The Early Asimov. Volume 1

by Isaac Asimov

  Later that month I also wrote a short story called “The Hazing,” intended for Pohl. I submitted it to him on February 24, and he rejected it at once. Eventually I submitted it to Thrilling Wonder Stories. They requested a revision, I obliged, and they accepted it on July 2 9, 1941.

  The Hazing

  The Campus of Arcturus University, on Arcturus’s second planet, Eron, is a dull place during mid-year vacations and, moreover, a hot one, so that Myron Tubal, sophomore, found life boring and uncomfortable. For the fifth time that day, he looked in at the Undergraduate Lounge in a desperate attempt at locating an acquaintance, and was at last gratified to behold Bill Sefan, a green-skinned youngster from Vega’s fifth planet.

  Sefan, like Tubal, had flunked Biosociology and was staying through vacation to study for a make-up exam. Things like that weave strong bonds between sophomore and sophomore.

  Tubal grunted a greeting, dropped his huge hairless body-he was a native of the Arcturian System itself-into the largest chair and said:

  “Have you seen the new freshmen yet?”

  “Already! It’s six weeks before the fall semester starts!”

  Tubal yawned. “These are a special breed of frosh. They’re the very first batch from the Solarian System-ten of them.”

  “Solarian System? You mean that new system that joined the Galactic Federation three-four years ago?”

  “That’s the one. Their world capital is called Earth, I think.”

  “Well, what about them?”

  “Nothing much. They’re just here, that’s all. Some of them have hair on the upper lip, and very silly it looks, too. Otherwise, they look like any of a dozen or so other breeds of Humanoids.”

  Itwas at this point that the door flew open and little Wri Forase ran in. He was from Deneb’s single planet, and the short, gray fuzz that covered his head and face bristled with agitation, while his large purple eyes gleamed excitedly.

  “Say,” he twittered breathlessly, “have you seen the Earthmen?”

  Sefan sighed. “Isn’t anyone ever going to change the subject? Tubal was just telling me about them.”

  “He was?” Forase seemed disappointed. “But-but did he tell you these were that abnormal race they made such a fuss over when the Solarian System entered the Federation?”

  “They looked all right to me,” said Tubal.

  “I’m not talking about them from the physical standpoint,” said the Denebian disgustedly. “It’s the mental aspect of the case. Psychology! That’s the stuff?” Forase was going to be a psychologist some day.

  “Oh, that! Well, what’s wrong with them?”

  “Their mob psychology as a race is all wrong,” babbled Forase. “Instead of becoming less emotional with numbers, as is the case with every other type of Humanoid known, they become more emotional! In groups, these Earthmen riot, panic, go crazy. The more there are, the worse it is. So help me, we even invented a new mathematical notation to handle the problem. Look!”

  He had his pocket-pad and stylus out in one rapid motion; but Tubal’s hand clamped down upon them before the stylus so much as made a mark.

  Tubal said, “Whoa! I’ve got a walloping lulu of an idea.”

  “Imagine!” murmured Sefan.

  Tubal ignored him. He smiled again, and his hand rubbed thoughtfully over his bald dome.

  “Listen,” he said, with sudden briskness. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

  Albert Williams, late of Earth, stirred in his sleep and became conscious of a prodding finger exploring the space between his second and third ribs. He opened his eyes, swiveled his head, stared stupidly; then gasped, shot upright, and reached for the light switch.

  “Don’t move,” said the shadowy figure beside his bed. There was a muted click, and the Earthman found himself centered in the pearly beam of a pocket Hash.

  He blinked and said, “Who the blasted devil are you?”

  “You are going to get out of bed,” replied the apparition stolidly. “Dress, and come with me.”

  Williams grinned savagely. “Try and make me.”

  There was no answer, but the Hash beam shifted slightly and fell upon the shadow’s other hand. It held a “neuronic whip,” that pleasant little weapon that paralyzes the vocal cords and twists nerves into so many knots of agony. Williams swallowed hard, and got out of bed.

  He dressed in silence, and then said:

  “All right, what do I do now?”

  The gleaming “whip” gestured, and the Earthman moved toward the door.

