From the author


 From the author: These stories represent some of the best science fiction stories that I wrote between the years 1975 and 1990. The tradition of Finnish science fiction has steadily been rising, but mostly we - as I, too - have written about international topics.
These stories have originally been written into Finnish, my own mother tongue. Then I myself have put them into English, which is my second best language, and I do hope that you enjoy them. In case you are interested, my story Biological Truth appeared in Terra SF II, published by DAW Books.)
 
Veikko Rekunen
Absolution
He woke up. Everything was hot and dry. His throat was also dry, and he was dying for a light soda that had become his favourite drink as soon as he had stopped drinking alcohol.
He fumbled around and felt nothing but hot and dry sand.
 The air was not moving at all. Everything was dark, but still he felt that he was all alone. Alone within perhaps millions of kilometres.
 The very idea was ridiculous, and he did not even know how it had come to his head.
Millions of kilometres away! Earth had such places in abundance.
 Was this the Sahara or Gobi Desert? Despite all the progress made in cultivation there were still areas that simply could not be utilised.
 He stood up. He felt strangely light. That was odd, because lately he had felt heavy.
The heart, the doctors had told him, but there was nothing wrong with that. It had all been in his head, it had been dissatisfied and broken like an old rundown fence, which could no longer contain your thoughts.
 This too had to be an illusion in his head, though he did not believe that he would know about it then. A madman will never know his own madness, he had been told. Well, if that was true, then he was just as sane as any other lunatic.
 And just then he realised that for the first time for months he felt relatively at ease. He did not know where he was, how he had got here and what kind of visions there might be in the overpowering darkness, but in some strange manner he felt peaceful, calmer that ever before after the accident.
 That must have been what had made him restless. He remembered the smoke, the screech of metal against metal and the voices of the people.
 Thirty-six people! Thirty-six, and all killed by him. What did it matter then that the mechanical fault had been beyond his powers? They still occurred, though metallurgy had reached almost one-hundred per cent reliability.
 He might have been able to withstand it all, if his family had not been in that hoverer. They had been left under the crumbled machine, under the swarming mass of people, covered by the screeching metal and smoke and steam and the darkness for hours, until everything had been cleared away. They had not had a chance.
 An in the end the blame had been his. He COULD have checked the machine with a metal probe. He COULD have flown higher and left enough time for a real emergency landing. He COULD have tried to fly the hoverer until the last moment before the collision and then possibly COULD have avoided crashing into the mass of people in front of the diner.
 There must be dozens of things he COULD have done but which he had not even considered because he had been busy trying the save his own hide.
 He had been acquitted, of course, because reasonably thinking he had done everything a regular Sunday pilot is able to done in any emergency, but that did not diminish his guilt and stop his mind from all the time winding back to the same thought.
 And he had been terribly lonely!
 It is not good for man to be alone, he remembered his grandmother having read from her Good Book, as she had called it. There were all kinds of good books to be had, but Grandmother had always kept the same old raggedy book that her mother had given her in the old days when society had forced children to go through what they called religious upbringing.
 Ridiculous, of course, but after the accident even he had sometimes wished there really was a higher being, God as Grandmother called him, who would have given him a second chance. He had tried to live a good life, given up on alcohol and all the other drugs, and a couple of times had even tried to remember Grandmother's prayers.
 It made no sense! But somehow those sighs of conscience had made him feel better. There must have been some sort of psychological explanation, but he did not care about it.
 He took a few careful steps - in the darkness everywhere was forward. Under the soles of his feet he felt sand as he had on the beach as a boy (when you could still swim in the ocean), and in some strange way it took his thoughts back to childhood and Grandmother.
 Somewhere far away light was beginning to show. It grew stronger and showed the skyline of the mighty sand dunes on the horizon. There were no buildings, trees or other landmarks.
 And the sun rose full of splendour and majesty and terribly bright. And he knew that he was not at home.
 From behind the dunes a gigantic bright red ball of fire rose almost vertically. It was so intolerably bright that you could not look at it. It was so different from the yellow ball that he knew that he no longer doubted that he was indeed millions, even billions of kilometres away from home.
 Everywhere around him he saw nothing but sand. Here was an unknown planet that did not seem to have any life, not even the tough kind that you meet even in the most desolate places on Earth. Here was nothing, no song of birds, no rush of the sea, no marks in the sand, nothing that would prove that there was or had ever been life. Here was a virgin planet, a world in primordial state that had never experienced life.
 Until he came!
 He was surprised that he was not surprised. He had no idea how or why he had got here - if indeed this world even existed outside his own mind - but he regarded it as self-evident.
" I don't know," he said to himself. "This would really look much better if there were a few trees on top of the dunes."
 He involuntarily looked at the dunes, and NOW he was surprised. He was absolutely sure that only a few seconds ago there had been nothing but sand there, but now there were trees growing here and there on top of the dunes.
" Now how come I missed those before," he again said to himself. He walked slowly to the dunes and studied the trees. They were clearly full-grown trees that must have grown there for dozens of years.
 He bent and grabbed some of the dry sand. "Now," he said to himself again," if there are trees, there should be a spring or something."
 He lowered himself on all fours and drank. The water was clear and cool.
 Satisfied he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and it was then that he realised that the spring was right where he only a few seconds ago had grabbed some dry sand and thought that there ought to be a spring.
" There should also be some grass around the spring," he then said ponderingly, but he was no longer so surprised to discover that soft and sweet-smelling grass was growing there.
 The answer was clear. HE had done all this. And now he knew. Knew and understood.
 He had been shown mercy and he had been absolved. He had a chance to begin again, make a world where everything was all right. He would be god, but only in this world, because there had to be laws that he could no break. He could do nothing about the sun in the sky, but on this planet he would be god who could make right what he had done wrong on Earth.
 The red sun rose higher and higher in the sky. Night would fall soon, but then he would have the most important things done. And tomorrow he would start creation in earnest.
There was no need to hurry.
 He had an eternity to spend.
 Laughing with joy he began furnishing his new world.
 And the red sun kept rising to the highest point in the sky, until it started its slow descent and lighted up the trees, rivers, lakes and a small grass hut, at whose doorway a man was sitting with his legs crossed and thinking what he would do next.
 So came the evening, and the morning, and the second day.
 
 
 Veikko Rekunen 
ALONE
Space has millions of planets that have nothing but a name, given by some unknown and long-forgotten astrographer. Most of them are of dust or gas cloud and can be of no use to anyone. Mostly they are too far away from anywhere to be suitable for military bases. 
Though Kukausha lies in the exact geometric centre of our known universe, it has not interested physicists enough to warrant a scientific base. Like so many of its kind it has been forgotten. 
But should some wanderer land there he would find a row of gigantic footprints that resemble nothing he or anyone else might have seen in different worlds. They go straight across the level rocky surface of the planet and disappear in the haze. Their distance is always exactly the same to the millimetre, and on both sides go great grooves, where one could see imprints of gargantuan fingers if one looked closely. The prints are so deep in the rock that they must have been formed in the beginning of times when the planet was partially molten. 
The wanderer might for a moment wonder what made those prints, but he would hardly ponder them any longer. That would not be fruitful, for all kind of creatures abound in the universe, and whoever made these prints left no other signs of himself. 
* * * * *
Alone and orphaned he stood in a place he did not know. He had no eyes, but he could see the deep black of space and the glow of the planet. He had no ears, but silence cried in him louder than the background noise of the universe. His shape was grotesque, but everyone would have regarded him as beautifully befitting. 
