The Sirens of Titan

Inside the ship, there was silence of a hardly lighter shade. Unk and Boaz sensed what was happening to them — found what was happening unspeakable.

They sensed correctly that they were being buried alive.

The ship lurched suddenly, throwing Boaz and Unk to the floor.

The violence brought violent relief.

"Home at last," yelled Boaz. "Welcome home!"

Then the ghastly feeling of the leaf-like fall began again.

Twenty Earthling minutes later, the ship was still falling gently.

Its lurches were more frequent.

To protect themselves against the lurches, Boaz and Unk had gone to bed. They lay face down, their hands gripping the steel pipe supports of their bunks.

To make their misery complete, the pilot-navigator decreed that night should fall in the cabin.

A grinding noise passed over the dome of the ship, forced Unk and Boaz to turn their eyes from their pillows to the portholes. There was a pale yellow light outside now.

Unk and Boaz shouted for joy, ran to the portholes. They reached them just in time to be thrown to the floor again as the ship freed itself from an obstruction, began its fall again.

One Earthling minute later, the fall stopped.

There was a modest click from the pilot-navigator. Having delivered its cargo safely from Mars to Mercury, as instructed, it had shut itself off.

It had delivered its cargo to the floor of a cave one hundred and sixteen miles below the surface of Mercury. It had threaded its way down through a tortuous system of chimneys until it could go no deeper.

Boaz was the first to reach a porthole, to look out and see the gay welcome of yellow and aquamarine diamonds the harmoniums had made on the walls.

"Unk!" said Boaz. "God damn if it didn't go and set us down right in the middle of a Hollywood night club!"

A recapitulation of Schliemann breathing techniques is in order at this point, in order that what happened next can be fully understood. Unk and Boaz, in their pressurized cabin, had been getting their oxygen from goofballs in their small intestines. But, living in an atmosphere under pressure, there was no need for them to plug their ears and nostrils, and keep their mouths shut tight. This sealing off was necessary only in a vacuum or in a poisonous atmosphere.

Boaz was under the impression that outside the space ship was the wholesome atmosphere of his native Earth.

Actually, there was nothing out there but a vacuum. Boaz threw open both the inner and outer doors of the airlock with a grand carelessness predicated on a friendly atmosphere outside.

He was rewarded with the explosion of the small atmosphere of the cabin into the vacuum outside.

He slammed shut the inner door, but not before he and Unk had hemorrhaged in the act of shouting for joy.

They collapsed, their respiratory systems bleeding profusely.

All that saved them from death was a fully automatic emergency system that answered the explosion with another, bringing the pressure of the cabin up to normal again.

"Mama," said Boaz, as he came to. "God damn, Mama — this sure as hell ain't Earth."

Unk and Boaz did not panic.

They restored their strength with food, rest, drink, and goofballs.

And they then plugged their ears and nostrils, shut their mouths, and explored the neighborhood of the ship. They determined that their tomb was deep, tortuous, endless — airless, uninhabited by anything remotely human, and uninhabitable by anything remotely human.

They noted the presence of the harmoniums, but could find nothing encouraging in the presence of the creatures there. The creatures seemed ghastly.

Unk and Boaz didn't really believe they were in such a place. Not believing it was the thing that saved them from panic.

They returned to their ship.

"O.K.," said Boaz calmly, "there has been some mistake. We have wound up too deep in the ground. We got to fly back on up to where them buildings are. I tell you frankly Unk, it don't seem like to me this is even Earth we're in. There's been some mistake, like I say, and we got to ask the folks in the buildings where we are."

"O.K.," said Unk. He licked his lips.

"Just push that old on button," said Boaz, "and up we fly like a bird."

"O.K.," said Unk.

"I mean," said Boaz, "up there, the folks in the buildings may not even know about all this down here. Maybe we discovered something they'll be just amazed about."

"Sure," said Unk. His soul felt the pressure of the miles of rock above. And his soul felt the true nature of their predicament. On all sides and overhead were passages that branched and branched and branched. And the branches forked to twigs, and the twigs forked to passages no larger than a human pore.

Unk's soul was right in feeling that not one branch in ten thousand led all the way to the surface.

