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Now stay tuned for X-Minus One on NBC.
Countdown for blastoff.X-minus five, four, three, two, X-minus one, fire. from the far horizons of the unknown come transcribed tales of new dimensions in time and space.
These are stories of the future, adventures in which you'll live in a million, could be years, on a thousand maybe worlds.The National Broadcasting Company, in cooperation with Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine, presents X-1-1.
Tonight, the Frank Quattrochi story, Sea Legs.
I stood in line at the Grav-1 desk with the old Notch service record and tapes in my hand and waited for the board processing clerk to speak.The clerk seemed utterly indifferent to the excitement of the men in the line.
I wondered how long he'd been out here on this godforsaken Zone 5 planet. Name?Robert Craig.Occupation?
Flight officer.Destination?Earth.Earth?Anything wrong with that?I guess not.
How long since you've been on Earth, Mr. Craig?I've never been there.My parents left during the second colonization of Cassiopeia.I was born there.Have you ever been in a gravity system?Just briefly.
Under drugs, of course. You'll have to go through the gravity conditioning course.Yeah, so I was told.Proceed to the airlock chamber on your right and follow the robot's orders.Good luck.You may need it.
Next.I went into the chamber and stripped off my clothing while the robot droned its orders.
Remove all metal objects from your person.Place them in the plastic tube at your left.Now stand underneath the decontamination tube. to press the button with your right foot.This is all.Proceed through the green door to the psychometric section.
Please respond quickly to orders, and so to not impede the progress of others.Next, please.
The door to the psychometric section led into a pleasant but cold-looking room with a single metal desk.A man with a balding high forehead sat behind the desk.
Mr. Craig, have a seat.I'm Captain Wyandotte, the psychological officer.
Yes, well, let's see your records.Hmm.You list your destination as terror.You, uh, you're certain you wish to go to Earth?Of course I'm certain.You're somewhat aggressive, Mr. Craig.
Look, I've been standing in line taking orders from clerks and robots for six hours.Every time somebody sees that I'm headed for Earth, I get the fish eye.
Are they jealous or what?I hardly think so.You've been a spaceman for 16 years, Mr. Craig.You've been zooming around in the countergraph systems in the outer galaxies without any restraints or self-discipline.
Have you ever spent six weeks strapped into a grav seat on a space rocket, Captain?There's a good deal of self-discipline involved in that.
I think you'll find things on Terra require a different kind of self-discipline, Mr. Craig.I'm pretty much aware of what it's like.Are you? I suppose you've heard all the popularizations in the tapezines.
Well, Mr. Craig, let me give you a word of caution.It's going to be vastly different.I'm prepared for that, Captain.Can we get going?Naturally.You will undergo a 20-day conditioning course.20 days?Mr. Craig, you've been in space 16 years.
Your body is conditioned to a normal state of free fall, or at best, to acceleration. The return to gravity would kill you if you weren't prepared for it.All right, what do I do?Report to centrifugal department.Here are your papers.Oh, and Mr. Craig.
Centrifugal is a rather trying ordeal.If during the course of treatment you should change your mind about returning to Earth, you're free to do so.
Thanks.I won't. I'd heard about centrifugal, but you can never really know about these things until you experience them.Four times a day, we were whirled around until it seemed as if our insides were too big for our bodies.
On the twelfth day, it got to be too much for me.I was in the base hospital for five days.My roommate was an old space bomb they'd brought in to die with a case of ruptured veins.His name was Charlie Brockman.
How you feel, son? I'm pretty good, Charlie.You get discharged tomorrow, I hear.You gonna try it again?I guess so.Why?Hmm?Only way I'll ever get to Earth.You really wanna go?That's right.You talk to anybody been there last ten years or so?
No, you don't get to talk to many people from Earth and the galaxies.Were you ever there?
Me?Now what would an old space bum like me be doing on Terra?Well, I just thought maybe- I done most of my time in Zone 5. Out there you get to thinking anybody who stays less than 80 light years from Earth is a landlubber.
