The Project Gutenberg eBook of Squee
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Squee
Author: Margaret St. Clair
Illustrator: Ed Emshwiller
C. A. Murphy
Release date: September 8, 2026 [eBook #79539]
Language: English
Original publication: Holyoke, Mass.: Columbia Publications, Inc., 1957
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79539
Credits: Tom Trussel - Stories of Futures Past (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Luminist Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SQUEE ***
Squee
by Margaret St. Clair
(illustration by MURPHY)
[Illustration]
=There was hope for humanity only if men had learned one lesson--that
some things must not be done, even to win. Had they learned?=
They slept with their feet in each other’s faces, and breathed the
same air over and over again. Except for Neil’s laboratory, which was
well-lighted (Thomas Neil, the son of old sex-linked-virus Neil), they
lived in a perpetual twilight. They never had quite enough to eat, and
the water they drank came from the distillation of their own catabolic
wastes. For these and other bitterer causes, they were acutely
irritable. A dozen quarrels flared up a day. They had been living like
this for nearly three years now, and they would have to go on living
like this for at least a year more, until the time when they got back
to Earth. When. If.
It was Jacobsen who kept them sane. He was a natural clown and mimic,
a big, good-natured, imperturbable man who could play a zither like a
professional musician. Jacobsen had a gift for drawing the quarrels of
the others on himself and dissipating them harmlessly, in the way that
a lightning rod grounds the big bad voltage from the sky with no damage
to anybody. They couldn’t have got along without him. He was also a
brilliant and profound mechanic--an aptitude for whose display the
almost-powerless landing they were going to have to make on earth would
give ample opportunity.
* * * * *
If it was Jacobsen who kept them sane, it was Neil the ship was run
for. His laboratory was the one well-lighted, well-aired, roomy place.
This wasn’t because they liked him. They only saw him for thirty
minutes a day, at meals, but he would easily have won in a contest for
the most hated man on the ship; and on top of that they regarded him
with a sort of loathing, because of whose son he was. But they hoped
he might be able to undo some of the damage his father had done. They
hoped he might be able to get them out of the predicament they, and
everybody else, were in. They knew he was a first-class cytologist.
They hoped.
“What’s Neil trying to do, anyway?” Adams asked one day, when he and
Venner had been playing _Go_ in the dimness for as long as they could
stand. He had asked the question a number of times before, during the
years they had been in space; and he would undoubtedly ask it several
times more before they got home. Three years with the same shipmates
makes conversation repetitive.
“Well, I’m no biologist,” Venner answered. He pushed the _Go_-board
aside and crossed his fingers over his lean diaphragm. “But as I
understand it, he’s trying to make a sort of artificial ovum, an
artificial human egg.” It was the answer he always made when Adams
asked about Neil’s work.
“An artificial egg? How could he possibly do that? How can he turn a
sperm into a human egg?”
* * * * *
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Venner replied heavily. His
stomach rumbled. “But here’s the way it was explained to me: A
spermatozoon has all the chromosomes an ovum has; in a sense, it’s an
ovum stripped down, an ovum without any albumen and with the minimum
of cytoplasm possible. A mature sex-cell--a gamete--has been through
a--a reduction division, and so has only half the number of chromosomes
found in the ordinary body cells. That ordinary number is what they
call the diploid number. A mature spermatozoon, or a mature ovum, has
the haploid number.
“After fertilization occurs, the zygote has the full number of
chromosomes characteristic of the animal’s body cells. It’s diploid
again. All clear so far?”
“More or less.”
“Well, now, suppose you could get two sperms to, unh, sort of
anastomose. Suppose you could supply this new cell--remember, it now
has the _diploid_ number of chromosomes--with albumen, and the same
sort of cytoplasm an ovum has. What you’d have would be essentially a
zygote, a fertilized egg.”