  “Just walk ahead,” said the unknown.

  Williams moved out of the room, along the silent corridor, and down eight stories without daring to look back. Out upon the campus he stopped, and felt metal probe the small of his back.

  “Do you know where Obel Hall is?”

  Williams, nodding, began walking. He walked past Obel Hall, turned right at University Avenue, and after half a mile stepped off the roads and past the trees. A spaceship hulked dimly in the darkness, with ports closely curtained and only a dim light showing where the airlock opened a crack.

  “Get in!” He was shoved up a flight of stairs and into a small room.

  He blinked, looked about him and counted aloud.

  “-seven, eight, nine, and I make ten. They’ve got us all, I guess.”

  “It’s no guess,” growled Eric Chamberlain sourly. “It’s a certainty.”

  He was rubbing his hand. “I’ve been here an hour.”

  “What’s wrong with the mitt?” asked Williams.

  “I sprained it on the jaw of the rat that brought me here. He’s as tough as a spaceship’s hull.”

  Williams seated himself cross-legged upon the floor and rested his head against the wall.

  “Has anyone any idea as to what this is all about?”

  “Kidnaping!” said little Joey Sweeney. His teeth were chattering.

  “What the devil for?” snorted Chamberlain. “If any of us are millionaires, I hadn’t heard of it. I know I’m not!”

  Williams said, “Look, let’s not go off the deep end. Kidnaping or anything of that sort is. out. These people can’t be criminals. It stands to reason that a civilization that has developed psychology to the extent this Galactic Federation has, would be able to wipe out crime without raising a sweat.”

  “Pirates,” grunted Lawrence Marsh. “I don’t think so, but it’s just a suggestion.”

  “Nuts!” said Williams. “Piracy is a frontier phenomenon. This region of space has been civilized for tens of millennia.”

  “Just the same, they had guns,” insisted Joe, “and I don’t like it.” He had left his glasses in his room and peered about in near-sighted anxiety.

  “That doesn’t mean much,” answered Williams. “Now, I’ve been thinking. Here we are-ten newly arrived freshmen at Arcturus u. On our first night here, we’re bundled mysteriously out of our rooms and into a strange spaceship. That suggests something to me. How about it?”

  Sidney Morton raised his head from his arms long enough to say sleepily:

  “I’ve thought of it, too. It looks like we’re in for one hell of a hazing. Gents, I think the local sophs are just having good, clean fun.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Williams. “Anyone have any other ideas?”

  Silence. “ All right, then, so there isn’t anything to do but wait. Personally, I’ve going to catch up on my sleep. They can wake me up if they need me.”

  There was a jar at that moment and he fell off balance. “Well, we’re off-wherever we’re going.”

  Moments later, Bill Sefan hesitated just an instant before entering the control room. When he finally did, it was to face a highly excited Wri Forase.

  “How is it working?” demanded the Denebian.

  “Rotten,” responded Sefan sourly. “If they’re panicked, then I’ve damned. They’re going to sleep.”

  “Asleep! All of them? But what were they saying?”

  “How do I know? They weren’t speaking
Galactic, and I can’t make head or tail out of their infernal foreign gibberish.”

  Forase threw his hands into the air in disgust.

  Tubal spoke finally. “Listen, Forase, I’m cutting a class in Biosoc.-which I can’t afford. You guaranteed the psychology of this stunt. If it turns out to be a flop, I’m not going to like it.”

  “Well, for the love of Deneb,” grated Forase desperately, “you two are a fine pair of yellow-bellies! Did you expect them to start screaming and kicking right off? Sizzling Arcturus I Wait till we get to the Spican System, will you? When we maroon them overnight-”

  He tittered suddenly. “This is going to be the fanciest trick since they tied those stink-bats to the chromatic organ on Concert Night.”

  Tubal cracked a grin, but Sefan leaned back in his chair and remarked thoughtfully.

  “What if someone-say, President Wynn-hears about this?”

  The Arcturian at the controls shrugged. “It’s only a hazing. They’ll “go easy.

