Wandering Stars

by Jack Dann (ed)

After a while Murray learned the planet’s oddities. Days were twenty-six hours long. The year was nearly a month shorter than on Earth. Planet C had no moons. Seasonal weather patterns became familiar. The various instructions for the feeding of livestock and the care of the field crops were inaccurate or incomplete in places; practical experiments complemented the information supplied by TECT. Sometimes Murray was lonely, of course; after the arrival of winter, with the snow piled around the house so deeply that he despaired of getting into the barn to feed the animals, he had the first real opportunity to ponder and to experience an initial tinge of sorrow. He went for walks across the snow-deadened prairie, staring at the new constellations that glowed in the moonless sky like fiery eyes in a fading dream. He liked to stand and look back toward the house; the lights and the fireplace blazing through the front windows gave him a sense of belonging that he had never felt at home with his parents. This was his world. He could name those eerie constellations, and no one could dispute him. He could travel the face of the world and name continents, oceans, deserts, ranges of mountains. He could raise cities to rival the choking metropolises of Earth....

  When he began to think like that, he always laughed. Out in the snow, his breath blowing out in quick clouds, Murray admitted his loneliness but was content nonetheless. He was building, and it gave him satisfaction. Even if Planet C never did have sprawling cities, it made no difference. Murray was happy. He felt an unshakeable unity with the world, a sort of faith in himself and in God’s eternal gifts; even here, circling Pasogh 1874, Grandpa Zalman’s simple ideals seemed to apply. Wherever he went in his immense realm, Murray felt the presence of Grandpa Zalman. And, eventually, Murray informed TECT that from then on Planet C would be known as Zalman.

  The winter passed slowly but enjoyably. Murray had followed the advice of TECT and stored food for himself and the livestock; there was no problem at all about running out of provisions. Fuel for the fire was not essential, as the house seemed to be receiving natural gas from some local supply. Murray had learned that the dried stalks of one of the food crops made excellent, slow-burning firewood, but he hadn’t been able to store enough for frequent fires. Next year he’d know better, but now he had to ration the fuel. That was a shame, because there was nothing he enjoyed more than building a fire in the living room fireplace and listening to music.

  Spring came, and with it an incredible amount of work. Alone, Murray had to prepare the fields for planting, seed the few acres, and maintain the young plants against the natural pests that lived in the high grass around the farm. Murray worked long days, glad of the extra hours of sunlight that Zalman’s slower rotation allowed him. Perhaps because he was laboring for himself alone, the work was never frustrating or tedious. At night, exhausted and aching, he was nevertheless satisfied. He knew that he could never have achieved that degree of fulfillment on Earth.

  In the middle of the summer Murray realized that he had been on Zalman for almost a year, and had thought very little about his parents. He wondered if somehow he could contact them. He asked the tect, and it suggested that Murray dictate a letter, which would be relayed to a public tect near Murray’s old home, and from there by messenger to Murray’s parents. He was glad to have the chance, but he was nervous, too. He wondered if his parents could understand how happy he was, how what had seemed like a strange and cruel punishment was really the reward the Representative had promised. He wondered if he could try to explain that without hurting their feelings. Finally, he addressed a short, noncommittal note to them; he never received a reply to it.

  The summer and then the autumn passed. It was time again to begin the harvest. Murray’s livestock had multiplied during the year, as well. He now had three large tubs of jellyanimals, each producing three or four gray lumps a day. He learned that the lumps could be stored unboiled for an indefinite length of time, and that after boiling they could be chopped and fed to the other animals; the livestock seemed to thrive with this addition to their diet. The draft animals, which Murray had named “stupes,” were large bearlike creatures with shaggy white coats. They had intelligent expressions, but three of them had almost starved before Murray realized that they were too stupid to look for their food beyond its normal place. He had rearranged the inside of the barn and moved the feeding troughs; the stupes had nearly died before they adjusted. Now there were six adult stupes and four helpless cubs. The TECT booklet said that they might be slaughtered for food, but Murray tended to doubt that. He preferred to delay that experiment, at least another year. The other animals were doing just as well; there were a dozen creatures that looked like squirrels the size of large dogs, which supplied Murray with a thin blue “milk”; there were scores of tiny things which Murray called “mice,” although they were more like lizards with fur, and which had an inscrutable but vital relationship with the stupes; there were several members of a trisexual species of flightless bird, which ate the unboiled gray lumps of the jellyanimals and regurgitated an ugly but nutritious porridge; and there were other animals, to all of which Murray had grown accustomed and even fond.

