All Judgment Fled Read Free Page B

and Prometheus Control,

communication difficulties also grew. Not only did periodic solar

interference make incoming messages barely intelligible, the time lag

between outgoing questions and incoming answers was more than eight

minutes. When it became necessary to turn up the gain on their receiver

because a whisper of intelligence was trying to fight its way through a

thunder of mush, the time lag was more than simply irritating. Finally

even the colonel could stand it no longer.
     
     
"You may be transmitting a lecture on production methods in the

aircraft industry," Morrison enunciated slowly and with sarcasm, "but it sounds like a tape of Omaha Beach on D-Day. You are fighting

a losing battle. Give up until these blasted sunspots have gone back to

sleep, at least!"
     
     
Eight minutes later a tiny voice fought its way through a barrage of

static to say, ". . . Your message incompletely received . . . do

not have battle tactics . . . Operation Overlord immediately available

. . . loss to understand this request . . ."
     
     
"You misunderstood my message, Prometheus Control," the colonel's

voice returned, louder but with less clarity of diction. "I requested

that you cease transmission . . .
     
     
". . . a lecture scheduled on Games Theory, but must warn you . . .

Alien conception of military tactics may not agree . . . Eisenhower

. . ."
     
     
"Don't talk when I'm interrupting, dammit . . . !"
     
     
For perhaps five minutes Control battled against the static with a complete

lack of success, then the colonel's voice came again.
     
     
"P-One to P-Two. You may break contact with Control without their

permission. I take full responsibility."
     
     
For a long time they simply luxuriated in the peace and quiet, then Walters

said angrily, "You know, that noise was bad. You, sir, were practically

tying yourself in knots and the doctor had his eyes squeezed shut and

all his teeth showing. This is not good. Noise, any loud or unnecessary

or unpleasant noise, especially in a confined space like this, makes

me irritable. I'm beginning to dread these lectures three times a

day. Somebody should do something about them. Somebody with authority!"
     
     
"I agree," said McCullough.
     
     
"Of course you agree!" Walters' voice was high-pitched, almost shrewish.

"You always agree, but that's all you do . . .!"
     
     
"I think Morrison intends doing something," Berryman said quickly. He looked

worriedly from Walters to McCullough and back, then went on. "And the doctor is a rather agreeable man, if a little hard to pin down at times.

Myself, I expected him to look clinical occasionally and perhaps talk

a bit dirty. At very least he should have spent a few days mentally

dissecting us, explaining the real truth about our relationship with

our first Teddy bear, and generally showing us what monstrous perverts

we are under our warm, friendly exteriors. But he doesn't talk like a

psychologist, or look like one or even admit to being one."
     
     
Berryman was trying hard to smooth things down and he was succeeding,

but with his eyes he was asking the doctor for a little help.
     
     
"Well now," said McCullough gravely, "you must understand first that,

if anything, I would be an Eysenckian rather than a Freudian psychologist

and so would never have had an occasion to use a couch professionally.

But there was one period when I did some valuable research, if I do say

so myself, on the behavior and psychology of worms.
     
     
"There were some quite intriguing incidents," McCullough went on. "They

had numbers instead of names, so there is no question of an unethical

disclosure of privileged information, and they had such a low order of

intelligence that to get through to them at all we had to stimulate the

clitellum with a mild electric . . ."
     
     
Berryman shook his head.
     
     
"Well, I did try," said McCullough, projecting a hurt expression. He went

on, "As for making noises