His mind was filled with ambiguous uneasiness, for he realized that there was no one like him in the entire universe and he wondered about his purpose. He lifted his shapeless mouth to the skies and cried his loneliness into space. 
Can the first feeling in the universe be longing, he wondered as he felt the deep pain of the planet and his own intense helplessness. Will my life be ever like this, full of emptiness and unquenchable yearning. Will the skies always be black and devoid of any light? Is this the beginning and the end to everything there is? 
Unaware of the purpose he bent down and grabbed a piece of the glowing planetary surface, which, however, did not burn his fingers. Hesitantly he stood still for a moment and then flung the pieces far up and away. He bent down and grabbed some more, threw them and turned his unseeing eyes to the skies. 
Far out in space the first stars twinkled. He stood for a moment eating them up with his senses that so clearly told him what he might have seen with eyes. Then he bent down and hurled more bits and pieces upwards. 
Time stood still as he roamed the planet. Bend down, grab, throw pieces. He kept on monotonously, but with each throw he felt lighter. His feet pressed deep into the half-molten planet, but on the next round he threw his own imprints up in the skies with the rest of the matter. 
The planet grew smaller and more stars appeared. After each round he stopped and looked up, but always something made him continue. And the planet kept growing smaller. 
Again another round ended, right at the equator. He stopped and looked, and now his soul was full of joy, because the skies blazed in millions of small lights. And only then did he understand that he had done it. 
Out of his own loneliness and helplessness he had created the stars and filled the void of space. But while rejoicing he realized that whatever creatures would live there in aeons to come, they would feel the same loneliness and helplessness, and they too would want to fill their universe in their own way. There would be no peace to them until they had done their part. 
For a moment he stood and admired the blazing skies, and then he stretched his muscles and jumped far. He flew up to the stars and made them dance and twirl so that they stuck together and formed nebulae and galaxies, which lit his skin for a brief moment, until he passed them and soared on into empty space where the stars followed him, far beyond time and space and the legends of man.  
 
Veikko Rekunen
The one to blame
Well, of course I was also thirsty. I guess I had interviewed at least half the directors at the spaceport - or so I felt, anyway. But thirst was not the main reason - as it seldom was - for my stepping inside the bar.
 It was a comfortable sort of place, which at the first glance would look just like any other bar in the world. But as I walked further in I saw the miniature spacecraft on the shelf above the counter, and as I sat down I noticed a spacesuit in the corner. They were all poignant reminders of this place and the bar.
 The city had been born and started to flourish as space flight became more common. A great number of people had drifted there to try out their luck. Becoming a pilot was a bit like prospecting - the profits could be huge, but only a handful struck gold. This clumsy expression I had picked up in some official leaflet that the space administration had handed out to me. The population, however, had grown noticeably smaller since the early recruiting of pilots, when the romance of the work had defeated common sense for so many.
The demands on the pilots were extremely strict.
" You must be a stranger here", the bartender assumed. "What can I get you?"
 I studied the list hanging on the back wall next to a picture of the ancient Saturn V rocket. "I think I'll have a beer," I finally said. The list carried lots of exotic names for drinks, but usually I paid no attention to them.
 The bartender snorted, but I didn't care. Even the beer I had ordered simply because it was improper to sit at the counter without having a drink. At least the bartenders seem to think so. I was not trying to get intoxicated, but I did enjoy visiting different bars getting to know people. And please, do not laugh. A journalist can also feel lonely.
 It didn't seem like I had too many opportunities to get acquainted here, though. I half turned on my seat and studied the place. There were around twenty people sitting at the round tables - men mostly, but a couple of women, too. They all looked professional, there was none of that bubbly noise you hear at workers' pubs, but the conversation went on all the time.
 I turned back and stared at the back wall. "Funny sort of people, pilots," I remarked offhand to the bartender, who was busy wiping the same glass for the third time.
"Really difficult to get an interview out of them. My editor is getting mad at me."
 He looked back at me for an instant. I tried to look as innocent as possible and showed him my press card. What else could I try - he would probably be my best source of information for the day. "They form a very coherent group, and outsiders find it very hard to get to know them. You can consider yourself lucky if someone even thinks about giving an interview. In the old days pilots were everyone's heroes, but nowadays the public thinks they are some sort of glorified bus drivers. It angers then, so they keep themselves to themselves. Funny sort, as you said."
 I knew that he was right, of course. I had had no chance of getting an interview. After several hard attempts I had drifted to this bar, where the bartender at least seemed eager to talk.
" You don't really stand a chance to get that interview," he said.
"Pilots stick together. They have their own unwritten but strict code, and the most important is: stand by your colleague. That's why every pilot that resigns is automatically cut off from the rest. They feel he is no longer capable of answering to this code, and after all, he has already left his colleagues in trouble, hasn't he?"
 This I knew, because one of the dozen deputy directors I had interview had said the same thing. "Does that include those who had to resign because of an illness," I had asked a bit mischievously.
" It makes no difference to the pilot," he had said. "Up there the pilot is terribly lonely. He has to make decisions that, if they are wrong, can destroy the entire ship immediately. And those decisions he sometimes has to make instantly. On the ground wrong decisions don't necessarily mean such total destruction as in space, but up there one single mistake can mean your death - and the death of the passengers, too."
 I kept talking to the bartender about my experiences here. "Yes, they are lonely and have a big responsibility", he confirmed.
" But the modern computers..."
" Don't talk to the pilots about computers," the bartender said with a smile.
"I hear they are a great help, but unreliable. The pilot is, of course, also unreliable, but he does have feelings. A computer has no idea of what it means to kill three hundred people because you made a mistake. And computers are, after all, mere devices. They can break down. But the primary reason is that in the end it is the pilot's sole responsibility. Those days when you could blame anything on the computer are long gone. If the expansion of computers to every home towards the end of last century did nothing else, that it did. Or so they say, whenever the say anything to my kind of people," the bartender finished somewhat bitterly.
 While listening to the continuous chatter I had noticed that none of them even glanced at me. I was a stranger amongst them, and if the bartender's thoughts had any validity, they did indeed wish to shut me outside.
 It's a big responsibility all right, three hundred people.
 The door opened. A man appeared on the doorway his dark pilot's coat wet with rain. He walked up to the counter, order a Pilot's Special, walked over to a table in the corner and sat down.
 The noise died. Everything changed so abruptly that my senses cried out. Even the rain seemed to have died.
 I was completely taken aback by the sudden silence. I turned and looked. Everyone was sitting bolt upright. Nobody so much as glanced at the man.
" Who is he?" I whispered to the bartender. Even a whisper was loud like a ship's departure in this silence.
 The bartender was quiet for a moment. Then he reached for a small EL display with biotechnic memory, leafed through the contents and then handed it over to me.

       DECISION IN SPACE DISASTER     The Space and Flight Accident Survey Board has reached a decision on the disaster     last month, where 342 people were killed. The pilot Erkki Karhu, who was the sole     survivor, has been found not guilty of any negligence or having left the passengers in     peril.
    A spokesman for Space Administration said that...
  
 The old piece of news went on, but that was all I had to read. I had done my homework.
 Erkki Karhu had been the pilot in the biggest disaster of space history, where hundreds of people had been killed. He had been claimed to have pressed the button of his own safety pod without having lifted a finger to help the passengers. Karhu had stated that the button of the pod had been placed so that he had hit it by accident when trying to change the re-entry angle of the spaceship - the ship and everyone in it had been burned to cinder in the too deep a dive to the atmosphere.
