Sir Harold and the Trustees, Part II

PROFESSOR HAROLD AND THE TRUSTEES

Part 2 of 2

Christopher Stasheff

"A hydra," Chalmers said. "It has been terrorizing the countryside for the last fortnight or so, and a messenger brought word of it just this morning, beseeching my assistance."

"Of course," said Florimel, "he could not refuse." But she glanced at Chalmers anxiously, then back at her guests. "I am so glad that you have come!"

She included Belphebe in her gaze of gratitude. Shea could understand that—he was awfully glad for the company of his archer/wife, himself.

"Let us step into my workroom and pack such items as we may need, eh?" Chalmers rose.

"Sure!" Shea rose, too. "If you'll excuse us, ladies?"

"Certes, Sir Harold," Florimel said, and Belphebe looked up, amused. "Shall we wait dinner for you?"

"Oh, come on! We won't be that long!"

"If you say so," Belphebe rejoined. "Naetheless, I have seen you 'talk shop,' as you put it, and waited whilst you did so."

Not entirely patiently, as Shea remembered it—but that was the hazard of going to faculty parties. "I won't be, this time," he promised. "See you soon, dear."

Fortunately, Belphebe and Florimel enjoyed each other's company. They did not wait dinner, but they did insist the men join them for a late supper.

"Oh, well," Shea sighed as the door of the guest room closed behind them, "we needed a good night's sleep before we tackle that monster, anyway. Sorry, dear."

"You may make it up to me," Belphebe said, looking up at him through long lashes.

* * * * *

As they rode through the forest toward the terrorized parish, Shea had plenty of time to regret his willingness, and to get a bit more information about the situation. "What's a hydra doing in medieval Europe, Doc?"

"I do not really know," Chalmers answered. "There are only rumors of its sudden appearance—but there is also mention of a sorcerer seen in its company."

"Oh." Shea frowned. "So an evil magician imported it from the universe of Greek mythology, eh?"

"That would be my conjecture," Chalmers agreed, "though as I say, I do not truly know."

[CHECK] The peasants were more than willing to direct them toward the hydra's lair, though they made it clear that they thought the two magicians were out of their minds.

"You, at least, should stay, lady," one brawny peasant objected.

"I have fought vile monsters, good man, and lived to tell the tale," Belphebe assured him. "But I thank you for your concern." She might have thanked him for the glint in his eye, too—but she certainly would not have welcomed his "protection."

They followed one set of directions after another, through an outcrop of woodland, up the slope to the top of a ridge—and found themselves looking down on a little meadow around a rocky outcrop. At the base of the rock was a cave, large enough for a small congregation.

Shea reined in, surveying the bones that lay about in front of the cave—deer, pig, and quite a few cattle. "I think we've found it."

"Then I shall prepare." Chalmers started to dismount.

"Wait," Belphebe suggested, stringing her bow. "Let us first knock, to see who is home." She drew an arrow from her quiver.

"I don't think that's the world's best..." Shea began.

Belphebe drew the feathers back to her ear, and loosed.

The arrow shot into the cave mouth, struck against rock and ricocheted, then struck rock again, and again. A huge roar came out.

"Yes, it is home." She paled a little.

The hydra surged out of its cave—a snake as thick as a cask, three of its nine heads roaring fire, the other six coursing close to the ground in search of dinner, jaws gaping wide.

Shea reined in, face paling. "We've got to fight that!"

"Only with magic, of course." Chalmers dismounted and drew a small brazier, a tripod, and a miniature cauldron out of his saddlebag. "I have several new spells I'm rather anxious to test under field conditions. They will take some time to set up and activate, though, so if you could manage some defensive enchantments, Harold, I should very much appreciate it."

"We cannot wait," Belphebe said as she dismounted. "It has our scent."

Shea looked up, alarmed. Sure enough, the monster was moving toward them, one of its heads low and glaring at them.

Belphebe's bow thrummed, and a clothyard shaft sprouted in the cavernous nostril. The head fell to the ground, eyes glazing, but the other eight screamed in pain and rage, and the beast charged.

