During colonizing operations a Combatman was
always in charge—in case of trouble. This
trip we really had some—a whole planet of it!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
October 1953
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
As Computerman, I was the first to come out of deep freeze after wekicked clear of the Time-Warp. So I left the needles in my wrists—thetubes let me reach Brain One—and started punching data from theinstruments while my fingers were still half stiff. Finally, stifffingers or not, I had all the data racked into the primary feed anddecided to check on the passengers. It amused me somewhat to note thateven Brain One was strictly stalling for time when it came to figuringout where we were, and why. There was much buzzing and clicking but notape feeding out, yet. Well, let the Brain figure it out. I had otherthings to do.
I strolled back to secondary freeze unit and checked Combatman. Hewas on top of the heap, of course—as stiff as a fresh steak, so Istuck the needles in his wrists and switched to defrost. Automaticlift pulled him out and beneath him was the male Homonorm and the twofemale Homonorms. They came out, too, as the lifts worked, and prettysoon the cabin looked like a morgue—or a cannibal's shop, if youprefer. Anyway, they were defrosting, so I left 'em to make a checkon Brain One and see what brilliant, if mechanical conclusion it hadreached. Should be at least an hour before Combatman thawed—even withthe needles pumping.
Brain One was feeding out tape now, slow as a snail considering itscycling rate, so I figured we were a long way from home. Okay withme—I'd been around and knew that if we could get somewhere we couldget back. But I wanted, and wanted bad, the data from Time-Warp gauges.So I watched the tape, decoding mentally as it fed out and feeling, fora Computerman, an emotion similar to impatience.
We were approaching—the Brain told me—a type three planet,radiations okay, atmosphere higher in oxygen than home, gravityslightly lighter in pull than normal—the same junk I'd been pickingup since we started colonizing. Land masses stable, water in the air,semi-condensed. Good place for colonizing, and this pleased me. We wereout to establish and leave the Homonorms for a generation, and BrainOne had figured all the details out while I was sitting in freeze likea hamburger. So far, so good.
One thing annoyed, or puzzled me. I kept throwing data from TV andRadar into Feed-back and asking about population, life forms, landdenizens. All Brain One came up with was Insufficient Data. All right.It would be just another routine landing on another distant planet.Then I heard the noise behind me and turned. Combatman stood in thedoorway, his skin still bluish from the freeze, his eyes just clearingand working into focus.
I looked him over while he stood there, somewhat surprised—if one canever be surprised at what his race did. He was hung with enough weaponsto stop a division of Homonorms and I wondered, as I always did, at theorigin of his race. His type always came drifting down from somewherenorth, back home, and all our radar and planes had never found theirhomeland. None of them ever talked with humans except to nose in on ourexpeditions or break up our wars. This one was quite a specimen, maybesix feet, about 180 pounds, with the quiet and arrogant strength of hisrace. He took a deep breath, still leaning on the door frame.
"Get me some whiskey," his voice was hoarse from disuse and theTime-Warp, "and get it now."
"Now, see here