 This accident in fact proved what the bartender had said about the pilots' disbelief in computers, because according to Karhu it had specifically been a computer malfunction that had changed the angle of the re-entry. And of course it was impossible to prove whether Karhu was guilty or not, as all the evidence had been burned. But as I now looked at the deadly silent room I realised that he indeed was, at least in their eyes, the one to blame.
 I stood up and slowly walked over to Karhu. No one in the room looked at me, but I could feel their dislike and - strangely enough - fear. As I sat down opposite to Karhu I introduced myself, but he did not even look at me. His eyes were totally empty.
 We sat for a long time saying nothing, until he lifted his eyes. He was gazing straight through me.
 He started talking in strange monotone, without seeing me, as if talking to himself.
" They say it was my fault. That I panicked. That all those people are dead because of me." He was silent for a moment. "My wife died on that ship."
 He fell silent. I glanced secretly at the room, but they remained as if carved on ice.
" The board found me not guilty, but that was just an illusion. You still think that I am to blame." He seemed to be talking to the room, not to me. "I lost everything," he went on in a more quiet tone, but I am sure that everyone in the room heard his words. "Everything. I lost my job, because none of you agreed to fly with me. My daughter blamed me for her mother's death and left home."
 Again he fell silent for a moment. He turned to me, but his gaze still pierced me.
"I lost my family. I haven't heard from my daughter in sixteen years. Sixteen years!" This he said so loudly that I startled. Nobody else seemed to hear.
" The only thing I didn't lose was my pension." He smiled bitterly, and now he for the first time looked human. "That's what the Board accomplished."
" You know what you fear!" he then cried out so that the glasses on the shelf seemed to tinkle. "You fear the same! You shut me out, because you are afraid that you too might kill hundreds of people! I am your living reminder that even a pilot can fail."
 He stood up and walked straight to the door. His glass was untouched. He hadn't touched his drink.
 As the door swung close behind him the conversation started again. It was as if nothing had happened.
 I went back to the bartender. "What is all this?" I wondered.
" He comes in every night, sits a while without drinking and then leaves. Has been doing that for sixteen years. It's seldom that he speaks, but if he does, he says what you just heard."
" And everyone falls silent every time?"
" Yes. He has been shut outside. Just like you. And me. We do not belong. But then again, we are not responsible for hundreds of lives." He was silent for a moment.
"Or at least I'm not, as long as there is no poison in the liquor."
 The discussion around the tabled seemed to be going on just as before, but I could sense a new tone. For a moment I wondered what it was, and then I understood that Karhu had been right.
 They were afraid. They were afraid of the very thing that had happened to him.
 I rushed outside. All I could hear on the street wet with the drizzle was the silent fall of the drops from the roofs, and the pilot was nowhere to be seen.
 For a moment I thought I might return and finish my beer, but then I remembered the hundreds of people that had been burned as Karhu's ship had tumbled down in a pillar of fire. And I remembered the Space Director's words: "Every day we send hundreds of people to space, but accidents almost never happen."
 I gazed at the sky where water was still falling. But it did not stop me from seeing how yet another rocket rose from the port followed by a flame. I thought about the pilot, who walks into the bar every night to dying conversation, straightening backs and faces turning away. The pilot, to whom even that pain is all life and everything in it, because that is all that he has. He has lost his wife, his daughter and the company of his friends, and there is no longer any hope for him.
 I was not thirsty any longer. The rain started to die, but my eyes kept tracking the flame in the sky until the water from the roofs obscured my vision. I turned up my collar and slowly started for my hotel. My story would be finished tonight.
 
 Veikko Rekunen
The Conscience of Mankind
I suppose I never really learnt to know Jericho, although you can safely say that I was his closest man. I do not suppose anyone could ever have really learnt to know what he was like, that modest and prematurely bowed man, whose life ended far too soon and still - though the very thought abhors me - right on time and in the right way. 
I first learnt to know Jericho when we both joined the Planet Army, and only I was with him when his life took the new course that I have tried to follow after him. Perhaps only I have been able to understand the thoughts that raced through his mind at the time. Only we two could see what total war and total disregard of other beings can cause. 
Why then did I not change, I have been asked. I do not know. Possibly I was never such a strong person, possibly I could never be that committed to a cause. I have always been happy just being an aide. And though fate has temporarily made me a leader, I would have been happier just to follow in Jericho's footsteps. I never had his talent for persuading people and raising masses - save once. 
And still, all things considered, I must have changed, too.  
* * * * *
The Third Interplanetary Symposium in Luna City was on its sixth day. The suspense amongst ourselves was almost unbearable - but for Jericho, whose calm had stayed unperturbed. Though today he was destined to give his first address as the newly-elect Councilman, he showed no signs of the pressure I knew I was feeling. Had it been possible, the Chair would have denied him the right to speak, for fear of unrest. 
And I was afraid of them as well. And fruitless as I knew it, I had tried to make Jericho give up his right of speech. 
"Now look", I told him the last moment before he stepped on the rostrum," you know those letters were not meant as jokes." 
"Leo, Leo", he laughed and shook his grey head. "If I now start to worry about assassins, I might just as well go home and stay there." 
"But think what will happen to our movement if you get yourself killed", I tried once again, but he merely smiled warmly. 
"Well, we'll still have you then, Leo", he said, patted me on the shoulder and stepped on the rostrum. 
From my seat among the Councilmen I tried to see whether any strangers were present, but as the three thousand seats of the Hall were packed with audience, my nervously flitting eyes could see no would-be assassins. I tried to stay alert, because I well remembered the attempt on Jericho's life in Mars only six months ago. 
What made things even more difficult was that Jericho had agreed to no security measures at all. The organisers had not been too keen to arrange any, either, because most of the powerful people of the System were dead set against Jericho's ideas. They believed that man was the most important being in the entire universe - a view Jericho had a thousand times proved wrong. That is why the people were beginning to support us. 
The people's opinion has seldom affected the leaders, so I knew that most Councilmen were suspicious of our cause. I also knew that any insignificant incident might turn them for us - or against us. 
Jericho had reached the rostrum and started his speech. I knew every word he was going to say by heart. We had been working on the speech for the past three weeks. But do not misunderstand me; Jericho always wrote his own speeches, but he almost always asked for my opinion. Sometimes he took it, sometimes he did not. 
What I did not know was what went on in his mind as he spoke. Was he, like I was, remembering the distant past as he went on with his introduction: 
"You all know, for it has been said a thousand times and again a thousand, what really has brought me here before you," he said, and though his words sounded metallic over the loudspeakers, I was sure that everyone could feel the human warmth he put into his every word. 
Yes; everyone knew what had brought him there, what had started the life that had brought him here to speak. It had brought me here, too, and I knew it better than any being in the entire universe, save for Jericho. 
I had been there myself.  
* * * * *
No one knew what the Hordi had been like, what their plans had been and how long they had been on Ganymede. And now, as their first starship was coming closer to the Earth far beyond the orbit of Pluto, there was a chance we might never find that out. The proposition made on the very first day of the Symposium called for a warship to meet the Hordi and destroy them before they reached Neptune. Jericho's universal appeal had forced the Chair to put the vote off till today, after his speech. I knew that he would propose sending a peace ship to meet the Hordi. 