"The poor thing, to know such pain!" Belphebe nocked another shaft. "Quickly, husband! We must put it out of its misery!"

"How about ours?" Shea drew his sword. "But I'll agree we have to be quick!"

Belphebe's bow thrummed again, and another arrow stabbed in at the base of one of the necks. The hydra shrieked in pain, but kept on coming.

Shea shouted:

"Around us a circle as round as a moon!

Till that we have done what we must do soon,

Within this circumference lot none but us tread!

If aught else should come there,

Let it lose its head!"

The hydra smacked into something unseen, a few yards from Shea and Belphebe—and Chalmers, who had a little fire going in the brazier, heating some sort of mixture in the little cauldron. The breeze wafted it toward the hydra, five of whose heads recoiled, offended.

A sixth reached over the unseen wall and down inside the circle, jaws gaping wide for Belphebe.

Shea shouted, leaped, and caromed into his wife, knocking her aside. The huge head slammed down into the ground right where she had been.

"Darling!" Shea cried, scrambling to his feet. "Are you..."

The hydra roared with frustration, and the head hooked up toward him, jaws gaping.

Shea sprang back, anger at the monster surging—Belphebe might be lying injured! He had to get rid of that head! He lunged up as it went past him, stabbing just below the jaw. Blood spurted, and the head screamed, whipping up and away, splashing the side of Shea's face. He shouted and leaped back, wiping frantically at the fluid; it burned! He wiped it clear with his sleeve, feeling a tingling in his forearm, but there was no time to worry about that now. The head gone, he could see Belphebe climbing to her feet, and relief shot through him, followed by blood-lust—he had to kill the creature before it had a chance to hurt Belphebe again!

It gave him the opportunity, for though the wounded head hung back, thrashing, its neighbor struck down at Shea, jaws wide. He leaped aside, stabbing up with his sword. He missed the nose; the head swerved, tracking him, and the huge mouth came down all about him; his head filled with a charnel reek, but he managed to riposte and stab again, at the soft palate.

A shriek like that of a dozen steam engines filled his whole head, and the gaping maw lifted away from him abruptly, wrenching the sword-grip from his hand. Shea staggered back, senses reeling, and Belphebe's bowstring thrummed. The monster howled again, and Belphebe was beside Shea, her arm beneath his shoulders steadying him, while she cried, "Harold, are you hurt?"

"B-bow," he managed to gasp, pointing frantically at her weapon. "Sword... gone..."

Belphebe understood, and also understood that he had not suffered any vital injury. She leaped to catch up her bow—but just then, a huge cloud of fragrant smoke blew past them, and Chalmers' voice rose.

"Heads, all rise; necks turn to wood!

Monster, stop, as any should!

Living yet, immobile be;

Reptilian fable, turn to tree!"

The monster's six remaining heads whipped up, noses pointing straight at the sky. The whole form of the beast began to change color, starting at the tail and sweeping quickly over the body, turning brown, then roughening with the texture of oak bark. The heads quivered as the cellulose tide swept over them; then they were all frozen, rooted to the spot, transformed into a living tree. The tendrils at the tops of the heads sprouted leaves; the legs and drooping, dead heads dug into the earth, turning into roots.

Shea relaxed with a very shaky sigh. "Amazing, Doc. Why didn't you change him into stone, though?"

"Too much danger of radioactivity," Chalmers snapped.

Shea turned, surprised at the tension in his voice; but Chalmers threw a handful of powder into his little fire and called out,

"Come forth, and seek some greater room!

Conjurer, come to meet your doom!

Smoke, fill this cave from west to east!

Drive forth the man who raised this beast!"

Shea stared, then leaped to yank his sword out of one of the fallen wooden mouths. If he was going to have an evil enchanter to face, he wanted to be armed.

Belphebe nocked another arrow.

A gust of wind blew the smoke's powder in with the fumes from the cauldron, and the whole swirled toward the cave, churning in as though being sucked into a vacuum. Coughing and spluttering came from the darkness, and a tubby figure in a midnight-blue robe came running out, rubbing at its eyes and crying, "Gas attack! Unfair! Unethical!"

