changed yourself. If you need to be a worm, then you become a worm-or an insect or a shellfish or whatever it may take. And you change not your body only, but your mind as well, into the kind of mind that will be necessary to live upon that planet.
“There are all the drugs,” said Mary, “and the medicines. The medical knowledge that could apply to Earth. There was that little package Galactic
Central sent you.”
“A packet of drugs,” said Enoch, “that could cure almost every ill on
Earth. That, perhaps, hurts me most of all. To know they’re up there in the cupboard, actually on this planet, where so many people need them.”
“You could mail out samples,” David said, “to medical associations or to some drug concern.”
Enoch shook his bead. “I thought of that, of course. But I have the galaxy to consider. I have an obligation to Galactic Central. They have taken great precautions that the station not be known. There are Ulysses and all my other alien friends. I cannot wreck their plans. I cannot play the traitor to them. For when you think of it, Galactic Central and the work it’s doing is more important than the Earth.”
“Divided loyalties,” said David with slight mockery in his tone.
“That is it, exactly. There had been a time, many years ago, when I
thought of writing papers for submissions to some of the scientific file:///F|/rah/Clifford%20D.Simak/Clifford%20Simak%20-%20Waystation.txt (36 of 103) [1/19/03 4:01:51 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Clifford%20D.Simak/Clifford%20Simak%20-%20Waystation.txt journals. Not the medical journals, naturally, for I know nothing about medicine. The drugs are there, of course, lying on the shelf, with directions for their use, but they are merely so many pills or powders or ointments, or whatever they may be. But there were other things I knew of, other things I’d learned. Not too much about them, naturally, but at least some hints in some new directions. Enough that someone could pick them up and go on from there. Someone who might know what to do with them.”
“But look here,” David said, “that wouldn’t have worked out. You have no technical nor research background, no educational record. You’re not tied up with any school or college. The journals just don’t publish you unless you can prove yourself.”
“I realize that, of course. That’s why I never wrote the papers. I knew there was no use. You can’t blame the journals. They must be responsible.
Their pages aren’t open to just anyone. And even if they had viewed the papers with enough respect to want to publish them, they would have had to find out who I was. And that would have led straight back to the station.”
“But even if you could have gotten away with it,” David pointed out, “you’d still not have been clear. You said a while ago you had a loyalty to
Galactic Central.”
“If,” said Enoch, “in this particular case I could have got away with it, it might have been all right. If you just threw out ideas and let some
Earth scientists develop them, there’d be no harm done Galactic Central. The main problem, of course, would be not to reveal the source.”
“Even so,” said David, “there’d be little you actually could tell them.
What I mean is that generally you haven’t got enough to go on. So much of this galactic knowledge is off the beaten track.”
“I know,” said Enoch. “The mental engineering of Mankalinen III, for one thing. If the Earth could know of that, our people undoubtedly could find a clue to the treatment of the neurotic and the mentally disturbed. We could empty all the institutions and we could tear them down or use them for something else. There’d be no need of them. But no one other than the people out on Mankalinen Ill could ever tell us of it. I only know they are noted for their mental engineering, but that is all I know. I haven’t the faintest inkling of what it’s all about. It’s something that you’d have to
“There are all the drugs,” said Mary, “and the medicines. The medical knowledge that could apply to Earth. There was that little package Galactic
Central sent you.”
“A packet of drugs,” said Enoch, “that could cure almost every ill on
Earth. That, perhaps, hurts me most of all. To know they’re up there in the cupboard, actually on this planet, where so many people need them.”
“You could mail out samples,” David said, “to medical associations or to some drug concern.”
Enoch shook his bead. “I thought of that, of course. But I have the galaxy to consider. I have an obligation to Galactic Central. They have taken great precautions that the station not be known. There are Ulysses and all my other alien friends. I cannot wreck their plans. I cannot play the traitor to them. For when you think of it, Galactic Central and the work it’s doing is more important than the Earth.”
“Divided loyalties,” said David with slight mockery in his tone.
“That is it, exactly. There had been a time, many years ago, when I
thought of writing papers for submissions to some of the scientific file:///F|/rah/Clifford%20D.Simak/Clifford%20Simak%20-%20Waystation.txt (36 of 103) [1/19/03 4:01:51 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Clifford%20D.Simak/Clifford%20Simak%20-%20Waystation.txt journals. Not the medical journals, naturally, for I know nothing about medicine. The drugs are there, of course, lying on the shelf, with directions for their use, but they are merely so many pills or powders or ointments, or whatever they may be. But there were other things I knew of, other things I’d learned. Not too much about them, naturally, but at least some hints in some new directions. Enough that someone could pick them up and go on from there. Someone who might know what to do with them.”
“But look here,” David said, “that wouldn’t have worked out. You have no technical nor research background, no educational record. You’re not tied up with any school or college. The journals just don’t publish you unless you can prove yourself.”
“I realize that, of course. That’s why I never wrote the papers. I knew there was no use. You can’t blame the journals. They must be responsible.
Their pages aren’t open to just anyone. And even if they had viewed the papers with enough respect to want to publish them, they would have had to find out who I was. And that would have led straight back to the station.”
“But even if you could have gotten away with it,” David pointed out, “you’d still not have been clear. You said a while ago you had a loyalty to
Galactic Central.”
“If,” said Enoch, “in this particular case I could have got away with it, it might have been all right. If you just threw out ideas and let some
Earth scientists develop them, there’d be no harm done Galactic Central. The main problem, of course, would be not to reveal the source.”
“Even so,” said David, “there’d be little you actually could tell them.
What I mean is that generally you haven’t got enough to go on. So much of this galactic knowledge is off the beaten track.”
“I know,” said Enoch. “The mental engineering of Mankalinen III, for one thing. If the Earth could know of that, our people undoubtedly could find a clue to the treatment of the neurotic and the mentally disturbed. We could empty all the institutions and we could tear them down or use them for something else. There’d be no need of them. But no one other than the people out on Mankalinen Ill could ever tell us of it. I only know they are noted for their mental engineering, but that is all I know. I haven’t the faintest inkling of what it’s all about. It’s something that you’d have to
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