Mary Ellen came back, a transparent shimmering wrap over her shoulders.
She was blonde and dazzling. "Where are we going? I'm so happy."
Marcus loosened his collar and sat down. "Dinner's off, except for you
two. Chloe and I have work to do. Mary Ellen, take Wilbur back to the
hotel for me. Watch after him."
"You want me to?" she asked despondently.
"I asked you to."
"Then I will." She arched her back, and it was a splendid arch. She
swirled around, pausing at the door. "Come on, brat," she snarled.
"Pa, I can get along--" said Wilbur. Marcus looked at him and he left
with Mary Ellen.
"We haven't much time," said Marcus when they were alone. "First we have
to write the request. I'll need your help."
Chloe took the cover off a small machine in the corner. She sat down and
turned toward him. "We have to emphasize anguish and suffering."
"Misery," suggested Marcus.
"Misery is a good strong word," she agreed. "It isn't used much lately.
You should have this acted on in hours instead of years."
"It will be nice," said Marcus. "I can't think of any name as bad as
Messy Row." Slowly he began to speak of the misery resulting from the
error. Making corrections as they went, Chloe typed it on the tape.
* * * * *
Marcus Mezzerow felt the weight of forty-three years roll away. He was
tired, but it was relaxed tiredness that comes with achievement. It had
been easy to walk into A-CELO and become part of the bustle and
confusion. It had even been easy to locate the master robot that
processed decisions on chart names. But the rest hadn't been easy even
with Chloe to guide and counsel him.
The master robot was one of the last things to be moved. It was located
deep in the sub-sub-basement, ordinarily inaccessible. It was a
ponderous contrivance, awkward to move and quite delicate. Truck robots
backed up to it and under it, lifting it up. Technicians and extra
workmen swiftly began disconnecting it from the building. Marcus was one
of those extra workmen and he did his job as well as the others. But he
didn't get an opportunity to insert his request in the machine.
Chloe sauntered past in shapeless work clothes, winking as she went by.
She attracted no attention because there were many women around. Marcus
got ready, moving to the front of the machine, feeling the spool in his
pocket. A technician stared suspiciously at him, but there wasn't
anything definite to object to.
Chloe leaned against the wall, moving the switch next to her with her
elbow. Immediately standby circuits cut in, but the flicker of lights
caused a commotion. The technician next to Marcus whirled, shouting at
Chloe who looked startled and tired. The tiredness was real.
[Illustration]
In the few free seconds he had, Marcus put the spool in the machine
close to the top. It jammed the remaining spools closer together, but
the machine was built to compensate for overloads. There should be no
trouble from this.
The spool itself was another thing Chloe had helped him with. Normally
requests were received on paper and had to be transcribed. She had
enabled him to bypass one stage altogether.
They worked on after the shouting episode. At the first rest break they
walked up to the street level, pausing in a dimly lighted hall to strip
off their outer work clothing which they disposed of. They were no
longer workmen. They were pedestrians who had passed by and wandered in
to see what was happening. They didn't belong in the building and were
told to leave, which they did.
And so it was late when Marcus entered the hotel. There was no one
around, for which he was thankful. He didn't feel like fending off women
at this hour of the morning. He went up and let himself in quietly.
Wilbur was asleep in the adjoining room and the door between them was
open. He closed it before turning on the light, which he adjusted to the
lowest level. Perhaps by this time the master chart robot was in a new
location, grinding out decisions. Messy Row was or soon would be a thing
of the past.
"Pa," Wilbur called as Marcus removed a shoe.
"Yes. I'm back. Go to sleep."
"Did you get it done?"
"It's finished. We're taking the next ship out."
"Tomorrow?"
"If there's one scheduled tomorrow."
"Before we say good-by?"
Marcus could hear the bed rustle as Wilbur sat up. "We'll send them a
note. Anyway they'll be on Mezzerow in a few months."
* * * * *
The door opened and Wilbur stood there, his face white and his eyes
round and serious. "But I gotta say good-by to Mary Ellen."
Marcus took off the other shoe. He should have known not to leave them
alone. His only excuse was that he had been thinking of other things. "I
thought you didn't like her," he said.
"Pa, that was because I thought she didn't like me," said Wilbur. "But
she does. I mean--" He leaned heavily against the doorway and his face
was long and sad.
Marcus smiled in the near darkness. The boy had been around girls so
seldom he didn't know how they behaved. He had mistaken a normal
reaction to the opposite sex for something more. Nevertheless it had
worked out nicely. Wilbur would not remember who it was that Mary Ellen
had really pursued. With the feverish egotism of youth he would retain
only the memory of the interest she'd shown in him. A kiss would haunt
him for years. "Am I to understand you made love to her?" he asked
sternly, amused at his own inaccuracy.