  “Don’t play dumb, M. T. This isn’t kid stuff. Planet Four, Spica-the whole Spican System, in fact-is banned to Galactic ships, and you know that. It’s got a sub-Humanoid race on it. They’re supposed to develop entirely free of interference until they discover interstellar travel on their own. That’s the law, and they’re strict about it. Space! If they find out about this, we’ll be in the soup for fair.”

  Tubal turned in his seat. “How in Arcturus do you expect Prexy Wynn-damn his thick hide!-to find out about us? Now, mind you, I’m not saying the story won’t spread around the campus, because half the fun will be killed if we have to keep it to ourselves. But how will names come out? No one will squeal. You know that.”

  “Okay,” said Sefan, and shrugged.

  And then Tubal said, “Ready for hyper-space!”

  He compressed keys and there was the queer internal wrench that marked the ship’s departure from normal space.

  The ten Earthmen were rather the worse for wear, and looked it. Lawrence Marsh squinted at his watch again.

  “Two-thirty,” he said. “That’s thirty-six hours now. I wish they’d get this over with.”

  “This isn’t a hazing,” moaned Sweeney. “It takes too long.”

  Williams grew red. “What do you all look half-dead about? They’ve been feeding us regularly, haven’t they? They haven’t tied us up, have they? I should say it was pretty evident that they were taking good care of us.”

  “Or,” came Sidney Morton’s discontented drawl, “fattening us up for the slaughter.”

  He paused, and everyone stiffened. There was no mistaking the queer internal wrench they had felt.

  “Get that!” said Eric Chamberlain in sudden frenzy. “We’re back in normal space again, and that means we’re only an hour or two from wherever we’re going. We’ve got to do something!”

  “Hear, hear,” Williams snorted. “But what?”

  “There are ten of us, aren’t there?” shouted Chamberlain, puffing out his chest. “Well, I’ve only seen one of them so far. Next time he comes in, and we’ve got another meal due us pretty soon, we’re going to mob him.”

  Sweeney looked sick. “What about the neuronic whip he always carries?”

  “It won’t kill us. He can’t get us all before we pin him down, anyway.”

  “Eric,” said Williams bluntly, “you’re a fool.”

  Chamberlain flushed and his stub-fingered fists closed slowly.

  “I’m just in the mood for a little practice persuasion. Call me that again, will you?”

  “Sit down!” Williams scarcely bothered to look up. “ And don’t work so hard justifying my epithet. All of us are nervous and keyed-up, but that doesn’t mean we ought to go altogether crazy. Not yet, anyway. First of all, even discounting the whip, mobbing our jailer won’t be particularly successful.

  “We’ve only seen one, but that one is from the Arcturian System. He’s better than seven feet tall, and comfortably past the three-hundred-pound mark. He’d mop us up-all ten of us-with his bare fists. I thought you had one run-in with him already, Eric.”

  There was a thickish silence.

  Williams added, “ And even if we could knock him out and finish as many others as there may be in the ship, we still haven’t the slightest idea where we are or how to get back or even how to run the ship.” A pause. Then, “Well?”

  “Nuts!” Chamberlain turned away, and glowered in silence.

  The door kicked open and the giant Arcturian entered. With one hand, he emptied the bag he carried, and with the other kept his neuronic whip carefully leveled.

  “Last meal,” he grunted.

  There was a general scramble for the rolling cans, still lukewarm from recent heating. Morton glared at his with disgust.

  “Say,” he spoke stumblingly in Galactic, “can’t you give us a change? I’m tired of this rotten goulash of yours. This is the fourth can!”

  “So what? It’s your last meal,” the Arcturian snapped, and left.

  A horrified paralysis prevailed.

  “What did he mean by that?” gulped someone huskily.

  “They’re going to kill us!” Sweeney was round-eyed, the thin edge of panic in his voice.

  Williams’ mouth was dry and he felt unreasoning anger grow against Sweeney’s contagious fright. He paused-the kid was only seventeen-and said huskily, “Stow it, will you? Let’s eat.”

  It was two hours later that he felt the shuddering jar that meant the landing and end of the journey. In that time, no one had spoken, but Williams could feel the pall of fear choke tighter with the minutes.

