Miss Fugate whispered, The headlines say that Palmer Eldritch is dead. She blinked, looked around her with amazement, then slowly focused on him; she regarded him with a confused mixture of fear and uncertainty, almost palpably edging back; she retreated from him, huddled against her chair, her fingers interlocked. And youre accused of having done it, Mr. Bulero. Honest; thats what the headline says.

You mean Im going to murder him?

She nodded. But.i.ts not a certainty; I only pick it up in some of the futures do you understand? I mean, we precogs see She gestured.

I know. He was familiar with precogs; Barney Mayerson had, after all, worked for P. P. Layouts thirteen years, and some of the others even longer. It could happen, he said gratingly. Why would I do a thing like that? he asked himself. No way to tell now. Perhaps after he reached Eldritch, talked to him as evidently he would.

Miss Fugate said, I dont think you ought to try to contact Mr. Eldritch in view of this possible future; dont you agree, Mr. Bulero? I mean, the risk is thereit hangs very large. AboutId guessin the neighborhood of forty.

Whats forty?

Percent. Almost half the possibilities. Now, more composed, she smoked her cigar and faced him; her eyes, dark and intense, ffickered as she regarded him, undoubtedly speculating with vast curiosity why he would do such a thing.

Rising, he walked to the door of the office. Thank you, Miss Fugate; I appreciate your a.s.sistance in this matter. He waited, indicating clearly his expectations that she would leave.

However, Miss Fugate remained seated. He was encountering the same peculiar streak of firmness that had upset Barney Mayerson. Mr. Bulero, she said quietly, I think Id really have to go to the UN police about this. We precogs He reshut the office door. You precogs, he said, are too preoccupied with other peoples lives. But she had him. He wondered what she would manage to do with her knowledge.

Mr. Mayerson may be drafted, Miss Fugate said. You knew that, of course. Are you going to try to influence them to let him off?

Candidly, he said, I had some intentions in the direction of helping him beat it, yes.

Mr. Bulero, she said in a small, steady voice, Ill make a deal with you. Let them draft him. And then Ill be your New York Pre-Fash consultant. She waited; Leo Bulero said nothing. What do you say? she asked. Obviously she was unaccustomed to such negotiations. However, she intended to make it stick if possible; after all, he reflected, everyone, even the smartest operator, had to begin somewhere. Perhaps he was seeing the initial phase of what would be a brilliant career.

And then he remembered something. Remembered why she had been transferred from the Peking office to come here to New York as Barney Mayersons a.s.sistant. Her predictions had proved erratic. Some of themtoo many of them, in facthad proved erroneous.

Perhaps her preview of the headline relating his indictment as the alleged murderer of Palmer Eldritcha.s.suming that she was being truthful, that she had really experienced itwas only another of her errors. The faulty precognition which had brought her here.

Aloud he said, Let me think it over. Give me a couple of days.

Until tomorrow morning, Miss Fugate said firmly.

Leo laughed. I see why Barney was so riled up. And Barney probably sensed with his own precog faculty, at least nebulously, that Miss Fugate was going to make a decisive strike at him, jeopardizing his whole position. Listen. He walked over to her. Youre Mayersons mistress. Howd you like to give that up? I can offer you the use of an entire satellite. a.s.suming, of course, that he could pry Scotty out of there.

No thank you, Miss Fugate said.

Why? He was amazed. Your career I like Mr. Mayerson, she said. And I dont particularly care for bub She caught herself. Men whove evolved in those clinics.

Again he opened the office door. Ill let you know by tomorrow morning. As he watched her pa.s.s through the doorway and out into the receptionists office he thought, Thatll give me time to reach Ganymede and Palmer Eldritch; Ill know more, then. Know if your foresight seems spurious or not.

Shutting the door behind the girl, he turned at once to his desk, and clicked the vidphone b.u.t.ton connecting him with the outside. To the New York City operator he said, Get me the James Riddle Veterans Hospital at Base III on Ganymede; I want to speak to a Mr. Eldon Trent, a patient there. Person to person. He gave his name and number, then rang off, jiggled the hook, and dialed Kennedy s.p.a.ceport.

He booked pa.s.sage for the express ship leaving New York for Ganymede that evening, then paced about his office, waiting for the call-back from James Riddle Veterans Hospital.

Bubblehead, he thought. Shed call even her employer that.

Ten minutes later the call came.

Im sorry, Mr. Bulero, the operator apologized. Mr. Trent is not receiving calls, by doctors orders.

So Rondinella Fugate was right; an Eldon Trent did exist at James Riddle and in all probability he was Palmer Eldritch. It was certainly worth making the trip; the odds looked good.

