He was babbling hysterically.
“Ah! The control!”
Alice and Helen were swaying against the wildly rocking walls of the ship. Gravity suddenly went insane and shot them against the ceiling.
“Down!” cried the man. “Strap yourselves. We’re crashing! There’s a planetoid!”
A dark shape ran up onto the port of the ship, black and swift. The two women were sobbing hysterically, calling out to him to do something.
“Shut up, shut up, and let me think!” he cried. He did something with a control, the ship righted itself.
“We’ll be killed, we’ll be killed!” wailed the sisters. “No, no,” he said, and before the planetoid loomed too close he threw his whole body against the one metal rod that was stuck and would not give. But it gave now, with a shudder of grating metal, as he fell forward.
The ship blacked out, something hit, struck, twisted, turning, shook them around. Lisabeth felt herself lifted, whirled, and brought down with stunning force upon the floor. That was all. She remembered no more. . . .
A voice was saying, “Where are we, where are we—where?”
Dimly, Lisabeth heard the voice. There was a smell of alien atmosphere. Words came in over a muffled phone: “Planetoid One-Oh-One. Planetoid One-Oh-One. Calling crashed ship Earth Two! Crash ship Earth Two! Can you give us a bearing on you? We’ll try to send a rescue craft along.”
“Hello, hello, Planetoid One-Oh-One, Radio.” Lisabeth opened her eyes. John and the two women were huddled about the radio set, working it in the dim light. Through the port she could see the bleak and cold asteroid plain.
“You’d better try to get up from there,” said the radio voice. “That’s bad territory you’re in.”
“What does he mean?” asked Alice, leaning down over the man.
“This is killing land.”
“Killing?”
“Killers, from Earth. Insane killers. Brought here. Dropped off to spend the rest of their lives, killing. They’re happy that way.”
“You’re—you’re joking.”
“Oh, am I?”
The radio voice said. “We’ll run through as soon as possible. Don’t go outside, whatever you do. There’s an atmosphere, yes, but there’s likely to be some of the Inmates, too.”
Alice ran to the port. “John!” She pointed down. “Down there! There are some men out there now!”
Helen seized John’s arm. “Get us out of here, get us out of here!”
“They can’t hurt us. Let go of me, for Pete’s sake! They can’t get inside.” John stood staring moodily out the port.
Lisabeth lay easily, luxuriating in the nearness of death. Outside the ship. Killing Land. Killers. Her men, of course. Catherine of Russia’s bodyguard! Come to rescue her!
She arose. Silently she tiptoed across the room. The man and the two women still stared fascinated out the port. They did not hear her. What would it be like to go below, to open the air lock wide to the terrible killers outside? Wouldn’t that be fine? Let them in to kill, to destroy, to annihilate her captors! How wonderful, how simple.
Where was the air lock? Below somewhere. She was out of the room with no sound. She slipped through the lounge on the soft blue carpeting, came to the spiral ladder and descended it, smiling quietly to herself. She reached the lower deck. The air lock stood shining there.
She stabbed her hands at all kinds of red buttons, trying to find the one that yanked the lock open.
Above, she heard a frantic, surprised voice: “Where’s Lisabeth?”
“Below!” Feet began running. “Lisabeth!”
“Quick!” cried Lisabeth to her hands. “Quick!”
Click! A hiss. The air lock groaned open.
Behind her, on the ladder, John leaped down. “Lisabeth!”
The lock was open. The smell of an alien world came in.
The men who had been waiting outside rushed forward, silently. They filled the lock, ten, twelve of them! They were pale and thin and trembling.
Lisabeth smiled, jerking her hand at John and crying out to the alien men. “This man held me prisoner!” she said. “Kill him!”
The alien men seemed stupefied. They stood. Their full eyes only gazed at Lisabeth and John.
“No,” one of them said, at last, as John waited for them to rush forward in the silent room. “No,” the alien man said, dully. “We do not kill. We are the ones who are killed. We die. We wish to die. We do not care to live anymore, ever.”
There was a silence.
“You heard what I said!” cried Lisabeth.
“No,” the men replied. They stood, swaying in the silence.
John fell back against a wall, sighing. Then, after a time he began to laugh with exhausted moves of his body. “Ah-ha! I see. I see!”
The men blinked in bewilderment at him.
Lisabeth’s eyes flashed. She made a helpless gesture.
