it out. Head, arms, legs into it—I'm dressed. Baseball uniform. Ha! This is great! Pitch 'er in here, ole boy, ole boy! Smack! Yow!
"Adjust bulger helmets, check oxygen."
What?
"Put on your catcher's mask, Halloway."
Oh. The mask slides down over my face. Like that. The captain comes rushing up, eyes hot green and angry.
"Doctor, what's this infernal nonsense?"
"You wanted Halloway able to do his work, didn't you, captain?"
"Yes, but what in hell've you done to him?"
Strange. As they talk, I hear their words flow over my head like a wave dashed on a sea-stone, but the words drain off, leaving no imprint. As soon as some words invade my head, something eats and digests them and I think the words are something else entirely.
The psychiatrist nods at me.
"I couldn't change his basic desire. Given time, yes, a period of months, I could have. But you need him now. So, against all the known ethics of my profession, which say one must never lie to a patient, I've followed along in his own thought channel. I didn't dare frustrate him. He wanted to go home, so I let him. I've given him a fantasy. I've set up a protective defense mechanism in his mind that refuses to believe certain realities, that evaluates all things from its own desire for security and home. His mind will automatically block any thought or image that endangers that security."
The captain stares wildly.
"Then, then Halloway's insane!"
"Would you have him mad with fear, or able to work on Mars hindered by only a slight 'tetched' condition? Coddle him and he'll do fine. Just remember, we're landing on Earth, not Mars."
"Earth, Mars, you'll have me raving next!"
The doctor and the captain certainly talk weirdly. Who cares? Here comes Earth! Green, expanding like a moist cabbage underfoot!
"Mars landing! Air-lock opened! Use bulger oxygen."
Here we go, gang! Last one out is a pink chimpanzee!
"Halloway, come back, you damn fool! You'll kill yourself!"
Feel the good sweet Earth! Home again! Praise the Lord! Let's dance, sing off-key, laugh! Ha! Oh, boy!
In the door of the house stands the captain, his face red and wrinkled, waving his fists.
"Halloway, come back! Look behind you, you fool!"
I whirl about and cry out, happily.
Shep! Shep, old dog! He comes running to meet me, long fur shining amber in the sunshine. Barking. Shep, I haven't seen you in years. Good old pooch. Come 'ere, Shep. Let me pet you.
The captain shrieks:
"Don't pet it! It looks like a carnivorous Martian worm. Man, the jaws on that thing! Halloway, use your knife!"
Shep snarls and shows his teeth. Shep, what's wrong? That's no way to greet me. Come on, Shep. Hey! I pull back my fingers as his swift jaws snap. Shep circles me, swiftly. You haven't rabies, have you, Shep? He darts in, snatches my ankle with strong, locking white teeth! Lord, Shep, you're crazy! I can't let this go on. And you used to be such a fine, beautiful dog. Remember all the hikes we took into the lazy corn country, by the red barns and deep wells? Shep clenches tight my ankle. I'll give him one more chance. Shep, let go! Where did this long knife come from in my hand, like magic? Sorry to do this, Shep, but—there!
Shep screams, thrashing, screams again. My arm pumps up and down, my gloves are freckled with blood-flakes.
Don't scream, Shep. I said I was sorry, didn't I?
"Get out there, you men, and bury that beast immediately."
I glare at the captain. Don't talk that way about Shep.
The captain stares at my ankle.
"Sorry, Halloway. I meant, bury that 'dog,' you men. Give him full honors. You were lucky, son, another second and those knife-teeth'd bored through your ankle-cuff metal."
I don't know what he means. I'm wearing sneakers, sir.
"Oh, yeah, so you are. Yeah. Well, I'm sorry, Halloway. I know how you must feel about—Shep. He was a fine dog."
I think about it a moment and my eyes fill up, wet.
* * * * *
There'll be a picnic and a hike; the captain says. Three hours now the boys have carried luggage from the metal house. The way they talk, this'll be some picnic. Some seem afraid, but who worries about copperheads and water-moccasins and crawfish? Not me. No, sir. Not me.
Gus Bartz, sweating beside me on some apparatus, squints at me.
"What's eatin' you, Halloway?"
I smile. Me? Nothing. Why?
"You and that act with that Martian worm."
What're you talking about? What worm?
The captain interrupts, nervously.
"Bartz, lay off Halloway. The doctor'll explain why. Ask him."
Bartz goes away, scratching his head.
The captain pats my shoulder.
"You're our strong-arm man, Halloway. You've got muscles from working on the rocket engines. So keep alert today, eh, on your hike to look over the territory? Keep your—b.b. gun—ready."
Beavers, do you think, sir?
The captain swallows hard and blinks.
"Unh—oh, beavers, yeah, beavers. Sure. Beavers! Maybe. Mountain lions and Indians, too, I hear. Never can tell. Be careful."
Mountain lions and Indians in New York in this day and age? Aw, sir.
"Let it go. Keep alert, anyhow. Smoke?"
I don't smoke, sir. A strong mind in a healthy body, you know the old rule.
"The old rule. Oh, yes. The old rule. Only joking. I don't want a smoke anyway. Like hell."
What was that last, sir?
"Nothing, Halloway, carry on, carry on."
I help the others work, now. Are we taking the yellow street-car to the edge of town, Gus?
"We're using propulsion belts, skimming low over the dead seas."
How's that again, Gus?
"I said, we're takin' the yellow street-car to the end of the line, yeah."
We're ready. Everyone's packed, spreading out. We're going in groups of four. Down Main Street past the pie factory, over the bridge, through the tunnel, past the circus grounds and we'll rendezvous, says the captain, at a place he points to on a queer, disjointed map.
Whoosh! We're off! I forgot to pay my fare.
"That's okay, I paid it."
Thanks, captain. We're really traveling. The cypresses and the maples flash by. Kaawhoom! I wouldn't admit this to anyone but you, sir, but momentarily, there, I didn't see this street-car. Suddenly we moved in empty space, nothing supporting us, and I didn't see any car. But now I see it, sir.
The captain gazes at me as at a nine-day miracle.
"You do, eh?"
Yes, sir. I clutch upward. Here's the strap. I'm holding it.
"You look pretty funny sliding through the air with your hand up like that, Halloway."
How's that, sir?
"Ha, ha, ha!"
Why are the others laughing at me, sir?
"Nothing, son, nothing. Just happy, that's all."
Ding