The space ship, thanks to the brilliantly-conceived sensing gear on its bottom, had sensed its way easily down and down and down, through one of the very few ways in — down and down and down one of the very few ways out.

What Unk's soul hadn't suspected yet was the congenital stupidity of the pilot-navigator when it came to going up. It had never occurred to the designers that the ship might encounter problems in going tip. All Martian ships, after all, were meant to take off from an unobstructed field on Mars, and to be abandoned after landing on Earth. Consequently, there was virtually no sensing equipment on the ship for hazards overhead.

"So long, old cave," said Boaz.

Casually, Unk pressed the on button.

The pilot-navigator hummed.

In ten Earthling seconds, the pilot-navigator was warm.

The ship left the cave floor with whispering ease, touched a wall, dragged its rim up the wall with a grinding, tearing scream, bashed its dome on an overhead projection, backed off, bashed its dome again, backed off, grazed the projection, climbed whisperingly again. Then came the grinding scream again — this time from all sides.

All upward motion had stopped.

The ship was wedged in solid rock.

The pilot-navigator whimpered.It sent a wisp of mustard-colored smoke up through the floor-boards of the cabin.

The pilot-navigator stopped whimpering.

It had overheated, and overheating was a signal for the pilot-navigator to extricate the ship from a hopeless mess. This it proceeded to do — grindingly. Steel members groaned. Rivets snapped like rifle shots.

At last the ship was free.

The pilot-navigator knew when it was licked. It flew the ship back down to the cave floor, landing with a kiss.

The pilot-navigator shut itself off.

Unk pushed the on button again.

Again the ship blundered up into a blind passage, again retreated, again settled to the floor and shut itself off.

The cycle was repeated a dozen times, until it was plain that the ship would only bash itself to pieces. Already its frame was badly sprung.

When the ship settled to the cave floor for the twelfth time, Unk and Boaz went to pieces. They cried.

"We're dead, Unk — we're dead!" said Boaz. "I've never been alive that I can remember," said Unk brokenly. "I thought I was finally going to get some living done."

Unk went to a porthole, looked out with streaming eyes.

He saw that the creatures nearest the porthole had outlined in aquamarine a perfect, pale yellow letter T.

The making of a T was well within the limits of probability for brainless creatures distributing themselves at random. But then Unk saw that the T was preceded by a perfect S. And the S was preceded by a perfect B.

Unk moved his head to one side, looked through the porthole obliquely. The movement gave him a perspective down a hundred yards of harmonium-infested wall.

Unk was flabbergasted to see that the harmoniums were forming a message in dazzling letters.

The message was this, in pale yellow, outlined in aquamarine: IT'S AN INTELLIGENCE TEST!

chapter nine

A PUZZLE SOLVED
In the beginning, God became the Heaven and the Earth . . . And God said, 'Let Me be light,' and He was light.

— The Winston Niles Rumfoord

Authorized Revised Bible
For a delicious tea snack, try young harmoniums rolled into tubes and filled with Venusian cottage cheese.

— The Beatrice Rumfoord

Galactic Cookbook
In terms of their souls, the martyrs of Mars died not when they attacked Earth but when they were recruited for the Martian war machine.

— The Winston Niles Rumfoord

Pocket History of Mars
I found me a place where I can do good without doing any harm.

— BOAZ IN SARAH HORNE CANBY'S

Unk and Boaz in the Caves of Mercury

The best-selling book in recent times has been The Winston Niles Rumfoord Authorized Revised Bible. Next in popularity is that delightful forgery, The Beatrice Rumfoord Galactic Cookbook. The third most popular is The Winston Niles Rumfoord Pocket History of Mars. The fourth most popular is a children's book, Unk and Boaz in the Caves of Mercury, by Sarah Home Canby.

The publisher's bland analysis of Mrs. Canby's book's success appears on the dust jacket: "What child wouldn't like to be shipwrecked on a space ship with a cargo of hamburgers, hot dogs, catsup, sporting goods, and soda pop?"