Yeah, I used to think the same.Then I took the exam for a job back on Earth and I passed it.
I used to think I'd like to go back, but space was exciting, you know.New and raw.It tugged at your guts and it sent the blood rushing through your veins.But it was free.No bureaucrat ever lasted six months and grabbed five.
I had enough hitting atmospheres all over the universe, old man.
Maybe you're right.Lean over here, will you?
Unbutton my pajama top, will you?
There's a chain around my neck.Got a little message capsule on it.
Do me a favor, huh?Take it with you when you go back to Terra.Don't open it till you're on the ship.Okay, Charlie.And, son... Yes?I lied to you.I have been back to Terra.I faked some papers and made a landing there six months ago.
What are you doing back here?
I had to leave in a hurry.Why?You'll find out, son. Good luck.
Charlie died the next day.A few hours later, I was visited by Captain Wyandotte, the psych officer.
How are you feeling, Craig?Okay.You still want to go back to Earth?Yes.You're completely sure you want to live out your life there, to give up space service for it?
Look, we've gone through this, Captain.Now you tell me that spacemen don't settle down on Terra, yet you won't or you can't tell me why.All right, what's the pitch?
Does the Space Service need men so badly that they have to make it impossible for us to go back?
That, Mr. Craig, you will have to discover for yourself.You have my authorization to complete your conditioning and return to Earth as a private citizen.I wish you luck.You'll need all you can get.
Somehow I managed to survive the torments for 18 days.I was ready to return to Earth.A month later, I descended from a huge intergalactic jet at Los Angeles Spaceport.I was dead tired from the trip.I checked in at the nearest inexpensive hotel.
Ah, this is your room, sir.Uh, just, uh, put the bags down, will you?I'll unpack myself.
Ah, yes, sir.Just back from outer space, sir?
Yeah, that's right.How could you tell?Sea legs.Sea legs?Well, the way you walk.You can tell when somebody's been in the low-grav systems.Oh, uh, well, here.Oh, thanks, Mr. Craig.For another five units, I'll tell you where it is.Where what is?
You know, the Mike.Mike? Okay, make it three units.I won't hold you up.You mean a microphone?Yeah, that's right.They wanted to put screens in, but the boss convinced him there ain't any freedomites ever stay here.Freedomite?Not so loud.
You want to get controlled?No.No.Here's the money.Where is it?It's in the bed illuminator.You can short it with a razor blade.Thanks.You, uh, want any sensation tapes?What are they? You know, mental image.
Oh boy, you've been away from terror a long time.Wait a minute, before you go, son.Yeah?Where's the minerals building?I have to report there for a job interview.Oh, it's in the government cluster.Fifth level at X in second.Thanks.
I'll want breakfast about eight o'clock.Well, I'll need your ISS units.My what?Your ration units.I don't have any ration units.You have your ident card?Look, I just got here an hour ago.Oh. Well, you better go see the civil control board tomorrow.
If you want to eat, that is.All right, where do I find the control board?Government cluster.But don't worry.If you don't find them, they'll find you.I went to sleep that night with the uneasy feeling that somebody was watching me.
It had been a weird day.I hadn't exactly liked it. Well, I told myself it figured that there'd be more formalities and rigmarole on Earth than there were out in the systems, especially at first.
Still, I couldn't get the idea of the concealed microphone out of my mind.
You may relax, Mr. Craig.You are Mr. Craig.
You aren't nervous, are you?
No, no, no.This is my first time before the control board, Well, it's my first time.
Flight officer.Somewhat unusual for a vigorous young man like yourself, abandoning space service, isn't it?I don't know.Is it?Leaving something behind, Mr. Craig?No.You don't like this sort of affair, do you, Mr. Craig?
Well, I'm afraid I don't quite see its necessity.I served the Intergalactic Service well.My record's proven.
