They called this strange tentacle-headed
blob that had floundered into the System
Oscar. They were to learn a better name.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1949.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The observation deck of the President Marcus, this early in theship's arbitrary morning, was deserted except for two shapelessfigures. One of them was dead.
The body was sprawled in the curve of the deck about midway betweentwo of the entrance wells. It had arms and legs, if you looked closelyenough at the limp tangle of garments; it had a gray beard and a purpleface.
The other figure had neither limbs nor a face. It was black, and itlooked more like a pile of mud than anything else: a five-foot lump ofblack mud, slightly flattened at either side, with a cluster of black,stumpy filaments at the top. It moved slightly, dropping the filamentsa little toward the dead body; then it flowed away again, and thefilaments pointed straight up, toward the stars.
Phil Horitz came up at the forward end of the deck. He let the levitorpush him gently clear of the well then stepped over to the glassineand looked out at the tiny blue disk that was Earth. His back was tothe body and its watcher. He struck a cigarette, inhaling deeply, thenturned around.
He swore and threw his cigarette away, leaping forward at the sameinstant. He skidded to a halt in front of the corpse and fell to oneknee beside it. "Dead," he said. "Oh, Lord."
He searched the body swiftly, and came up with a flat metal box,attached by a silver chain to the body's middle. He tried the lid; itopened easily. The box was empty.
Horitz sighed and lifted the dead man's chin. Under the grey beard wasa deeply-indented red line that encircled the throat.
He stood up and pressed a button on his wrist transceiver. "Walsh," hesaid. "Sommers. Get up to the observation deck. Thomasson has beenmurdered."
A deep voice swore fervently in his ear. He didn't wait for it tofinish. He made an adjustment on the transceiver and said, "CaptainTooker, please. This is Philip Horitz." A querulous male voice spoke:"Yes, Horitz? What do you want?"
Horitz repeated his message, and added, "I'm bringing the body down toThomasson's stateroom. Get the ship's doctor and meet me there."
Two figures exploded out of the levitor well a dozen yards away; onebulky and grey-haired, the other lean and young. They ran up to Horitz,panting. The bulky one, Walsh, was still swearing.
"I watched him like a baby," he protested. "He told me he was going toget up at nine this morning, so I set my watch for eight. Why thehowling hell did he—"
"Save it," said Horitz. "He did. I'll take his head, Sommers, you takehis feet. Walsh, think you can carry Oscar?"
"Listen, Phil," said Sommers abruptly, "are the Equations gone?"
"Yes," Horitz told him. "They're gone."
Walsh grunted and, stooping, wrapped his arms around the black thing.He lifted it without apparent effort. The stumpy tendrils waved downtoward him, then stood upright again, ignoring him. The other twopicked up the body of Thomasson, and all three walked back to thelevitor well from which they had come.
Captain Tooker and the medical officer, Dr. Evans, met them at the doorof the dead man's stateroom. Tooker was boiling over. "Do you callyourselves Security agents?" he shouted. "Three of you, to protect oneman, and you couldn't do it. I'll raise hell about this, Horitz, see ifI don't."
Horitz and Sommers put the body down on the bed, and Dr. Ev