Attitude
by Hal Clement
Their captors had a very curious system, a very
curious motivation. The captives were allowed
to—even encouraged to—build devices to bring
about their escape. Only at the last moment,
mysteriously, the captors always stopped them—
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science-Fiction September 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Dr. Little woke up abruptly, with a distinct sensation of having juststepped over a precipice. His eyes flew open and were greeted by thesight of a copper-colored metal ceiling a few feet above; it tookhim several seconds to realize that it was keeping its distance, andthat he was not falling either toward or away from it. When he did, agrimace of disgust flickered across his face; he had lived and sleptthrough enough days and nights in interstellar space to be accustomedto weightlessness. He had no business waking up like a cadet on hisfirst flight, grasping for the nearest support—he had no businesswaking up at all, in these surroundings! He shook his head; his mindseemed to be working on slow time, and his pulse, as he suddenlyrealized as the pounding in his temples forced itself on his awareness,must be well over a hundred.
This was not his room. The metal of the walls was different, the lightwas different—an orange glow streaming from slender tubes runningalong the junction of wall and ceiling. He turned his head to take inthe rest of the place, and an agonizing barrage of pins and needlesshot the length of his body. An attempt to move his arms and legsmet with the same result; but he managed to bend his neck enough todiscover that he was enveloped to the shoulders in a sacklike affairbearing all the ear-marks of a regulation sleeping bag. The numberstenciled on the canvas was not his own, however.
In a few minutes he found himself able to turn his head freely andproceeded to take advantage of the fact by examining his surroundings.He found himself in a small chamber, walled completely with the copperyalloy. It was six-sided, like the cells in a bee-hive; the only openingwas a circular hatchway in what Little considered the ceiling—though,in a second-order flight, it might as well have been a floor or wall.There was no furniture of any description. The walls were smooth,lacking even the rings normally present to accommodate the anchoringsnaps of a sleeping bag. There was light shining through the grillewhich covered the hatchway, but from where he was Little could make outno details through the bars.
He began to wriggle his toes and fingers, ignoring as best he could theresulting sensations; and in a few minutes he found himself able tomove with little effort. He lay still a few minutes longer, and thenunsnapped the top fasteners of the bag. The grille interested him, andhe was becoming more and more puzzled as to his whereabouts. He hadno recollection of any unusual events; he had been checking over themedical stores, he was sure, but he couldn't recall retiring to hisroom afterward. What had put him to sleep? And where had he awakened?
He grasped the top of the bag and peeled it off, being careful to keephold of it. He started to roll it up and paused in astonishment. Acloud of dust, fine as smoke, was oozing from the fibers of the clothwith each motion, and hanging about the bag like an atmosphere. Hesniffed at it cautiously and started coughing; the stuff was dry, andtickled his throat unpleasantly. Ther