Look Out For Space (Seven For Space) by William F Nolan Page A

"What you intend or don't intend ain't worth spit in a bucket! It's here ya sweat an' it's here ya rot. There be no two ways about it. Now, mate, I ask that you kindly shut yer gob an' let a man get his rest."
    And he was soon snoring horribly.
    I tried to sleep, but couldn't. Instead, I got up from my cot and prowled the narrow cell. Thinking … planning …
    * * *
     
    On the next work detail I told the shift guard I needed to see the psyc doctor.
    "Why?" He glowered at me.
    "I'm having awful dreams," I told the guard. "Seeing things in my cell."
    " What things?"
    "Singing lizardeggs. Dancing bats."
    "Singles, or in couples?"
    "Batcouples. Male and female. Dancing together all night."
    "That's spooky, I'll grant."
    "Can't sleep," I said. "If I can't sleep, I can't scoop. I have the right to request a session."
    And I did. By government law, each prison planet had to provide a psyc doctor to maintain mental stability among the workers. And the law also specified that a worker was entitled to a psycvisit once each tenth sunperiod. Providing he was having severe mental problems.
    "All right, then," said the guard. "On the shift break, I'll take you over to see the doc."
    Which he did.
    A prisoner was allowed to be alone in the room with the doctor. No guards to invade his mental privacy. But the office door was locked, and there were no windows or vents. Three walls were bare, painted a dull copper-orange.
    The forth wall was the doctor.
    A machine.
    Floor-to-ceiling, filled with tiny blinking lights, spinning tapes, and relay-data switches.
    "Please sit down, Mr. Space," said the walldoc. Its voice was pleasant, soothing. Deep masculine tone. Reassuring. Meant to convey wisdom.
    I sat down in a small bodchair facing the wall.
    "Now, what seems to trouble you?"
    "I gave the guard a phony story to get in here to see you. All about singing eggs and dancing bats."
    "Do you usually have problems with eggs and bats?"
    "No. Like I said, it was a phony story. I just told the guard a lot of baloney."
    "And why did you do that, Mr. Space?"
    "Because I needed to talk to someone rational on this planet. And, the way I figure you're the only rational thing on it."
    "I am not a thing, Mr. Space." The wall sounded a little miffed. "I am a psyc doctor, fully qualified and licensed for the Black Gulf area."
    "Okay, fine. At least you're rational."
    "Indeed I am."
    "My situation isn't normal," I said. "I'm not your average ax murderer. I don't strangle kiddies. Or grind up old folks. Or rob nearbanks."
    The wall chuckled. "You're telling me that you are innocent. They all say that. Every psychotic prisoner I talk to is innocent."
    "I'm not psychotic, for starters," I said.
    "Of course you're psychotic," the wall insisted. "If you were not, you would not be here facing me, telling me you are innocent."
    The wall chuckled again. Which bugged me. But I tried to ignore it.
    "Look, I'm a legit private investigator. I work on the law's side, not against it. I've committed no crimes."
    "Then goodness gracious, why are you here?"
    "I'm the victim of a corrupt Moonking named Pendorf Wrenhurst. I had criminal evidence against him. But he caught me. Said he'd put me out of circulation. And he did. He sent me here to the Gulfs. Now, if you'll just check my fax records you'll find that I …"
    "Ah, but I have checked your records, Mr. Space," the wall cut in smoothly. "I automatically check the records of every prisoner under my jurisdiction."
    "Well?"
    "Well, what?"
    "Well, can't you see I'm no ax murderer?"
    "That is correct," said the wall. "You are not an ax murderer." A pause, then the wall continued in its oily, calming voice. "But you are a forger, kidnapper, rapist and mulch molester."
    "What's a mulch?"
    "A very friendly, jolly little creature living in the Albright Cluster. Never a harsh word for anyone or anything. Almost always smiling. Humming little tunes. A joy to converse with on any subject. Beloved by all."
    "I've never been to the