Looked good, he thought wryly, that Ill encounter Eldritch, have some kind of altercation with him, G.o.d knows what, and eventually bring about his death . A man that at this point in time I dont even know. And Ill find myself arraigned; I wont get away with it. What a prospect.

But his curiosity was aroused. In all his manifold operations he had never found the need of killing anyone under any circ.u.mstances. Whatever it was that would occur between him and Palmer Eldritch had to be unique; definitely a trip to Ganymede was indicated.

It would be difficult to turn back now. Because he had the acute intuition that this would turn out to be what he hoped. And Rondinella Fugate had only said that he would be accused of the murder; there was no datum as to a successful conviction.

Convicting a man of his stature of a capital crime, even through the UN authorities, would take some doing.

He was willing to let them try.

THREE.

In a bar hard by P. P. Layouts, Richard Hnatt sat sipping a Tequila Sour, his display case on the table before him. He knew G.o.ddam well there was nothing wrong with Emilys pots; her work was saleable. The problem had to do with her ex-husband and his position of power.

And Barney Mayerson had exercised that power.

I have to call Emily and tell her, Hnatt said to himself. He started to his feet.

A man blocked his way, a peculiar round specimen mounted on spindly legs.

Who are you? Hnatt said.

The man bobbed toy-like in front of him, meanwhile digging into his pocket as if scratching at a familiar microorganism that possessed parasitic proclivities that had survived the test of time. However, what he produced at last was a business card. Were interested in your ceramic ware, Mr. Hatt. Natt. However you say it.

Icholtz, Hnatt said, reading the card; it gave only the name, no further info, not even a vidnumber. But what I have with me are just samples. Ill give you the names of retail outlets stocking our line. But these Are for minning, the toylike man, Mr. Icholtz, said, nodding. And thats what we want. We intend to min your ceramics, Mr. Hnatt; we believe that Mayerson is wrongthey will become fash, and very soon.

Hnatt stared at him. You want to min, and youre not from P. P. Layouts? But no one else minned . Everyone knew P. P. Layouts had a monopoly.

Seating himself at the table beside the display case, Mr. Icholtz brought out his wallet and began counting out skins. Very little publicity will be attached to this at first. But eventually He offered Hnatt the stack of brown, wrinkled, truffle-skins which served as tender in the Sol system: the only molecule, a unique protein amino acid, which could not be duplicated by the Printers, the Biltong life forms employed in place of automated a.s.sembly lines by many of Terras industries.

Ill have to check with my wife, Hnatt said.

Arent you the representative of your firm?

Y-yes. He accepted the pile of skins.

The contract. Icholtz produced a doc.u.ment, spread it flat on the table; he extended a pen. It gives us an exclusive.

As he bent to sign, Richard Hnatt saw the name of Icholtz firm on the contract. Chew-Z Manufacturers of Boston . He had never heard of them. Chew-Z it reminded him of another product, exactly which he could not recall. It was only after he had signed and Icholtz was tearing loose his copy that he remembered.

The illegal hallucinogenic drug Can-D, used in the colonies in conjunction with the Perky Pat layouts.

He had an intuition compounded of deep unease. But it was too late to back out. Icholtz was gathering up the display case; the contents belonged to Chew-Z Manufacturers of Boston, U.S.A., Terra, now.

Howcan I get in touch with you? Hnatt asked, as Icholtz started away from the table.

You wont be getting in touch with us. If we want you well call you. Icholtz smiled briefly.

How in h.e.l.l was he going to tell Emily? Hnatt counted the skins, read the contract, realized by degrees exactly how much Icholtz had paid him; it was enough to provide him and Emily with a five-day vacation in Antarctica, at one of the great, cool resort cities frequented by the rich of Terra, where no doubt Leo Bulero and others like him spent the summer and these days summer lasted all year round.

Orhe pondered. It could do even more; it could get himself and his wife into the most exclusive establishment on the planeta.s.suming he and Emily wanted it. They could fly to the Germanies and enter one of Dr. w.i.l.l.y Denkmals E Therapy clinics. Wowie, he thought.

He shut himself up in the bars vidphone booth and called Emily. Pack your bag. Were going to Munich. To He picked the name of a clinic at random; he had seen this one advertised in exclusive Paris magazines. To Eichenwald, he told her. Dr. Denkmal is Barney took them, Emily said.

No. But theres someone else in the field of minning, now, besides P. P. Layouts. He felt elated. So Barney turned us down; so what? We did better with this new outfit; they must have plenty. Ill see you in half an hour; Ill arrange for accommodations on TWAs express flight. Think of it: E Therapy for both of us.

In a low voice Emily said, Im not sure I want to evolve, when it comes right down to it.

