Astounding Science Fiction Stories: An Anthology of 350 Scifi Stories Volume 2 (Halcyon Classics)

by Various

  * * * * *

  When she awoke again, she thought of the conversation with Fred, and the feeling of desperation returned. I'll have to tell the Doctor all about it, she thought. I'll have to see what he can do. I know it's asking an awful lot, but without it, all the rest he has done for me won't count. Better to be dead than be different from what I was.

  But it wasn't necessary to tell the Doctor. Fred had spoken to him first.

  So Fred admits it's important too. He won't be able to deny any longer that I judged him correctly.

  The Doctor said, "What you are asking is impossible."

  "Impossible? You won't even try?"

  "My dear patient, the wrecked ship is hundreds of millions of miles behind us. The expedition has its appointed task. It cannot retrace its steps. It cannot waste time searching the emptiness of space for a stereo which may not even exist any longer."

  "Yes, you're right ... I'm sorry I asked, Doctor."

  He read either her mind or the hopelessness in her voice. He said, "Do not make any rash plans. You cannot carry them out, you know."

  "I'll find a way. Sooner or later I'll find a way to do something to myself."

  "You are being very foolish. I cannot cease to marvel at how foolish you are. Are many human beings like you, psychologically?"

  "I don't know, Doctor. I don't care. I know only what's important to me!"

  "But to make such a fuss about the merest trifle! The difference in appearance between one human being and another of the same sex, so far as we can see, is insignificant. You must learn to regard it in its true light."

  "You think it's insignificant because you don't know anything about men and women. To Fred and me, it's the difference between life and death."

  He said in exasperation, "You are a race of children. But sometimes even a child must be humored. I shall see what I can do."

  But what could he do? she asked herself. The ship was a derelict in space, and in it, floating between the stars, was the stereo he wouldn't make an attempt to find. Would he try to get a description from Fred? Even the best human artist couldn't produce much of a likeness from a mere verbal description. What could someone like the Doctor do--someone to whom all men looked alike, and all women?

  * * * * *

  As she lay there, thinking and wondering, she had only the vaguest idea of the passage of time. But slowly, as what must have been day followed day, she became aware of strange tingling sensations all over her body. The pains she had felt at first had slowly diminished and then vanished altogether. What she felt now was not pain at all. It was even mildly pleasant, as if some one were gently massaging her body, stretching her muscles, tugging at her--

  Suddenly she realized what it was: New limbs were growing. Her internal organs must have developed properly, and now the Doctor had gone ahead with the rest of his treatment.

  With the realization, tears began to roll down her cheeks. Tears, she thought, real tears--I can feel them. I'm getting arms and legs, and I can shed tears. But I still have no eyes.

  But maybe they're growing in.... From time to time I seem to see flashes of light. Maybe he's making them develop slowly, and he put the tear ducts in order first. I'll have to tell him that my eyes must be blue. Maybe I never was beautiful, but I always had pretty eyes. I don't want any different color. They wouldn't go with my face.

  The next time the Doctor spoke to her, she told him.

  "You may have your way," he said good-naturedly, as if humoring a child.

  "And, Doctor, about finding the ship again--"

  "Out of the question, as I told you. However, it will not be necessary." He paused, as if savoring what he had to tell her. "I checked with our records department. As might have been expected, they searched your shattered ship thoroughly, in the hope of finding information that might contribute to our understanding of your race. They have the stereos, about a dozen of them."

  "A dozen stereos? But I thought--"

  "In your excitement, you may have forgotten that there were more than one. All of them seem to be of yourself and your husband. However, they were obviously taken under a wide variety of conditions, and with a wide variety of equipment, for there are certain minor differences between them which even I, with my non-human vision, can detect. Perhaps you can tell us which one you prefer us to use as a model."

  She said slowly, "I had better talk about that with my husband. Can you have him brought in here, Doctor?"

  "Of course."