That's enough impertinence, Mr. Craig.Answer the questions.You are a Terran.
Where are your loyalties?
Your first loyalties are to Intergalactic, is that right?
Do you wish to be held in contempt of this board?Of course not.Then you will confine your responses to simple yes answers.Now, Mr. Craig, we shall begin again.Please try to show restraint of emotion.
You are here to petition for an identity card of provisional code 2 type. You maintain that you've never been on Tara before.Indeed, you state that you've never had a political affiliation.
What are your reactions to the latest acts of the Liberal Party?
You do not condemn the Liberal Party?Well, I... Then you must favor it.
I don't know anything about it.
Now then, Mr. Craig.The import service report shows that you passed your test aboard your ship. You were unable to accomplish this through night study.
Yet you maintain in your application that you had considered the Space Service a career.I changed my mind.Oh, you changed your mind.I see.I see, too, that you have petitioned the Board for a private means of conveyance.
Why do you wish to own your own transportation vehicle?
To make it easier to get around.I report to my job and... What job? I passed the exam for the import service I report today.
Where are you living, Mr. Craig?At the Star Hotel.Very well.You'll wait outside in the waiting room until you're called again.
I waited about two hours in the porcelainized waiting room of the Civil Control Board.Then I was called over to the clerk's desk at a small window.He stamped some cards for me.
Craig.Here.Here's your stuff.Class 1 provisional ident card.Sign it and fingerprint it.Don't lose it.If you do, you'll be picked up by the control agents.I petitioned for a class 2 card.You'll get a class 1.
This entitles you to maintain an apartment in the lower level of the Beverly Project.Here's your clothing ration.You'll have to turn in that leather flight jacket.
Wait a minute.I had this made on Chuan.Listen, I can remove the insignia.That is not the point.
Your clothing ration is defined by law.There are no exceptions.This is your food ration.What's all this medical stuff on the card?You are rationed fairly in accordance with your particular metabolism.Oh, you're kidding.I do not kid, Mr. Craig.
What about a car?I asked to be allowed to buy a car.I see. Your petition to be permitted to purchase a private means of transportation is hereby denied.
I walked out of the control board feeling like a man who has just come out of free fall into a hypergravity system.Instead of reporting to the import service for my initial job interview, I walked around the city.
I don't know how long I walked, maybe an hour, maybe two. After a while I came to the outskirts of old Los Angeles.There was a big fence around it and the usual signs.Radioactivity.Beware.It was just a pile of rubble and twisted girders.
I looked at it for a while and then turned around and headed for the Intergalactic Freight Office.
So you figure you made a mistake.
Yeah, that's right.You don't hear much about Terra out there.
And you want me to sign you back into Intergalactic?
Yes.You got any character references?No, no, not here on Earth, but I can post a good-sized bond if they'll release my ISS units.What's your rating?I can handle anything up to 15 G's acceleration on my old license.
You got a Terran contract with import service, you said?
I haven't started work yet.Look, kid.Mr. Craig, is it?How long you been on Earth?Two days.So you're a spaceman? Flight officer, ex-flight officer.You know how to navigate through four star zones and the asteroid belt thrown in.
You got a license for 15 G's, could get five more with a check flight.You got enough brains to pass the import senior routers exam.But you ain't got enough sense to come in out of the rain.
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We get guys like you every day.You're hot, you're big, you're raring to go.But you ain't gone nowhere.I'm listening.I don't know how you got here, Craig.Maybe you did quit, Honorable, or maybe you went and burned up a colony someplace.
That would be in my records.The point is, it don't make any difference.Nobody leaves Terra without a permit.Nobody gets a permit to go back to space once he hits this old apple.Why not?
Are you afraid somebody will tell what it's like?
Oh, son, you got things to learn. One is you don't go shooting off your mouth.Another is, terror's changed a lot since the radioactive wars.We're going places, doing things.Big places, big things.You've got to fit into that, kid.Move with it.