“Unh. Why not work with spermatozoa _before_ the reduction division
takes place? Then you’d have your diploid number of chromosomes without
worrying about getting two sperms to snuggle up to each other and
become one.”
“You could, but it won’t work. The cells aren’t ripe enough; they just
die. I guess the point is that with anything as complicated as a human
being, you have to get the extra set of chromosomes from outside the
same cell. It has to be a little bit like fertilization.”
* * * * *
“If you can call another spermatozoon ‘outside’. Or--why don’t they try
surrounding a mature sperm cell with cytoplasm and so on, and then let
it be fertilized by another sperm? Wouldn’t that work?”
“Neil--he spent all of ten minutes talking to me on this subject
once--Neil said that a mature unastomosed sperm seems almost to fight
off any attempt to surround it with cytoplasm. The way he put it was,
it insists on remembering that it’s a sperm.”
“I wish his old man had remembered it.”
Venner laughed dutifully. “It helps to get the two sperms to anastomose
if the cell wall is a little bit flaccid,” he said. “That’s why Neil
has been doing so much work on sperms from men who have cancer of the
testes. They produce cells that are abnormal in a promising way.”
“Is that so!” For the first time in the routine conversation, Adams
sounded sharply interested. “Why didn’t you tell me? I never heard
that before. Why am I always the last one to know things on this ship?
Anything interesting, you don’t tell _me_.”
“I only heard it a couple of days ago, from Clancy. I thought you’d
heard, too. For Lord’s sake, don’t get so worked up.”
“You’re lying,” Adams said flatly. “Creep around behind my back and
then try to lie out of it, will you? You....”
* * * * *
Venner pushed the _Go_-board aside and confronted him. Both men were
breathing heavily. From the upper bunk where he was sitting--Clancy
slept under him--Jacobsen twanged a burst of notes on his zither.
“_Ain’t no sense,
Sittin’ on a fence.
Lone little sperm in the moonlight,
It’s insane,
Strollin’ down the lane,
Lone little sperm in the moonlight.”_
The tension in the cabin dropped abruptly. After a moment, both men
laughed.
Venner sat down again. Adams stooped and began picking up _Go_-pieces
from the floor. “Can it be done?” he asked when he had them all back on
the board.
“Making an artificial egg? That time he talked to me, Neil said it was
about trying to lift yourself up by your bootstraps while you have a
hundred-pound weight tied on each foot. But I think he’s hopeful; human
sperms seem quite tolerant of albumen derived from Ganymedean insect
eggs.”
“Things work out funny, don’t they,” commented Adams. “Who’d ever have
thought, when they sent out the robot rockets to the further planets
before ... _it_ happened, that soil cores from Ganymede would turn out
to be useful. But there it is.”
“Yeah.... Old sex-linked-virus Neil’s son. But I suppose he knows what
he’s doing. By sending him along, they saved a couple of years in
working on the problem. The insects whose eggs he’s been using aren’t
at all those that were in the soil core the robot rocket brought back.
The ones, I mean, that first attracted the biologists’ attention to
Ganymede. Those were a sort of scale insect, parasitic on Ganymedean
lichens. What Neil’s using now is something more like a sow bug. If he
hadn’t been along, we wouldn’t have known what insects to collect.”
* * * * *
Jacobsen was playing again on his zither. He was touching the strings
in a way that gave the instrument almost the resonance of a guitar.
It was a song he had played once or twice for them before, sad and
romantic, called _A Border Incident_.
The music had turned their thoughts in a less scientific direction.
Half-guiltily--he knew it was a forbidden topic--Venner said, “You
know, I was married.”
“You were lucky,” answered Adams, who had been too young to have a wife.
“Yeah.... We weren’t awfully close to each other. Oh, she used to ask
me what I’d done that day when I got home from work, and I’d tell her.
Stuff like that. But it wasn’t what you’d call a romantic marriage.”
“It was a marriage. You were lucky,” Adams repeated.