  * * * * *

  She lay there, thinking. A dozen stereos. And there was still only one that she remembered. Only a single one. They had posed for others, during the honeymoon and shortly after, but those had been left at home on Mars before they started on their trip.

  Fred's new voice said, "How are you feeling, dear?"

  "Strange. I seem to have new limbs growing in."

  "So do I. Guess we'll be our old selves pretty soon."

  "Will we?"

  She could imagine his forehead wrinkling at the intonation of her voice. "What do you mean, Margaret?"

  "Hasn't the Doctor told you? They have the stereos they found on our ship. Now they can model our new faces after our old."

  "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

  "But what do you want, Fred? I remember only a single one, and the Doctor says they found a dozen. And he says that my face differs from shot to shot."

  Fred was silent.

  "Are they as beautiful as all that, Fred?"

  "You don't understand, Margaret."

  "I understand only too well. I just want to know--were they taken before we were married or after?"

  "Before, of course. I haven't gone out with another girl since our wedding."

  "Thank you, dear." Her own new voice had venom in it, and she caught herself. I mustn't talk like that, she thought. I know Fred, I know his weakness. I knew them before I married him. I have to accept them and help him, not rant at him for them.

  He said, "They were just girls I knew casually. Good-looking, but nothing much otherwise. Not in a class with you."

  "Don't apologize." This time her voice was calm, even amused. "You couldn't help attracting them. Why didn't you tell me that you kept their pictures?"

  "I thought you'd be jealous."

  "Perhaps I would have been, but I'd have got over it. Anyway, Fred, is there any one of them you liked particularly?"

  * * * * *

  He became wary, she thought. His voice was expressionless as he said, "No. Why?"

  "Oh, I thought that perhaps you'd want the Doctor to make me look like her."

  "Don't be silly, Margaret! I don't want you to look like anybody but yourself. I don't want to see their empty faces ever again!"

  "But I thought--"

  "Tell the Doctor to keep the other stereos. Let him put them in one of his museums, with other dead things. They don't mean anything to me any more. They haven't meant anything for a long time. The only reason I didn't throw them away is because I forgot they were there and didn't think of it."

  "All right, Fred. I'll tell him to use our picture as a model."

  "The AC studio shot. The close-up. Make sure he uses the right one."

  "I'll see that there's no mistake."

  "When I think I might have to look at one of their mugs for the rest of my life, I get a cold sweat. Don't take any chances, Margaret. It's your face I want to see, and no one else's."

  "Yes, dear."

  I'll be plain, she thought, but I'll wear well. A background always wears well. Time can't hurt it much, because there's nothing there to hurt.

  There's one thing I overlooked, though. How old will we look? The Doctor is rather insensitive about human faces, and he might age us a bit. He mustn't do that. It'll be all right if he wants to make us a little younger, but not older. I'll have to warn him.

  She warned him, and again he seemed rather amused at her.

  "All right," he said, "you will appear slightly younger. Not too much s
o, however, for from my reading I judge it best for a human face to show not too great a discrepancy from the physiological age."

  She breathed a sigh of relief. It was settled now, all settled. Everything would be as before--perhaps just a little better. She and Fred could go back to their married life with the knowledge that they would be as happy as ever. Nothing exuberant, of course, but as happy as their own peculiar natures permitted. As happy as a plain and worried wife and a handsome husband could ever be.

  * * * * *

  Now that this had been decided, the days passed slowly. Her arms and legs grew, and her eyes too. She could feel the beginnings of fingers and toes, and on the sensitive optic nerve the flashes of light came with greater and greater frequency. There were slight pains from time to time, but they were pains she welcomed. They were the pains of growth, of return to normalcy.

  And then came the day when the Doctor said, "You have recovered. In another day, as you measure time, I shall remove your bandages."

  Tears welled up in her new eyes. "Doctor, I don't know how to thank you."

  "No thanks are needed. I have only done my work."

