“Are you going back inside?” The new man revised the question: “When are you going back in?”

  “Steve—that’s Steven, uh, Dahlgren—and I will take another shot whenever the mission director tells us to,” Jerry answered. “I’m trying to get used to being part of a team, not doing my own thing whenever I feel like it.”

  John Rogers smiled. “What … thing were you doing before you wound up on the Glomar Explorer?”

  “Grad student at UCLA, writing my thesis on whale songs,” Jerry said. “This is a little different from that.”

  “I’ll say. They didn’t even tell me what they’d brought up from the bottom of the ocean till I got to Midway. Before that, I thought it was … I thought it was something else, anyway.” Half a beat slower than he might have, he remembered to bow before the great god Security. He’d answered Jerry’s unspoken question, though.

  Jerry said, “Hey, I didn’t find out what was really going on till I was a couple of days out to sea, either. They don’t want news of this getting out,” Jerry said.

  “How can you blame them?” the doctor said.

  “Can’t.” Again, Jerry wondered how much he meant that. Was Humpty Dumpty for the United States or for the whole world? Like Hamlet’s To be or not to be?, that was the question. Jerry still had no answer he liked. He didn’t think he’d do anything like make a beeline for Jack Anderson’s office the second he got back on the mainland, but he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t. As Watergate showed, sometimes the best thing you could do was shine a bright light on stuff.

  Sometimes. How bright a light can I shine? Jerry wondered. Without evidence, Anderson would think he was a nut. So would any reporter in his right mind. Even with evidence, Jerry feared he’d have trouble getting anyone with good, hard common sense to take him seriously. Good, hard common sense argued against things like Humpty Dumpty. Which only went to show what good, hard common sense was or wasn’t worth.

  * * *

  Dave Schoals eyed Jerry and Steve in the compartment that opened on to the moon pool. They had their protective suits on once more, all but the masks and mouthpieces. “Here we go again,” Dave said, trying to ease the tension he knew was there.

  “Here we go again,” Steve agreed.

  Jerry didn’t say anything. His belt had a lot more weight on it this time than it had had when he and Steve first tried to get into the spaceship. No one then had really thought they’d succeed. Now that they’d done it once, they were supposed to do it again. He was equipped accordingly.

  He had a scratch pad and three pens. He had his very own Instamatic, with flash cubes and extra film. He had a flashlight, which could do double duty as a blackjack. He had a walkie-talkie—for emergency use only, everybody told him. And he had a big, fancy Swiss Army knife, with a whole bunch of tools that would probably be useless inside Humpty Dumpty and with a knife blade unlikely to scare off anything the flashlight couldn’t deal with. Steve carried the same sort of gear. They also had balls of nylon twine, for finding their way out again.

  “We’ll have people ready to go in after you if you need help,” Dave said.

  “Far out,” Jerry muttered, more sarcastically than not. They were doing what they could. He gave them credit for that. But he didn’t think they could do anything that would save Steve and him if trouble came.

  “Remember, you’re looking for the way down to the engines—or the way up to them,” Dave said. “Or the way to the control room, if there is one. Or to the crew quarters, if there are crew quarters.”

  “That sounds like kind of a lot on forty-five minutes’ worth of air,” Jerry said.

  Dave gave him a dirty look. “Do what you can, that’s all,” he said. Jerry nodded back. That at least seemed reasonable. Seeing he wasn’t going to have a mutiny on his hands, the recovery director nodded, too. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “We ready?” Jerry asked Steve.

  “I think we are,” the older man said. They both went to the watertight door. Dave touched each of them on the shoulder, as he had the last time. They stuck in the rubber mouthpieces and started the canned air going.

  Dave undogged the door. “Luck,” he said. Out they went. He closed and secured the door behind them.

  The audience up top was there again, as if had been the first time. Approaching the entrance to Humpty Dumpty, Jerry worried less than he had before. If it opened, he wouldn’t roast or freeze. That was something, anyhow.