“Unhhunh.... We had a couple of kids, a boy and one of the others, but
they were more her kids than they were mine. What I mean is, I never
thought of myself as much of a hand for the women. If she’d died in ...
in the ordinary way, I probably wouldn’t have remarried. But now--it’s
like all the meaning had gone out of life. I don’t know what I’m living
for.”
“Everybody says the same thing,” Adams answered. “Even the ones you
wouldn’t think would miss women much. It’s like daylight, I guess. You
don’t think it matters very much; you can always turn on the electric
lights. But if sunlight stops falling on the Earth, it means the end of
most terrestrial life.”
* * * * *
Jacobsen was singing to his own accompaniment, the words to the song
he had been playing before. “_Spanish is the loving tongue_,” he
sang softly, in his warm, pleasant baritone voice. The beautiful,
dark, loving girl and the soft words she had taught him. And then the
refrain, “_Mi amor, mi corazon_.”
“Stop it, Jacobsen,” Venner said after they had listened for a little
while. “You’ll have us crying into our tea in a minute, thinking.”
There was no unkindness in his voice.
Jacobsen played another verse before he put the zither aside.
“Sometimes it’s a good thing to think,” he said.
It was two days or so after this that Neil, coming in to lunch with the
crew, attracted their attention by his air of supressed excitement. His
normal game-cock aggressiveness seemed to have doubled. His small black
moustache bristled, his teeth and eyeballs had a gleam like glass.
None of them wanted to ask him questions. But by the time the dessert
course--one small sweet biscuit per man--was served, they were all
watching him.
Neil pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Captain Ambarzumian,”
he said formally. “I suggest you break out the stores of medicinal
liquor. We have something to celebrate.”
Captain Ambarzumian’s normally ruddy color had paled. “Please explain
yourself, Dr. Neil,” he said with equal formality.
“I cannot be quite certain,” Neil replied. He paused for dramatic
effect. “But I believe--it is my sincere belief--that the future of
the race is safe.”
* * * * *
There was a moment of dead silence. Somebody coughed. “The difficulties
still to be overcome are enormous,” Neil continued. “Getting something
as complicated as a human embryo to go through the later stages of its
development _in vitro_ is almost impossible. Almost. We will have to
work very hard. The first human beings we produce from our artificial
egg cells will almost certainly be monsters. But I believe that within
fifty years--perhaps even within twenty-five--young human beings like
ourselves will again walk the surface of our earth.”
Another silence. It was as if they couldn’t assimilate what he had told
them. Then Jacobsen struck a wild burst of notes on his zither; his
face had lit up like a sign-board. “_Mine eyes have seen the glory of
the coming of the Lord!_” he sang with the full strength of his rich
baritone voice.
The leaping exultation of the old words, if not their bellicosity,
expressed what they all felt. By the time Jacobsen came to the
full-throated chorus, they were all singing.
“_Glory, glory, Hallelujah!
Glory, glory, Hallelujah!
Glory, glory, Hallelujah!_”
They sang with their heads thrown back, “_The truth is marching on!_”
The song came to an end with another burst of notes from Jacobsen’s
zither. “First time I ever heard that song really sung,” he observed to
nobody in particular. “Sung right, I mean.”
* * * * *
The cabin began to fill with the babble of excited talk. Neil put up
his hand as if to stop it. “There’s just one thing,” he said. “It
doesn’t bother me, but some people might consider it a drawback. You’d
better know about it now.” He seemed to have forgotten his suggestion
that the captain break out the liquor to celebrate.
“You mean--you said they’d be monsters at first. Will they always be
deformed in some way?” Clancy asked. Very softly, Jacobsen played the
first few notes of a song that had been popular when the ship had left
earth. Its title was _A Cross-Eyed Girl Would Be a Pretty Girl_.
“No, nothing like that. We’ll be able to get them straight and
well-formed. But I haven’t been able--and there are strong theoretical
reasons for thinking nobody will ever be able--to produce an artificial
human zygote that doesn’t contain the X-chromosome.”