"Votsy!" Shea cried.

Chalmers rose to his feet with a weary sigh. "I might have known."

Polacek wiped at his streaming eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I really appreciate the help—but did you have to be so caustic about smoking me out?"

"My apologies," Chalmers said, making it sound like an accusation. "Rumor said the monster was animated by an evil magician."

"Evil! Careless, maybe—possibly even not completely a master. But, evil? You know me better than that, Doc!"

"Yes, but I didn't know it was you who had raised the hydra. I take it the beast went out of control?"

"You can say that again! It was barely there before it was trying to eat me! The only thing that saved me was a handy hole in the ground, a tiny passageway between two caves that the monster couldn't worm its way through! I've been hiding out there for weeks, living on a trickle of water and whatever food I could conjure up."

"Could be worse," Shea said. "Czech cooking is good."

"Yeah, but I don't know the recipes. All I could order up was whatever I'd heard singing commercials for."

Shea winced, thinking of two weeks on patent breakfast cereal—without even milk!

"Whatever possessed you to conjure up a hydra?" Chalmers demanded.

"You did, Doc."

"Me?"

"Yeah. I mean, you told me I should play it careful, try my experiments on a very small scale... you remember, that was right after that blizzard...."

"On Midsummer's Night, yes," Chalmers said grimly.

"Right. So I was trying to conjure up a pond-water hydra—you know, one of those microscopic creatures from freshman zoology? As small as you can get and have all the characteristics of animal life, including sexual reproduction—the ideal subject for a limited-scope experiment...."

"And you messed up the spell," Shea inferred. "Right."

"Just a matter of scale," Chalmers said witheringly.

"No, I think I got the context wrong. You see, the only way I could think up a verse, was to base it on Greek mythology, and..."

"...you finished with the original rather than its namesake," Chalmers sighed. "Mr. Polacek, perhaps you should restrict your experimentation to more controlled conditions."

Which meant, of course, with Chalmers standing by.

Polacek frowned. "What do you mean? That I'm not qualified to practice on my own? I finished my course work, you know!"

"Yes, but the research for a dissertation should always be supervised. Besides," said Chalmers, "I do not believe your coursework was in the area of magic."

"Well... related." Polacek looked sulky. "Jung and mythology, you know."

"Quite so—but that brings it all the more within my province, too," Chalmers pointed out.

Shea took his opportunities where he could find them. "That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, Votsy."

"Wanted to talk to me?" The incongruity of Shea's presence finally penetrated Polacek's indignation. "Yeah, come to think of it! What're you doing here, Harold? You're supposed to be back in Ohio! Along with your lovely lady, I might add." He caught Belphebe's hand and kissed it. She smiled, pleased, and dropped a half-curtsy.

"I was trying to find you,'' Shea said, trying to hide his annoyance—all right, jealousy. "I had to cover for all three of you being gone...."

"All three?" Polacek frowned.

Shea sighed, striving for patience. "Bayard went, too," he reminded Polacek. "You're not the only one who's universe-jaunting, you know."

"Oh, yeah! Come to think of it, that did kind of leave you in a bind, didn't it?"

"So nice of you to think of it," Shea said, with sarcasm. "I explained your communal absence by inventing a research project that you're all supposedly studying on-site."

"Nice trick." Polacek grinned. "How'd you manage it? This isn't archaeology, you know."

"Don't I ever," Shea sighed. "I explained it to President Athanael as a study in delusional universes, describing a patient's delusions with symbolic logic, then working out the intermediate steps that would allow us to bring him back into contact with the real world, a little at a time."

"Hey, nice idea!" Polacek said, intrigued. "Suppose you could really get it to work?"

"We might," Shea hedged, "especially if you guys keep me informed as to what you're learning about the natural laws of the universes you're in."

Polacek nodded. "Be glad to."

"But the Trustees were hoping I'd be able to persuade Doc, here, to come back and set up the project, at least," Shea added.