  Also not needing to fear that, Steve followed only a couple of steps behind him. A sailor had welded a steel hook to Clementine to give the explorers somewhere to secure their twine. Remembering Kip in Have Space Suit, Jerry made sure he tied his with a square knot.

  He stood in front of the round doorway. For a moment, he thought about Anna. He thought about Tim Ishihara, whom he’d known since the third grade. He’d been best man at Tim’s wedding. Tim would have done the same for him by now, only his got put on hold. Not being able to tell Tim the truth hurt almost as much as it did with Anna. One of these days … maybe.

  Had he really thought like this the first time? Not in such detail; he’d had too many other things swirling through his head. But the idea had been there, down deep if not on the surface. It must have been, or the door would have stayed closed.

  Or he’d just got lucky, and it wouldn’t open now. Time to see. He pulled out the mouthpiece, said “Friend!” and put it back in as fast as he could.

  Next thing he knew, the door had opened or vanished or done whatever it did. The way into Humpty Dumpty lay open again. He wondered if they’d caught the moment on film or tape. Not for long, though. Time to see what was what.

  When he turned to Steve, the older man was making silent handclaps. Jerry scrambled up into the airlock, if it was an airlock. Then he helped Steve up and in, the way he had before. Poor old fart isn’t so spry anymore, he thought sympathetically.

  They went down that first corridor, paying out the nylon line behind them. Jerry wondered what Humpty Dumpty’s proper attitude was. Was he walking on the floor, on a wall, or on the ceiling? Since everything glowed and there were no shadows, he couldn’t tell.

  The corridor didn’t go very far before branching. The yellow line still shone on the wall or ceiling or floor to the left. Just beyond it was the opening that led to … whatever it led to.

  Jerry pulled out the scratch pad. Let’s go left till we can see what that opening does.

  Steve nodded. Still one in front of the other, they walked along the corridor. Jerry photographed the twisting yellow line. He had no idea if those twists carried any meaning, but they looked as if they might.

  There was the opening. Unlike the Glomar Explorer, Humpty Dumpty didn’t seem to be divided up into airtight compartments. Didn’t seem to be was probably the kicker, though. If the outer door vanished and appeared whenever it wanted to, why couldn’t internal bulkheads do the same?

  I’ll go in. You wait here till you’re sure it’s okay, Jerry wrote. Half a second later, he added, If you hear me scream, get the hell out.

  Go ahead, cheer me up, Steve answered. But he didn’t say no.

  Even I think I’m the expendable one, Jerry said to himself as he walked into the opening. It was partly that. It was also partly that he was younger, faster, bigger, and stronger than the man from the RAND Corporation. So here he was, boldly going where no man had gone before.

  He wondered what he’d do if some mouse-sized six- or eight-legged thing scurried over his shoes. Besides piss his pants, anyway. Ships had rats, right? But that had to be impossible. Didn’t it? What if it wasn’t? What if the thing managed to hide somewhere on the Glomar Explorer before anyone caught it? What if it was pregnant, or about to lay eggs? What if it made rabbits in Australia look like good news by comparison?

  What if you quit making like a writer and do your job? Jerry had to be stern with himself. He also had to fight not to keep looking at his feet.

  Two openings lay along this corridor. The twisting yellow line ran past them. The one on the right came up first. When Jerry looked inside, he found he was likely walking on a wall, because everything in that chamber seemed ninety degrees out of true for him.

  He took pictures of the … laboratory? He wasn’t sure, but that was his first guess. He thought some of the gadgets on tall stands might be for heating things up. He didn’t care to try to find out by experiment, though. Glassware—if it was glassware—lay in drifts on the wall that was now doing duty for the floor. Some had shattered, but more was intact. That said something either about how hard Humpty Dumpty had come in or how tough the alien utensils were.

  Something tugged on Jerry’s cord.

  He whirled in horror. There stood Steve, looking as apologetic as anyone could with a mouthpiece hiding most of the expression on his face. Didn’t mean to scare you, but I want to see, too, he wrote.