“We’re not cytologists, Dr. Neil,” said Captain Ambarzumian. “Please
explain yourself.”
“Very well.” Neil sat down in his place at table again. He seemed to be
enjoying himself.
* * * * *
“Only spermatozoa contain the X-chromosome,” he said. “Ova do not.
If it were possible to get a human ovum before the meiotic division
occurred, and induce it to go through its embryonic development to
maturity without fertilization, it would give rise to a female.
“Spermatozoa are of two kinds, those which contain the X-chromosome and
those which do not. They are produced in the tests in approximately
equal quantities. That is why human males and females are born--used to
be born--in approximately equal numbers.
“As I said, I have been unable to produce an artificial human zygote
that does not contain the X-chromosome. Apparently there is such an
antipathy between the cell walls of two sperms, neither of which
contains the X-chromosomes, that it is impossible to get them to pair
their chromosomes properly. Only X and non-X will pair. Nor does it
appear feasible to eliminate the X-chromosome from the zygote after it
has come into existence. Any such attempt makes the artificial human
fertilized egg break down completely.
“It looks as if our zygotes were all going to have to contain the
X-chromosome.” They looked at each other blankly. Neil’s words seemed
to mean something; they weren’t sure what it was. They weren’t sure
they wanted to know.
“Can’t you put it in nontechnical terms, Neil?” asked Captain
Ambarzumian. “What does that mean?”
“We’ll be able to produce human beings. But they’ll all have to be
produced from zygotes that contain the X-chromosome. So they’ll all be
males.”
* * * * *
What they talked about was whether Neil might be lying. “But why would
he lie?” somebody--it might be Venner--would say. “He’s a scientist. He
wouldn’t tell lies in a thing where he’d be caught out.”
“Did you see the expression on his face when he was telling us the bad
news?” somebody--it was usually Adams--would answer. “He enjoyed it;
he likes the idea of a world without women. He could perfectly well be
lying. Look whose son he is.”
It was during one of these discussions that Adams asked, “What happened
to old man Neil, anyhow? I know he’s dead, but I never heard the real
details. Some people say one thing and some another. I was only twelve
when the plague killed ... everybody.”
“He was torn to pieces by a mob about two months after the last woman
in North America died,” Venner answered. “I mean, literally torn to
pieces. The authorities didn’t even try to stop the mob; I saw a
telecast of his death.”
“That must have been good watching,” said Adams.
“Well....”
* * * * *
“He was the worst man who ever lived,” Adams said. He turned in his
bunk. They all spent a good deal of time in their bunks now; it was
as if they didn’t have enough energy to sit up. “To kill off all the
enemy’s women to win a war isn’t war: it’s murder.”
“Of course his idea wasn’t to kill all of them,” Venner answered. “He
was trying--what was that expression they used?--trying to negotiate
from a position of maximum strength. If the enemy didn’t want all
their women killed, they’d have to surrender. Then they’d be given the
vaccine.
“They did surrender; but by that time, the virus had mutated in the
enemy women’s tissues. It was a lot faster and more deadly than it had
been; it swept over the whole world. The vaccine wasn’t any use against
it in its new form, and that was that.”
“He was the worst man who ever lived,” Adams repeated.
“He was a bad man, certainly,” answered Venner, “but he wasn’t much
worse than a lot of others. That bomb they used to have--they kept on
testing it, even though they knew there was a good chance their tests
were damaging human germ plasm permanently. They came within an inch
of using the bomb in battle. In fact, one of the arguments in favor of
bacteriological warfare was that it was more humane.”
“Humane,” said Clancy.
“That’s what they said. No, in the end we’re none of us much different
from Neil. We’re all of us responsible.”
* * * * *
Adams raised himself on one elbow and looked at Venner. “How am I
responsible?” he asked. “I was twelve years old at the time of the
plague. Twelve years! How am I responsible?”
