“I tell you, they were under observation all evening!”

  “But were their robots?”

  M’Gamba paused. “Never thought of that.”

  “Well, it seems plausible, doesn’t it? Trouble is, this is a delicate matter. We can’t just arrest them on suspicion; we’ll need mighty good proof.”

  M’Gamba rubbed his chin. “I think a look at this Arcturian’s neck pouch could be arranged. He’s down in the shop now, working up a demonstration model. I’ll have one of my skilled operators go down and talk to him and—ah—accidentally cut the thongs of the pouch with a beam-slicer. Cut the pouch itself open, too. The contents will spill out and—”

  “It’s your problem. Just make sure you have a cover-up in case he turns out not to be carrying the stuff, after all. Call me as soon as you know, will you?” Welcome clicked off and sat for a moody while, considering his own next move. Finally he sighed and called Christine. “Get hold of Rappapa and have him come here, please. Diplomatically, of course.”

  “Auch, you don’t think—”

  “I’m afraid I do.”

  Welcome stuffed his pipe and looked out at the savage dawn-glare. Damn and blast, how did you accuse an accredited envoy of theft, especially when you liked him?

  Rappapa came bustling in accompanied by no more than a midget helicopter.

  “Twice in one arbitrary diurnal period?” he quacked. “Believe me, your excellency, I am flattered by such hyper-attention on the part of your doubtless busy-with-vast-problems-of-interstellar-negotiations self.”

  “I need your help,” said the human awkwardly. “Would you like a cigar?”

  “Gratitude erupts from me,” said Rappapa. “If there is even of-the-most-micrometric way can assist in—”

  “It’s this business of the theft.”

  Welcome drew heavily on his pipe. “It puts my whole planet in a deucedly bad light. We have to catch the burglar to save our own reputation. At the same time, he is somebody’s diplomat, which could lead to an unholy row if we arrested him.”

  “Anyone who would ponder the violation of your excellency’s so lavish hospitality should be dedignified,” said Rappapa indignantly.

  “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid,” Welcome explained. “His planet would react with a great show of injury, one harsh word would lead to another, the seeds of mutual suspicion would be sown. Don’t you think, Freeman Rappapa, it would be best for the thief’s own planet, too, if he merely surrendered his loot? Then no one need ever know what has happened. The whole thing could be discreetly hushed up and forgotten.”

  “First the much-to-be-pondered question of locating the pilferish ambassador arises,” said Rappapa. “Does your excellency the assistance of my abject self in such detection work desire?”

  So he’s going to stall, after all.

  “If the thief confessed,” said Welcome desperately, “I would understand that he committed the act only from the highest motives of planetarism. I would not look down on him for it, or discriminate against him in any way.”

  Rappapa waved his cigar reverently. “Behold the magnanimity of the magnanimous!”

  “If he doesn’t confess, though, if we have to find him for ourselves, we may have to be rather stern about it afterward.”

  “Of course. Your excellency burrows to the very foundation of justice.”

  The visor buzzed. Here goes, thought Welcome. He clicked it on, and M’Gamba’s features looked bleakly out at him.

  “Well?”

  “It worked,” said the captain. “My agent got his hands on the films, shoved them under the nearest reader. They’re the ones, sure enough.”

  “And how about the—one who carried them?”

  “He insists he didn’t know he had them. Says someone must have planted them on him. That wouldn’t be hard to do, of course, so I haven’t put him under formal arrest yet. What do you suggest?”

  “I’ll call you back.” Welcome clicked off and turned to Rappapa. “Well, we’ve located our thief. Finally,” he said.

  “So I g-gathered.” The Arcturian jittered about on the floor, stuttering in his excitement. “Who is it? Who is the low, vile, not-to-be-mentioned-without-expectoration creature?”

  “His name,” said Welcome heavily, “is Srnapopoi.”

  “Srna—”

  “Yes.”

  “B-but—donnabi whichu krx killuwi—it is not of the possible! Believe me, excellent excellency, w-we are p-pure as distilled water!” Rappapa began trembling.