"Oh, Pa," said Wilbur. "I kissed her."
"These affairs pass away."
"I still gotta say good-by," said Wilbur.
"We'll see," said Marcus. Not if he could help it, would they. It would
be a terrible thing if, on parting, Mary Ellen would throw her arms
around him, ignoring Wilbur. She was too young to understand what it
might mean to someone even younger than herself. Marcus went to sleep
with the satisfaction of a man who is in full control of destiny.
In the morning there was no need for subterfuge. A ship was going near
Mezzerow. Not directly to it, the planet wasn't that important. But it
was merely a short local hop from one of the planets on the schedule.
Mezzerow. After all these years he could call it by the rightful name
without feeling provincial.
The excitement of the return trip shook Wilbur out of his preoccupation
with Mary Ellen. Marcus packed and had the luggage zipped to the space
port. He called Chloe and completed the financial arrangements and left
a message for her sister who was at work.
And then they were at the port, entering the ship. There was a short
wait before takeoff. They settled in the cabin and Wilbur promptly went
to sleep. Food, sleep, girls; it was all a young man had time for.
But Marcus couldn't rest though he was tired. He wanted to hear the
schedule announced. By this time the correction should have been made.
The rockets started, throbbing softly as the tubes warmed up. Wilbur
awakened with a start, sitting on the edge of the acceleration
diaphragm. "Do you think they'll announce it?" he asked.
"I think so," said Marcus. The Universe would know that it was Mezzerow.
The rockets throbbed higher; the cabin shook. Weren't they going to call
the schedule? The intercom in the cabin rasped.
They were. "Bessemer, Coarsegold," said the speaker.
"Get on the acceleration couch," said Marcus as he did so himself.
"Noreen, Cassalmont," the speaker droned. But now there was too much
interference from the rockets. The thrust pressed Marcus deep into the
flexible diaphragm. The announcer shouted, but the blood was roaring in
his ears.
Marcus felt himself sliding into the gray world of takeoff.
* * * * *
Then they were out among the stars and the sensation of great weight
rolled away. Marcus sat up.
"We didn't hear it," said Wilbur, swinging his legs.
"We didn't. But they announced it."
"I wish I'd heard," said Wilbur.
It was bothering Marcus, too. "The thing to do is to find out," he said.
They went into the corridor. The rockets were silent; the star drive had
taken over. The solar system was behind them, indistinguishable from the
other stars.
The pilot was busy and nodded his head, asking them to wait while he set
the controls. He flipped levers and after an interval turned around.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"We didn't hear the schedule," said Marcus. "The rockets were too loud."
The pilot smiled apologetically. "You know how it is--last minute
corrections on the charts. We had to wait until new ones were delivered,
just before takeoff."
The oppression that had been hovering near lifted a little. "I
understand," said Marcus. "Would you tell me if Mezzerow was one of the
corrections?"
The pilot turned to the list and ran his finger down the line. He looked
and looked again. "No Mezzerow here," he said.
The oppression had never been far away. It came back. "No Mezzerow?"
said Marcus bleakly.
"No, but I'll check." The pilot bent over the list. "Wait. Maybe this is
why I didn't see it. Take a look."
Marcus looked where the pilot was pointing. Above the fingernail, in
bold black letters, was the name.
MISERY ROW (Formerly Mezzerow--changed to avoid confusion with
a family name.)
"Thanks," said Marcus faintly. "That's what I wanted to know."
They went to the cabin in silence. Marcus closed his eyes but that
didn't shut out the new name. Nothing could.
"That's not as nice as it was," said Wilbur. "What do you suppose was
wrong?"
"I don't know," said Marcus. But he did know. Fourteen times, or was it
eleven, he had used one word. He had tried to overload the master robot
with emotion and he had succeeded.
He had given it one outstanding impression: Misery.
"What'll we do?" said Wilbur. "Go back and change it?"
"No," said Marcus. "We'll leave it as it is. When you grow up and take
my place, you can try your hand at it if you want."
Women would get there regardless of what it was called. Chloe would
realize what had happened and anyway he'd write. She'd see that they got
to the right place. And with women for the men who wanted to settle,
they'd get along.
Besides, there was the element of uncertainty. He had thought nothing
could be quite as bad as the old name ... until this. He shuddered to
think what the next change might be like.
"Will it be all right?" asked Wilbur anxiously.
"It has to be all right," said Marcus, his voice strong with
resignation. "We're going home to Misery Row."