II

"There's no one here," said the robot blocking the door.

"We'll wait." Amantha tried to go inside. The robot wouldn't move.

It was dark and windy and, from the steps, they could see lights of

houses glowing around them. Not many--it was near the edge of the little

town. Farther away, over the hill, the ship nestled safely in a valley.

No one had seen them land. They were sure of it.

Ethan removed his hat and his bent shoulders straightened. He seemed to

grow taller.

"Rain," he said in awe. "Thirty years and yet I haven't forgotten what

it's like."

"It's wet, that's what it's like," said Amantha. "Robot, let us in or

I'll have Ethan take a wrench to you. He loves to tinker."

"I can't be threatened. My sole concern is the welfare of my charge.

Also, I'm too large for any human to hurt me."

"Damnation, I'm soppin'!" complained Ethan. "It's better to remember the

rain than to be in it."

"Wait till my son Jimmy gets back. He'll be ravin'. Makin' us stay out

here and get soaked."

"Son? Is the Jimmy you refer to Pilot James Huntley?"

"Ex-pilot."

"Correct. But he's not at home. He took his wife to the hospital half an

hour ago."

"So soon?" gasped Amantha. "Thought I taught him better than that. Women

have got to rest between kids."

"It's not another child," said the robot with disinterest. "It has to do

with one of the ills flesh is heir to and machines are not. Nothing

serious."

Ethan fidgeted, turning up his collar. Water began flowing from the

eaves. "Stop arguin' and let us in. Jimmy will turn off your juice when

he finds you've kept his folks outside."

"Folks? He has none here. A mother and father living happily on Mars.

They died quite recently, lost in space and plunging into the Sun."

"Make up your mind," Amantha said peevishly. "We ain't on Mars, we

weren't happy and we didn't get lost and plunge into the Sun."

"I merely repeat--in sequence--the information I'm given or overhear. If

it's inconsistent, so are humans. I'm used to it."

"'Mantha, they think we're dead," said Ethan. He wiped a raindrop away.

"Poor Jimmy!"

A thin wail came from a crack in the door. The robot's eyes shone

briefly, then dimmed.

"What's that?" asked Amantha. "Sounds like a baby. Thought you said no

one was home."

"No responsible adult. Only a child. Because of that, I can admit no one

except the parents--or a doctor if I decide one is needed." The robot

whirred and drew itself up. "He's absolutely safe. I'm a Sitta."

"You sure are. Now get out of my way before I jab you. The kid's

crying."

"He is, but it's no concern of yours. I'm better acquainted with infant

behavior than any human can be. The pathetic sob merely means that the

child wants attention. I was given no instructions to hold him."

* * * * *

Again the child cried. "Who needs to be told?" demanded Amantha. "Nobody

gives grandmothers instructions."

"He's got a grandfather to cuddle him," added Ethan. "How far do you

think we came to do it?"

"And he's not cryin' because he wants attention. Something's stickin'

him and he's hungry. Don't you think a grandmother would know?"

"There's nothing that can stick him, but if, by accident, something

sharp had gotten in his bed and if he were also hungry, he would sound

like this." The Sitta hunched down and swiveled its head, giving an

imitation. "You see? I do nothing but watch babies. It's built into me."

Inside the house, the child's tone changed, became querulous, listening.

Interrogatively, it offered a single yowl.

"My analysis was correct. It wanted attention. The parents left so

hurriedly, they forgot to give me permission. When I didn't come to

investigate, the child stop--"

The wail burst forth with renewed vigor.

The robot rotated its head and the alert look flashed on and off. It

stuttered, "I know w-what I'm doing. But I--I can tell only what has

happened to my charge, n-never what _will_!" The Sitta rumbled

bewilderedly. "Anticipation is beyond my capacity. The child _is_ hurt

and hungry. Please come in and help me."

Triumphantly, Amantha followed the robot into the house toward the

nursery. She whispered to Ethan, "Sittas ain't smart. I reckon he never

heard a bunch of babies together. If one cries, they all do."

The Sitta barred the path. "You seem sincere and are obviously an

expert. But before you go in, understand this--attempt no harm to the

being in there. I'm linked."

"You'll be unlinked if you don't stop acting balky," warned Amantha. She

ducked under his arm and darted toward the crib.