Twenty years ago we had both been recruits in the Planet Army. We had been drawn by thoughts of free and active life in the military, and neither the badmouthing of superior officers nor extra duty in the kitchen had at the time completely discarded the glory we had been learning from television since boyhood. And when the Commander made it known that we would leave for an aggressive assault against the Hordi, we were happy to be heading for Ganymede. 
Six months ago the great Iovian Expedition had discovered an alien base on Ganymede.
Captain Sorenson had notified that the First Contact was very near and that he would send a delegation to meet the aliens he had for one reason or another called the Hordi. 
That was the last people heard from the expedition in seven years. 
The conclusion was self-evident: the Hordi had destroyed the expedition. The Planet Command made a quick decision. The aliens had to taught a lesson; they had to be destroyed. 
The Klymainestra was closest to Ganymede, and so the assignment was given to us.
Because our Commander was afraid that we might experience the same fate as the expedition, he launched the neutron missiles as soon as he had learnt the exact location of the alien base. 
The neutron weapons had only been used in the war of 2016, after the East European unrest had ended and alliances were fighting for their position. The war had once and for all solved our overpopulation problems and with them most of the pollution problems. We did not know very well the results of their use, but the most important was that they left material targets untouched. Scientists would find it easy to examine the artifacts left by the Hordi. And after the neutron bombs had done their work, the Commander sent a small vessel down to inspect the area. 
Being a cautious man he assigned a two-man patrol, and the roster had our names: Jericho as the NCO in charge of the vessel and I, Leo Olg, as the crew. 
We circled the entire area. As there might still be some neutron activity, we had been ordered to observe the area from flight. 
There was no sign of the Hordi. Neither was there any signs of the Iovian Expedition, not even ships. But the most significant information was that there were no weapons of any description, nothing that could have destroyed the expedition. 
Nothing at all. 
Oh yes, I have read the reports listing the weapons found by the Klymainestra. They are forged, their purpose was to justify the destruction of the alien base. I was there. I saw no weapons. Neither did Jericho. 
But things are easily forgotten, and so was the destruction too . Until outer probes noticed an alien starship approaching. It was coming straight at Ganymede. It had to be the Hordi. 
Jericho, however, did not forget. He remembered, resigned and became the conscience of mankind. 
And, as always, I went with him.  
* * * * *
"But we all know now, as we have known for many, many years," Jericho continued his speech, and I was suddenly back in today, "that a crime was committed in the Hordi base, a crime even more terrible than almost two centuries ago, when a man called Hitler destroyed millions of people. A crime more terrible than the shortest and most devastating war in the history of mankind in 2016. Then ten billion people were destroyed; then material damages were so small that our present living has been dearly bought with the lives of the greater part of humanity. Then it finally dawned upon us that man cannot keep destroying his own kind without the whole system suffering. We must all protect our own species, but not at whatever the cost. The Hordi were destroyed for the wrong reasons. The case was never examined, it was based on suppositions. The result: a panic solution that has been covered ever since. 
"As we all here know, and as we all must know; seven years after the destruction the Iovian Expedition returned, safe and sound. We had destroyed our contact with another intelligent being for the wrong reasons." 
Jericho paused for just the right moment and looked around the Hall. Then he went on, but I was back in the past.  
* * * * *
The powers-that-be found the news of the expedition's return disturbing. The Universalist movement had, thanks to Jericho, got a foothold in our political system. The leaders could be certain that Jericho would make use of the opportunity. 
They were right, of course. The government tried to make the expedition admit that they had been harassed by the Hordi, but Captain Sorenson remained thoroughly honest. He said that the hyperdrive had jammed and flung them far away to space. They had needed two years to repair the damages and the rest of the time to return back home. The Iovian magnetic field had jammed their broadcasts and prevented the probes from noticing what had really happened. 
Jericho worked hard. He gave speeches all around the system and though all the travelling was expensive, he was always prepared to go. I have seen him sell everything he owned just to go and talk in Mars - and the worst was that he made me do the same, not by violence, by the powers of persuasion he knew so well how to use. 
People tried to declare him mad, but they never succeeded. Once they locked him in an asylum, but we tricked the robot guards and took him away. That was probably the worst mistake the government could have done, because now people came to hear Jericho's speeches in such crowds that we were almost inundated by new members. It also helped financially so much that we could buy time on Planet Network and talk to all the people in the System.
There were attempts to prove that Jericho had used his time in the networks unconstitutionally, but they always failed. That has probably been my greatest personal triumph so far. 
All the twenty years the memory of the destruction of the aliens had kept Jericho going. I am the only person who ever saw his moments of despair, when everything seemed lost. But he had faith in his cause, and being a loyal supporter, I tried to support him as best I could. 
The latest election had been a victory to us. We had got over thirty per cent of the votes, but our careful strategy of concentrating candidates in certain election districts had paid off and we had got almost half of the seats in the Symposium. Jericho and I had managed to be elected Councilmen which improved our odds. It gave us a certain amount of time to address the Symposium. I had given my time to Jericho - stretching the rules almost too far - so that he could at this moment, the most important in his life, use all his powers to persuade people to accept our views. 
Jericho had reached the finale. He had plenty of time left, but we had decided not to stretch our luck. The Chair had the right to cut the microphones if the Councilman spoke too long, and in Jericho's case they were sure to use their right. 
"Now we have heard that a Hordi Ship - or a ship from some other race - is approaching our System again. My colleagues in the Council have proposed that we send warships to destroy it before it reaches the System. But are we really willing to repeat the same mistake as before? Are we ready to be known throughout the universe as the race that allows no one to approach its borders? Are we really prepared to be known as a race that hates all other races? Do we really want all the races and peoples in the universe to know us as a race whose hatred and suspicion knows no bounds? Do we wish to be feared so much that all the other races will join their forces against us? Do we wish to be destroyed simply because everyone is too afraid of us?" 
I could hear the silence descending heavy in the Hall. I could see how Jericho's words had hit the brains of everyone. I could see that this was our chance. Blood was pulsing in my head as I wanted to shout out: "Go on, Jericho, go on!" 
A man leapt forward from the first row. I knew what was coming, but I also knew I was too slow. I tried to call out, but my throat was dry. 
"Traitor of Mankind!" The man's cry hang above us for a moment. From under his coat he pulled a gun, which the security men should have noticed in the checkpoint, and aimed at Jericho. 
Power returned to my legs. Blindly I rushed at my friend who had ample time to duck behind the pulpit. But he stood still calmly and looked straight in the eyes of the man who was about to kill him. 
And I swear he was... smiling. 
I was ten metres from him when the man fired. 
I had never heard such a noise since my days in the army. I understood why the security men had not found it. It was a clever trick, bringing in an old-fashioned handgun. They had been searching for modern plastic explosives and laser guns. But that of course mattered no more. 
The man fired a second time, and I saw how Jericho jerked as the bullet hit him. I reached him as he fell slowly on the rostrum, and from the corner of my eye I saw how the man was seized, now, too late. Then I was kneeling beside my friend. 
His eyes were open and he was still smiling. It was hard for him to speak, but we had been together so long that I understood him. 
"Remember how I said that the smallest incident could turn the people to our side?" he asked as blood was gushing from his mouth. 
I nodded, unable to speak. Tears fell from my eyes on his face. I had not cried in forty years. 
"This is it, Leo", he went on, still smiling. I marvelled how that bowed man could still talk about his cause at the moment of his death. 