  FUCK! Jerry underlined it for good measure. If some future scholar researching humanity’s first contact with aliens wanted to get sniffy about his language, tough. As his heart slowed, he tried again: Let’s look across the corridor.

  That chamber made him change his mind about the first one. It looked more like a messroom than anything else, so maybe the first was more likely a kitchen than a lab. Again, though, everything was at a right angle to its proper arrangement, and quite a bit had gone topsy-turvy.

  They’re bigger than we are, Jerry wrote. He’d had the same thought on the other side of the corridor, too. The stands the stuff there were mounted on were definitely higher than humans would have made. The tables in here were also taller than people would have wanted unless they were perched on bar stools. Jerry didn’t see any bar stools in the wreckage, or other kinds of chairs, either.

  He and Steve both photographed the maybe-messroom. The older man wrote, Shall we follow the yellow line?

  Sure. It’s there. It’s important, unless it isn’t, Jerry replied. They went on. Jerry looked at his watch. They were still good on time, and they could leave a lot faster than they were exploring.

  No mice. No snerps, or whatever the aliens would call their pests. Just the corridor and the yellow line. Another opening loomed ahead. The line led to it … and stopped. Jerry took more pictures. So did Steve. This was where things would happen, unless it wasn’t.

  If this is important, something may happen when I go in. Stay out till you know I’m okay. If I’m not, just get away, yes? Jerry showed Steve what he’d written. The older man nodded. Whether he meant it or not—they’d both find out. Jerry took a deep breath and went in, Instamatic in hand.

  Three … things were on the wall that had been a floor. Two of them held the beings that must have crewed Humpty Dumpty. He could see them through the … things’ clear domed tops. They reminded him more of centaurs than anything else. But they had what looked like feathers, not hair or bare skin. Their heads were more like owls than anything else that occurred to Jerry right away. Their eyes were open wide and yellow.

  The third … thing had held one of them, too. Only bones and gunk were in there now. Whatever the other two did, this one had failed. Jerry gulped and started snapping photos.

  IX

  Steve came in then. Jerry hardly noticed. Steve used his camera, too. Jerry had to change rolls to take more pictures. He stuck the exposed cassette in one of the pockets on his oversuit.

  When he paused, he wrote, Do you believe this?

  I’m seeing it. Either I believe it or I think it’s a hallucination, the man from the RAND Corporation answered. You see it, too, unless I’m also imagining that.

  Jerry would have joked about acid or magic mushrooms. He hadn’t done them, but he knew plenty of people who had. He had a pretty fair notion of what they did. Steve seemed even straighter than he was. And they said it couldn’t be done! he thought wryly.

  After they’d both gone through more rolls and stashed film cassettes in various pockets, Steve wrote, We’d better head back. About time, yes?

  Yes, Jerry agreed after checking his watch. He didn’t want to leave, but he saw the need. And his mind was spinning in overdrive. Cold sleep? Some other kind of suspended animation? Could they revive those two centaurowls? Would doing that be smart or completely insane? He had all kinds of questions and exactly no answers.

  Another one was what had gone wrong in the unit that didn’t hold a perfectly preserved alien? Whatever else it was, it was another reminder that the beings who’d crewed Humpty Dumpty could screw up just like human beings. That might be worth remembering.

  Reluctantly, he backed out of the chamber with the preservation units. He and Steve made their way up the corridor, rewinding their twine as they went. For all Jerry could tell, the airlock door would cleanly slice the nylon when it closed or reappeared or did whatever magic trick it did. But he and Steve didn’t know that for a fact. The twine might make the door stay open just a crack, which might lead to Humpty Dumpty’s air mingling with Earth’s more than it had already, which might lead to … who the hell had any idea what?

  Nothing dramatic happened on the way out. As he had before, Jerry left the starship first and helped Steve follow him. As before, the airlock door came back before he could see how.

  Four men in suits and masks and air tanks waited not far away. Jerry wondered whether they were happy or sad they hadn’t needed to charge in there on a rescue mission.