"By linked, I mean that if anything happens that I require aid to

handle, an alarm rings in Sittas Circle and help is on the way.

Meanwhile, I can put out fires or carry him unharmed through concrete

walls."

"Go ahead, run through a wall," invited Amantha abstractly, snatching up

the child. "The darling's wet, too. Fetch me a diaper."

The robot fetched at her command. And when the child was quiet, even

cooing, but with a sharp undertone of protest, Amantha settled back.

"Now we've got to feed him."

"They didn't give me special instructions and I can't originate. If you

hadn't come, I'd have had to contact a doctor."

Amantha handed the child to Ethan. "You hold him." She went into the

kitchen.

Ethan tossed the child up. "Here we go," he bellowed. "Free fall. Got to

start early to make a spaceman out of you." The Sitta stared at them,

puzzled, as the infant shrieked with fear or joy. "Now if only Jimmy was

here to see us," said Ethan, grinning proudly.

Jimmy didn't come back soon enough. The police arrived first.

* * * * *

Ethan wandered to the window. The ground was far below. He didn't want

to think of what was outside the door.

"Don't mind jail myself--been in a few." He looked at Amantha. "Just for

raising hell. Never thought I'd be responsible for putting _you_ behind

bars."

[Illustration]

"It wasn't you," said Amantha, her back straightening. "Curious about it

myself." Wisps of hair straggled over her face. "I mean why didn't we

think of it on Mars? Didn't we know what they'd do?"

"I guess we didn't." Ethan cracked his knuckles contemplatively. "Did it

occur to you?"

"No. I can't understand." She frowned, but it didn't help clarify what

she was thinking about.

"We're criminals," said Ethan soberly. "Thieves."

"I don't mind for us. Jail's not much worse than the home for Retired

Citizens. It's our grandson I'm thinking of."

"Don't worry. They won't do a thing to him." His eyes widened and he

wiped off the sweat. "Oh. I see what you mean."

"Jailbirds," said Amantha. "We'll still be in here when he grows up.

It's a fine way to help your kin. They'll never trust him with us in his

family."

"Jailbirds," repeated Ethan mournfully. By some magic, his face cracked

along the wrinkles and broke into a smile. "But once we flew," he

whispered to himself.

The door opened and an official of some sort came in. Outside, Ethan

caught a brief glimpse of guards.

Marlowe, chief training director of space pilots for Interplanet

Transport, Inc., walked in silence across the room and eased tiredly

into a chair behind the desk. He'd gotten the news late at night, having

been the first one contacted. The ship that had been lost had showed up

in the atmosphere. There couldn't be a mistake. No other flight was

scheduled for months.

"Follow it," he had ordered and the trackers had kept it on the screen,

flashing a message to the police as soon as they located where it

landed. It was logical that it should go where it did, but he didn't

think that anything about this flight was susceptible to a rational

approach.

Marlowe's eyelids felt lined with sand, but that was as nothing compared

to his mental irritation. The two oldsters were dead and the ship was

vaporized in the Sun. But, of course, it wasn't true and he had to

figure out why.

Others would be here to help him unravel the mystery, from Demarest on

down. Meanwhile, he was first. There was a lesson to learn if he could

figure out what it was. Damn these senile incompetents.

"Ethan and Amantha Huntley?" he asked. They didn't fit in with his

preconceived picture.

"You the judge?" said Ethan. "I demand to see a lawyer. We've got our

rights."

"Why don't you let our son in?" Amantha protested. "I know he's been

dying to see us. You can't keep us locked up like this."

"Please! I've just come from a consultation with your son. You'll see

him soon. As for being detained, you've been well treated. Most of the

time, doctors have been examining you. Isn't that true?"

"What's that got to do with it?" challenged Ethan. "Never been sick a

day in my life. Sure, my back hurts, and now and then my knees swell up.

But it's nothing. We didn't ask for a doctor. Got our own on Mars. Young

fellow, fifty or sixty."

* * * * *

Facts contradicted each other. They were what Marlowe expected and yet

they weren't. It was hard to determine. Records showed that if the old

couple were not actually senile incompetents, they were close to it. Now

that they'd returned the ship in good condition, legal action against

them would be dangerous. Everyone had grandparents and knew that they

were sometimes foolish. It was a spot to get out of as gracefully as the

company could.

It was as training director for Interplanet Transport, however, that he

was interested in them.