Polacek kept on nodding. "Makes sense—he's had the experience. Not that I don't think you could do a good job, Harold, but it might be nice to have somebody else to take the responsibility."

"It would also be nice if I could bring back more than just Doc, at least for a visit," Shea said. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in a little Ohio scenery for a week or so, would you?"

To his surprise, Polacek turned thoughtful. "After a few weeks penned in a cave by a hydra, the idea isn't exactly repulsive. Tell you what—let's stop by my place for a few drinks, and we'll talk it over, okay?"

"Uh... yeah!" Shea said, startled and pleased.

" 'Twill be a pleasure," Belphebe assured him.

"Yes, certainly," Chalmers said, but he had that resigned look that went with gritted teeth.

Shea would have wondered why, but he was too busy squeezing Belphebe's hand as they followed Polacek down the trail. She looked up, surprised and pleased. "What troubles you, Harold?"

"The hydra pouncing on you," Shea answered. "Now that it's over, I've just realized how close I came to losing you."

Belphebe turned and slipped into his arms.

After a few minutes, Chalmers coughed delicately.

Polacek looked back, saw how far behind his guests had fallen, and called out, "Hey, come on, you guys! Some things can wait, you know?"

"Not this one." Shea held Belphebe away, just far enough so that he could look straight into her eyes. "I nearly thought I'd lost you. It definitely makes me begin to think twice about doing any more adventuring."

"Oh, be not so rash," Belphebe said carelessly. Still holding his hand, she turned away to follow Polacek. "The life of the knight-errant stirs the blood, and makes life vivid."

"True, but it also makes it short," Shea returned. "I'm beginning to see distinct advantages to Ohio."

* * * * *

Polacek lived in a large house, for the time—it had two stories, and must have had all of six rooms. It also had a thick coating of dust on every horizontal surface, papers strewn all about, and desiccated snacks left sitting on tables and chairs.

"Sorry—it's been a few weeks since I've been home." Polacek started gathering up the detritus. "I can make tea, at least. It will take a little while, though, so make yourselves comfortable."

Belphebe looked around her, dazed, and Shea could tell she was fighting the impulse to wrinkle her nose. He wandered over to the hearth, gathered up kindling, and recited a small spark-spell. By the time Polacek came back in with a kettle of water, Shea had a nice fire going.

Polacek grunted as he hefted the little cauldron onto the swing-arm and pushed it over the flames. "Thanks, Harold. Not used to doing for myself, you see."

"Have you meal?" Belphebe asked.

"Yeah, sure, in the bin over there." Polacek pointed. "Cassie was keeping the place tidy, see, but when I said I was going to conjure up a hydra, and told her what it was, she walked out."

"Ran, I should think," Chalmers put in.

"Don't blame her," Polacek agreed. "Maybe now that it's dead, I can get her to come back."

"You have not married, then?" Belphebe brought over a pan with a meal-cake and set it on the hearth.

"We haven't formalized the arrangement, no. She was hinting at it at first, but she hasn't said much about it lately."

"I think that I can understand that," Belphebe murmured.

Polacek looked surprised, but had the good sense to let it pass.

Shea tried to clarify it. "Do all your experiments backfire the way that hydra did?"

Polacek frowned. "You think maybe that's why she hasn't been pushing for anything permanent?"

"It's a possibility," Shea said, and Belphebe just stared at her meal-cake. "Do they all turn into qualified disasters?"

"Not always qualified," Polacek said, with chagrin, "but not always disasters, either. Some of them work right the first time."

"How many?" Chalmers demanded.

Polacek shrugged. "Oh, twenty percent."

Shea automatically revised that down to ten. "Let me guess at a standard distribution curve. What's the center like?"

Polacek shrugged. "Most of them have been—well, I suppose you could say amusing...."

"If you have a morbid sense of humor," Chalmers muttered.

"Okay, so maybe some of them turn out scary—but they aren't exactly lethal, either!"

Chalmers said, "Perhaps your efforts would meet with greater success if your motives were less personal."

"What's so bad trying to work out the magic-cum-physics of this universe in detail?"