Staggered, he said, Sure you do. I mean, it could save our lives, and if not ours then our kidsour potential kids that we might be having, someday. And even if were only there a short time and only evolve a little, look at the doors itll open to us; well be personae gratae everywhere. Do you personally know anyone whos had E Therapy? You read about so-and-so in the homeopapes all the time, society people but I dont want that hair all over me, Emily said. And I dont want to have my head expand. No. I wont go to Eichenwald Clinic. She sounded completely decided; her face was placid.

He said, Then Ill go alone. It would still be of economic value; after all, it was he who dealt with buyers. And he could stay at the clinic twice as long, evolve twice as much a.s.suming that the treatments took. Some people did not respond, but that was hardly Dr. Denkmals fault; the capacity for evolution was not bestowed on everyone alike. About himself he felt cert.i.tude; hed evolve remarkably, catch up with the big shots, even pa.s.s some of them, in terms of the familiar h.o.r.n.y rind which Emily out of mistaken prejudice had called hair.

What am I supposed to do while youre gone? Just make pots?

Right, he said. Because orders would be arriving thick and fast; otherwise Chew-Z Manufacturers of Boston would have no interest in the min. Obviously they employed their own Pre-Fash precogs as P. P. Layouts did. But then he remembered; Icholtz had said very little publicity at first . That meant, he realized, that the new firm had no network of disc jockeys circling the colony moons and planets; unlike P. P. Layouts, they had no Allen and Charlotte Faine to flash the news to.

But it took time to set up disc jockey satellites. This was natural.

And yet it made him uneasy. He thought all at once in panic, Could they be an illegal firm? Maybe Chew-Z, like Can-D, is banned; maybe Ive got us into something dangerous.

Chew-Z, he said aloud to Emily. Ever heard of it?

No.

He got the contract out and once more examined it. What a mess, he thought. Howd I get into it? If only that d.a.m.n Mayerson had said yes on the pots At ten in the morning a terrific horn, familiar to him, hooted Sam Regan out of his sleep, and he cursed the UN ship upstairs; he knew the racket was deliberate. The ship, circling above the hovel Chicken Pox Prospects, wanted to be certain that colonistsand not merely indigenous animalsgot the parcels that were to be dropped.

Well get them, Sam Regan muttered to himself as he zipped his insulated overalls, put his feet into high boots, and then grumpily sauntered as slowly as possible toward the ramp.

Hes early today, Tod Morris complained. And Ill bet its all staples, sugar and food-basics like lardnothing interesting such as, say, candy.

Putting his shoulders against the lid at the top of the ramp, Norman Schein pushed; bright cold sunlight spilled down on them and they blinked.

The UN ship sparkled overhead, set against the black sky as if hanging from an uneasy thread. Good pilot, this drop, Tod decided. Knows the Fineburg Crescent area. He waved at the UN ship and once more the huge horn burst out its din, making him clap his hands to his ears.

A projectile slid from the underpart of the ship, extended stabilizers, and spiraled toward the ground.

Sheoot, Sam Regan said with disgust. It is staples; they dont have the parachute. He turned away, not interested.

How miserable the upstairs looked today, he thought as he surveyed the landscape of Mars. Dreary. Why did we come here? Had to , were forced to.

Already the UN projectile had landed; its hull cracked open, torn by the impact, and the three colonists could see canisters. It looked to be five hundred pounds of salt. Sam Regan felt even more despondent.

Hey, Schein said, walking toward the projectile and peering. I believe I see something we can use.

Looks like radios in those boxes, Tod said. Transistor radios. Thoughtfully he followed after Schein. Maybe we can use them for something new in our layouts.

Mines already got a radio, Schein said.

Well, build an electronic self-directing lawn mower with the parts, Tod said. You dont have that, do you? He knew the Scheins Perky Pat layout fairly well; the two couples, he and his wife with Schein and his, had fused together a good deal, being compatible.

Sam Regan said, Dibs on the radios, because I can use them. His layout lacked the automatic garage-door opener that both Schein and Tod had; he was considerably behind them. Of course all those items could be purchased. But he was out of skins. He had used his complete supply in the service of a need which he considered more pressing. He had, from a pusher, bought a fairly large quant.i.ty of Can-D; it was buried, hidden out of sight, in the earth under his sleep-compartment at the bottom level of their collective hovel.

He himself was a believer; he affirmed the miracle of translationthe near-sacred moment in which the miniature artifacts of the layout no longer merely represented Earth but became Earth. And he and the others, joined together in the fusion of doll-inhabitation by means of the Can-D, were transported outside of time and local s.p.a.ce. Many of the colonists were as yet unbelievers; to them the layouts were merely symbols of a world which none of them could any longer experience. But, one by one, the unbelievers came around.