Stick around.You've still got your sea legs.You're gonna like it here.You can make a quick dollar and spend it quick, too.But you'd better smarten up. or you'll finish scrubbing radioactive dust off girders.That's the story, huh?The whole story?
That's it.Everything runs by a system.And, son, you can't buck the system.
I don't suppose there's any place around here a guy could get a quick drink.
Oh, yeah.Out at the end of Y Street, they got a little place you can buy nicotine and tars.Pluto's, they call it. Thanks.Yeah, get it out of your system, then settle down.That's my advice.
Get me the control agent.He just left here.He's on his way to the Pluto Cafe.
Waiter, bring me another drink for the young lady.Now then, where were we?
Well, I don't know.In fact, I still don't know why you're buying me free drinks.
I told you, I want somebody to talk to.
You a purist?Maybe you don't like the brand of Sensatia tapes they're peddling these days.
You know, you don't have a bad face, really, underneath the makeup.I mean, it's a little crooked, But it ain't bad, really.
Thanks.Does me pretty good.
Maybe you had enough to drink.
No, no.No, not yet.You know, I look around, I see all these people with their faces all froze up like plastic. And I feel like I got to know somebody, or I go out of my mind.So what happens?
Everybody is afraid.I mean, what happened?Whatever happened to freedom?What's the matter?Did I say something?What's everybody so quiet about all of a sudden?
Okay.Come with me.Well, who are you?Control board agent.
Hey, I wasn't with him.Honestly, he just picked me up and bought me a drink and started shooting off his mouth.I wasn't with him.Let's go, Mac.
Wait a minute.What for?You'll find that out.Come on.On your feet.Okay, okay.Come on, keep your hands off.I'll go with you.Everybody else just mind your own business.You, girlie.
Let's see your ident card.
You live at this address?
Maybe some night she could go to a movie or something.We could spend some time getting acquainted.
Hey, I need my dent card back.I can't get rations without it.
I'll keep it.Bring it back myself.Who wants to give the girl her card? Or maybe you mind your own business.Let's go.You walk just a little in front of me.
He was a big man, maybe 250 pounds, and he shuffled when he walked.He'd hit me right across the right shoulder with a sort of rubber truncheon.Now it began to ache.We're walking along a sort of back street.
Everywhere in the universe there were such streets.Streets where you could find freedom in anonymity.A compromise between lawlessness and law.
They are permitted by the authorities because it is necessary to have a place for those who are not permitted elsewhere.
Okay, step into the stowaway.Hurry up, you fool.We're being followed.Followed by who?Don't ask questions.Who's your toad?
You've got the right to get hit over the head unless you do what you're told.Now, quit!
In here! Hurry.Who are they shooting at?You or me?Both of us.Down these steps.
Through the store.Now, duck behind that pillar.Don't make a sound.
You see them?Not a trace.Ah, come on.They probably slipped out.
Walk through the tunnel behind you.One false move and you're finished.
From the direction of the tunnel, I guessed it was part of an old sewage system that led toward the ruined city.I don't know how long we walked, maybe an hour.Finally, we came to a small wooden door.Stop here.
Okay, let's have it.What?What?Have what?The tube.I don't know what you mean.Our detectives picked it up on you the minute you got off the plane. You're carrying a radioactive message tube with a periodic emission signal.
I'll need to have it before we can go any further.
You mean the tube that old Charlie gave me?Old Charlie?Yes, Charlie Brockman.The old spaceman who was in the hospital with me.Where is it?How did I think it's in my pocket?I never even bothered to open it.
Let me see.Oh, yeah, here it is.
Open it. That's right.The message is in the tube itself.We identify our people by the radioactive pattern.
This the one?This is the one.Has he been drugged?He's had PON, a massive dose, at the Pluto.