  "What will you do with us now?"

  "There is an old freighter of your people which we have found abandoned and adrift. We have repaired it and stocked it with food taken from your own ship. You will awaken inside the freighter and be able to reach your own people."

  "But won't I--can't I even get the chance to see you?"

  "That would be inadvisable. We have some perhaps peculiar ideas about keeping our nature secret. That is why we shall take care that you carry away nothing that we ourselves have made."

  "If I could only--well, even shake hands--do something--"

  "I have no hands."

  "No hands? But how could you--how can you--do such complicated things?"

  "I may not answer. I am sorry to leave you in a state of bewilderment, but I have no choice. Now, please, no more questions about me. Do you wish to talk to your husband for a time before you sleep again?"

  "Must I sleep? I feel so excited.... I want to get out of bed, tear off my bandages, and see what I look like!"

  "I take it that you are not anxious to speak to your husband yet."

  "I want to see myself first!"

  "You will have to wait. During your last sleep, your new muscles will be exercised, their tones and strength built up. You will receive a final medical examination. It is most important."

  She started to protest once more, but he stopped her. "Try to be calm. I can control your feelings with drugs, but it is better that you control yourself. You will be able to give vent to your excitement later. And now I must leave you. You will not hear from me after this."

  "Never again?"

  "Never again. Goodbye."

  For a moment she felt something cool and dry and rough laid very lightly against her forehead. She tried to reach for him, but could only twitch her new hands on her new wrists. She said, with a sob, "Goodbye, Doctor."

  When she spoke again, there was no answer.

  She slept.

  * * * * *

  This time, the awakening was different. Before she opened her eyes, she heard the creaking of the freighter, and a slight hum that might have come from the firing of the jets.

  As she tried to sit up, her eyes flashed open, and she saw that she was lying in a bunk, strapped down to keep from being thrown out. Unsteadily, she began to loosen the straps. When they were half off, she stopped to stare at her hands. They were strong hands, well-shaped and supple, with a healthily tanned skin. She flexed them and unflexed them several times. Beautiful hands. The Doctor had done well by her.

  She finished undoing the straps, and got to her feet. There was none of the dizziness she had expected, none of the weakness that would have been normal after so long a stay in bed. She felt fine.

  She examined herself, staring at her legs, body--staring as she might have done at a stranger's legs and body. She took a few steps forward and then back. Yes, he had done well by her. It was a graceful body, and it felt fine. Better than new.

  But her face!

  She whirled around to locate a mirror, and heard a voice: "Margaret!"

  Fred was getting out of another bunk. Their eyes sought each other's faces, and for a long moment they stared in silence.

  Fred said in a choked voice, "There must be a mirror in the captain's cabin. I've got to see myself."

  At the mirror, their eyes shifted from one face to the other and back again. And the silence this time was longer, more painful.

  A wonderful artist, the Doctor. For a creature--a person--who was insensitive to the differences in human faces, he could follow a pattern perfectly. Feature by feature, they were as before. Size and shape of forehead, dip of hairline, width of cheeks and height of cheekbones, shape and color of eyes, contour of nose and lips and chin--nothing in the two faces had been changed. Nothing at all.

  Nothing, that is, but the overall effect. Nothing but the fact that where before she had been plain, now she was beautiful.

  I should have realized the possibility, she thought. Sometimes you see two sisters, or mother and daughter, with the same features, the faces as alike as if they had been cast from the same mold--and yet one is ugly and the other beautiful. Many artists can copy features, but few can copy with perfect exactness either beauty or ugliness. The Doctor slipped up a little. Despite my warning, he's done too well by me.

  And not well enough by Fred. Fred isn't handsome any more. Not ugly really--his face is stronger and more interesting than it was. But now I'm the good-looking one of the family. And he won't be able to take it. This is the end for us.

  * * * * *

  Fred was grinning at her. He said, "Wow, what a wife I've got! Just look at you! Do you mind if I drool a bit?"