  “Your people should be able to figure out an electronic lock and have your robots pick it,” said Welcome tonelessly. “And Srnapopoi was carrying the films.”

  “Copies? Copies m-made by the th-thief to divert suspicion!”

  Welcome came around from behind the desk. “Don’t take it so hard,” he said kindly. “If you like, we’ll claim that Srnapopoi did it on his own initiative, without your knowledge. We’ll hush it all up.”

  “But he couldn’t have!” wailed Rappapa. “The robots can only my orders obey!”

  Welcome leaned back against the desk, scowling. His pipe had gone out and he made an elaborate ritual of relighting it to hide his uneasiness. He had given Rappapa an out and the duck hadn’t taken it. Nor would you expect anyone cool enough to pull that job to blow his jets this way when discovered—or, for that matter, to hide his loot so clumsily, though of course there was no accounting for non-human psychology.

  Rappapa began to cry. “We are besmirched with accusations and have lost confidence. You think I am a not-fit-to-wipe-the-feet-on-egg-eater. What will my nestmates say?”

  “Now, after all—”

  “They will say, ‘Twiutiuk poipoi tu spung Rappapa.’”

  Welcome scratched his head helplessly. “All right, all right, you didn’t do it. You’ve been the victim of a fraud. But then who is guilty?”

  Rappapa rubbed the tears from his bulging eyes. “It is necessary to protect the Kwillitchian self by the true monster finding,” he said with some return of his old perkiness. “Will you give me out of your polychromatic mercy a chance?”

  “Certainly. Because if you’re not guilty, then we’ve still got to find the one who is.” Welcome sat down on a corner of the desk. Inwardly, he groaned at the thought of starting over again, just when he had thought the business was settled—but, damn it, you couldn’t simply call an official delegate a liar, however much you might want to. “Let us assume that you did not do it. That leaves two possibilities, Sirius and Vega.”

  “Would you from the scintillant heights of intellect descend to explain the omission of Procyon and Alpha Centauri?”

  “Well, the Centaurian is obvious. He’s too stupid even to think of such a job. And Orazuni and his people were never out of sight of a human last night.” Fairness forced Welcome to admit: “Neither were you Arcturians, for that matter. But you had the robots.”

  “Could not Orazuni have had hidden-away robots?”

  “Not with his technical background. They’re biologists, biochemists, not electronicians, except on an elementary level. Unless Orazuni stole the key, which he did not, he just had no means of opening that lock.”

  “That leaves only some elaborate and improbable-on-the-face-of-it plot by Sirius or Vega.”

  “And I don’t think it could have been Vega. They’re backward in electronics. With the atmospheric pressure of New Jupiter, they never even developed a vacuum tube. And as for Sirius—”

  “No, wait! Robot delegate sent to do foul deeds while the weaver of intricate plots sits at his ease in public view.” Rappapa’s eyes bulged until they seemed in danger of falling out.

  Welcome looked at him, and he looked at Welcome.

  “Killuweetchungu!” squawked Rappapa. “Let us go!”

  “Hold on. We have to think this out.”

  “No time to think! Come!”

  Rappapa bounded from the office. Welcome cursed and charged after him. If that impulsive featherhead accused the wrong being—

  Christine saw four feet of squawking Arcturian, followed by six feet of cursing human, followed by seven inches of valiantly laboring helicopter, shoot through her office. She got up and raced after them. The receptionist saw the parade go by and excitedly joined it. A passing janitor saw them streaking through the hall and took out after the receptionist.

  Rappapa went down the ramp to the fourth sub-level, screeching and whistling. Thevorakz came out of his quarters to see what the fuss was about, just in time for Rappapa to unbalance him by darting under his legs, Welcome to bowl him over, and Christine, the receptionist, the janitor, and a few odd specimens picked up along the way to trample across him. As he rose, howling his fury, the helicopter collided with his head. He snarled and galloped after the rest.

  “Where is the Centaurian?” clacked Rappapa at George, who was rolling down the corridor. “Where is he lurking?”

  “In the clubroom,” said the Vegan, pointing.