John recovered. He slapped his hands together and made a pushing motion, talking as a man does to a pack of dogs.
“Go on, now,” he said, quietly. “Get out.” He waved to the men. “Go on, move!”
The men did not believe him at first and then, reluctantly, whimpering in their throats, they walked from the rocket. Several of them turned and pleaded with their eyes.
“No,” said John coldly. “Move out. We won’t have anything to do with you.”
He shut the air lock door on them.
Taking Lisabeth’s pale hand John said, “It didn’t work. Come along. Upstairs with you, scheming lady.”
“What happened?” Alice and Helen waited as he brought Lisabeth up the ladder.
“They wanted to die,” John said, smiling tiredly. “They weren’t Killers, but the Ones to Be Killed. I see it all now.” He laughed sharply. “To make an insane killer happy, you have to provide him a culture where people like and approve of being killed. This is such a culture. Those men wanted to be shot.”
For a moment Helen stared at him. Then she said one word:
“Wanted?”
“Yes. I’ve read about it. They’re peculiar to this planetoid. After propagating, at the age of twenty-one, they have a death drive, just as many insects and fish do. To balance this drive, we bring in a bunch of insane murderers from Earth.
In this culture, a killer becomes the norm, accepted, happy. Thus we transform insanity into sanity. Roughly, anyway. If you like that kind of sanity.” He slapped his knee, went to the radio. “Hello, Planetoid One-Oh-One, Radio! A bit of trouble. All okay. We met the Ones Who Want to Die, rather than the Killers. Lucky, I’d say.”
“Very,” said the radio. “We’ve got your bearing. There should be a ship to you in an hour. Hold on.”
Helen was by the port, staring out. “Insane. Insane, all of them.”
“To us, yes,” said John. “To themselves no. Their culture is sane to itself and all inhabitants within it. That’s all that counts.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Take a man who wants eighty-nine wives. On Earth he goes insane because he can’t have them. He’s frustrated. Bring him out here to the asteroids, put him on a planet full of women where marriage in triplicate is okay, and he becomes the norm, becomes happy.”
“Oh.”
“On Earth we tend to try to fit square pegs in round holes. It doesn’t work. In the asteroids we’ve got a hole for every peg, no matter what shape. On Earth if pegs don’t fit we hammer them until they split.
We can’t change our culture to fit them, that would be silly and inconvenient. But we can bring them out to the asteroids. There are cultures here, thousands of years old, convenient, preferable.” He got up. “I need a drink. I feel terrible.”
The rescue ship arrived within the hour. It came down out of space and landed neatly on the asteroid plateau. “Hello there,” the pilot said.
“Hello yourself!”
They got aboard, Alice, John, Helen, and—Lisabeth.
Their ship was to be towed into a repair port and returned to them later, on Earth.
“I want to call Chicago,” said Helen, instantly, when they reached port.
John sighed. “We have us a close shave and all you want to do is call Chicago. William, again?”
“Suppose it is?” she snapped.
“Nothing. Go ahead. I suppose they’ll let you use the space phone.” He nodded at the captain of the rescue ship, who said, “Certainly. Right over here.”
Lisabeth did not move. They had taken her to a little room and locked her in once more. There would be no more mistakenly unlocked doors. It was all over. Now there was nothing.
“Hello, Chicago. William? This is Helen!” Laughter.
A pouring of drinks. “I,” said Alice, “am going,” she lifted the glass, “to,” she went on, “get very drunk.”
The captain of the ship came in. “We’ll be landing on Thirty-six in about ten minutes. You’ve had bad luck.”
“It’s all right now. A bit thick for me.” John nodded at Helen cooing and stroking the phone, at Alice mixing a drink, and at Lisabeth standing, white and silent, in her little cell.
The captain raised his brows and nodded, wryly.
John lighted a cigarette and moved forward. “Suppose I thought I was Christ, captain? Would you take me to a planetoid where everybody thought they were saviors of the world?”
“Heavens, no.” The captain laughed. “You’d kill each other off as ‘impostors.’ No, we’d take you to a culture prepared to accept and take you in as the only world savior.”
“One that would lie to me, say they believed I was a savior?”
“No. No lies. Only the truth. The people must really believe in order that you, as a messiah, may be happy. The entire idea of sending insane people out here to various planets is to be sure they’ll live happily the rest of their lives. So such a complex must live in a