Even now, so early in the morning, he yearned to go back down below, chew a slice of Can-D from his h.o.a.rd, and join with his fellows in the most solemn moment of which they were capable.

To Tod and Norm Schein he said, Either of you care to seek transit? That was the technical term they used for partic.i.p.ation. Im going back below, he said. We can use my Can-D; Ill share it with you.

An inducement like that could not be ignored; both Tod and Norm looked tempted. So early? Norm Schein said. We just got out of bed. But I guess theres nothing to do anyhow. He kicked glumly at a huge semi-autonomic sand dredge; it had remained parked near the entrance of the hovel for days now. No one had the energy to come up to the surface and resume the clearing operations inaugurated earlier in the month. It seems wrong, though, he muttered. We ought to be up here working in our gardens.

And thats some garden youve got, Sam Regan said, with a grin. What is that stuff youve got growing there? Got a name for it?

Norm Schein, hands in the pockets of his coveralls, walked over the sandy, loose soil with its spa.r.s.e vegetation to his once carefully maintained vegetable garden; he paused to look up and down the rows, hopeful that more of the specially prepared seeds had sprouted. None had.

Swiss chard, Tod said encouragingly. Right? Mutated as it is, I can still recognize the leaves.

Breaking off a leaf Norm chewed it, then spat it out; the leaf was bitter and coated with sand.

Now Helen Morris emerged from the hovel, shivering in the cold Martian sunlight. We have a question, she said to the three men. I say that psychoa.n.a.lysts back on Earth were charging fifty dollars an hour and Fran says it was for only forty-five minutes. She explained, We want to add an a.n.a.lyst to our layout and we want to get it right, because its an authentic item, made on Earth and shipped here, if you remember that Bulero ship that came by last week We remember, Norm Schein said sourly. The prices that the Bulero salesman had wanted. And all the time in their satellite Allen and Charlotte Faine talked up the different items so, whetting everyones appet.i.te.

Ask the Faines, Helens husband Tod said. Radio them the next time the satellite pa.s.ses over. He glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch. In another hour. They have all the data on authentic items; in fact that particular datum should have been included with the item itself, right in the carton. It perturbed him because it had of course been his skinshis and Helens togetherthat had gone to pay for the tiny figure of the human-type psychoa.n.a.lyst, including the couch, desk, carpet, and bookcase of incredibly well-minned impressive books.

You went to the a.n.a.lyst when you were still on Earth, Helen said to Norm Schein. What was the charge?

Well, I mostly went to group therapy, Norm said. At the Berkeley State Mental Hygiene Clinic, and they charged according to your ability to pay. And of course Perky Pat and her boyfriend go to a private a.n.a.lyst. He walked down the length of the garden solemnly deeded to him, between the rows of jagged leaves, all of which were to some extent shredded and devoured by microscopic native pests. If he could find one healthy plant, one untouchedit would be enough to restore his spirits. Insecticides from Earth simply had not done the job, here; the native pests thrived. They had been waiting ten thousand years, biding their time, for someone to appear and make an attempt to raise crops.

Tod said, You better do some watering.

Yeah, Norm Schein agreed. He meandered gloomily in the direction of Chicken Pox Prospects hydro-pumping system; it was attached to their now partially sand-filled irrigation network which served all the gardens of their hovel. Before watering came sand-removal, he realized. If they didnt get the big Cla.s.s-A dredge started up soon they wouldnt be able to water even if they wanted to. But he did not particularly want to.

And yet he could not, like Sam Regan, simply turn his back on the scene up here, return below to fiddle with his layout, build or insert new items, make improvements or, as Sam proposed, actually get out a quant.i.ty of the carefully hidden Can-D and begin the communication. We have responsibilities, he realized.

To Helen he said, Ask my wife to come up here. She could direct him as he operated the dredge; Fran had a good eye.

Ill get her, Sam Regan agreed, starting back down below. No one wants to come along?

No one followed him; Tod and Helen Morris had gone over to inspect their own garden, now, and Norm Schein was busy pulling the protective wrapper from the dredge, preparatory to starting it up.

Back below, Sam Regan hunted up Fran Schein; he found her crouched at the Perky Pat layout which the Morrises and the Scheins maintained together, intent on what she was doing.

Without looking up, Fran said, Weve got Perky Pat all the way downtown in her new Ford hardtop convert and parked and a dime in the meter and shes shopped and now shes in the a.n.a.lysts office reading Fortune . But what does she pay? She glanced up, smoothed back her long dark hair, and smiled at him. Beyond a doubt Fran was the handsomest and most dramatic person in their collective hovel; he observed this now, and not for anything like the first time.