“We’re all of us too aggressive,” Venner replied. “Have we still
learned to take a blow and not strike back, even if striking back means
ruining ourselves as well as the enemy? Put it another way. Have we yet
learned there are some things you mustn’t do even to win?”
Adams made a disgusted noise. “I wish you’d shut up. Be saintly, if you
want to. When somebody hurts me, I want to hurt him back. You make me
sick.”
“I know. That’s just it.”
* * * * *
As the discussions continued, their apathy increased. Finally
Ambarzumian called Jacobsen in for a conference.
“Can’t you do something to cheer them up, Jacobsen?” he demanded. “Play
some on your zither. Morale was never this bad before. If they get much
more depressed, they’ll be making suicide tries.”
“I don’t feel like cheering anybody up, Sir,” Jacobsen said shortly.
Since Neil had made his announcement, his big frame seemed to have
shrunk in on itself. He looked considerably older and smaller than he
had two weeks ago.
“None of us feels very well,” Captain Ambarzumian answered, “but we’ve
got to have our full crew to get home at all. When it comes to our
landing, even Neil will have his duties. If we’re short-handed, landing
will be very ... difficult.”
There was a silence. Then Jacobsen said, without disrespect, “Who
cares?”
Ambarzumian was too wise to rebuke him. “We’ve got to keep hoping,”
he answered. “Neil’s a good man, of course. Brilliant. The Council
wouldn’t have sent him with us otherwise. But he’s not the only
cytologist. There’s Rausch ... Trenton ... Yee Ching ... Scheel. Neil
could be wrong; he’s got to be wrong. The important thing is getting
home with the Ganymedean cell material; then the others can work with
it. Teamwork might accomplish a lot.--Look whose son he is.”
Jacobsen chewed his lower lip. “Well....”
“You can have anything you want,” Ambarzumian told him. “Except the
emergency landing stores. Perhaps you could rig up some sort of a toy
to divert them. A puzzle machine, for example. Anything like that.”
* * * * *
Jacobsen nodded. He left the Captain’s cabin and went back to the
forecastle, where he sat for half a morning, thinking. Then he went to
the storeroom and rummaged about. He came out with an assortment of
metal parts, the last three big flashlight batteries, and a number of
relays and electron tubes. He worked for a long time over them. What he
came up with, finally, was the Squee.
He introduced his creation to his shipmates at the end of the short,
morose meal they called dinner. He began by emptying a handful of metal
nuts into a small dish. When he saw the crew was watching him, though
apathetically, he reached under his chair and produced the Squee.
The little robot was about fifteen inches high, housed in a reasonably
accurate squirrel-shaped case. (Jacobsen had had to do a lot of
hammering to get the curves right.) It had two beady eyes that were
actually ball-bearings touched with black paint, and a nicely-curled,
bushy tail that Jacobsen had gone to a lot of pains to make from
some spun-glass insulation. Around its waist there was a full, very
abbreviated red skirt that had been the hem of a bandana handkerchief.
Considering the difficulties Jacobsen had labored under, it was a
thoroughly engaging robot squirrel.
It stood for a moment balanced on its hind paws beside Jacobsen’s
plate. Then it said--a fair proficiency in ventriloquism was among
Jacobsen’s talents--“Hello, boys,” in a high, squeaky, indubitably
feminine voice. There was a silence. The success of Jacobsen’s
project--other things, too--hung in the balance. At last Clancy said,
“Hello yourself. What’s your name?”
“Squee,” the robot answered. “And I like nuts. _I like nuts_. I think
I’ll go get me a nut.”
* * * * *
Jacobsen touched something on the creature’s underbelly. It stood for
a moment, swaying. Then it bounded lightly over the table to the dish
of metal nuts. It picked one up. It turned it between its forepaws. It
raced gracefully back across the table to the large box Jacobsen had
put by his elbow. It went inside the box and left the nut.
