Masters of Space | Page 9

got me stopped cold."
"You aren't the only one. But if they wreck that Mayfield it'll cost you
over twenty thousand dollars."
"Okay." The captain and director watched, wide eyed.
Two master mechanics had been getting ready to re-fit a tube--a job
requiring both strength and skill. The tube was very heavy and made of
superefract. The machine--the Mayfield--upon which the work was to
be done, was extremely complex.
Two of the aliens had brushed the mechanics--very gently--aside and
were doing their work for them. Ignoring the hoist, one native had

picked the tube up and was holding it exactly in place on the Mayfield.
The other, hands moving faster than the eye could follow, was locking
it--micrometrically precise and immovably secure--into place.
"How about this?" one of the mechanics asked of his immediate
superior. "If we throw 'em out, how do we do it?"
By a jerk of the head, the non-com passed the buck to a commissioned
officer, who relayed it up the line to Sawtelle, who said, "Hilton,
nobody can run a Mayfield without months of training. They'll wreck it
and it'll cost you ... but I'm getting curious myself. Enough so to take
half the damage. Let 'em go ahead."
"How about this, Mike?" one of the machinists asked of his fellow.
"I'm going to like this, what?"
"Ya-as, my deah Chumley," the other drawled, affectedly. "My man
relieves me of so much uncouth effort."
The natives had kept on working. The Mayfield was running. It had
always howled and screamed at its work, but now it gave out only a
smooth and even hum. The aliens had adjusted it with unhuman
precision; they were one with it as no human being could possibly be.
And every mind present knew that those aliens were, at long, long last,
fulfilling their destiny and were, in that fulfillment, supremely happy.
After tens of thousands of cycles of time they were doing a job for their
adored, their revered and beloved MASTERS.
That was a stunning shock; but it was eclipsed by another.
* * * * *
"I am sorry, Master Hilton," Laro's tremendous bass voice boomed out,
"that it has taken us so long to learn your Masters' language as it now is.
Since you left us you have changed it radically; while we, of course,
have not changed it at all."
"I'm sorry, but you're mistaken," Hilton said. "We are merely visitors.

We have never been here before; nor, as far as we know, were any of
our ancestors ever here."
"You need not test us, Master. We have kept your trust. Everything has
been kept, changelessly the same, awaiting your return as you ordered
so long ago."
"Can you read my mind?" Hilton demanded.
"Of course; but Omans can not read in Masters' minds anything except
what Masters want Omans to read."
"Omans?" Harkins asked. "Where did you Omans and your masters
come from? Originally?"
"As you know, Master, the Masters came originally from Arth. They
populated Ardu, where we Omans were developed. When the Stretts
drove us from Ardu, we all came to Ardry, which was your home world
until you left it in our care. We keep also this, your half of the Fuel
World, in trust for you."
"Listen, Jarve!" Harkins said, tensely. "Oman-human. Arth-Earth.
Ardu-Earth Two. Ardry-Earth Three. You can't laugh them off ... but
there never was an Atlantis!"
"This is getting no better fast. We need a full staff meeting. You, too,
Sawtelle, and your best man. We need all the brains the Perseus can
muster."
"You're right. But first, get those naked women out of here. It's bad
enough, having women aboard at all, but this ... my men are spacemen,
mister."
Laro spoke up. "If it is the Masters' pleasure to keep on testing us, so be
it. We have forgotten nothing. A dwelling awaits each Master, in which
each will be served by Omans who will know the Master's desires
without being told. Every desire. While we Omans have no biological
urges, we are of course highly skilled in relieving tensions and derive

as much pleasure from that service as from any other."
Sawtelle broke the silence that followed. "Well, for the men--" He
hesitated. "Especially on the ground ... well, talking in mixed company,
you know, but I think ..."
"Think nothing of the mixed company, Captain Sawtelle," Sandra said.
"We women are scientists, not shrinking violets. We are accustomed to
discussing the facts of life just as frankly as any other facts."
Sawtelle jerked a thumb at Hilton, who followed him out into the
corridor. "I have been a Navy mule," he said. "I admit now that I'm
out-maneuvered, out-manned, and out-gunned."
"I'm just as baffled--at present--as you are, sir. But my training has
been aimed specifically