I could see he was dying. His eyes closed, but he opened them once more and whispered words I rather sensed than heard: "Go on. Talk to them, Leo, my friend. I cannot s..." 
He died. 
For a moment I kept kneeling beside him. I understood what he had meant, and I believe that his indomitable spirit gave me strength. 
Slowly I stood up. The Hall was quiet in the face of death. My tears welled forth freely as I grabbed the microphone. I could not see whether it was open, but I spoke nevertheless. 
"He is dead. How many more must die before you see? How many races and individuals must die until you believe that mankind has only one way: the way to peace, not to war?" 
Then, for that brief, fleeting moment I was Jericho, not Leo Olg. Then, for that one brief, fleeting moment I had his powers of persuasion. 
"We do not have to put it to the vote. I propose we send a ship of peace to meet the Hordi, not a warship. There must be no more killing! Who's in favour?" 
For a moment everything was silent, and I could only hear my own heart beat. Then the roof almost fell in as the entire Symposium leapt up. And their cry must still be travelling towards the end of time: "We want peace!" 
I turned and looked at Jericho. And though life had escaped, it seemed that he winked at me. 
I was calm again. What could have been a better time for Jericho to die than this, when his dream was coming true. And though it was sad that he had to die to fulfill his dream.
I do not think he would have been unhappy about it. 
"Leo," he once said in deep despair, "if I knew that by dying I could make the rest of mankind free, I would die. And it is not noble, it is selfish. For how could the death of one free all mankind?"  
* * * * *
The Hordi looked awful, but that did not matter. His eyes shone with peace and wisdom as he bent down to place flowers on Jericho's grave. 
"This is an Earth custom," he said, "but a beautiful one. Perhaps we could adopt it in our planet." 
"It is now possible," I said, "because matters have been settled and there is peace between our two races." 
"You are a young race," the Hordi said and with his three eyes looked at the flowers he had put on Jericho's grave. "I never knew him of course, but I have a feeling he was much older than the rest, older than us Hordi even. We had our difficulties in our time, but in the course of time we learnt to settle them peacefully." 
"Perhaps we can now do the same," I said, "thanks to Jericho. He was a truly good man." 
The Hordi was silent for a moment and then turned smoothly around on his only leg.
"I never, as I said, met him, but on the basis of what I have read I could say more.
He was not only a good man, he would also have been a good Hordi." 
"And what does that mean?" I asked. 
"It means that he would have known the secrets of the universe and the purpose of all that is." 
"And what does that mean?" 
The Hordi was silent for a moment. And when we started walking along the sand path, I plodding on my two legs, he jumping smoothly on his only leg, he said, without looking back: "I do not know. But I have a feeling he could have told me." 
And as we stepped through the gates the red sun of Hordi rose to shine on the inscription on Jericho's grave, on which upon our arrival the greatest of their three moons had shone so brightly. 
And above us was a gigantic cluster of stars, beyond which opened the vast and uncharted expanse of space.  
 
 Veikko Rekunen 
MAN! 
It was a beautiful day. Nevertheless, Axxon felt strange uneasiness. He rose from his chair and shuffled to the window. He looked at the hustle and bustle of the great space station that glittered in bluish sunlight and thought once again how much he had to answer for. He was in charge, and though it at times seemed a heavy burden, he relished every moment. 
Axxon smiled to himself as he turned away. He knew that a single word from him would close those big gates which he passed every morning on his way to his office so tightly that no creature from anywhere in the universe could get through. The fact that electronic brains directed all the usual activities had no real bearing on the issue. In security matters Axxon had the supreme power, and though he seldom had to assert his position, everyone knew who the boss was. 
The holographic image about arrivals and departures in the centre of the office kept changing. Sometimes Axxon glanced more carefully at some specific item, but as a rule everything went smoothly. Routes had been more or less the same for years, and seldom these days were ships sent to examine planets that were not commercially useful. 
Though today a ship had come in, and a glance at the route had made Axxon shiver. The Sayari had travelled through the wildest parts of the known galaxy. Axxon had briefly addressed the captain while the ship had been unloading, but Captain Tred had merely shaken his head and refused to discuss the details. That of course was understandable, because ships that went where his had been would only do so under the auspices of the Council. 
Well, everything was all right and the Chief of Security sat down again. The Sayari seemed no worse for her trip and the crew looked cheerful enough. Axxon remembered how during the wars travelling through unknown territory had tested strength and fortitude sometimes to the utmost. But they had always pulled through. 
The wars! He had been too young, too unprepared to plant seeds of death amongst other creatures. He had joined for the illusion of the romance of space, but those illusions had quickly disappeared when they for the first time had raided a planet. He still remembered the smell of blood, the fear, the helplessness in the midst of all that destruction. 
It had been necessary, of course. There can be no peace without war, and peace reigned now. Former enemies had joined forces in keeping the peace in the galaxy, and the weapons had been put down years ago. The military had become the police, and that he himself could be happy about. 
He had climbed the greasy pole here in Space Harbour, and this was certainly better that the constant fear of killing or being killed. It was seldom that anything remarkable took place here. At most he had been forced to arrest a few adventurous stowaways. 
Sometimes he wondered whether he could act any more if called for. 
Axxon's thoughts were interrupted by his deputy, Heww, who charged in. 
"A stowaway!" he shouted. 
"I beg your pardon?" Axxon asked. 
"A stowaway, illegal passenger," Heww cried and flung himself to the seat. 
Axxon contemplated his deputy for away. It was all very well to have enthusiasm while still young, but sometimes Heww seemed too ebullient. And telling him that Deputy Chief of Security should appear calmer had no effect, But Heww was good. He would learn before Axxon retired. 
"Could you, and very calmly please, tell me what has happened?" he said gently. 
Heww took a better position in the chair, wiped some sweat from his brow and said:" A stowaway was found in a ship. He was seen when he slipped from the ship to the field, but you know how much junk there is while they are unloading. They could not catch him, so this stowaway is now hiding somewhere in the field." 
"And this is the news that makes it necessary for you to come crashing in," Axxon said calmly. "You know as well as I do that in this job you must not act hastily. You make too many mistakes that way." 
"But you don't understand," Heww said excited. 
"Of course I don't understand," Axxon said quietly, "because it is you, who ought to tell me, calmly, sensibly and without any fuss, what exactly has happened and why all this commotion over a single stowaway?" 
"He came on the Sayari," Heww said and wiped his brow again. "And do you know where it has been?" 
"Of course," Axxon said and glanced at the shining marks on his desk.
"It went from sector AR-56 to sector BG-45X through uncharted space. We are unfamiliar with that part, because we have never wanted to open commercial routes there." 
"And why not?" Heww asked. 
"What is this, a guessing game?" Axxon replied a little irascibly. "How should I know? Perhaps there is nothing there we want." 
"There are a number a different metals and above all asteroids rich in iron ore around a small star," said Heww. Axxon had always agreed that Heww's knowledge of space was superior to his own. "The problem, however, is that around that star there are a number of planets all ruled over by a sentient creature. And therefore we dare not go there." Heww spoke in the educational tone that usually angered Axxon. But this time he felt no anger, because suddenly his mind cleared and he remembered the co-ordinates in Kroton's Star Atlas. 
"Man!" he cried out. 
"Man," Heww said. And sighed heavily.  
* * * * *
He slipped out quickly and went around a couple of barrels whose content remained a mystery - though they smelled awful. He did not know where he was and how he had got here, but as he woke up he had seen horrible creatures and panicked. Like a rat chased into a corner he had run around, and though he had seen no one he had an uncanny feeling that somebody had been observing his route in this strange world. 