The performance was repeated twice more. Then the Squee halted beside
Jacobsen. “I just love nuts,” it said in its high voice.
“Will she come for a nut if I hold it out for her?” Clancy asked
eagerly.
“Sure, if your nut is nearer than the ones in the dish.”
Clancy picked up a nut and pushed the dish to the extreme end of the
table. Everyone was smiling. “Here, Squee,” he said coaxingly. “Come
and get it. Nice nut. Nice nut for Squee.”
The robot squirrel seemed to hesitate. She turned her head from side to
side. Then she raced toward Clancy, seemed to snatch the nut from his
fingers, and bounded back to her box. “Thank you, Clancy,” she said in
a somewhat muffled voice when she was inside.
Clancy laughed. “Some squirrel,” he said warmly.
“_Thank_ you, Clancy,” came the answer from within the box.
* * * * *
That night their after-dinner discussions turned on something
considerably different from the usual weak arguments about Neil’s
trustworthiness. What they wanted to know was whether the robot was
properly known as _the_ Squee, or simply Squee. Jacobsen, appealed to,
refused to commit himself. The discussions grew warm, even heated; but
it was plain the participants were enjoying themselves.
Gradually, it became the customary thing for the after-dinner interval
to be devoted to the antics of the Squee. With Jacobsen’s deft fingers
helping, she “learned” to jump to the shoulder of the man who called
her (provided he had a metal plate on his shoulder), to roll over, to
sit up and beg for nuts. The men themselves suggested extra tricks for
her to “learn.” Morale was improving amazingly.
For the first two weeks or so, Neil seemed unconscious of the
Squee’s existence. He still messed with the crew, but even a man as
thick-skinned and arrogant as he was must have been aware of the
hostility with which they regarded him, and have found it slightly
distasteful. At any rate, he always left the table as soon as he had
finished chewing his food. One evening, however, he remained in his
place and witnessed the Squee’s whole performance. When it was over, he
said, “Nice little robot, Jacobsen.”
* * * * *
Jacobsen did not answer. Neil continued, in his drawling, rather
high-pitched voice, “You know, people’s minds are amazing. Here’s this
robot. It’s nothing but a robot, entirely sexless; but because Jacobsen
has dressed it up in a red handkerchief, and given a rather hippy
character to its locomotion, you’re all convinced that it’s a she. But
if I were to take off its red skirt, and make a couple of changes in
the mechanism....” He picked up the Squee and began sliding the red
skirt down over the robot’s metal flanks.
Jacobsen snatched it away from him. “You let my Squee alone,” he said
angrily.
“All right, all right,” Neil answered, permitting Jacobsen to take the
Squee from him. “I was only trying to demonstrate a point.”
“Demonstrate it on your....” Jacobsen answered. He was so angry his
voice was shaking. “If you want something to play with, go play with
your damned chromosomes. Keep your hands off my Squee.”
“I won’t touch it again, I assure you,” Neil said in his mocking voice.
He pushed his chair back from the table. “As I said before, people’s
minds are amazing.” He went out.
* * * * *
Jacobsen continued to “teach” his robot new tricks. The best of them,
it was generally agreed, was that she “learned” to rattle a tambourine
(made of metal washers loosely riveted to the bottom of a metal biscuit
tin) in time to her own singing.
Since all of Jacobsen’s sizeable vocal repertory was at her disposal,
she ended by “knowing” a considerable number of songs. Her rendering of
_Blow the Man Down_ was particularly spirited. She did so many tricks
that her red bandana skirt frayed at the edges and had to be replaced
with a new one made of blue fabric.
The crew had not even begun to tire of her antics when Jacobsen had
another idea. He made a few adjustments in her mechanism; the tempo of
her performances slowed down noticeably.
“What’s the matter with her?” Clancy demanded when, for the second
evening running, the Squee had hardly seemed to notice the nut he held
out of her. “She sick or something?”