Dr. Frank Minot, in his Are Adults Harmoniums?, sees something more sinister in the love children have for the book. "Dare we consider," he asks, "how close Unk and Boaz are to the everyday experience of children when Unk and Boaz deal solemnly and respectfully with creatures that are in fact obscenely unmotivated, insensitive, and dull?" Minot, in drawing a parallel between human parents and harmoniums, refers to the dealings of Unk and Boaz with harmoniums. The harmoniums spelled out for Unk and Boaz a new message of hope or veiled derision every fourteen Earthling days — for three years.

The messages were written, of course, by Winston Niles Rumfoord, who materialized briefly on Mercury at fourteen-day intervals. He peeled off harmoniums here, slapped others up there, making the block letters.

In Mrs. Canby's tale, the first intimation given that Rumfoord is around the caves from time to time is given in a scene very close to the end — a scene wherein Unk finds the tracks of a big dog in the dust.

At this point in the story it is mandatory, if an adult is reading the story aloud to a child, for the adult to ask the child with delicious hoarseness, "Who wuzza dog?"

Dog wuzza Kazak. Dog wuzza Winston Niles Rumfoord's great big mean chrono-synclastic infundibulated dog.

Unk and Boaz had been on Mercury for three Earthling years when Unk found Kazak's footprints in the dust on the floor of a cave corridor. Mercury had carried Unk and Boaz twelve and a half times around the Sun.

Unk found the prints on a floor six miles above the chamber in which the dented, scarred, and rock-bound space ship lay. Unk didn't live in the space ship any more, and neither did Boaz. The space ship served merely as a common supply base to which Unk and Boaz returned for provisions once every Earthling month or so.

Unk and Boaz rarely met. They moved in very different circles.

The circles in which Boaz moved were small. His abode was fixed and richly furnished. It was on the same level as the space ship, only a quarter of a mile away from it.

The circles in which Unk moved were vast and restless. He had no home. He traveled light and he traveled far, climbing ever higher until he was stopped by cold. Where the cold stopped Unk, the cold stopped the harmoniums, too. On the upper levels where Unk wandered, the harmoniums were stunted and few.

On the cozy lower level where Boaz lived, the harmoniums were plentiful and fast-growing.

Boaz and Unk had separated after one Earthling year together in the space ship. In that first year together, it had become clear to both of them that they weren't going to get out unless something or somebody came and got them out.

That had been clear, even though the creatures on the walls continued to spell out new messages emphasizing the fairness of the test to which Unk. and Boaz were being subjected, the ease with which they might escape, if only they would think a little harder, if they would only think a little more intricately.

"THINK!" the creatures would say.

Unk and Boaz separated after Unk went temporarily insane. Unk had tried to murder Boaz. Boaz had come into the space ship with a harmonium, which was exactly like all the other harmoniums, and he'd said, "Ain't he a cute little feller, Unk?"

Unk had gone for Boaz's throat.
Unk was naked when be found the dog tracks. The lichen green uniform and black fiber boots of the Martian Assault Infantry had been scoured to threads and dust by the touch of stone.

The dog tracks did not excite Unk. Unk's soul wasn't filled with the music of sociability or the light of hope when he saw a warm-blooded creature's tracks, saw the tracks of man's best friend. And he still had very little to say to himself when the tracks of a well-shod man joined those of the dog.

Unk was at war with his environment. He had come to regard his environment as being either malevolent or cruelly mismanaged. His response was to fight it with the only weapons at hand — passive resistance and open displays of contempt.

The footprints seemed to Unk to be the opening moves in one more fat-headed game his environment wanted to play. He would follow the tracks, but lazily, without excitement. He would follow them simply because he had nothing else scheduled for the time.

He would follow them.

He would see where they went.

His progress was knobby and ramshackle. Poor Unk had lost a lot of weight, and a lot of hair, too. He was aging fast. His eyes felt hot and his skeleton felt rickety.

Unk never shaved on Mercury. When his hair and beard got so long as to be a bother, he would hack away wads of thatch with a butcherknife.

Boaz shaved every day. Boaz gave himself a haircut twice an Earthling week with a barber kit from the space ship.

Boaz, twelve years younger than Unk, had never felt better in his life. He had gained weight in the caves of Mercury — and serenity, too.