  She said uncertainly, "Fred, dear, I'm sorry."

  "For what? For his giving you more than you bargained for--and me less? It's all in the family!"

  "You don't have to pretend, Fred. I know how you feel."

  "You don't know a thing. I asked him to make you beautiful. I wasn't sure he could, but I asked him anyway. And he said he'd try."

  "You asked him--oh, no!"

  "Oh, yes," he said. "Are you sorry? I hoped he'd do better for me, but--well, did you marry me for my looks?"

  "You know better, Fred!"

  "I didn't marry you for yours either. I told you that before, but you wouldn't believe me. Maybe now you will."

  Her voice choked. "Perhaps--perhaps looks aren't so important after all. Perhaps I've been all wrong about everything I used to think was essential."

  "You have," agreed Fred. "But you've always had a sense of inferiority about your appearance. From now on, you'll have no reason for that. And maybe now we'll both be able to grow up a little."

  She nodded. It gave her a strange feeling to have him put around her a pair of arms she had never before known, to have him kiss her with lips she had never before touched. But that doesn't matter, she thought. The important thing is that whatever shape we take, we're us. The important thing is that now we don't have to worry about ourselves--and for that we have to thank him.

  "Fred," she said suddenly, her face against his chest. "Do you think a girl can be in love with two--two people--at the same time? And one of them--one of them not a man? Not even human?"

  He nodded, but didn't say anything. And after a moment, she thought she knew why. A man can love that way too, she thought--and one of them not a woman, either.

  I wonder if he ... she ... it knew. I wonder if it knew.

  * * *

  Contents

  THE MODEL OF A JUDGE

  By William Morrison

  Ronar was reformed, if that was the right word, but he could see that they didn't trust him. Uneasiness spoke in their awkward hurried motions when they came near him; fear looked out of their eyes. He had to reassure himself that all this would pass. In time they'd learn to regard him as one of themselves a
nd cease to recall what he had once been. For the time being, however, they still remembered. And so did he.

  Mrs. Claymore, of the Presiding Committee, was babbling, "Oh, Mrs. Silver, it's so good of you to come. Have you entered the contest?"

  "Not really," said Mrs. Silver with a modest laugh. "Of course I don't expect to win against so many fine women who are taking part. But I just thought I'd enter to--to keep things interesting."

  "That was very kind of you. But don't talk about not winning. I still remember some of the dishes you served for dinner at your home that time George and I paid you a visit. Mmmmm--they were really delicious."

  Mrs. Silver uttered another little laugh. "Just ordinary recipes. I'm so glad you liked them, though."

  "I certainly did. And I'm sure the judge will like your cake, too."

  "The judge? Don't you usually have a committee?"

  * * * * *

  He could hear every word. They had no idea how sharp his sense of hearing was, and he had no desire to disconcert them further by letting them know. He could hear every conversation taking place in ordinary tones in the large reception room. When he concentrated he could make out the whispers. At this point he had to concentrate, for Mrs. Claymore leaned over and breathed into her friend's attentive ear.

  "My dear, haven't you heard? We've had such trouble with that committee--there were such charges of favoritism! It was really awful."

  "Really? But how did you find a judge then?"

  "Don't look now--no, I'll tell you what to do. Pretend I said something funny, and throw your head back and laugh. Take a quick glance at him while you do. He's sitting up there alone, on the platform."

  Mrs. Silver laughed gracefully as directed, and her eyes swept the platform. She became so excited, she almost forgot to whisper.

  "Why, he's--"

  "Shhh. Lower your voice, my dear."

  "Why--he isn't human!"

  "He's supposed to be--now. But, of course, that's a matter of opinion!"

  "But who on Earth thought of making him judge?"

  "No one on Earth. Professor Halder, who lives over on that big asteroid the other side of yours, heard of the troubles we had, and came up with the suggestion. At first it seemed absurd--"