He tripped and grazed his knee, but the blood that trickled from it did not interest him at all. Though he was unable to think clearly instinct told him that everyone here was an enemy and he had to hide himself from them. 
Sobbing with fear he went farther and farther among the barrels. 
* * * * *
Seldom had Axxon been as embarrassed as when listening to Co-ordinator of Space Flights. Even the triangular image of Co-ordinator seemed to flutter with indignation, though Axxon knew fully well that this effect on the holoimage was caused by the radar equipment in the harbour. 
"How is it possible," Co-ordinator asked for the third time, "how is it possible that you can leave a ship that has travelled in such area completely without supervision?" 
Axxon had twice tried to explain that had Captain Tred immediately told him where he had landed he would certainly have surrounded the ship with men. Co-ordinator had not listened to him then, so he merely shrugged. 
"I intend to send there one of the Exopsychologists," Co-ordinator said," but in the meantime do everything you can to find this creature. And for heaven's sake keep this to yourselves. If the word gets out we will have a panic in our hands." 
Axxon tried to nod in agreement, but the image had gone. At the moment Chief of Security did not at all feel like the boss. 
"Heww," he said to his deputy, "are you quite certain that the stowaway is man?" 
"That's what Captain Tred said when he heard the worker's story. But he did only see the creature from behind, so there is a slight possibility of an error. But there are not many such creatures here, so it certainly looked bad to the captain." 
"So," Axxon grunted. "What did you do with the worker?" 
"Put him in the cell for the time being. That way he can't go around talking about it to everybody. But what are we waiting for? Don't you understand what this means? Man is loose in the harbour!" 
Axxon rose slowly from his chair. Man! The ogre, the goblin from black space that mothers used to frighten their children with, a creature you could hardly call civilized though it undoubtedly was sentient. A creature he knew the basic details of though had never seen one alive: a being that had four limbs, walked upright and would probably have passed for a foreign tourist in any harbour. 
"All right," he said. "Let's go." 
* * * * *
The barrels made a noise when he fell against them. Lifting his legs was arduous, different from home. He staggered forward crying in his fright, but no one could be seen.
There was nothing but the barrels, and still he knew, beyond any doubt, that there were creatures here that wanted to hurt him. 
His chin was wet with saliva. He raised his arms which felt heavier that at home to the sky and cried out in his loneliness. 
* * * * *
"There's no point in making accusations," Axxon said to Captain Tred.
"Our main objective is to make sure that it is man and then eliminate the threat it imposes on the harbour." 
Oh my God, Heww thought. Man is loose in the harbour and he starts quoting the procedure manual. Fortunately not to the letter. But Captain Tred was still feeling apologetic. 
"I was quite certain that I followed all security procedures," he kept talking. "We were certain we could be neither heard nor seen. The security field was unbroken. It was definitely impossible for man to enter our ship." 
"Such is man," a booming voice said from behind. "He is cunning and ruthless. If your security procedures failed for a fraction of a second, man may have discovered you and entered your ship." 
Axxon sighed and turned. Of course, he thought. Of course the Exopsychologist had to be a Marfi. He had to be a Marfi. 
Chief of Security had never been able to stand the Marfi. Though calm himself, he had never liked their calmness and omniscience any better than their appearance. All aesthetic values aside, he thought, I still cannot like creatures who look like moss-covered trees.
He looked at his own arms, which were covered with silky hair. 
"I heard you have some trouble here," the Marfi said. "I am Kroop, one of the Exopsychologists, specialized in man's psychology. Not the most pleasant task, I might add. Man is cunning, as I said, and we will have our hands full when trying to get him to come out." 
"Is that really necessary?" Axxon asked irritated. He was always irritated when Marfi were around. "He can't stay alive long out there. There is no food for him." 
"What has made man feared and hated is the very fact that he is able to survive against all odds. We Marfi have studied man and other creatures for centuries, but there has never been one more cruel, one more dangerous than man, no other creature has survived what man has survived." 
Bloody hell, Axxon thought, now he is exaggerating. There are a number of rather tough creatures in the harbour at the moment, and we have a clear advantage in numbers. 
"One single man in this kind of harbour could mean death to all those in it," Kroop said as if in answer. "If we cannot eliminate him very soon, we must evacuate the entire harbour." 
"Surely one man cannot destroy us all," Captain Tred said. "After all, we returned from their planet safe and sound." 
"One of the first - and at the same time one of the last - attempts we made to bring man into our Council took place over a hundred years ago, long before the Treaty," the Marfi said solemnly. "We brought six men to our own planet, and before we could get rid of them, they had killed over two hundred of our people - and without any arms, mind you." 
"But how can that be possible?" Heww asked. His thirst for knowledge overcame his impatience. 
"We have come to the conclusion," Kroop said calmly, "that man has an innate trait for violence. Wherever man goes he takes that trait with him. It is like the symbiosis of the Leijjuu, where two different creatures form a whole, but man forms that whole within himself. Fortunately their attempts to travel beyond their own solar system have failed so far. But if they some day find out what the Niidri found in their time, the rest of us will be gone." 
"Well, could we now start chasing this awfully dangerous man," Axxon said.
"We have wasted a lot of time talking nonsense while this creature is on the loose.
That is supposing he is as dangerous as you seem to think, Kroop. Don't you think they could be brought into our Council? That should, as I recall, be the main philosophy behind the Council - to bring all sentient beings into peaceful coexistence with each other. And it was you Marfi who were very eager to put up the Council, wasn't it?" he added sarcastically. 
"That is true," the Marfi said calmly. "But that was before we knew very much about man." 
* * * * *
Somehow he could feel the chase closing in on him, though he could not see them because the barrels surrounded him everywhere. Sobbing he clambered forward expecting to be caught at any moment. 
Suddenly he heard a sound from his left, and something bit him in the leg. He turned, but saw nothing. He understood that this place had more dangers than he had had to face in his entire life. He tried to move faster, but that made him bump into the barrels more often. Every bump made him long for company and touch more and more. 
* * * * *
If Axxon's words had insulted the Marfi he showed no signs of it. "Let the chase begin," he said, and for once Axxon agreed. 
"Are there any special precautions we ought to consider," he asked the Marfi just to be sure. The Marfi's countenance remained unchanged as he answered. 
"Is it possible to clear the harbour from all the personnel who are not absolutely necessary in chasing the creature?" the Exopsychologist asked. "I do not think that one man could pass the electronic gates, and I also believe the fence is too high.
You can never be sure as to what man can do, but if the gate is carefully guarded, I believe we might be able to keep it inside the area." 
"We can hardly stop the work of the entire harbour because of one stowaway," Axxon said. "And besides, if this man is as dangerous as you seem to imagine, I don't think we should give the smallest hint of his existence to anyone - it could cause a riot.
So far I haven't even told my gate watch anything. They know their duty, if anyone tries to get out of the gate without a pass." 
"You seem unbelieving, Chief of Security", the Marfi said. "But allow me to ensure you that man truly is as dangerous as I have said. We must catch it, and fast." 
"It seems strange to believe that Universe might have a race which according to you has nothing good," Axxon said, but started to search the barrels at the same time. "It seems to conflict all natural laws. But now we must finish the job and talk afterwards." 