  The second winter began, raged, and passed. A new spring woke the land, and with it came the first communication from Earth in many months. Murray was astonished to see the red Advise light flashing when he came in for the evening meal. He hurried to read the message:

  **ROSE, Murray S.—ExtT—RepNA Dis9 Secl4 Loc58-NY-337

  M154-62-485-39Maj

  22:43:12 8Feb 469 YR RepGreet ReplReq**

  **ROSE, Murray S.:

  Notification of Majority. Waiver of CAS term (Details follow)**

  **ROSE, Murray S.:

  Congratulations! Today you are nineteen years old, and an adult citizen under the protection of the Representative of North America. We understand that as a resident of the planet Zalman, you may feel somewhat apart from the day-to-day affairs of your fellow citizens; but be assured that you are never long out of our thoughts. Now that you are officially an adult citizen, we are even more concerned for you and your future**

  **ROSE, Murray S.:

  Upon notification of the attainment of majority, a citizen of North America is usually presented with a list of alternative services under the CAS authority which he may choose to fulfill his civic responsibility. As this is physically impossible under the circumstances, and as we are happy to waive this duty as a further reward for your outstanding record, you are to consider this aspect of your citizenship satisfactorily discharged**

  **ROSE, Murray S.:

  Other facets of adulthood, about which you may have questions, will be discussed with you according to proper standards, modified by your special situation and the wishes of the Representative of North America**

  **ROSE, Murray S.:

  You are ordered to appear at the Hall of Adjustments at 12:00:00 on 15March 469 YR to be married. A TECT TELETRANS portal will be subceived for your convenience one hour before this deadline. It will appear not more than one hundred yards from your domicile, and indicated by a semicircle of red flares. Failure to comply will be considered Contempt of RepWish and Wilfull Neglect of PropFunc**

  **ROSE, Murray S.:

  Understanding of above to be indicated**

  **ROSE, Murray S.:

  Affirm?**

  “Yes,” said Murray, mystified and somewhat upset. “Query,” he said.

  **ROSE, Murray S.:

  ?**

  “Whom am I marrying?” he asked.

  **ROSE, Murray S.:

  STONE, Sharon F. RepNa Dis3 Sec5 Loc36-SD-848

  F293-49-272-63Maj **

  “Oh,” said Murray. Then he went into the kitchen to boil some gray lumps.

  Like the periodic Tests in school, like the seemingly arbitrary way in which Murray had been settled on Zalman, the order to appear and be married reflected the total control possessed by the Representatives. Early in his life Murray had learned not to try to comprehend their sometimes baffling commands; now, he had the spring planting to worry about. He g
ave no further thought to the situation until the day of his return to Earth.

  Murray knew that the subceiver would appear at eleven o’clock, RepNA time. He had to ask his tect what time that would be on Zalman; it was three o’clock in the morning. Murray sighed; he was glad the portal would be marked by flares. Still half asleep after the tect roused him according to his instructions, Murray hurried into his clothes and drank a quick cup of prairie grass tea. He wasn’t excited at all, not about returning to Earth or getting married. He checked his animals carefully, giving them a double ration of fodder in case he had to be away longer than he planned. Then he went out into the chilly darkness and walked toward the flares and the faintly glowing portal.

  He stepped through, into a long hallway of gray cinderblocks. There was a large green arrow fastened to the wall, and Murray followed it toward a green metal door at the end of the hall. He paused outside for a moment, then knocked. A voice from the other side called to him to enter.

