Countdown for blast off. X minus five, four, three, two, X minus one, fire. From the far horizons of the unknown come 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 minus one. Tonight, At the Post by H.L. Gold. When I come into the Blue Ribbon on 49th Street west of Broadway, I could tell right away nobody told Doc Hawkins about my misfortune. Doc, who ain't one really, writes a daily medical column for the racing forum and where celebrating is being sprung from the alcoholic war. He got one look at me and he choked on a piece of gefilte fish. What happened? What happened? Look at that. Clocker's become a character. Now lay off, Doc. Look at that, a gray flannel suit, a black tie. Clocker, where is your purple and green Jack sports jacket? Where are your two-tone suede shoes? Why you've become a character? That was Zelda's idea. She wanted to make a gentleman on him. Wanted to? Why you two kids got married just before they took my snakes away? Don't tell me you've fit already. You don't know, Doc? No. What happened? Well, it was right after you tried to take the warts off the fire hydrant that Zelda started hearing voices. It got real bad. How bad? Well, she's at Glendale Center upstate. I just came back from visiting. Well, did the psychiatrist give you a diagnosis? Yeah, I got it memorized. Catatonia dementia precox. Oh, rough, very rough. The outlook is never good in such cases. Maybe they can't help her, but I will. Now, Clocker, you're a race handicapper. You run the best tip sheet on Broadway, but people are not horses. You've got to think of your public. For instance, what's good at Hialeah, huh? My barbill is about to be foreclosed, and I can use a long shot. Those couch artists don't know what's wrong with Zelda. I do. You do? Well, almost. I'm so close, I can hear the finish line camera clicking. Now, that's very interesting. Perhaps we can collaborate on an article for the psychiatric journal. All right, look. Look at these charts. Look, here, here. I use the same system I use to dope the races. Look, Zelda's got catatonia. She used to be a hoof of before we got married, and now she does time steps all day. Stereotype movements are typical of catatonia. You don't get it. She does time steps. The first thing you learn in hoofing, over and over, 10 or 15 hours a day, and she keeps talking like she's giving lessons to some jerk kid who can't get it straight. And I hear when these catatonics pull out, they don't remember much or maybe nothing. Protective amnesia. They work harder and longer at what they're doing than they ever did when they were regular citizens, and they don't get a red cent for it. I beg your pardon? I said they were getting stiff. Anybody who works that hard ought to get paid. I don't understand what you're getting at. What are they knocking themselves out for if it's for free? Doc, I tell you, I missed that mouse. I gotta save her. She can't see or hear us, but she can sure see or hear something, and I'm gonna dope her. Clark, it's too much for you. Too much for me, huh? Who was it said Warlock had turned into a dog in his third year? Who was it had seven winners the opening day at Belmont? You take my word for it, Doc. I'll beat the schizophrenia handicap. I hadn't been paying much attention to my tip sheet while I was doping a catatonia dog. I tell you, I missed Zelda. I missed the bobby pins on the floor and the nylon stuck on a shower rack, the toothpaste tube squeezed from the top. I had to get her back somehow. Next day I took a cab and went out to that place. I sat in the room and watched her dance. Oh, it was something. Because Zelda was worth watching, even with her eyes blank and her feet shuffling through that simple time step. Mr. Locke, visiting time is almost up. All right, all right. Zelda, listen, Zelda, how long can they take to learn a time step? She can't hear you. Look, kid, I don't know who these squares are that you're working for, but tell them if they take you, they got to take me too, you hear? I had an idea now. I had a dope that Zelda was showing them how to dance, whoever they are. And the only way I could spring it was to find out who was controlling her and what they were after. The first step was to get them interested in me, and what I know about racing, doping horses. So I stood there next to Zelda and I started to talk. Now, the first thing you got to figure is bloodlines. You take a horse, you got to know back maybe four or five generations on both sides. Then you got to know where the coat was fold, what time of year, because all horses are one year old on the 1st of January. And there's confirmation training. You take a horse with good bloodlines, break them in in a spring on a hard train and surface track. And the first thing you know, you got a horse with a shin splint. Oh, they may cover it up, but if you know what's there. I once knew a horse ran in Hialeah who was scared of flamingo. Had a fine record at Gulfstream and Bowie. But when he got down to Hialeah and got one look at the flamingos, he wouldn't run for beans. Mr. Locke, are you all right? Shut up, I'm busy. You bet on a horse that's scared of flamingos at Hialeah, you're going to come in with your tail between your legs. I kept coming back every day. I just sit there next to Zelda while she did a time step and I talked about horses over and over. And then finally, finally I started to hear voices. Hialeah, Hialeah, this way, Hialeah, come this way, this way, Hialeah, come on now, come with me. Like it was a fog, I could see the attendant in his white coat asking me questions and I couldn't hear him. I knew I just kept on talking about the horses and then suddenly I wasn't there. I was somewhere else. I was in a big square and the buildings looked like the new Roosevelt race one, all modern or maybe like the world's fair with trees and statues. And there were hundreds of people standing around and they all looked scared. There was a little man with bifocals and a vest with pins and needles and it's standing next to me. He looked scared, but I knew it had worked. I was on my way to Zelda. How did I get here? Excuse me, Mr. How did I get here? I don't know. I can't take time for pleasure trips. I've got a customer coming in tomorrow for a fitting. She'll positively murder me if her dress isn't ready. She can't murder you, not anymore. You mean we're dead? Don't ask me, but I don't think you're dead. That much I can tell you. Some of the people in the crowd were complaining they had families to take care of, while others were worried about leaving their businesses. And they all grew quiet when a man climbed up on a big platform in front. He was a very tall and dignified guy and he had formal clothes and a white beard like the chief mourner at a politician's funeral. Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, please feel at ease. You are not in any danger. No harm will come to you. If you will listen carefully to this orientation lecture, you will know where you are and why. What is it? I don't understand. It's a pitch. Friends, I know you are puzzled at all this. Now let me explain. You've been chosen, yes, carefully screened and selected to help us in what is undoubtedly the greatest cause of all history. You will learn more about it as we work together in this vast and noble experiment. What experiment? What is it? I got it picked. This is a pitch. These guys are out for something. Smells like a can. Let me state this in its simplest terms. Now you know that there are billions of stars in the universe and that the stars have planets. A good many of these planets are inhabited. In almost all instances, the dominant form of life is quite different from yours. I am not of your planet or solar system. I am not formed as you see me. My true appearance would seem to be rather confusing to human eyes. Nuts, get to the point. Truth is, we are not here and neither are you. Here is a projection of thought, a hypothetical point in space, a place that exists only by mental force. Actually, our bodies are on our own respective planets. What's he saying? What does he mean? Wade, he'll give us the convincer after the buildup. Our civilization is considerably older than yours. For many of your centuries, we have explored the universe both physically and telepathically and during this exploration we discovered your planet. We tried to establish communication but there were grave difficulties and it was the time of your dark ages and I'm sorry to report that those people we did make contact with were generally burned at the stake. Here it comes. He's getting ready to slip us the sting. I don't think you ought to say a thing like that about a fine decent gentleman. He's obviously very sincere. The problem we face is that the human race is doomed. The history of your race is a record of incessant wars, each more devastating than the last. And now finally, man has chained the power of worldwide destruction. The next war or the one after that would unquestionably be the end not only of civilization but of humanity, perhaps even of your entire planet. Then why have we brought you here? Because man in spite of his suicidal blunders is a magnificent race. He must not vanish without leaving a complete record of his achievements. Now this is the task we must work together on. Each of you has a skill, a talent, a special knowledge we need for the immense record we're compiling. Every area of human society must be covered. And so we need you urgently. Your data will become part of an imperishable social document that shall exist untold eons after mankind has vanished. Oh, he had a slick con. He had that crowd in the palm of his hand like a small-time grifter selling pearl necklaces on Sixth Avenue. They all cheered. They were all flattered to think that they were joining in this vast project to make a record of the human race. After a while they broke us up into divisions and I got herded into a building marked Sports and Rackets. They took my name and my occupation like I was applying for unemployment insurance. Now here's our problem, Mr. Locke. We're making two kinds of perpetual records. One is written, more precisely, micro-scribed. The other is a wonderfully exact duplicate of your cerebral pattern in more durable material than brain matter, of course. Of course. The substance we use in place of brain cells absorbs memory quite slowly, but you'll be happy to know that the impression once made can never be lost or erased. Delighted, tickled to pieces. I knew you would be. Well, let's proceed, shall we? First, a basic description of horse racing. I started telling them about horse racing, but they held me down to one sentence. They said I had to repeat it over and over so that that recording thing could get it. They had a picture of my body back on earth lying in a bed in the hospital just saying that one sentence over and over again. Well, that's enough for the day. Isn't it amazing? We have a more detailed record of human society than man himself ever had. Your life, my life, the life of this Zelda whom you came here to rescue, all are trivial, for we must all die eventually. But the project, the project will last eternally. You're telling me you know what I'm here for? To secure the return of your wife. I would naturally be aware that you'd submitted yourself to our control voluntarily. It was in your file that was sent to me by admissions. Then why did you let me in? Because, my dear friend, we also... Well, look, leave out the friend pitch. I'm here on business. As you wish. We let you in as you express it because you have knowledge that we should include in our archives. We hoped you'd recognize the merit and scope of our undertaking. Most people do once they're told. Zelda too? Oh, yes. Yes, Zelda's extremely cooperative, quite convinced. Would you like to see her? Yeah, sure I would. Well, that can be arranged. I'll call the Arts and Entertainment section and arrange a meeting. Zelda, Zelda, baby. Clocker. Let's get out of here. Oh, hello, Clocker. Aren't you glad to see me? I spent months and shot every dime I've got just to find you. Well, sure I'm glad to see you, hon, but I can't waste any time. This work is so important. I want to talk to you. That con artist with the white beard... Oh, isn't he wonderful, Clocker? Aren't they all wonderful? Regular scientists devoting their whole lives to this terrific cause. What's so wonderful about