door; the others followed, including George. “No, you stay in here,” Womrath told him. George stopped, blushing an agreeable pink.
Dominick solemnly closed the door and dropped the improvised latch into its socket. He punched the door button, found it satisfactorily closed. Through the transparent upper pane, they could see George inquisitively watching.
Dominick opened the door again. “Now, George,” he said, “pay attention. This is a prison . You’re being punished . We’re going to keep you in here, with nothing to eat but what’s there, until we think you’re punished enough. Understand?”
“Yes,” said George doubtfully.
“All right,” said Dominick, and closed the door. They all stood watching for a while, and George stood watching them back, but nothing else happened. “Let’s go into my office and wait,” said Dominick with a sigh. “Can’t expect miracles, all at once.”
They trooped down the corridor to the adjoining room and ate peanuts for a while. “He’s a sociable creature,” Womrath said hopefully. “He’ll get lonesome after a while.”
“And hungry,” Alvarez said. “He never turns down a meal.”
Half an hour later, when they looked in, George was thoughtfully chewing up the carpet. “No, no, no, no, George,” said Dominick, bursting in on him. “You’re not supposed to eat anything except what we give you. This is a prison .”
“Good carpet,” said George, hurt.
“I don’t care if it is. You don’t eat it, understand?”
“Okay,” said George cheerfully. His color was an honest rose-pink.
Four hours later, when Alvarez went off shift, George had settled down in a corner and pulled in all his appendages. He was asleep. If anything, he looked pinker that ever.
When Alvarez came on shift again, there was no doubt about it. George was sitting in the middle of the room, photoceptors out and waving rhythmically; his color was a glowing pink, the pink of a rose pearl. Dominick kept him in there for another day, just to make sure; George seemed to lose a little weight on the austere diet, but glowed a steady pink. He liked it.
II
Goose Kelly, the games instructor, tried to keep up a good front, but he had the worst case of wheel fever on SAPS 3107A. It had got so that looking out of that fat, blue-green planet, swimming there so close, was more than he could bear. Kelly was a big man, an outdoorman by instinct; he longed for natural air in his lungs, and turf under his feet. To compensate, he strode faster, shouted louder, got redder of face and bulgier of eye, bristled more fiercely. To quiet an occasional trembling of his hands, he munched sedative pills. He had dreams of falling, with which he bored the ship’s Mother Hubbard and the Church of—Marx padre by turns.
“Is that it?” he asked now, disapprovingly. He had never seen the gorgon before; Semantics, Medical and Xenology Sections had been keeping him pretty much to themselves.
Dominick prodded the pinkish sphere with his toe. “Wake up, George.”
After a moment, the gorgon’s skin became lumpy at half a dozen points. The lumps grew slowly into long, segmented stems. Some of these expanded at the tips into “feet” and “hands”; others flowered into the intricate patterns of auricles and photoceptors—and one speech organ, which looked like a small trumpet. “Hello,” said George cheerfully.
“He can pull them back in any time?” Kelly asked, rubbing his chin.
“Yes. Show him, George.”
“All right.” The feather stalks became blank-tipped, then rapidly shrank, segment by segment. In less than two seconds, George was a smooth sphere again.
“Well, that makes for a little problem here,” said Kelly. “You see what I mean? If you can’t get a grip on him, how are you going to punish him like you say?”
“We’ve tried everything we could think of,” said Dominick. “We locked him up, kept him on short rations, didn’t talk to him… He doesn’t draw any pay, you
Dominick solemnly closed the door and dropped the improvised latch into its socket. He punched the door button, found it satisfactorily closed. Through the transparent upper pane, they could see George inquisitively watching.
Dominick opened the door again. “Now, George,” he said, “pay attention. This is a prison . You’re being punished . We’re going to keep you in here, with nothing to eat but what’s there, until we think you’re punished enough. Understand?”
“Yes,” said George doubtfully.
“All right,” said Dominick, and closed the door. They all stood watching for a while, and George stood watching them back, but nothing else happened. “Let’s go into my office and wait,” said Dominick with a sigh. “Can’t expect miracles, all at once.”
They trooped down the corridor to the adjoining room and ate peanuts for a while. “He’s a sociable creature,” Womrath said hopefully. “He’ll get lonesome after a while.”
“And hungry,” Alvarez said. “He never turns down a meal.”
Half an hour later, when they looked in, George was thoughtfully chewing up the carpet. “No, no, no, no, George,” said Dominick, bursting in on him. “You’re not supposed to eat anything except what we give you. This is a prison .”
“Good carpet,” said George, hurt.
“I don’t care if it is. You don’t eat it, understand?”
“Okay,” said George cheerfully. His color was an honest rose-pink.
Four hours later, when Alvarez went off shift, George had settled down in a corner and pulled in all his appendages. He was asleep. If anything, he looked pinker that ever.
When Alvarez came on shift again, there was no doubt about it. George was sitting in the middle of the room, photoceptors out and waving rhythmically; his color was a glowing pink, the pink of a rose pearl. Dominick kept him in there for another day, just to make sure; George seemed to lose a little weight on the austere diet, but glowed a steady pink. He liked it.
II
Goose Kelly, the games instructor, tried to keep up a good front, but he had the worst case of wheel fever on SAPS 3107A. It had got so that looking out of that fat, blue-green planet, swimming there so close, was more than he could bear. Kelly was a big man, an outdoorman by instinct; he longed for natural air in his lungs, and turf under his feet. To compensate, he strode faster, shouted louder, got redder of face and bulgier of eye, bristled more fiercely. To quiet an occasional trembling of his hands, he munched sedative pills. He had dreams of falling, with which he bored the ship’s Mother Hubbard and the Church of—Marx padre by turns.
“Is that it?” he asked now, disapprovingly. He had never seen the gorgon before; Semantics, Medical and Xenology Sections had been keeping him pretty much to themselves.
Dominick prodded the pinkish sphere with his toe. “Wake up, George.”
After a moment, the gorgon’s skin became lumpy at half a dozen points. The lumps grew slowly into long, segmented stems. Some of these expanded at the tips into “feet” and “hands”; others flowered into the intricate patterns of auricles and photoceptors—and one speech organ, which looked like a small trumpet. “Hello,” said George cheerfully.
“He can pull them back in any time?” Kelly asked, rubbing his chin.
“Yes. Show him, George.”
“All right.” The feather stalks became blank-tipped, then rapidly shrank, segment by segment. In less than two seconds, George was a smooth sphere again.
“Well, that makes for a little problem here,” said Kelly. “You see what I mean? If you can’t get a grip on him, how are you going to punish him like you say?”
“We’ve tried everything we could think of,” said Dominick. “We locked him up, kept him on short rations, didn’t talk to him… He doesn’t draw any pay, you
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