“I don’t think so,” Jacobsen responded. There was a slight smile at
the corners of his mouth. “But why don’t you ask her yourself how she
feels?”
“What’s the matter, Squee?” Clancy asked. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“Oh, I’m all _right_,” the robot answered. “But--unh....”
* * * * *
The blue skirt switched. The Squee lowered her head and pawed lightly
at the table, in a perfect pantomime of coy, embarrassed happiness.
“But I may be having a little secret to tell you--I’m not sure--one of
these days.” She scampered off to her box.
“What’s the secret, Jacobsen?” Adams asked eagerly later that evening,
when the remains of the meal had been cleared away.
“_I_ don’t know,” Jacobsen answered. He was beaming. “She hasn’t
told me yet. I guess she’ll tell us when she’s good and ready.” He
picked up his zither and began to play _Careless Love_ on it. “_Well,
that’s how it is_,” he sang. He skipped on to the fourth verse. “_Now my
apron strings won’t pin, you pass my door and won’t come in. Love, Oh
careless Love._”
“Yeah, I guess she’ll tell us when she’s ready,” said Adams. His face
wore a delighted smile. “We all know how women are.”
* * * * *
The news--that there was to be news--must have got to Neil somehow.
Three nights later, when the dessert was being served, he said abruptly
to Captain Ambarzumian, “Captain, can’t you let me have a little more
power for my laboratory? It’s important.”
The captain frowned. The request should have been made to him in
private, instead of in the presence of the crew. “I’m sorry, Dr. Neil,”
he said stiffly. “There simply isn’t more power available. We’re
already on minimum rations for the most essential things.”
“I only need a few watts. It’s for my centrifuge. You see, there’s a
possibility--perhaps more than a possibility--that I may be able to
centrifuge out the X-chromosomes from my artificial ova. Without too
much damage to the cell wall, I mean. In that case, the artificial ova
would no longer give rise to males. Females could be produced.”
“That’s--interesting news. But I’m afraid I simply haven’t even a few
watts.”
“I think you have,” Neil answered. “What about that thing?” He pointed
to the Squee’s hutch, which was sitting on the table beside Jacobsen’s
elbow. “There must be more than a few watts in the batteries for it.”
Captain Ambarzumian sat silent. The crew watched him almost without
breathing. They all knew what he was thinking. Neil’s request might
be--very probably was--prompted by malice. He disliked Jacobsen, he
hated the Squee. His tight face wore a spiteful little smile. But he
might, after all, be on the track of something important.
The chance was too great for Ambarzumian to take. “All right,” the
captain said at last. “I’m very sorry, Jacobsen. But you’ll have to
give him the batteries.”
In silence Jacobsen fetched a screw driver. He disconnected the big
batteries. He put them on the table, still without a word.
Neil picked them up. “Thanks,” he said to nobody in particular.
Carrying the batteries, he left the cabin. There was triumphant malice
in every line of his rigid little back.
* * * * *
That night, Venner had a nightmare. He dreamed that he was standing out
of doors, under a lowering sky, while the wind moaned. The sound of the
wind grew louder. It began to rain, big icy drops that came out of the
sky with an audible plop.
For all the drops were so cold, they were burningly hot when they
touched him. He tried to rub them away, but they clung and scalded in.
The noise of the wind was rising. And still the rain fell, in big hot
drops. Venner awoke with a start. He rubbed his hands over his face,
and found that it was wet and sticky. He could still hear the wind
moaning. More frightened than he had been in his dream, he leaped from
his bunk and turned on the cabin light.
It was Adams whose breathing had seemed like the wind howling. “What’s
the matter?” Venner demanded. “Are you sick?”
“...Hurt,” Adams said with difficulty. “Get Ambarzumian.” At a run,
Venner routed the captain from his cubicle. Then, urged by an impulse
he couldn’t have defined, he ran to Neil’s laboratory.