Boaz's home vault was furnished with a cot, a table, two chairs, a punching bag, a mirror, dumbbells, a tape recorder, and a library of recorded music on tape consisting of eleven hundred compositions.

Boaz's home vault had a door on it, a round boulder with which he could plug the vault's mouth. The door was necessary, since Boaz was God Almighty to the harmoniums. They could locate him by his heartbeat.

Had he slept with his door open, he would have awakened to find himself pinned down by hundreds of thousands of his admirers. They would have let him up only when his heart stopped beating.

Boaz, like Unk, was naked. But he still had shoes.

His genuine leather shoes had held up gorgeously.

True — Unk had walked fifty miles to every mile walked by Boaz, but Boaz's shoes had not merely held up.

They looked as good as new.

Boaz wiped, waxed, and shined them regularly. He was shining them now, The door of his vault was blocked by the boulder.

Only four favored harmoniums were inside with him. Two were wrapped about his upper arms. One was stuck to his thigh. The fourth, an immature harmonium only three inches long, clung to the inside of his left wrist, feeding on Boaz's pulse. -

When Boaz found a harmonium he loved more than all the rest, that was what he did — let the creature feed on his pulse.

"You like that?" he said in his thoughts to the lucky harmonium. "Ain't that nice?"

He had never felt better physically, had never felt better mentally, had never felt better spiritually. He was glad he and Unk had separated, because Unk liked to twist things around to where it seemed that anybody who was happy was dumb or crazy.

"What makes a man be like that?" Boaz asked the little harmonium in his thoughts. "What's he think he's gaining compared to what he's throwing away? No wonder he looks sick."

Boaz shook his head. "I kept trying to interest him in you fellers, and he just got madder. Never helps to get mad. -

"I don't know what's going on," said Boaz in his thoughts, "and I'm probably not smart enough to understand if somebody was to explain it to me. All I know is we're being tested somehow, by somebody or some thing a whole lot smarter than us, and all I can do is be friendly and keep calm and try and have a nice time till it's over."

Boaz nodded. "That's my philosophy, friends," he said to the harmoniums stuck to him. "And if I'm not mistaken, that's yours, too. I reckon that's how come we hit it off so good."

The genuine leather toe of the shoe that Boaz was shining glowed like a ruby.

"Men — awww now, men, men, men," said Boaz to himself, staring into the ruby. When he shined his shoes, he imagined that he could see many things in the rubies of the toes.

Right now, Boaz was looking into a ruby and seeing Unk strangling poor old Stony Stevenson at the stone stake on the iron parade ground back on Mars. The horrible image wasn't a random recollection. It was dead center in Boaz's relationship with Unk.

"Don't truth me," said Boaz in his thoughts, "and I won't truth you." It was a plea he had made several times to Unk.

Boaz had invented the plea, and its meaning was this: Unk was to stop telling Boaz truths about the harmoniums, because Boaz loved the harmoniums, and because Boaz was nice enough not to bring up truths that would make Unk unhappy.

Unk didn't know that he had strangled his friend Stony Stevenson. Unk thought Stony was still marvelously alive somewhere in the Universe. Unk was living on dreams of a reunion with Stony.

Boaz was nice enough to withhold the truth from Unk, no matter how great the provocation had been to club Unk between the eyes with it.

The horrible image in the ruby dissolved.

"Yes, Lord," said Boaz in his thoughts.

The adult harmonium on Boaz's upper left arm stirred.

"You asking old Boaz for a concert?" Boaz asked the creature in his thoughts. "That what you trying to say? You trying to say, 'Ol' Boaz, I don't want to sound ungrateful, on account of I know it's a great honor to get to be right here close to your heart. Only I keep thinking about all my friends outside, and I keep wishing they could have something good, too.' That what you trying to say?" said Boaz in his thoughts. "You trying to say, 'Please, Papa Boaz — put on a concert for all the poor friends outside'? That what you trying to say?"

Boaz smiled. "You don't have to flatter me," be said to the harmonium.

The small harmonium on his wrist doubled up, extended itself again. "What you trying to tell me?" he asked it. "You trying to say 'Uncle Boaz — your pulse is just too rich for a little tad like me. Uncle Boaz — please just play some nice, sweet, easy music to eat'? That what you trying to say?"

