than ever and frail.
The interview was distressing for both of them. The old man, childless himself, had cherished great
hopes for his protegé, even the ambition that he might eventually aspire to the captaincy, though he had
kept his vicarious ambition to himself, believing it not good for the young to praise them too highly. It had
hurt his heart when the youth was lost.
Now he had returned, a man, but under disgraceful conditions and under sentence of death. The
meeting was no less unhappy for Hugh. He had loved the old man, in his way, wanted to please him and
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needed his approval. But he could see, as he told his story, that Nelson was not capable of treating the
the story as anything but an aberration of Hugh's mind, and he suspected that Nelson would rather see
him meet a quick death in the Converter, his atoms smashed to hydrogen and giving up clean useful
power, than have him live to make a mock of the ancient teachings.
In that.he did the old man an injustice; he underrated Nelson's mercy, but not his devotion to
'science.' But let it be said for Hugh that, had there been no more at issue than his own personal welfare,
he might have preferred death to breaking the heart of his benefactor, being a romantic and more than a
bit foolish. Presently the old man got up to leave, the visit having grown unendurable to each of them. "Is
there anything I can do for you, son? Do they feed you well enough?"
"Quite well, thanks," Hugh lied.
"Is there anything else?"
"No ... yes, you might send me some tobacco. I haven't had a chew in a long time."
"I'll take care of it. Is there anyone you would like to see?"
"Why, I was under the impression that I was not permitted visitors ... ordinary visitors."
"You are right, but I think perhaps I may be able to get the rule relaxed. But you will have to give me
your promise not to speak of your heresy," he added anxiously. Hugh thought quickly. This was a new
aspect, a new possibility. His uncle? No, while they had always got along well, their minds did not meet;
they would greet each other as strangers. He had never made friends easily; Ertz had been his obvious
next friend and now look at the damned thing! Then he recalled his village chum, Alan Mahoney, with
whom he had played as a boy. True, he had seen practically nothing of him since the time he was
apprenticed to Nelson. Still... "Does Alan Mahoney still live in our village?"
"Why, yes."
"I'd like to see him, if he'll come."
Alan arrived, nervous, ill at ease, but plainly glad to see Hugh and very much upset to find him under
sentence to make the Trip. Hugh pounded him on the back. "Good boy," he said. "I knew you would
come."
"Of course, I would," protested Alan, "once I knew. But nobody in the village knew it. I don't think
even the Witnesses knew it."
"Well, you're here, that's what matters. Tell me about yourself. Have you married?"
"Huh, uh, no. Let's not waste time talking about me. Nothing ever happens to me anyhow. How in
Jordan's name did you get in this jam, Hugh?"
"I can't talk about that, Alan. I promised Lieutenant Nelson that I wouldn't."
"Well, what's a promise, that kind of a promise? You're in a jam, fellow."
"Don't I know it!"
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"Somebody have it in for you?"
"Well, our old pal Mort Tyler didn't help any; I think I can say that much."
Alan whistled and nodded his head slowly. "That explains a lot."
"How come? You know something?"
"Maybe, -- maybe not. After you went away he married Edris Baxter."
"So? Hmm-m-m ... yes, that clears up a lot." He remained silent for a time.
Presently Alan spoke up: "Look, Hugh. You're not going to sit here and take it, are you? Particularly
with Tyler mixed in it. We gotta get you outa here."
"How?"
"I don't know. Pull a raid, maybe. I guess I could get a few knives to rally round and help us; all good
boys, spoiling for a fight."
"Then, when it's over, we'd all be for the Converter. You, me, and your pals. No, it won't wash."
"But we've got to do something. We can't just sit here and wait for them to burn you."
"I know that." Hugh studied Alan's face. Was it a fair thing to ask? He went on, reassured by what he
had seen. "Listen. You would do anything you could to get me out of this, wouldn't you?"
"You know that." Alan's tone showed hurt.
"Very well, then. There is a dwarf named Bobo. I'll tell you how to find him..."
Alan climbed, up and up, higher than he had ever been since Hugh had led him, as a boy, into
foolhardy peril. He was older now, more conservative; he had no stomach for it. To the very real danger
of leaving the well-traveled lower levels was added his superstitious ignorance. But still he climbed.
This should be about the place, unless he had lost count. But he saw nothing of the dwarf Bobo saw
him first. A slingshot load caught Alan in the pit of the stomach, even as he was shouting, "Bobo!"
Bobo backed into Joe-Jim's compartment and dumped his load at the feet of the twins. "Fresh meat,"
he said proudly.
"So it is," agreed Jim indifferently. "Well, it's yours; take it away."
The dwarf dug a thumb into a twisted ear, "Funny," he said, "he knows Bobo's name."
Joe looked up from the book he was reading: _Browning's Collected Poems_, L-Press, New York,
London, Luna City, cr. 35. "That's interesting. Hold on a moment."
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Hugh had prepared Alan for the shock of Joe-Jim's appearance. In reasonably short order he
collected his wits sufficiently to be able to tell his tale. Joe-Jim listened to it without much comment, Bobo
with interest but little comprehension.
When Alan concluded, Jim remarked, "Well, you win, Joe. He didn't make it." Then, turning to Alan,
he added, "You can take Hoyland's place. Can you play checkers?"
Alan looked from one head to the other. "But you don't understand," he said. "Aren't you going to do
anything about it?"
Joe looked puzzled. "Us? Why should we?"
"But you've got to. Don't you see? He's depending on you. There's nobody else he can look to.
That's why I came. Don't you see?"
"Wait a moment," drawled Jim, "wait a moment. Keep your belt on. Supposing we did want to help
him, which we don't, how in Jordan's Ship could we? Answer me that."
"Why, why," Alan stumbled in the face of such stupidity. "Why, get up a rescue party, of course, and
go down and get him out!"
"Why should we get ourselves killed in a fight to rescue your friend?" Bobo pricked his ears. "Fight?"
he inquired eagerly. "No, Bobo," Joe denied. "No fight. Just talk." "Oh," said Bobo and returned to
passivity.
Alan looked at the dwarf. "If you'd even let Bobo and me--"
"No," Joe said shortly. "It's out of the question. Shut up about it."
Alan sat in a corner, hugging his knees in despair. If only he could get out of there. He could still try
to stir up some help down below. The dwarf seemed to be asleep, though it was difficult to be sure with
him. If only Joe-Jim would sleep, too.
Joe-Jim showed no indication of sleepiness. Joe tried to continue reading, but Jim interrupted him
from time to time. Alan could not hear what they were saying.
Presently Joe raised his voice. "Is that your idea of fun?" he demanded.
"Well," said Jim, "it beats checkers."
"It does, does it? Suppose you get a knife in your eye; where would I be then?"
"You're getting old, Joe. No juice in you any more."
"You're as old as I am."
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