  Spica had dipped crimsonly below the horizon and there was a chill wind blowing. The ten Earthmen, huddled together miserably upon the rock-strewn hilltop, watched their captors sullenly. It was the huge Arcturian, Myron Tubal, that did the talking, while the green-skinned Vegan, Bill Sefan, and the fuzzy little Denebian, Wri Forase, remained placidly in the background.

  “You’ve got your fire,” said the Arcturian gruffly, “and there’s plenty of wood about to keep it going. That will keep the beasts away. We’ll leave you a pair of whips before we go, and those will do as protection, if any of the aborigines of the planet bother you. You will have to use your own wits as far as food, water and shelter are concerned.”

  He turned away. Chamberlain let loose with a sudden roar, and leaped after the departing Arcturian. He was sent reeling back with an effortless heave of the other’s arm.

  The lock closed after the three other-world men. Almost at once, the ship lifted off the ground and shot upward. Williams finally broke the chilled silence.

  “They’ve left the whips. I’ll take one and you can have the other, Eric.”

  One by one, the Earthmen dropped into a sitting position, back to the fire, frightened, half panicky.

  Williams forced a grin. “There’s plenty of game about-the region is well-wooded. Come on, now, there are ten of us and they’ve got to come back sometime. Let’s show them we Earthmen can take it. How about it, fellows?”

  He was talking aimlessly now. Morton said listlessly.

  “Why don’t you shut up? You’re not making this any easier.”

  Williams gave up. The pit of his own stomach was turning cold.

  The twilight blackened into night, and the circle of light about the fire contracted into a little flickering area that ended in shadows. Marsh gasped suddenly, and his eyes went wide.

  “There’s some-something coming!”

  The stir that followed froze itself into attitudes of breathless attention.

  “You’re crazy,” began Williams huskily-and stopped dead at the unmistakable, slithering sound that reached his ears.

  “Grab your whip!” he screamed to Chamberlain.

  Joey Sweeney laughed suddenly-a strained, high-pitched laugh.

  And then-there was a sudden shrieking in the air, and the shades charged down upon them.

  Things were happening elsewhere, too.

  Tubal’s ship laz
ed outward from Spica’s fourth planet, with Bin Sefan at the controls. Tubal himself was in his own cramped quarters, polishing off a huge flagon of Denebian liquor in two gulps.

  Wri Forase watched the operation sadly.

  “It cost twenty credits a bottle,” he said, “and I only have a few left.”

  “Well, don’t let me hog it,” said Tubal magnanimously, “Match me bottle for bottle. It’s all right with me.”

  “One swig like that,” grumbled the Denebian, “and r d be out till the Fall exams:’

  Tubal paid scant attention. “This,” he began, “is going to make campus history as the hazing stunt-”

  And at this point, there was a sharp, singing pinging ping-g-g-g, scarcely muffled by intervening walls, and the lights went out.

  Wri Forase felt himself pressed hard against the wall. He struggled for breath and stuttered out in gasps.

  “B-by Space, we’re at f-full acceleration! What’s wr-rong with the equalizer?”

  “Damn the equalizer!” roared Tubal, heaving to his feet. “What’s wrong with the ship?”

  He stumbled out the door, into the equally dark corridor, with Forase crawling after him. When they burst into the control room, they found Sefan surrounded by the dim emergency lights, his green skin shining with perspiration.

  “Meteor,” he croaked. “It played hob with our power distributors. It’s all going into acceleration. The lights, heating units and radio are all out of commission, while the ventilators are just barely limping.” He added, “And Section Four is punctured:’

  Tubal gazed about him wildly. “Idiot! Why didn’t you keep your eye on the mass indicator?”

  “I did, you overgrown lump of putty,” howled Sefan, “but it never registered! It-never-registered! Isn’t that just what you’d expect from a second-hand jalopy, rented for two hundred credits? It went through the screen as if it were empty ether.”

  “Shut up!” Tubal flung open the suit-compartments and groaned. “They’re all Arcturian models. I should have checked up. Can you handle one of these, Sefan?”

  “Maybe.” The Vegan scratched a doubtful ear.

  In five minutes, Tubal swung into the lock and Sefan, stumbling awkwardly, followed after. It was half an hour before they returned.