"Nothing," said Chalmers, "if it were only from motives of pure, disinterested academic interest, or of attempting to cure mentally-ill people who are caught between universes. I suspect, however, that you are far more concerned with gaining greater magical power for yourself."

"Well—what's the matter with trying to get ahead in the world?" Polacek's jaw jutted in stubbornness. "Or several worlds, for that matter?"

"Nothing, so long as you do it by improving the lot of other people, or at least not injuring them. Your experiments, however, seem to be characterized by a total disregard of your neighbors' welfare. Certainly they have resulted in calamities that have damaged the property of a good number of people."

"But no lives," Polacek pointed out. "I haven't caused any accidents that have killed anybody—or even injured them.... Well, not much."

Chalmers threw up his hands and turned away.

Shea decided it was time for a politic change of subject. "Maybe you need a rest," he suggested, "a sojurn in a universe where magic doesn't work."

"Like our home one, eh?" Polacek's grin returned. "Not a bad idea, Harold. Settle down for a few months and collate all my results, look for correlations, make sense out of it all—and then come back here for more experimenting."

"Had your fill of magic for a while, eh?"

"Well—let's say it'll be a relief to go someplace where I don't have to worry about the moon turning blue if I sing the wrong song. Besides, I kinda miss some of the little stuff. I could really go for a dozen White Castle hamburgers and some cola. Moorish Spain is great in its way, but modern comforts would be nice for a while."

Shea breathed a sigh of relief—and, all things considered, he and Belphebe were very glad to be joining hands with Chalmers and Polacek, and reciting the sorites for Garaden, Ohio.

The mist boiled up around them, churned, cooled, thinned, dissipated—and they found themselves standing in the Sheas' living room. They released hands with a collective sigh, and Polacek crowed: "Home! A fireplace with a chimney! A broadloom carpet! An indoor bathroom!"

"A kitchen," Belphebe prompted.

"A liquor cabinet," Shea added.

"Hey, good idea! Wouldn't have any ice in the freezer, would you?"

"There should be a tray," Belphebe said.

"Scotch on the rocks! No, don't bother, Harold—I can find it!" And Polacek swirled into the kitchen in his wizard's robes, looking for a refrigerator.

"It almost seems alien, somehow," Chalmers looked about him with a fond smile. "But quite comforting, to see familiar artifacts."

"Good to have you back, Doc." Shea grinned. "Only, now I need your help with another many-headed monster."

"The Board of Trustees?" Chalmers smiled, amused. "An unkind metaphor, Harold, though perhaps an apt one. Well, give me a night's rest to re-acclimatize myself, and I shall be at your disposal."

"Harold will fetch clothes from your house tomorrow," Belphebe said. "For this night, though, will you not grace our new guest room?"

"I shall be delighted." Reed said, with a little bow to her. "However, Harold, might I trouble you for a shirt and slacks tonight? I find that I, too, would welcome a hamburger."

* * * * *

The Board was relieved to see Chalmers return, and Shea was very relieved, too—at first. Chalmers fielded the Board's questions with an easy grace, responding to their reservations about the project with improvisations that sounded as though they were the result of long study.

But after a while, his skill and persuasion began to seem too good, and Shea thought that Chalmers was enjoying the central role a little too much.

"You will oversee the organization of the project, then, Dr. Chalmers, and will establish the methodology?" Archangle asked.

"Certainly," Chalmers said, without an instant's hesitation. "I was present at the inception of the study, of course—Dr. Shea brought his findings to me as soon as he had some validation for the hypothesis, and we embarked on a pilot project together."

Shea managed to contain a smile; the Board certainly had no idea just how literally he and Chalmers had "embarked."

"Dr. Shea and I proceeded to work out the basic methodology as we prepared a second project," Chalmers went on, "and brought Dr. Bayard and Mr. Polacek into the study; so as you can see, gentlemen, I have overseen the organization of the project from its inception, and have already approved the methodology."

Shea was startled to realize how much of the truth there was in what Doc was saying, though the motives had been entirely different. However, he found himself irritated by Chalmers' bland assumption of authority, and his presenting himself in the central role of the study.