  There were a couple of dozen chairs inside, most of them occupied by young men and women with anxious expressions. There was also a long line of couples leading up to a battered brown desk. The man behind the desk looked up from a form he was filling out and glanced at Murray. “Name?” he asked.

  “Murray. Murray Rose.”

  “Last name first, first name, middle initial,” said the exasperated clerk.

  “Oh. Rose, Murray S.”

  The clerk frowned. “All right. Let’s see, you’re with, uh, Stone, Sharon F. She’s not here yet. Take a seat. When she comes in, you can both get in this line.”

  Murray sat down and waited, feeling at last some nervous symptoms. While he waited, he examined the other people in the room. They all seemed to be bright young men and women; who could tell what roles the Representative had chosen for them? Murray wondered if he looked any different than they, if his two years of hard work on Zalman showed in his face, his hands, his bearing. Soon he noticed his eyes burning; the air in the room was obnoxiously foul. The dense gray clouds of smog outside the Hall would excite no nostalgic thrills in Murray. Neither would the crowded streets and the filthy sidewalks. Murray was shocked by his own reaction. After all, here he was after a long absence, once more on the planet of his birth; all he felt was an impatience to get it all over with and go home—back to Zalman.

  After about twenty minutes, the door opened and a young woman entered. The clerk shot his harried look at her and asked her name. “Stone,” she said. Murray watched her with more interest. This was the girl whom the Representative and TECT had picked to be his wife.

  “You’re with Rose, over there,” said the clerk. “The two of you get at the back of the line.”

  Murray stood and met her at the end of the line. He smiled hesitantly. “I’m Murray Rose,” he said.

  She sighed. “Hello,” she said. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, so they waited in silence. The marriage routine was very short, being merely a few questions concerning data updates, new addresses, future plans, and so on, and then the bride and groom’s presentation of positive identification.

  When they had satisfied the clerk’s impersonal curiosity, he waved them away. “Next,” he said wearily.

  “Is that all?” asked Murray later, as they searched for the way out of the building. “No official congratulations or anything?”

  “What do you want?” asked Sharon. “A national yontif?”

  “I don’t know,” said Murray. “I guess I’m more sentimental than I should be.”

  “So,” said Sharon, “we’re eppes married. How many kids do we want?” She laughed, and Murray looked at her, bewildered; then he laughed.

  “It is a little strange. What do we do now? You want to tell me all about yourself?”

  “No. We have years for that. Where do you live?”

  Murray paused briefly. “Well, see, it’s like this. I live on another planet.”

  Sharon stopped short. “What?” she cried.

  “I did pretty well in school. After the Twelfth-year Test they gave me this planet. I have a small farm. It’s a lot of work, but it’s very nice. I think you’ll like it.”

  “Nu! You’re Jewish, right?”

  Murray shrugged. “Sort of,” he said. “Nobody in my family really practiced at it.”

  “Still,” said Sharon bitterly. “That’s the way the Representatives work it, you know. If they find a smart Jew, they figure some way of getting him out of circulation. They’ve bought you out. You won’t make any trouble for them wherever it is you live.”

  “That’s politics,” said Murray. “I don’t believe in politics. At least, not on my wedding day.”

  “Yes, but I do,” said Sharon. “Man, they really pulled a good one this time. They took care of the both of us in one shot.”

  They walked some more, at last finding the door out of the Hall of Adjustments. “Where to?” asked Murray.

  “My folks live in San Diego,” said Sharon. “I don’t know anybody in this town.”

  “Maybe we could visit my parents. That would surprise them.”

  Murray’s parents were surprised. “I thought you were off on some weird star or something,” said his father.

  “I was brought back. The Representative ordered me. I got married this afternoon.”

  “Married!” cried Murray’s mother. “Is this her? Your wife, I mean?”

  “Yes; this is Sharon. Sharon, these are my parents.” The four of them talked for a while, and then Murray excused himself to go to sleep. As he left, his parents and Sharon were discussing plans for a wedding reception. Murray’s mother was already on the phone, calling relatives.