* * * * *
There was blood and broken glassware everywhere. Tables had been
overset; the laboratory looked as if everything in it had been stirred
with a big stick; there wasn’t a flask or test tube unbroken; there was
blood high up on the white walls. Neil lay on the floor in bloodsoaked
pyjamas. He had been beaten about the head until almost the only
recognizable feature of his face was his moustache. In his right hand
he was holding one of the long-bladed laboratory knives.
Venner turned and ran back to the forecastle. Ambarzumian was bending
over Adams. The emergency lights had been turned on.
“What happened?” Ambarzumian demanded. “How did you get hurt like this?”
“Neil,” the young man answered. “I had to get the batteries back from
him.”
“Batteries, Why?”
“For the Squee,” Adams replied. The breath was rattling in his throat,
but he smiled at them. “She had to have them; right now, she’s got to
have plenty of power.”
“Power? What for?” Ambarzumian questioned. He knew, better than the
others, what their position now was; he looked sick and old.
“Because....” Adams, bleeding to death, sounded surprised. “Didn’t you
hear what Jacobsen told us? We’ve got to be extra careful with her now.
Because she’s going to have a pup.”
* * * * *
Oddly enough, the two deaths improved the morale of the crew. Neil
had been deeply and bitterly hated; the loss of the Ganymedean cell
material seemed to be more than compensated for by the fact of his
death. Adams had been popular enough, but his being dead meant a
little more comfort in the way of food, air, and living space for the
others. The difficulties of a short-handed landing on earth were still
so distant in space and time that it was difficult for the crewmen to
appreciate them. Since there was no other way to dispose of the bodies,
they were fed into the ship’s atomic reducers, and added, ultimately, a
few extra BTU to the auxiliary fuel supply.
* * * * *
As the distance between the ship and earth lessened, Ambarzumian called
Jacobsen in for a series of conferences. He wanted to see what could be
done toward modifying the landing gear to make a safe landing a little
more possible.
“That’s the best I can do, sir,” Jacobsen said at last.
“Yes. You’ve tried hard. It’s ... not too bad.”
* * * * *
Jacobsen touched the zither strings lightly. “What do you think
our chances of a safe landing are, sir?” he ventured.
“Oh--about fifty-fifty. Maybe a little better than that. Depends a good
deal on what sort of upper stratospheric winds we meet.” Ambarzumian
leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“If we do get down to surface safe, it’s going to be hard on the people
at home when they learn that we failed. This ship was just about the
last hope, and we aren’t bringing anything back.”
“It’s not quite that bad,” Ambarzumian answered. He had grown
noticeably more gray-haired in the last month. “We’ve got most of
Neil’s notes; they’ll be valuable. We know that he did succeed in
making an artificial human zygote. The next ship to leave earth for
Ganymede will start off from a higher level than we did.”
“The next ship.... Sir, do you think that what Venner said was
true? Did we fail because we haven’t learned to control our own
aggressiveness?”
“It certainly looks that way. Adams loved the Squee. When he felt
Neil was endangering her, he struck back at him, even though, by his
striking back, he destroyed everything the expedition had accomplished.
What you said Venner said about men, generally speaking, is certainly
one way of looking at it.”
“Yes, but.... Suppose we get home safe. Suppose the other cytologists
are smarter than Neil was. Suppose the race goes on living. Will we
always be that way? Will we never be able to get rid of?”
“How should I know, Jacobsen? I’m only a human being.”
There was a long silence. At last Jacobsen began to play the zither
lightly. “_Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel? Deliver Daniel?_” he sang
softly but indomitably. “_Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel? And why not
every man?_”
Transcriber’s Note:
This etext was produced from Future Science Fiction #35, February
1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.
Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version.
Some song lyric lines have been italicized to match the other song
lyrics quoted.
Word change made:
felt _to_ left
He left the Captain’s cabin and went back to the forecastle,
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SQUEE ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg™ License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg
Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza #516,
Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