  Rappapa vaulted the metal shell. Welcome and Christine leapfrogged over him. The others drew up, until Thevorakz took a flying broad jump above the whole group. George stared after them, shrugged, and rolled imperturbably on his way.

  The clubroom was almost deserted: a stray Arcturian was reading a murder mystery, Helmung was draped over the bar clutching a bottle, and Orazuni sat chatting with the warrior.

  “There they are!” yammered Rappapa. “There abide the overly diabolical thieves!”

  “Shut up, you bloody fool—” Welcome tripped on a chair and went flat on the floor. When he crawled up, Rappapa was grabbing Helmung by the baldric and chattering a stream of questions.

  “What is, little one?” rumbled the barbarian. “And why?”

  “We want to know how much Orazuni offered you to turn thief!”

  “I?” Orazuni smiled tolerantly. “Our colleague seems a trifle excited, Freeman Welcome.”

  Thevorakz clumped up to the bar, brushing assorted humans aside.

  “I demand an apology!” he roared. “I did not come nine light-yearth to be walked on!”

  “Let me go,” growled Helmung uneasily. He batted Rappapa away.

  “Help!” squealed the Arcturian. “Com-pan-ee—HELP!”

  “Really, now,” said Orazuni reproachfully, “I must say this is a most undignified scene.”

  “Will you apologize to me?” bellowed Thevorakz.

  “I go my place,” said Helmung. “Do not follow.” He shoved his way through the crowd.

  “Stop, thief!” yelled Rappapa. His robots marched in the door. “The Centaurian!” he added.

  “Now, see here—” began Orazuni.

  “Stop him, too!” cried Rappapa. “He the films has!”

  “I shall also demand an apology,” said the Procyonite with stiff dignity.

  Thevorakz reached out and gathered in a handful of his cloak. “Maybe you better wait a little,” he said.

  Helmung had just noticed the robots deploying before him.

  “I see little men!” he gasped. He waved his arms and started an incantation.

  A detachment of robots swarmed up some curtains, took them down, and began to hobble the Centaurian with them. Helmung looked suddenly crushed.

  “My witchcraft not works here on Luna,” he mumbled. “I want go home.”

  Welcome decided it was time for him to do something.

  “Helmung,” he asked, “did you open the door to the Sirian quarters for Orazuni?”

  “I promise him I not tell anyone that,” said Helmung in a self-righteous voice. “You torture me, do anything, I not confess I was one who open door.”

  Suddenly Orazuni broke into a laugh.

  “Never mind,” he said. “Here is the other copy of the book.” He fished in his portfolio and tossed a packet over to Welcome. “And now, freemen, if you will excuse me—”

  Thevorakz’s bellow cut through a sudden quiet. “When do I get my apology?”

  “It should have been obvious, I suppose,” said Welcome to Christine and M’Gamba. “That attempt to frame the Arcturians by making an extra copy of the book and planting it on one of them couldn’t have thrown us off very long. But Orazuni only needed to have us baying along his false trail for a few days; then he’d be safely on his way home, bearing the films. We did know, though, that he had been cultivating Helmung’s friendship ever since he learned that the Centaurians are telekinetic. His interest was scientific to start with, but it soon occurred to him that if Helmung could control electron streams easily enough to make pictures on an oscilloscope, he could surely open an electronic lock. And the Vegan data is valuable.”

  “Did he hope to get more out of it than just the tables themselves?” asked M’Gamba.

  “Yes. I was talking to him just now, and he was quite frank and cheerful. Procyon has entertained notions of taking the job of Horse Trading—ultimately the scientific leadership in all respects—away from Earth. This theft would not only have discredited us, but given them a nice chunk of knowledge to trade with, besides what they learned from us through legitimate channels. Orazuni got Helmung to steal the book from him by the bribe of a love potion—A hormone mixture adapted to Centaurian biochemistry. Helmung’s received that payment, by the way, and is eager to get home and try it out; so that’s one more nuisance off our necks.”

  “And what are we going to do about Orazuni?” asked Christine worriedly.

  Welcome shrugged. “Keep an eye on him. What else can we do? We need the knowledge and the good will of his planet. We’ll go on just as if nothing had happened. Horse Traders can’t be very prim, you know.”