  It was evening when Murray awoke. Sharon and his parents were eating dinner. They greeted him when he came into the kitchen. “Sit down, son,” said Murray’s father. “I want to hear all about this place you live on.”

  “I sent you a letter a while ago,” said Murray. “Didn’t you ever get it?”

  “No,” said his mother. “But that’s the post office for you.”

  “I named the planet after Grandpa Zalman.”

  There was a long pause. “Oh,” said Murray’s father. “What do you do for a living these days?”

  Murray sighed. “I farm,” he said. “I have some fields and some livestock. It’s good, honest, hard work. I like it.”

  “What do you do the rest of the time?” asked his mother. “You don’t go into town and fool around, do you? Sharon, you’ll have to watch him, I know. He’s at that age now. You’ll see.” The two women exchanged smiles, and Murray’s father slapped his son’s shoulder.

  “There isn’t any town,” said Murray. “I’m the only one there.”

  “How far away are your neighbors, then?” asked his father.

  “No neighbors. I’m the only one on the whole world.”

  Murray’s mother frowned. “That’s stupid, Murray,” she said. Sharon said nothing, but carried her plate to the sink. There was another silence.

  “There’s going to be a party tomorrow, Murray,” said Sharon at last. “Your mother called all your old friends, too.”

  “Great,” he said. “I’ve been wondering what happened to them all.”

  The next afternoon Sharon, Murray, and his parents arrived at the Gutrune Kaemmer Jewish Community Center; the main hall was filling with Murray’s relatives and friends. It had been hastily decorated; a photographer from the local newstape took pictures, for Murray’s Test scores and his unique award had made him a celebrity in the neighborhood. Murray smiled and shook hands with everyone, and tried to introduce his new wife; he found to his dismay that he had trouble remembering the names of even some of the nearest relatives and closest friends. Finally, he was able to get away from the crowd with Billy Corman, his best friend from school, and Sharon.

  “Things have really changed,” said Corman.

  “I see already,” said Murray. “What happened to the big whatchamacallit—”

  “Mogen David,”
said Sharon quietly.

  “Yeah,” said Murray. “They used to have it hanging on the wall there. A big, heavy old stainless steel thing.”

  “I don’t know,” said Corman. “Some building inspector was checking on the wiring in the new wing, and decided they needed some kind of connections. I think they had to take down some of the paneling, right where the Star was. When the workmen left, they forgot to put it back. I guess the Center just never got around to it.”

  “Very shrewd,” said Sharon. “They must send those inspectors to special school to learn that kind of thing.”

  “Huh?” said Corman.

  “I think my bride here is a radical,” said Murray. “A paranoid radical.”

  Corman looked embarrassed. “Those are the worst kind,” he said, straining to make a joke. No one acknowledged it.

  Murray and Sharon said goodbye to the friends and relatives soon thereafter; they had to be back at the TELETRANS Substation by five o’clock that evening. Murray’s parents wished them luck, and Murray’s mother kissed Sharon and cried. Everyone shouted their farewells, and Murray escorted his wife from the Center; they got a cab almost immediately, went straight to the Substation, and soon had signed in at the TECT desk. The yawning attendant indicated the portal, and Murray stepped through. A few seconds later Sharon joined him in the gently waving grasses of Zalman. It was only a few hours after dawn on his planet.

  “For a sky, that’s a pretty strange color,” said Sharon. She was pushing the tall grass away from her, but the turquoise stalks swept back and brushed her face. She frowned in annoyance.

  “I guess you’ll have to get used to it,” said Murray. “I have. Come on; you can see the house. I want to check the livestock.”

  “What do you have?”

  “They’re not earth animals. You’ll have to be prepared.”

  “Look, Murray, this isn’t my idea. If I don’t feel up to playing the courageous chalutz, I won’t. Who knows? You may have gotten a real bad bargain. What if I go crazy?”

  “It’s really a good farm,” said Murray. “And now there won’t be as much work.”