Stairway to the Stars | Page 7

much."
* * * * *
Somehow, what popped into Farmer's head was the chorus of an old song he had sung in boy's camp when very young. "There's a hole in the bottom of the sea! There's a log in the hole...."
"Your machine reactivated the gate from this side, even if that isn't what you designed it to do," Dor went on. "It's a good thing I noticed the gate was open. Of course, the area affected isn't large--it includes those steps and a lot of water around them.
"The gate'll stay open now until it's closed from our side--but I'll have to take your outfit back and destroy it, anyway. Our cops would be tough with you if they found you operating the thing, and Federation Securitymen would be even tougher. Take it as a warning: don't do it again."
She turned to go, but Farmer held on. "What's this about a Galactic Federation? And if they've banned all communication with Earth, why haven't they just blasted the planet out of existence and gotten rid of it? Of course, I know we're thoroughly uncivilized and too warlike for any other race to trust, and all that. I can see how Earth might be considered the plague spot of the universe...."
Dor gawked, and saw that he was very serious. Then she threw back her head and laughed a merry laugh. "Listen, friend," she said at last. "The only real trouble with you Earth people is that you have a tremendous inferiority complex, collectively and individually--as you've just illustrated. Get over that and you'll eliminate most of your trouble. As for the Federation, they let us in, and most member-races have wars occasionally; they'll undoubtedly accept you, once you develop space travel.
"Just at the moment, of course, you're at a crossroads. You could jump in either direction, blowing yourself up or taking the big step into space. I think you'll turn out okay, but not everybody agrees--and the Federation can't take even small chances. So you can't be allowed to set off your atom bombs, or worse, where they might get through to another planet. We can't actually interfere with you, so we've closed the gates; that's all."
John Andrew, thinking it over, said "Oh," and let go of her wrist. She turned and went back to the rail again, after flashing him the most de luxe smile so far. Farmer came out of a philosophic haze to notice she was leaving. He said, "Hey!"
She looked over her shoulder. Farmer didn't know what to say, but he wanted to delay her. Finally, he pointed to the nonapus, and said, "What about that monster? You're not going to leave it here?"
She laughed again. "Oh, the robot? It'll follow me. It's designed to.... Oh damn!"
The damn was for something she saw in the water as she looked back over the rail again. John Andrew rushed to her side and looked as she got set for a dive. Garf, he saw immediately, had returned, and was picking up the Judge's invention.
"Put that down!" Dor's yell was high-pitched. Garf faced them, and Farmer could just make out his lazy, contemptuous smile through the murky water. The fishman raised his arm in one of the now-familiar gestures.
The boat heaved, wallowed, and sank.
Farmer thought desperately again that he couldn't swim, and then he thought wildly of the Judge, who hadn't regained full consciousness. He went under once, and came up choking and sputtering. He decided his end had come--and he didn't even know the identity of the enemy who had done him in. It was ironic. He should have asked Dor to tell him more about Garf--was he a traitor, or a Tamdivarian gangster, or what? John Andrew gasped and started sinking again....
To find himself hauled out of the water unceremoniously by the scruff of his neck. As he rose, ropy tentacles twined about him, and he saw what had saved him. He was being cradled, gently but firmly, by the nonapus, which had Judge Ray in another set of tentacles. And the nonapus, it became apparent, was not only a water-creature.
It could also fly.
* * * * *
Garf paddled idly around Dor's apartment, pretending interest in the shell-paintings that decorated the walls. He had presented her a bouquet in which rare blossoms hid slimy, smelly weeds, and she was sore at him--again. As she finished her conversation and switched off the two-way radio, he turned to her. "Dor," he said softly.
She looked at him haughtily. "Don't speak to me!" she said. "I told you you'd have to stop your irresponsible practical joking and settle down. Some hard work wouldn't hurt you even if you did inherit a fortune. I don't mind so much when you pull these stunts on me, but when I think of how you practically drowned those