Circus | Page 3

scanner ahead. It probes around more or less
hit-or-miss until it locates something, somewhere, that looks habitable.
When it spots a likely looking place, we keep a tight beam on it and

send through a manned scout." He grinned sourly. "Like me. If it looks
good to the scout, he signals back, and they leave the warp anchored for
a sort of permanent gateway until we can get a transport beam built.
But we can't control the directional and dimensional scope of the warp.
There are an infinity of ways it can go, until we have a guide beam
transmitting from the other side. Then we can just scan a segment of
space with the warp, and the scanner picks up the beam."
He shook his head wearily. "We're new at it, Morgan. We've only tried
a few dozen runs. We're not too far ahead of you in technology. We've
been using rocket vehicles just like yours for over a century. That's fine
for a solar system, but it's not much good for the stars. When the warp
principle was discovered, it looked like the answer. But something
went wrong, the scanner picked up this planet, and I was coming
through, and then something blew. Next thing I knew I was falling.
When I tried to make contact again, the scanner was gone!"
"And you found things here the same as back home," said Morgan.
"The same! Your planet and mine are practically twins. Similar cities,
similar technology, everything. The people are the same, with precisely
the same anatomy and physiology, the same sort of laws, the same
institutions, even compatible languages. Can't you see the importance
of it? This planet is on the other side of the universe from mine, with
the first intelligent life we've yet encountered anywhere. But when I try
to tell your people that I'm a native of another star system, they won't
believe me!"
"Why should they?" asked Morgan. "You look like a human being.
You talk like one. You eat like one. You act like one. What you're
asking them to believe is utterly incredible."
"But it's true."
Morgan shrugged. "So it's true. I won't argue with you. But as I asked
before, even if I did believe you, what do you expect me to do about it?
Why pick me, of all the people you've seen?"

There was a desperate light in Parks' eyes. "I was tired, tired of being
laughed at, tired of having people looking at me as though I'd lost my
wits when I tried to tell them the truth. You were here, you were alone,
so I started talking. And then I found out you wrote stories." He looked
up eagerly. "I've got to get back, Morgan, somehow. My life is there,
my family. And think what it would mean to both of our
worlds--contact with another intelligent race! Combine our knowledges,
our technologies, and we could explore the galaxy!"
He leaned forward, his thin face intense. "I need money and I need help.
I know some of the mathematics of the warp principle, know some of
the design, some of the power and wiring principles. You have
engineers here, technologists, physicists. They could fill in what I don't
know and build a guide beam. But they won't do it if they don't believe
me. Your government won't listen to me, they won't appropriate any
money."
"Of course they won't. They've got a war or two on their hands, they
have public welfare, and atomic bombs, and rockets to the moon to sink
their money into." Morgan stared at the man. "But what can I do?"
"You can write! That's what you can do. You can tell the world about
me, you can tell exactly what has happened. I know how public interest
can be aroused in my world. It must be the same in yours."
Morgan didn't move. He just stared. "How many people have you
talked to?" he asked.
"A dozen, a hundred, maybe a thousand."
"And how many believed you?"
"None."
"You mean nobody would believe you?"
"Not one soul. Until I talked to you."

And then Morgan was laughing, laughing bitterly, tears rolling down
his cheeks. "And I'm the one man who couldn't help you if my life
depended on it," he gasped.
"You believe me?"
Morgan nodded sadly. "I believe you. Yes. I think your warp brought
you through to a parallel universe of your own planet, not to another
star, but I think you're telling the truth."
"Then you can help me."
"I'm afraid not."
"Why not?"
"Because I'd be worse than no help at all."
Jefferson Parks gripped the table, his knuckles white. "Why?" he cried
hoarsely. "If you believe me, why can't you help me?"
Morgan pointed to the magazine lying on the