The Marfi's tales had apparently had their effect on Axxon, because as he pushed further between the barrels he felt a strange uneasiness come over him. He knew his life was in jeopardy, if indeed such a bloodthirsty and primitive creature as the Marfi had described was lurking somewhere among the barrels. 
"Do you have a gun?" he asked Kroop when he noticed the Exobiologist following him. The Marfi shook his head. 
"I shall remain right behind you together with the captain. If he attacks me, you will have a chance to kill him. My own life is nothing compared with the danger of man to all our planets." 
Axxon did not speak but continued cautiously his way among the barrels. Heww followed him a little behind. They had been practising this many times. They both moved very silently, because the soft pads in their shoeless soles were well suited for silent pursuit. 
* * * * *
He could hear the chase drawing closer, though they were not clumsy. But his entire world had been mainly a world of sound and touch, and his senses were well suited for that. 
He had been alone far too long. First that strange, unknown room that had made him sick and vomiting, and now this heavy world of barrels that seemed to have no friends. He needed a friend, needed some kind of touch. He clambered upright and waved one hand wearily. 
Axxon heard something. His trained fighter's reflexes anticipated it before he fully realized what he had seen. In a flash he raised his gun and fired. Heww behind him worked just as quickly. The sound of the ray guns was so silent that it could hardly be heard, and there was no extra commotion in the field. 
Everything was quiet. Axxon went carefully forward until he saw the creature. The shot had hit him in the middle of his body and his eyes were wide open. His mouth was open and he tried to speak. But the shot had been too well aimed, and he could make no sound. Then his eyes closed, and Axxon knew he was dead. 
Chief of Security had seen dead bodies of many different races during both war and peace. He knew that when the creature had died he had been thoroughly amazed and frightened. He found it impossible to see it as a bloodthirsty and cruel being. 
"Good shot, Chief of Security," the Marfi's booming voice said. "We are safe again." 
Axxon bent down to examine to dead body. "Can such a small creature really be so dangerous?" he asked Kroop. "I believe he was just as frightened as we were." 
"Well, that is only a child..." the Marfi began. 
"A child!" Axxon cried out. "Only a child!" 
"Only a child, as you said, apparently about four years old in his own world. A child, but still man! Man, who in time would have been just as violent and evil as the adults." 
Kroop bent down and lifted the human child into his arms. "I will take it to be examined. Well done, Chief of Security." 
But Axxon did not hear him. As a soldier he had killed a lot of creatures, also children no doubt, but never intentionally. Be it bad and cruel, it was still only a helpless little child, who had been as frightened as he. He had seen it in the child's eyes. 
He lifted his gaze to the sky and studied the thousand stars. Their children at least are not cruel and frightening. Axxon thought of his own children. They would have been just as scared. Why do we fear them for their reputation alone? 
But were they themselves any better? They were so frightened at the thought of man that a little child alone was a horror to them. Surely there was room enough for all races in the universe! 
"What did you say?" Heww asked. 
"Nothing, I was just wondering..." 
"About what?" Heww asked again. 
"Man," he replied. "Man and Universe and the future. And us." 
"And what else?" Heww said. "Come on, the danger is over." 
"You're wrong," Axxon said. "The danger is by no means over. The danger is within ourselves. One day more men will come, and if we then are so afraid of them, we can never live in the same galaxy. One must change - us or them - or both. Or we'll all die, and all sentient life in our galaxy will be destroyed." 
"What are you blabbering about," Heww wondered. 
"Nothing much," Axxon said. "But from tomorrow you will be Chief of Security in this harbour." 
"What will you do then?" Heww asked. 
"What will I do?" Axxon repeated to himself and turned his gaze again to the stars. "I think I'll go out and meet man."  
 
 Veikko Rekunen 
(Note: In the 70s and 80s I wrote a series of stories about a thief.
At that time I had not read Harrison's Stainless Steel Rat, so contrary to what people might think, these stories reflect my original thinking. The tradition of even remotely funny stories in Finnish science fiction is almost non-existent, so perhaps these stories represent something that I wish to see more of.) 
HOW TO STEAL A SPACESHIP 
Sam's Saloon was silent, as it always was on Friday mornings. The freighters had gone and the weekend rush had not started. I must have been lonely, because I had sat down on a stool and looked lazily at a lonely stripper who tried to interest people with her show - in vain, because I was the only one who even glanced at her. Pity really, because here she was quite a looker for a stripper, though in bright lights her age would have been clear.
In bars and saloon she could work for years until no one would hire her anymore. 
Beside me at the counter were two men talking quietly to one another. I could hear their words quite clearly but paid little attention to them. You can hear thousands of such stories in the bars at Luna Station, because every moron in the entire System seems to believe that he can find there the feeling of adventure his ordinary life if void of. 
Well, for a reporter these places were necessary to haunt, though I had always felt that gossip columns were not the right material to fill the gaps in electronic communication. But what the hell - you have to earn a living somehow. 
I tried to follow the stripper's act, but then I heard a familiar name in the men's speech: Sandy Veranda. To the press that name was like gold, because his exploits were closely followed in the System's networks. 
If there had ever been a criminal you could call perfect, Sandy Veranda was the one. No one had ever caught him, and no one could even tell what he looked like. He was described as a shadow that walks through closed doors and takes whatever he wants. His services could be bought by placing ads in the Planet News, and the Council had never been able to stop them from appearing. Once they had tried, but only two days later half the Councilmen had been placed under arrest accused of various crimes. It seems that someone had broken into the Council's safe and taken the appropriate evidence, which had then been just as mysteriously delivered to the news desk at the Planet News. After that no one had even dared to try and stop him. 
Still, Sandy Veranda had his own morals. It was known that at least three times he had cancelled his crime because people were set in danger. And once a guard had accidentally fallen off a railing when trying to stop Sandy from escaping. The guard's family had the next day been delivered three million dollars - and the police had never found out where they came from. The guard's family - a wife and four children - did not have to worry about their support after that. 
Slowly I turned and looked at the men. One was a big redheaded fellow with one brown and one blue eye. The other man was small and mousy, probably an accountant in some firm. 
"No, stealing a spaceship is not a very difficult problem," the mousy man said, "though probably only Sandy Veranda could do it smoothly." 
"But how could it be done," the big fellow said. I was sure that I had seen his picture somewhere, but then again, in my profession you see so many pictures and people that they sort of fade together. 
"I am an account in a firm whose name shall remain unmentioned," the little man said. "I have good information on all the security measures that are conducted in the field. The most difficult part is getting past the guards. That has become increasingly difficult lately, because the police are still looking for the three terrorists who blew up the UN Office in Luna City." 
I had heard about that, of course. Three of the terrorists had been caught, but the other three had gone in hiding. The police believed that they were trying to escape to Earth, so they guarded all the stations closely. It was impossible to stay in hiding either in Luna City or Earth indefinitely, because electronic surveillance could find anyone, given enough time. But if the terrorists could steal a spaceship and escape back to the Asteroids, they could probably never be found. 
Well, Sandy Veranda was the exception to the rule of course. He passed all the gates and avoided all the surveillance around the System. He was possibly the greatest criminal of all times, and he resembled Robin Hood because the people seemed to be on his side - no wonder, as some of his crimes had been truly incredible. The police had been able to find out later how he had done most of them, but there was still no one who could say how one man can steal the nuclear warheads from eighteen missiles in broad daylight - and from a field guarded by over a thousand soldiers. This feat more than anything was responsible for the people's admiration. And the fact that like Robin Hood Sandy Veranda only stole from people who could afford it. 
