“What do we do now, sir?”
Morrison shut his eyes tightly for a moment, then said, “Get back to your tents and stand by.”
They melted into the darkness. Rivera looked questioningly at him. Morrison said, “Bring Lerner here.” As soon as Rivera left, he turned to the radio, and began to draw in his outposts.
He had a suspicion that something was coming, so the tornado that burst over the camp half an hour later didn’t take him completely by surprise. He was able to get most of his men into the ships before their tents blew away.
Lerner pushed his way into Morrison’s temporary headquarters in the radio room of the flagship. “What’s up?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you what’s up,” Morrison said. “A range of dead volcanoes ten miles from here are erupting. The weather station reports a tidal wave coming that’ll flood half this continent. We shouldn’t have earthquakes here, but I suppose you felt the first tremor. And that’s only the beginning.”
“But what is it?” Lerner asked. “What’s doing it?”
“Haven’t you got Earth yet?” Morrison asked the radio operator.
“Still trying.”
Rivera burst in. “Just two more sections to go,” he reported.
“When everyone’s on a ship, let me know.”
“What’s going on?” Lerner screamed. “Is this my fault too?”
“I’m sorry about that,” Morrison said.
“Got something,” the radioman said. “Hold on…”
“Morrison!” Lerner screamed. “Tell me!”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” Morrison said. “It’s too big for me. But Dengue could tell you.”
Morrison closed his eyes and imagined Dengue standing in front of him. Dengue was smiling disdainfully, and saying, “Read here the saga of the jellyfish that dreamed it was a god. Upon rising from the ocean beach, the super-jellyfish which called itself Man decided that, because of its convoluted gray brain, it was the superior of all. And having thus decided, the jellyfish slew the fish of the sea and the beasts of the field, slew them prodigiously, to the complete disregard of nature’s intent. And then the jellyfish bored holes in the mountains and pressed heavy cities upon the groaning earth, and hid the green grass under a concrete apron. And then, increasing in numbers past all reason, the spaceborn jellyfish went to other worlds, and there he did destroy mountains, build up plains, shift whole forests, redirect rivers, melt ice caps, mold continents, dig new seas, and in these and other ways did deface the great planets which, next to the stars, are nature’s noblest work. Now nature is old and slow, but very sure. So inevitably there came a time when nature had enough of the presumptuous jellyfish, and his pretension to godhood. And therefore, the time came when a great planet whose skin he pierced rejected him, cast him out, spit him forth. That was the day the jellyfish found, to his amazement, that he had lived all his days in the sufferance of powers past his conception, upon an exact par with the creatures of plain and swamp, no worse than the flowers, no better than the weeds, and that it made no difference to the universe whether he lived or died, and all his vaunted record of works done was no more than the tracks an insect leaves in the sand.”
“What is it?” Lerner begged.
“I think the planet didn’t want us any more,” Morrison said. “I think it had enough.”
“I got Earth!” the radio operator called. “Go ahead, Morrie.”
“Shotwell? Listen, we can’t stick it out,” Morrison said into the receiver. “I’m getting my men out of here while there’s still time. I can’t explain it to you now – I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to —”
“The planet can’t be used at all?” Shotwell asked.
“No. Not a chance. Sir, I hope this doesn’t jeopardize the firm’s standing —”
“Oh, to hell with the firm’s standing,” Mr. Shotwell said. “It’s just that – you don’t know what’s been going on here, Morrison. You know our Gobi project? In ruins, every bit of it. And it’s not just us. I don’t know, I just don’t know. You’ll have to excuse me, I’m not speaking coherently, but ever since Australia sank —”
“What?”
“Yes, sank, sank I tell you. Perhaps we should have suspected something with the hurricanes. But then the earthquakes – but we just don’t know any more.”
“But Mars? Venus? Alpha Centauri?”
“The same everywhere. But we can’t be through, can we, Morrison? I mean, Mankind —”
“Hello, hello,” Morrison called: “What happened?” he asked the operator.
“They conked out,” the operator said. “I’ll try again.”
“Don’t bother,” Morrison said. Just then Rivera dashed in.
“Got every last man on board,” he said. “The ports are sealed. We’re all set to go, Mr. Morrison.”
They were all looking at him. Morrison slumped back in his chair and grinned helplessly.
“We’re all set,” he said. “But where shall we go?”
The Accountant
Mr. Dee was seated in the big armchair, his belt loosened, the evening papers strewn around his knees. Peacefully he smoked his pipe, and considered how wonderful the world was. Today he had sold two amulets and a philter; his wife was bustling around the kitchen, preparing a delicious meal; and his pipe was drawing well. With a sigh of contentment, Mr. Dee yawned and stretched.
Morton, his nine-year-old son, hurried across the living-room, laden down with books.
“How’d school go today?” Mr. Dee called.
“O.K.,” the boy said, slowing down, but still moving toward his room.
“What have you got there?” Mr. Dee asked, gesturing at his son’s tall pile of books.
“Just some more accounting stuff,” Morton said, not looking at his father. He hurried into his room.
Mr. Dee shook his head. Somewhere, the lad had picked up the notion that he wanted to be an accountant. An accountant! True, Morton was quick with figures; but he would have to forget this nonsense. Bigger things were in store for him.
The doorbell rang.
Mr. Dee tightened his belt, hastily stuffed in his shirt and opened the front door. There stood Miss Greeb, his son’s fourth-grade teacher.
“Come in, Miss Greeb,” said Dee. “Can I offer you something?”
“I have no time,” said Miss Greeb. She stood in the doorway, her arms akimbo. With her gray, tangled hair, her thin, long-nosed face and red runny eyes, she looked exactly like a witch. And this was as it should be, for Miss Greeb was a witch.
“I’ve come to speak to you about your son,” she said.
At this moment Mrs. Dee hurried out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I hope he hasn’t been naughty,” Mrs. Dee said anxiously.
Miss Greeb sniffed ominously. “Today I gave the yearly tests. Your son failed miserably.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Dee said. “It’s Spring. Perhaps —”
“Spring has nothing to do with it,” said Miss Greeb. “Last week I assigned the Greater Spells of Cordus, section one. You know how easy they are. He didn’t learn a single one.”
“Hm,” said Mr. Dee succinctly.
“In Biology, he doesn’t have the slightest notion which are