  He looked out the office window. The Sun was visible now, its blinding glare filtered to a soft radiance, and the sterile land of crags and craters had an eerie beauty over it.

  “Hard to believe this affair only took one working day,” he said. “And what a day! Can we have some nice peaceful routine for a while, Chris?”

  “Not for long,” she told him. “The Quest is due in from Tau Ceti soon. The previous expedition there reported the natives were quite anxious to learn from us and readying a delegation. I think their proudest achievement to date is an ingenious method of chipping flint.”

  MURPHY’S HALL

  This is a lie, but I wish so much it were not.

  Pain struck through like lightning. For an instant that went on and on, there was nothing but the fire which hollowed him out and the body’s animal terror. Then as he whirled downward he knew:

  Oh, no! Must I Only a month,

  leave them already? a month.

  Weltall, verweile doch, du bist so schön.

  The monstrous thunders and whistles became a tone, like a bell struck once which would not stop singing. It filled the jagged darkness, it drowned all else, until it began to die out, or to vanish into the endless, century after century, and meanwhile the night deepened and softened, until he had peace.

  But he opened himself again and was in a place long and high. With his not-eyes he saw that five hundred and forty doors gave onto black immensities wherein dwelt clouds of light. Some of the clouds were bringing suns to birth. Others, greater and more distant, were made of suns already created, and turned in majestic Catherine wheels. The nearest stars cast out streamers of flame, lances of radiance; and they were diamond, amethyst, emerald, topaz, ruby; and around them swung glints which he knew with his not-brain were planets. His not-ears heard the thin violence of cosmic-ray sleet, the rumble of solar storms, the slow patient multiplex pulses of gravitational tides. His not-flesh shared the warmth, the blood-beat, the megayears of marvelous life on uncountable worlds.

  Seven stood waiting. He rose. “But you—” he stammered without a voice.

  “Welcome,” Ed greeted him. “Don’t be surprised. You were always one of us.”

  They talked quietly, until at last Gus reminded them that even here they were not masters of time. Eternity, yes, but not time. “Best we move on,” he suggested.

  “Uh-huh,” Roger said. “Especially after Murphy took this much trouble on our account.”

  “He does not appear to be a bad fellow,” Vladimir said.

  “I am not certain,” Robert answered. “Nor am I certain that we ever will find out. But come, friends. The hour is near.”

  Eight, they departed the hall and hastened down the star paths. Often the newcomer was tempted to look more closely at something he glimpsed. But he recalled that, while the universe was inexhaustible of wonders, it would have only the single moment to which he was being guided.

  They stood after a while on a great ashen plain. The outlook was as eerily beautiful as he had hoped—no, more, when Earth, a blue serenity swirled white with weather, shone overhead: Earth, whence had come the shape that now climbed down a ladder of fire.

  Yuri took Konstantin by the hand in the Russian way. “Thank you,” he said through tears.

  But Konstantin bowed in turn, very deeply, to Willy.

  And they stood in the long Lunar shadows, under the high Lunar heaven, and saw the awkward thing come to rest and heard: “Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed.”

  Stars are small and dim on Earth. Oh, I guess they’re pretty bright still on a winter mountaintop. I remember when I was little, we’d saved till we had the admission fees and went to Grand Canyon Reserve and camped out. Never saw that many stars. And it was like you could see up and up between them—like, you know, you could feel how they weren’t the same distance off, and the spaces between were more huge than you could imagine. Earth and its people were just lost, just a speck of nothing among those cold sharp stars. Dad said they weren’t too different from what you saw in space, except for being a lot fewer. The air was chilly too, and had a kind of pureness, and a sweet smell from the pines around. Way off I heard a coyote yip. The sound had plenty of room to travel in.

  But I’m back where people live. The smog’s not bad on this rooftop lookout, though I wish I didn’t have to breathe what’s gone through a couple million pairs of lungs before it reaches me. Thick and greasy. The city noise isn’t too bad either, the usual growling and screeching, a jet-blast or a burst of gunfire. And since the power shortage brought on the brownout, you can generally see stars after dark, sort of.