"The number of guards has been increased," the little man said, "and their rounds are totally random. Electronic surveillance can be deceived, because electronic methods work there, but human and dog guards are not so easy to fool." 
"Perhaps with false documents...?" the big man pondered. 
The little man shook his head. "No," he said. "They are now changed electronically each day and are impossible to forge in a hurry. With a suitable computer and in time it could be done, but not very fast." 
"Well what can then be done?" the redheaded one asked. 
"The first step is to get a legitimate reason to go to the field," the little man whispered. "It might be worth following a maintenance worker or someone from flight personnel, but they are also checked from time to time. I find that risk too big." 
"I think we should avoid all risk," the big guy said. "This is of course only a hypothetical problem, but a very interesting one. I intend to write a story about it to the Planet News." 
I almost cried out. The Planet News is of course the largest paper, but I still knew most of their people. The fellow might be a freelance, but he did not look like one. Those two men were in effect planning a crime, but there was no sense in calling the police. I would only look ridiculous. I had no evidence. 
Suddenly the little man went silent and turned half away from his partner, At first I did not understand it, but then my instinct told me. In my business you will soon learn to know when you are being watched. 
I glanced around nonchalantly. The camera in the corner was still pointed at the stripper, but the one above the bar had started panning the room. 
I knew that the police were watching all public places, just in case. It was a public secret that they could listen to anyone at any time, but my profession has also told me that you simply cannot watch every citizen around the clock. 
Just consider the facts. There are nowadays eight billion people. To watch all those people around the clock you would need twice the number, and to watch the watchers twice their number. That is not possible. And videotape is out, because you cannot find so much videotape in the galaxy. And when would they have time to watch the tapes? 
Besides, it would never end, as someone would always have to watch the watches. It is the age-old dictum: Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Still, these mathematical impossibilities were widely believed among the people. 
One thing, however, was fully possible: at any given time, you might be watched. The press will always try to uncover the latest methods, but surveillance technology is advancing with giant leaps. The sophisticated equipment that helped solve the China Sea crisis ten years ago are today obsolete. 
I noticed that the little man did not even look at the cameras which soon turned back to the stripper. 
Despite his apparent negligence the little man turned right away to his partner, who had also seemed to understand what had happened. They continued their discussion. I began to think that for an accountant the little man showed uncommon calmness. 
"Well, how would you get to the field?" the big man asked again. 
"For me the best possibility would be to get a nuclear engineer's suit and tool kit with a permit. For one reason or another even the most hardened guards avoid a man whose daily job is to crawl around nuclear motors. And I suppose that is understandable, because their average age seems rather young." 
I could well understand that, because I had once interview such a man and the editor had ordered me to get more local colour by following him around. That experience had left me at least ten years older. 
"Hmmm." The big man pondered for a moment. "That might work. But then you should get into the cockpit." 
"That's the problem," the little man said. "To a nuclear engineer the cockpit is usually off limits." 
"So you would have to steal two suits and permits? That does not sound like a good idea." 
"It isn't. The next part in my plan takes a great deal of courage. The nuclear engine has a closed pipeline to the cockpit. A man can crawl through it - if he is decisive enough." 
"But... but... you would have to crawl straight through the nuclear engine," the big man whispered horrified. "It would kill you!" 
"Not necessarily. The protective suit can repel the radiation from an ordinary nuclear engine for about twenty seconds. That is plenty of time if the man is fast enough - and at that point most men are. The only problem is the make sure that you can open the hatches in the time allotted. That, however, can be ascertained from the diagrams in the engine." 
The big man sat still for a moment. "That might work," he said to himself.
"The only problem is to get the suit and tool kit." 
"That is no problem," the little man said. "If you wish to steal a spaceship, you certainly know how to pick a few locks. It is easy to steal one from the dressing rooms - and the best thing is that the worker will never report it. It would cost him his job. He will simply give another worker an old rag to be taken through the engine and take it to the disposal unit. That way he will get a new suit and permit, and tool kits are to be had in the black market. I am sure it could be done." 
"You think so?" the big man said and glanced at his watch. It was one of the new Seiko watches they make in the Asteroid factory. Then he drank up and rose from his chair. 
"It nice to talk to you. Now I must go. Perhaps we'll meet again." 
The little man said nothing, just nodded and watched as the big man walked past the stripper, who had just uncovered the last pieces of clothing and was wiggling stark naked on the stage. 
The little man turned back to the counter and seemed to be smiling. We sat for a moment without a word, when things suddenly became clear for me. 
Bloody hell! Sometimes I really am slow, as my ex-wife used to say. Of course it was him! I cleared my throat and turned to the little man. 
"Excuse me, but you just told that man how to steal a spaceship. Do you know who he is?" 
"Bart Bronski." 
"Pardon?" 
"Bart Bronski, whose latest feat was to blow up the UN Office in Luna City. A well-known crook who would sell his grandmother for money - if he ever had a grandmother." 
"But... if you knew he was a crook, why did you tell him that excellent way of stealing a spaceship. Now he is sure to escape." 
"I had to, because he is clever and would have easily discovered deception. He had to be able to think it over and find that it was possible, but difficult. What he didn't know..." 
He was interrupted by the wailing of the siren. When it stopped he continued. 
"... was that security was tightened yesterday. It seems that someone had called anonymously and suggested that the workers' dressing rooms should be secretly watched. As he tried to break into the lockers the alarm went off and the guards were there in a few seconds. I don't think he had time to escape." 
I sipped my drink. This fellow had something uncanny and something very, very familiar.

"Excuse me..." I began again, but he laughed. 
"You seem to be apologizing all the time. But it is I who should apologize to you, because I deliberately spoke just loudly enough for you to hear. I knew you and I wanted you to hear the whole story." 
"Why?" 
"So you could write a story about it and prove that it was I who delivered Bart Bronski to the authorities. Certain news media have connected me with their deed, and I cannot stand it." 
"Connected you... but then you must be..." 
"Sandy Veranda, that is right." 
"Now look here, my good man. Sandy Veranda is nothing like you." 
"Oh, I didn't realize you were such good friends." 
"Well... excuse me... but a man like you... you must excuse me..." 
"No, you excuse me," he said and rose. "I should not have done this, of course, but I knew you would require some sort of proof." He threw a small slip on the counter. "Just write the story and clear my name. I have no wish to be connected with such deeds. See you." 
He rose, and I did nothing to stop him. I found it hard to believe that such a tiny man was the famous thief, but the evidence was overwhelming. No one else could have done it. 
I took the monthly electronic cheque I knew I had mailed to my ex-wife. The Post System had for years bragged that only Sandy Veranda could steal their mail. He must have planned the whole thing in advance. 
I sighed deeply. There goes the interview of the century. I, Pat Pending, mainly a gossip column reporter, would have been famous. But I had lost it. 
I ordered a double scotch. I felt I needed one. 
And then I remembered his last words. Well, next time I would be prepared when such a tiny man came to me. Then I would get my interview. 
An old man with white hair came in and sat beside me. Judging by his clothes he was from the waste disposal unit. 
He drank up, rose and almost feel towards me. "Sorry," he said, "but I felt I might have to return your communicator. Otherwise you cannot send your story in.
And as for the interview you dream about, it will have to wait." 
He dropped my communicator, a reporter's most important tool on the counter and walked out. I just gaped. 
I ordered one double scotch more. Then I took my communicator and started dictating.