Good. Mr. Craig, my name's Cocteau.This is Mr. Brannigan.You're probably quite bewildered about all this.Let me clarify the situation.You're now in the headquarters of the Freedomites, underneath the radioactive part of old Los Angeles.
Mr. Brannigan is not a control agent.He's one of our men.We've been watching you ever since we detected the message tube as your ship was approaching Earth.Now, wait a minute.
You... You guys are Freedomites?That's right. You're pretty illegal, aren't you?
Let's say our lives aren't worth a snap of your fingers if we're caught.All right, who are you?Where are you from?Most of us are from the same place you're from, outer space.Many of us have the same history you have.
We shipped into Earth and became disillusioned and went to the Intergalactic Freight Office to apply for a job.The man at the office, the man who made the speech about coming in out of the rain, is one of our agents.
Taking a chance, telling me all this?Not at all.At the Pluto, you were given a massive dose of P.O.N.You won't remember anything that happened to you after the drug hits you in an hour or so.It works like a shock.
Everything will be repressed into the unconscious.
Very neat.It will exist in your unconscious, however.Somewhere, because you're the kind of man you are, because living in space has taught you the blessing of feeling free, You'll be able to draw upon your unconscious knowledge when you need to.
And when will that be, Mr. Cocteau?
That depends on whether you decide to join us or not.Join you in what?I haven't the faintest idea of what you're trying to do.For all I know, you're a bunch of traitors.You know, I've heard this comes the revolution stuff before.
My friend, you're woefully ignorant of our aims.As is to be expected.We anticipate no revolution.We print no leaflets, publish no newspaper. and we have no world plan for conquest.
The kind of totalitarian mind which subscribes to tight economic systems like the ancient Marxism of the Communists is abhorrent to us.We're interested in only one thing, the preservation of the idea of freedom.
Our fear is that men will forget what it's like to feel free.Well, how do you expect to accomplish this? Our concepts are being kept alive in only one place in the universe today.Outer space?Exactly.
On the frontiers of the universe, where freedom is a condition of life and growth.Suppose I join you.How can I help?You're an experienced pilot.
We have enough connections to do some plastic surgery on your face and get you a position piloting a spaceship again.You'll remember nothing of your mission, but you will remember that you have been back to Earth what it was like.
You'll be able, carefully, of course, to tell people, to help keep the idea of freedom alive.Think it over carefully.You have 20 minutes before the drug takes effect.I don't need 20 minutes.I'll do it.Good.
In exactly 48 hours, you'll wake up in your hotel bed with a new face and the identity card of a man named Harold Janus.You'll not remember how you got them or why, but you'll know what to do with his identity.
He is, or was, Master Navigator on the Earth-Mars Run.Good luck, Mr. Craig.
I woke up in the hotel bed, feeling like a man who has hung one on but good.I looked into the mirror and I saw the face of another man.I looked in my wallet and discovered that I was Harold Janus, Navigator for Intergalactic.
holder of a license for 15 Gs.I wondered where it came from, how I got it, but I asked no questions.This license, this ident card, meant freedom.I walked out of the hotel feeling steady for the first time.I'd gotten my sea legs at last.
You have just heard X-1 presented by the National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine, which this month features The Venus Trap by Evelyn E. Smith.
One thing man never planned to take along into space with him was the eternal triangle, especially a true blue triangle like this one.Galaxy Magazine, on your newsstand today.
Tonight by transcription, X-1 has brought you Sea Legs, a story from the pages of Galaxy Written by Frank Petrocchi and adapted for radio by George Lefferts.
Featured in the cast were William Redfield, James Stevens, Stan Early, Charles Penman, James Dukas, Richard Hamilton, Jack Orison, Jack Grimes, Craig McDonald, Ralph Bell, Kermit Murdoch, and Frederica Chandler.Your announcer, Fred Collins.
X-Minus One was directed by Daniel Sutter and is an NBC Radio Network production.
Hear Politics and Primaries, Dateline Ohio and Indiana, tonight on NBC Radio.
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