Rocket to Limbo

Lars had no answer that made any sense. I fust knew it, he thought. My ears didn’t hear anything, but I heard just the same. How could he describe the eerie—feeling—that had struck him out there in the valley? As he tried to think of the right words, he felt the same feeling stirring again in his mind. Weary as he was, he felt himself growing tense. There was an abrupt, ridiculous mental picture of someone gently but firmly prying the lid off a coffee can, and then, suddenly, he knew they were in his mind, probing with soft, feathery fingers. He felt their questions, although there was no sound, and they seemed to pick up his answers from his mind before they reached his tongue.

No wonder they don’t talk! he thought wildly. They don’t need to talk!

The woman looked at him in surprise. Talk? What is ‘talk’? It came clearly, a direct question. All three City-people were looking at him in puzzlement.

Talk. Making sounds that mean what you are thinking— They snatched the answer before it came from his lips, and they looked at each other, still puzzled, and then laughed. They didn’t really understand what he meant at all.

The woman pointed a finger at him. Who are you?

An Earthman. I’m called Heldrigsson. Lars Heldrigsson.

Again the puzzlement and confusion. Earthman? Heldrigsson? Lars? Many thoughts in your mind, all mean you—

I’m like him. Lars pointed to Peter.

They understood that, and it seemed to fill them with sudden eagerness and excitement. The men’s impassive faces broke into smiles as they nodded to each other, and Lars caught the stream of thought as it passed between them: —we were Tight, the two are indeed the same, then! It is good, good! Just as the Masters promised, sometime—

Lars blinked. “The Masters” had not been a word, but a thought, a mental picture of greatness and inaccessibility and reverence. It was almost as though the City-people had hushed their thought-voices as they mentioned the name, and bowed their heads gently. Yes, it is just as the Masters promised.

And then the woman was looking at him sharply. Like the others, she was dressed in a formless gray cloak of feathery soft material, and her hair seemed to shimmer in the light from the walls. She was very beautiful, her face childlike and yet gentle, her eyes gray and wide spaced. Then you come like all the others, from— She seemed to grapple for a picture that was beyond her capabilities.

From another star, Lars thought. From a planet called Earth, third from the sun—

Sun?

Our star. We call it Sol. Far away—

Away? What is that?

From another land, not this world at all.

But you must be weary, coming so far.

Lars stared. She was picturing him walking. We came in a Star Ship, the Ganymede.

Confusion again. Why did you do that?

To find another Star Ship that was lost here.

But why do you use these—Star Ships?

Now it was Lars’ turn to be puzzled. He turned to Peter.

“I think I’m missing something somehow.”

Peter nodded. “I’ve been on the same treadmill for days. They just can’t conceive of any other world but this planet. They don’t know what you mean about ‘another world’ and ‘across space’ and things like that. They can’t seem to grasp what a Star Ship is used for, or why anyone would need to use one.”

Once again Lars tried to convey the idea of crossing depths of space enclosed and propelled and protected by a shell of metal and plastic, but it was useless. He was so weary he could hardly keep his own thoughts straight, and this incredible means of conversation was quickly wearing away his last vestige of control “Look, can’t they get me something to eat, or let me wash up and get some sleep or something?” he burst out to Peter.

“Go ahead and ask them,” said Peter. “Give them a good sharp mental picture of what you want, and how lousy you feel, and what you’d like right now.”