"However," Chalmers went on, "I must stress that the initial empirical confirmation was Dr. Shea's, and that he has himself conducted the bulk of the research." That was true enough; Shea had filled Chalmers in on his adventures in ancient Finland and mythological Ireland. Shea relaxed a little, gratified by Chalmers' credit.

"Commendable, certainly." Athanael looked as though he wished it weren't. "It is vital, of course—but with so much of his time expended on this study, the University cannot help but be concerned about the impact on Dr. Shea's progress toward publication."

Shea looked up, startled, then quickly masked his expression. He had not even thought of working up something publishable on his own—he had been way too busy lately.

But of course, he was going to have to—if he really intended to stay in this universe, supporting a wife and, hopefully, children. The rule was "Publish or Perish." If he did not start publishing a string of erudite articles, he would never be promoted to full professor.

While he was still adjusting to the notion, Chalmers was saying, with bland confidence: "This project will provide Dr. Shea with an excellent topic for at least two articles, and he will certainly glean his fair share of the credit from the publication of the study as a whole. Perhaps of even greater importance, it will provide direction throughout the remainder of his scholarly career."

Well, that settled that—Shea was going to have to start writing. But where was he going to get the time? He began to think Belphebe's home universe of Faerie might have its advantages.

There wasn't really much more Athanael or the Board could say, and they did seem much relieved. The project that had sounded very questionable when presented by a mere assistant professor, sounded quite respectable when presented by a full professor with an impressive bibliography of published articles—and with Chalmers' bland confidence and total self-assurance.

Nonetheless, Shea found himself nettled, and a little resentful, by Chalmers' having so very clearly assumed the authority of Director of the Garaden Institute again, even though he was now supposedly only a consultant.

Chalmers noticed Shea's discomfiture right away, of course, and confronted the problem as soon as they were outside, picking their careful way over the icy walks, between snowdrifts left by the crew of shovelers. "I know that sounded as though I were trying to usurp the position you have established in my absence, Harold, but I really have no such intention."

Shea felt a lot better just hearing that. "Thanks, Doc. I know you had to present it that way, just to pacify the Board—but you're right, it did make me uncomfortable."

"My regrets," Chalmers murmured. "Please be assured, dear boy, that I have absolutely no intention of reclaiming my former position."

"That's good to hear," Shea said, "I think. Trouble is, if you resign, I'm going to find myself lumbered with a new boss—and he might not be as sympathetic as you are."

Chalmers nodded. "Moreover, he will undoubtedly wish access to your records of this project, and will demand to know all the pertinent facts."

Shea shuddered. "We can't have that. Just imagine some career academic trying to horn in on our universe-hopping!"

"Yes, quite," Chalmers said drily, and Shea realized, with a start, that he had just described Doc himself—or himself as he had been, before their trip to the universe of Spenser's Faerie Queene. "Assuming, of course, that a new Director would not immediately declare the whole project to be stuff and nonsense or, worse, a mammoth hoax, and fire you."

Shea shuddered. "Uh, do you mind officially staying on leave of absence, Doc? If you're technically still Director, then I can still be Acting Director. If I don't want a new boss—and I don't—it has to stay that way."

"I am quite willing, of course," Chalmers said, "but the Board can be stalled in that fashion only so long, Harold. You have two or three years at most. How shall you manage when that time is up?"

"I hadn't thought about that," Shea admitted, and they plodded through the gray January day, Shea sunk in gloom.

Chalmers broke the silence. "You shall have to assume the directorship yourself—and that means that you shall have to acquire the necessary credentials. You absolutely must publish a few articles."

Shea was amazed to discover that he actually had been more or less assuming that he would eventually become Director of the Garaden Institute. Forced to confront the matter, he realized how ridiculous it was, without a publication record. With a shock, he realized that he had become more interested in the directorship than in kiting off on swashbuckling adventures; he found the prospect of the security and status oddly appealing. "Doc! I didn't even know I was thinking along those lines—how did you?"

