The Best of Lester del Rey

“to slow to a halt—just as something whined by his head and spattered against a white wall. His mind catalogued it as a bullet from a silent zep-gun, and bullets were used in animosity. The two men were his enemies.

He considered it, and found he had no desire to kill them; besides, he had no gun. He doubled his speed, shot down another hall, ran into stairs and took them at a single leap. It was a mistake. They led to a narrower hallway, obviously recently blocked off, with a single door. And the man with the zep-gun was charging after him as he hesitated.

He hit the door with his shoulder and was inside, in a strange room of machinery and tables and benches. Most of it was strange to his eyes, though he could recognize a small, portable boron-reactor and generator unit. It was obviously one of the new hundred-kilowatt jobs.

But the place was a blind alley! Behind him, the man in khaki leaped through the busted door, his zep-gun ready. But the panting, older figure of the man in the smock was behind him, catching his arm.

“No! Man, you’d get a hundred years of Lunar Prison for shooting Expeto. He’s worth his weight in general’s stars! If he…”

“Yeah, if! George, we can’t risk it. Security comes

first. And if he isn’t, we can’t have another paranoiac running around. Remember the other?”

Expeto dropped his shoulders, staring at them and the queer fear that was in them. “I’m not George?” he asked slowly. “But I’ve got to be George. I’ve got to have a name.”

The older man nodded. “Sure, George, you’re George—George Expeto. Take it easy, Colonel Kallik! Sure, you’re George. And I’m George—George Enders Obanion. Take it easy, George, and you’ll be all right. We’re not going to hurt you. We want to help you.”

It was a ruse, and Expeto knew it. They didn’t want to help—he was somehow important, and they wanted him for something. His name wasn’t George—just Expeto. The man was lying. But there was nothing else to do; he had no weapons.

He shrugged. “Then tell me something about myself.”

Obanion nodded, catching at the other man’s hand. “Sure, George. See that chart on the wall, there behind you… Now!”

Expeto had barely time to turn and notice there was no chart on the wall before he felt a violent motion at his back, and a tiny catching reaction as the other’s hand hit him. Then he blanked out.

He came back to consciousness abruptly, surprised to find that there was no pain in his head. A blow sufficient to knock him out should have left afterpains. He was alone with his thoughts.

They weren’t good thoughts. His mind was seizing on the words the others had used, and trying to dig sense out of them. Amnesia was a rare thing—too rare. But paranoia was more common. A man might first feel others were persecuting him, then be sure of it, and finally lose all reality in his fantasies of persecution and his own importance. Then he was a paranoiac, making np fantastic lies to himself, but cunning enough, and seemingly rational at times.

But they had been persecuting him! There’d been the man with the gun… and they’d said he was important! Or had he only imagined it? If someone important had paranoia, would they deliberately induce amnesia as a curative step?

And who was he and where? On the first, he didn’t care—George Expeto would do. The second took more care, but he had begun to decide it was a hospital—or asylum. The room here was whitewashed, and the bed was the only furniture. He stared down at his body. They’d strapped him down, and his arms were encased in thin metal chains!

He tried to recall all he could of hospitals, but nothing came. If he had ever been sick, there was no memory of it. Nor could he remember pain, or what it was like, though he knew the word.

The door was opening then, cautiously, and a figure in white came in. Expeto stared at the figure, and a slow churning began in his head. The words were reluctant this time, but they came, mere surface whispers that he had to fight to retain. But the differences in the figure made them necessary. The longer hair, the softer face, the swelling at the breast, and something about the hips stirred his memories just enough.

“You’re—woman!” He got the word out, not sure it would come.

She jumped at his voice, reaching for the door which she had closed slowly. Fear washed over her face, but she nodded, gulping. “I—of course. But I’m just a technician, and they’ll be here, and… They’ve fastened you down!”

That seemed to bring her back to normal, and she came over, her eyes sweeping over him curiously, while one eyebrow lifted, and she whistled. “Um, not bad. Hi, Romeo. Too bad you’re a monster! You don’t look mean.”

“So you came to satisfy your curiosity,” he guessed, and his mind puzzled it over, trying to identify the urge that drove men to stare at beasts in cages. He was just a beast to them, a monster—but somehow important. And in the greater puzzle of it all, he couldn’t even resent her remark. Instead, something that had been puzzling him since he’d found the word came to the surface. “Why are there men and women—and who am I?”

She glanced at her watch, her ear to the door. Then she glided over to him. “I guess you’re the most important man in the world—if you’re a man, and not pure monster. Here.”

She found his hand had limited freedom in the chains and moved it over her body, while he stared at her. Her eyes were intent on him. “Well. Now do you know why there are men and women?” Her stare intensified as he shook his head, and her lips firmed. “My God, it’s true—and you couldn’t act that well! That’s all I wanted to know! And now they’ll take over the whole moon! Look, don’t tell them I was here—they’ll kill you if you do. Or do you know what death is? Yeah, that’s it, kaput! Don’t talk, then. Not a word!”

She was at the door, Listening. Finally she opened it, and moved out….

There was no sound from the zep-gun, but the splaatt of the bullet reached Expeto’s ears. He shuddered, writhing within himself as her exploding body jerked back out of sight. She’d been pleasant to look at. Maybe that was what women were for.

Obanion was over him then, while a crowd collected in the hall, all wearing khaki. “We’re not going to kill you, Expeto. We knew she’d come—or hoped she would. Now, if I unfasten your chains, will you behave? We’ve only got four hours left. O.K., Colonel Kallik?”

The colonel nodded. Behind him, the others were gathering something up and leaving.

“She’s the spy, all right. That must make the last of them. Clever. I’d have sworn she was O.K. But they tipped their hand in letting Expeto’s door stay unbolted before. Well, the trap worked. Sorry about cutting down your time.”

Obanion nodded, and now it was a group of men in white uniforms who came in, while the khaki-clad men left. They were wheeling in assorted machines, something that might have been an encephalograph, a unitary cerebrotrope, along with other instruments.

Expeto watched them, his mind freezing at the implications. But he wasn’t insane. His thoughts were lucid. He opened his mouth to protest, just as Obanion swung around.

“Any feeling we’re persecuting you, Expeto? Maybe you’d like to get in a few licks, to break my skull and run away where you’d be understood. You might get away with it; you’re stronger than I am. Your reaction time is better, too. See, I’m giving you the idea. And you’ve only got four hours in which to do it.”

Expeto shook his head. That way lay madness. Let his mind feel he was persecuted and he’d surely be the paranoiac he’d heard mentioned. There had to be another answer. This was a hospital—and men were healed in hospitals. Even of madness. It could only be a test.

“No,” he denied slowly, and was surprised to find it was true. “No, I don’t want to kill you, doctor. If I’ve been insane, it’s gone. But I can’t remember—I can’t remember!”

He pulled his voice down from its shriek, shook his head again and tried to restrain himself. “I’ll cooperate. Only tell me who I am. What have I done that makes people call me a monster? My God, give me an anchor to hold me steady, and then do what you want.”

“You’re better off not knowing, since you seem to be able to guess when I’m lying.” Obanion motioned the other men up, and they waited while Expeto took the chair they pointed out. Then they began clamping devices on his head. “You’re what the girl said—the spy. You’re the most important man in the world right now—if you can stay sane. You’re the one man who carries the secret of how we can live on the moon, protect Earth from aggressive powers, even get to the stars some day.”

“But I can’t remember—anything!”