that? They could let the earth go boom. It wouldn't mean a thing to them. Everybody wiped out just like there never were any people. Not even as much record of us as the dinosaurs. Gee, wouldn't that make you feel simply awful? I wouldn't feel a thing. All I'm worried about is us, baby. Who cares about the rest of the world doing a disappearing act? I do, and so do they. They aren't selfish like some people I could mention. Selfish? You're darn right I am. Zelda, listen, I'm selfish because I got a wife and I'm nuts about her and I want her back. I have to help out on this project. It's the least I can do for history. History? What did history ever do for us? Go turn in your time card, baby. Tell them you got a date with me back on Earth. No, this is my job as much as theirs. More even. They don't keep anybody here against their will. I'm staying because I want to, Clocker. But, honey... Excuse me, I've got to get back. I'm teaching them the soft shoe now. Are you satisfied now, Mr. Lock? Listen, take away the doom pushing as racket falls. Listen, suppose you're all square. Suppose you're leveling. You're knocking yourself out because your guess is we're going to commit suicide. Is there any doubt of it? Do you honestly believe the Holocaust can be averted? I think it can be stopped, yeah. Listen, between these catatonic and me, we could tell them what it's all about. I notice you've got people from all over the world here. They're getting along fine because they have a job to do and don't have time to hate each other. Well, it could be like that back on Earth. Mr. Lock, we have experimented in the manner you suggest, but a human psychological mechanism defeated us. Yeah? What was that? Protective amnesia. They completely and absolutely forgot everything they'd learned here. Well, what are the odds on me remember? Well, you are our first volunteer. Look, I'll give you a deal. You let me out and maybe I'll be the first case that didn't get amnesia and I can tell the world all about this. I'll come back if I lame out. You can pick me up any time you want, but if I make headway, you got to let Zelda go too. That's a very reasonable proposition. We'll lift our control, Mr. Lock, for a suitable time. If you can arouse a measurable opposition to racial suicide, measurable mind you, then we agree to release your wife and revise our policy completely. I came to it Glendale. It took me about two weeks to convince him that I was all right again, but I had to convince the world that they were throwing a race and that they needed a saliva test. So I started to write it all out in my tip sheet, in and around the horses. Now that time I ran in the dark. Clark, my boy, you have no idea how anxious we were about you, but you're looking fit, I'm glad to say. Thanks. I wish I could say the same about you and the rest of the world. No need to worry about us. We'll muddle along somehow. You think so, huh? I'm glad to see you've got your tip sheet going again. As long as the bobtails run, who cares what happens to anything else? Of course, nobody listened to me. I had posters printed telling everybody. I hired sandwich men to walk through the city. I made speeches in Columbus Circle. I told everybody doomsday was near. I sent letters to Congress, to the UN, editors and newspapers. Nobody paid any attention. I sneaked into the balcony of the general assembly and tried to shout a speech, and they threw me out. Very polite. I wrote the whole thing up for a magazine, and they printed it and sent me a check and told me if I had any more fiction, they'd be glad to run it. They kept trying to tell everybody the truth about the catatonic. We ought to go to the hospitals and get ourselves let in and have the aliens take over and show us where we're going. Nobody would listen. And then finally I went back out to Glendale. Oh, Mr. Locke, we were wondering when you'd come visit your wife. You've been away? I want my old room back. But you're perfectly normal. Give me half hour alone and you'll be glad to give me my room. Well, here I am back again. Oh, Mr. Locke. Okay, I'll give you all the rest of the dope on raisin. You won't have any trouble with me. Then you're convinced you failed. I'm no dummy. I know when I'm licked. So do we, Mr. Locke. Naturally, you have no way of detecting the effect you've had. We do. The result is that because of your experiment, we're gladly revising our policy. Huh? Is this a rib? Nobody listened to me. Oh, but they did. Visits to catatonic have increased considerably. When the visitors are alone with our human associates, they tentatively follow the directions you gave them in your article. Not all do, to be sure. Only those who feel as strongly about being with their loved ones as you do about your wife. We've accepted four voluntary applicants. You mean I made it? That's right. Before long, we shall have to increase our staff as the numbers of voluntary applicants increases geometrically. And then we'll be able to release the first group to go back and carry the message. Whenever you care to, Mr. Locke, you and your wife are free to leave. Okay, okay. But I'll tell you what. I owe you plenty. I'll help make that record before I go. I'll teach you how to dope the horses. Is that what you want? Why, yes. All right, then let's go. The quicker we get started, the quicker we can get back. You have just heard X minus one presented by the National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine, which this month features A Touch of E-Flat by Joe Gibson. A story with a warning. Never let anyone point any weapon at you. Even something as harmless looking as a water pistol. It may be a cooling gun. Galaxy Magazine on your newsstand today. Tonight, X minus one has brought you At the Post, a story from the pages of Galaxy written by H.L. Gold and adapted for radio by Ernest Kenoy. Featured in our cast were Frank Maxwell as the clocker and Thomas as his time step and wife, Zelda. Arnold Moss as the otherworldly one. John Greggs as the doc who wasn't one really. And Sam Raskin as the confused little tailor with his mouth full of pins. Your announcer, Fred Collins. X minus one was directed by Kenneth McGregor and is an NBC Radio Network production.