"It is a natural consequence of finding the right woman," Chalmers explained, "which usually results in a desire to settle down, especially if the two of you are considering having children."

That was true, Shea reflected—but he said nothing, surprised that such insight could come from a middle-aged man who had never had a family, nor even married until he had met Florimel just a year ago—in another universe. But he was a psychologist, after all, and knew the mind of man. "The possibility has occurred to us," Shea admitted.

"How wonderful!" Chalmers beamed. "I could not be more pleased for you, my boy! But you do realize, I trust, that you will be shouldering a very heavy burden—and no small part of the bearing will be the publication of your findings."

"If I can find any to publish," Shea said, with irony.

"Oh, never fear, the inter-universal project will provide the material for that," Chalmers assured him. "Your original notion of using its principles to cure delusions may prove accurate—who knows? Even if it does not, the simple notion of describing delusions in symbolic logic could be publishable in itself, since it will offer a new and more efficient avenue to analysis."

"Maybe we could collaborate...." But even as he said it, Shea knew he was shying away from the responsibility.

"Desirable." Chalmers smiled. "But it would be too difficult for me to communicate on the steady basis collaboration would require. I do not plan any great stay in Ohio, Harold—only enough to supervise the organization of the experiment as a unified whole. Oh, yes, I am taking this very seriously, now! You will not, of course, publish the vital datum—the 'syllogismobile' as you have dubbed it, the ability to travel between universes—but in all other respects, the project is quite viable. Once the overall structure is in place, with methods established and research underway, I shall gladly return to the universe of the Orlando, and to Florimel."

"Thanks, Doc," Shea said, with feeling. "Not just for bailing me out—but for straightening me out as concerns my goals."

"My pleasure," Chalmers said. "I believe the technical term for the process is 'maturation.' Tell me, though, Harold—who, in your opinion, should be on the research team, other than ourselves, Polacek, and, by correspondence, Bayard?"

Shea thought for a moment. "I suppose we really should bring in Pete Brodsky as an auxiliary investigator, so that we can have everyone who knows about inter-universe travel under the same roof."

Chalmers nodded. "That will have the additional advantage of keeping the knowledge contained until we have determined how to publish it safely, without causing a wholesale migration to other worlds."

"I'd like to make Belphebe an auxiliary, too," Shea said slowly.

"There, I am afraid the Board might raise its collective eyebrow," Chalmers said regretfully. "The implication of nepotism is too strong to be ignored, especially since she has no academic credentials in this universe. Besides, I am afraid American universities are not yet ready to have both husband and wife employed at the same institution. I shall feel rather guilty accepting the good lady's hospitality, now."

"Oh, she probably would have said 'no,' anyway," Shea sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter—we know she's on our side."

* * * * *

With Chalmers ensconced in the guest room, Shea and Belphebe sat down to evaluate the situation.

"I was really amazed," Shea told her after summarizing the afternoon's events. "I never thought I'd begin to see the advantages of the settled life."

Belphebe smiled, and snuggled a little closer. "I, too, am amazed to find that my hunger for the chase has become only a fleeting notion. Yet in its place has grown a yearning for children."

"If I can support them." Shea nodded. "But Doc has me thinking that, if I succeed in setting up the experiment with his help, it will give me enough credit so that I just might stand a chance at the directorship, and a full professorship."

Belphebe looked up at him with glowing eyes. "Surely the professorship, even without being director! And would you not then earn enough to feed and clothe children?"

"I guess so," Shea said slowly, marveling. "I never particularly liked the little blighters before. Of course, I didn't dislike them, either—but since I married you, I've begun to think babies look downright cute."

Belphebe smiled. "I have always had a fondness for infants, myself."

She smiled up at him, her eyelids heavy, her lips close, so close. Shea couldn't resist a temptation like that, nor had she intended him to.

* * * * *

That night, as they were drifting off to sleep, Shea suddenly found himself wondering just why Florimel had been so willing to have Chalmers visit his home world, and the Sheas. But he dismissed the thought as unworthy, kissed the red hair in glorious disarray on the pillow beside him, and fell asleep.

THE END