  One of them spat out his mouthpiece. “You are all right?” he asked. He had a heavy German accent—he was the ex-U-boat engineer Jerry had heard about, one of the new men from the B crew. On the Glomar Explorer, he went by Manfred Krause. He seemed to like the handle—he said it was easier for Americans to pronounce than the last name he’d been born with.

  Jerry shed his mouthpiece, too, and breathed in humid, subtropical air. “We’re fine. We’re great,” he said, and gave a thumbs-up.

  “What did you see?” Manfred asked.

  “Wonderful things,” Steve answered before Jerry could say anything. In a low voice, he added, “That’s what Howard Carter said when they asked him what he saw in King Tut’s tomb.”

  “Yeah.” Jerry nodded. He knew that; he’d taken the history of ancient Egypt as an undergrad breadth requirement, and was prouder of the B he’d earned than many As in things that came easier for him. He’d never felt so intimidated as when the prof intoned, before both midterm and final, You may write your bluebooks in English, German, or Arabic.

  Manfred said, “If all is good, then, come ahead for your decontamination check and cleanup.”

  Come they did. A guy in gear like theirs checked them for radioactivity, as had happened before. Then they took everything out of their pockets, peeled off the tape holding booties and gloves to their suits, and did the prescribed triple scrubdown. Jerry thought he came out of it smelling like a veterinarian’s office (minus dog shit), but nobody on the Glomar Explorer gave a damn about his opinion.

  Dr. Rogers went through the same routine of breathing over and spitting into culture medium, mouth swabbing, and cleanout at the other end as Doc Borden had before. After it was over, Jerry asked him, “Did anything weird grow on the culture medium from last time?”

  “Not so far as I’ve been able to tell,” the physician said. “That’s good news, remember. You don’t want to carry anything from another world that you may not have any resistance to.”

  “I understand that,” Jerry said, as sympathetically as he could. The new guy was still getting up to speed.

  Sure enough, Rogers repeated, “Anything from another world…” and let his voice trail away. After a moment, he picked up again: “You could have knocked me over with a feather when they told me about that on Midway. Up till then, I thought I’d be doing autopsies on Russian sailors, not on little green men.” His laugh sounded nervous.

  They aren’t little green men, and two of them aren’t dead. I don’t think they are, anyway. Jerry kept his lips buttoned. The doctor didn’t have need to know. People who did, people like Dale and Jack and Dave, would detonate like H-bombs if he talked out of turn.

  Rogers’s office had a tiny waiting room. A rent-a-frog sat in a chair reading an old U.S. News & World Report. When Jerry started to walk out, the diver said, “Why don’t you wait here till the doc finishes with Mister Dahlgren, sir? Then I’ll take you both to the director’s cabin.”

  Why don’t you? had to mean You’d better. “You talked me into it, Gator,” Jerry said. The other man got his handle from a tattoo on his right forearm. A little farther up the arm was a nasty burn scar.

  Jerry pretended to read a Newsweek even older than Gator’s magazine till Steve came out of Dr. Rogers’s sanctum. Then the two men who’d come out of Humpty Dumpty again followed the diver to Dale Neuwirth’s chamber. Gator sketched a salute to the mission director. “Here they are, sir.”

  “Thanks, Gator,” Neuwirth said, and then, to Jerry and Steve, “C’mon in.”

  He shut the door behind them and locked it. As before, Jack and Dave sat on the bed. Jerry noticed a stout trunk stashed in the space under the mattress. Did that hold some of the guns the CIA had insisted on having aboard? He wouldn’t have been surprised.

  Dale didn’t turn on Bing Crosby this time. Instead, he started a tape recorder that sat on his desk. “Debriefing. Second entry to Humpty Dumpty,” he said clearly. Maybe Gator stood on guard in the corridor, discouraging passersby. He’d be good at it, Jerry thought.

  “What did you find inside the spaceship this time?” Jack asked.

  Jerry and Steve looked at each other. Steve spoke first: “The most important thing we found is, there are two aliens preserved in some kind of suspended animation in the chamber the yellow line leads to. We have photographs.”