"You were in space for nearly four months," he said. "Few people take

that much exposure to radiation at one time. We had to determine the

state of your health. The evaluation isn't complete, but I think we can

say you're in no immediate danger."

Did they understand? It was doubtful. No one else would have stolen the

ship and attempted to bring it to Earth. But, damn it, they had done so,

landing the ship on the outskirts of the little town, unobserved in the

gathering storm.

The facts were painfully fresh in his mind.

"I'd like to know something of your background," said Marlowe. "What's

your experience with spaceships?"

"Went to Venus in one," Ethan answered. "Also took a trip to Mars.

Stayed there."

The old man had haunted the control compartment, watching how it was

done. Some people did. But that was not a substitute for experience.

"That was long ago and you were a passenger. Anything more recent?"

"Nope. Except for this last trip."

That was what didn't make sense.

"Are you sure? Be honest. Check your memory."

The old man had once piloted jets. But it was not the same.

"No other experience," said Ethan. "Had training, though."

Marlowe knew it. Without training, no one could manage takeoff and

landing. Somehow, the official search had failed to uncover this vital

information. "Where did you take it?"

"Forget the name. Remember every word of it, though."

Marlowe nodded. It was often the case. Early memories were fresh and

clear while later events blew over the enfeebled mind and left no trace.

"But you didn't tell me where."

"Don't remember that part of it. It was a mighty good course. Wasn't

accepted, even though I passed, after paying for my lessons in advance.

They said I was too old."

Air lodged in his throat--Marlowe doubled over. If he'd heard

rightly.... Good God, there were angels and correspondence courses that

watched over the aged! No--give the credit to angels.

"I realized I wasn't as spry as I used to be," continued Ethan

seriously. "Can't shoot off a planet or slam down on one the way your

pilots do. We were at the far end of the field, quite a ways off.

Everybody was busy with the pilot who was running around. They were

trying to help him.

"Guess they didn't see us. They'd have laughed if they did. We went up

slow, kind of wobbly. But we got off."

* * * * *

The old man was beaming, proud of it. He didn't know it wasn't skill but

the built-in safety factor, all the stabilizing mechanisms coming into

play at once. Demarest, the chief of construction, had seen to it that

the ships were well designed. Marlowe would have to commend him when he

got here.

A thought occurred to the training director. If the stabilizing

mechanisms were there, why not use them always? Of course, it wasn't

that simple. Interplanetary ship stabilizers weren't effective at high

speed.

Another thought crowded in. Why such high speed? That was something over

which there was no choice. The protective atmosphere had to be left

swiftly. The speed was added to at every opportunity. It was possible to

slow down only at the last moment. Otherwise....

Otherwise what?

There was no escape from the conclusion--otherwise heredity was altered

and mutations would result. Marlowe sat back. This was true without

exception. It was the biggest factor that controlled the conditions of

interplanetary flight. But--

_They'd had their children!_

Marlowe's pulse increased. As training director, he'd learned not to

leap at things that merely looked good. He had to examine them

carefully. But--well, it was a new approach, though he couldn't really

expect anything from it. There was more to a crew than a pilot, more to

space flight than one incredible lucky voyage, for angels took

vacations, too.

"You weren't on duty at all times," Marlowe pointed out. "Then there's

navigation."

"Don't sleep much," said Ethan. "Catnap once in a while." He thought it

over. "When I did sleep, 'Mantha helped out." He looked at her. "I'm not

the expert on navigation. You'd better ask her."

"_No!_" cried Marlowe.

"Why not? Just because I'm a woman?" Her eyes were bright.

"But who taught you navigation?"

Amantha sniffed. "Look here, young man, don't tell me what I can learn."

She closed her eyes and imagination carried her back to the ship. "Lots

of dials and gadgets--but I used to have near as many in my kitchen

before they said I was too old to cook. Anyway, you don't have to figure

it out on paper. If you look at things just right, you sort of know

where you are."

* * * * *

Amantha folded her hands. "First, you take a big handful of the Sun's

attraction and mix it with a bigger scoop of the gravitation of the

planet you happen to be on. For us, that was Mars. Then you add a pinch

of acceleration. That's what makes you rise. When you get out a ways,

you decrease Mars and add more Earth and another pinch of Sun, stirring

it around in your mind each day until it feels just right."