Boaz turned his attention to the harmonium on his right arm. The creature had not moved. "Ain't you the quiet one, though?" Boaz asked the creature in his thoughts. "Don't say much, but thinking all the time. I guess you're thinking old Boaz is pretty mean not just letting the music play all the time, huh?"

The harmonium on his left arm stirred again. "What's that you say?" said Boaz in his thoughts. He cocked his head, pretended to listen, though no sounds could travel through the vacuum in which he lived. "You say, 'Please, King Boaz, play us the 1812 Overture'?" Boaz looked shocked, then stern. "Just because something feels better than anything else," he said in his thoughts, "that don't mean it's good for you."

Scholars whose field is the Martian War often exclaim over the queer unevenness of Rumfoord's war preparations. In some areas, his plans were horribly flimsy. The shoes he issued his ordinary troops, for instance, were almost a satire on the temporariness of the Jerry-built society of Mars — on a society whose whole purpose was to destroy itself in uniting the peoples of Earth.

In the music libraries Rumfoord personally selected for the company mother ships, however, one sees a great cultural nest egg — a nest egg prepared as though for a monumental civilization that was going to endure for a thousand Earthling years. It is said that Rumfoord spent more time on the useless music libraries than he did on artillery and field sanitation combined, As an anonymous wit has it: "The Army of Mars arrived with three hundred hours of continuous music, and didn't last long enough to hear The Minute Waltz to the end."

The explanation of the bizarre emphasis on the music carried by the Martian mother ships is simple: Rumfoord was crazy about good music — a craze, incidentally, that struck him only after be had been spread through time and space by the chrono-synclastic infundibulum.

The harmoniums in the caves of Mercury were crazy about good music, too. They had been feeding on one sustained note in the song of Mercury for centuries. When Boaz gave them their first taste of music, which happened to be Le Sacré du Printemps, some of the creatures actually died in ecstasy.

A dead harmonium is shriveled and orange in the yellow light of the Mercurial caves. A dead harmonium looks like a dried apricot.

On that first occasion, which hadn't been planned as a concert for the harmoniums, the tape recorder had been on the floor of the space ship. The creatures who had actually died in ecstasy had been in direct contact with the metal hull of the ship.
Now, two and a half years later, Boaz demonstrated the proper way to stage a concert for the creatures so as not to kill them.

Boaz left his home vault, carrying the tape recorder and the musical selections for the concert with him, In the corridor outside were two aluminum ironing boards. These had fiber pads on their feet. The ironing boards were six feet apart, and spanning them was a stretcher made of aluminum poles and lichen-fiber canvas.

Boaz placed the tape recorder in the middle of the stretcher. The purpose of the engine resulting was to dilute and dilute and dilute the vibrations from the tare recorder. The vibrations, before they reached the stone floor, had to struggle through the dead canvas of the stretcher, down the stretcher handles, through the ironing boards, and finally through the fiber pads on the feet of the ironing boards.

The dilution was a safety measure. It guaranteed that no harmonium would get a lethal overdose of music.

Boaz now put the tape in the recorder and turned the recorder on. Throughout the concert, he would stand guard by the apparatus. His duty was to see that no creature crept too close to the apparatus. His duty, when a creature crept too close, was to peel the creature from the wall or floor, scold it, and paste it up again a hundred yards or more away.

"If you ain't got no more sense than that," he would say in his thoughts to the foolhardy harmonium, "you're going to wind up out here in left field ever' time. Think it over."

Actually, a creature placed a hundred yards from the tape recorder still got plenty of music to eat.

The walls of the caves were so extraordinarily conductive, in fact, that harmoniums on cave walls miles away got whiffs of Boaz's concerts through the stone.

Unk, who had been following the tracks deeper and deeper into the caves, could tell from the way the harmoniums were behaving that Boaz was staging a concert. He had reached a warm level where the harmoniums were thick. Their regular pattern of alternating yellow and aquamarine diamonds was breaking up — was degenerating into jagged clumps, pinwheels, and lightning bolts. The music was making them do it.