Stairway to the Stars

  Produced by Greg Weeks, LN Yaddanapudi and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  +------------------------------------------------+ | Yes, Earth may be a sort of fenced-off area, | | so far as other intelligent races of the | | galaxy are concerned. But not for the | | grandiose reasons that some have imagined.... | +------------------------------------------------+

  STAIRWAY TO THE STARS

  By Larry Shaw

  +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | It was a stairway leading down, but it also led out into | | space--indirectly. And the situation had the aspects of a | | burlesque on Grand Hotel, but.... | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

  John Andrew Farmer scowled at the octopus that sprawled on hisliving-room couch, rubbed his stubbly jaw with a stubby fist, and said,"I love you."

  Farmer was uncomfortable. He was almost always uncomfortable, forvarious reasons; though it rarely if ever occurred to him, as heconsidered each individual irritant, that this was his normal state ofexistence. Right now he was acutely conscious of how ridiculous it mustlook for him to be making love to an octopus, but he was even moreconscious of the very real pains of unrequited love.

  It wasn't even a respectable, ordinary-looking octopus. To be accurate,it would have to be called a nonapus; each of the nine tentacles had alobsterish claw at its tip, and there were various other unusualappendages. It would be hard enough to explain an earthly octopus in hisliving-room if the necessity arose, Farmer reflected for the teenteenthtime--but how in the name of Neptune could he ever explain _this_?

  It had all started with Judge Ray. Ray had not been a real judge,obviously, but had used the title in lieu of any other first name. Thatwas the first of the inexplicable things; Farmer would have expected theodd little old man to call himself a professor of something or other.But Ray insisted on Judge.

  Ray had come to the office of the _Stein, Fine, Bryans Publishing Co._,where Farmer was working as an assistant editor, and announced that hewas about to write the greatest book of the age. And yes, he wanted anadvance against royalties--it didn't have to be large; Ray livedsimply--to tide him over while doing the actual writing, which shouldn'ttake more than a very few weeks.

  Now, Farmer wasn't much of an editor, even as editors go. The one usefulquality he had was a homespun, ingratiating air which put nervous younggeniuses at their ease, so that they could give a reasonably coherentverbal picture of what their books were about. This often saved Stein,Fine & Bryans a lot of reading of unpublishable manuscripts. At least,that had been the theory when they gave Farmer the job; as it workedout, John Andrew was a person who found it virtually impossible to say"no"; he generally took the manuscripts in hand and, when he couldn'tstick some other member of the firm with the task, read them himselfuntil the wee hours.

  Farmer was not able to say no to Ray, but even he looked dubious at thesmall gray fellow's voluble outpouring of pseudo-scientific jargon. Ray,made sensitive by years of open skepticism on the part of manylisteners, caught the look and insisted on a demonstration of hisfabulous invention.

  So the oddly assorted pair--quick, foxlike little Ray and big, awkward,uncomfortable Farmer--sputtered out into Long Island Sound in anindescribable old motor launch, and the adventure was on.

  * * * * *

  Finally Ray shut off the racketing engine and let out the rusty anchor.He opened a large wooden case, which showed evidence of some really goodcabinet-work, and took out a peculiar machine, which showed evidence ofunarguably excellent machining. These details were the first things thatmade Farmer think Ray might not be a complete crackpot, after all. If hehadn't been feeling just the slightest touch of seasickness, John Andrewwould have breathed a sigh of relief.

  Ray polished off the somewhat rabbit-from-hatty routine by bringing outa portable television set, connecting it to the boat's electricalgenerator, and stringing an assortment of wires between it and hisinvention. He would not allow Farmer very close to the latter, but tothe editor's untechnical eye it looked like a fairly ordinary radio set,with more than enough dials and switches added to it to furnish thedashboards of several Rolls Royces.

  Ray held up a hand--purely for drama, since there was silence already."This is a great moment in the course of human history," he said. "Youare about to witness the first demonstration of Ray's Ray, the work ofgenius which will allow mankind his first really close contact with thelast remaining frontier on his home planet--the bottom of the sea!"

  Farmer looked impressed, then began to realize what some of this meant.He caught himself, straightened out his face, and licked his lips. "Youmean you've never tried the thing before?" he protested. "How do youknow it will work?"

  Ray's glance took on a touch of icy fury. The launch rocked gently inthe swell for a long, silent minute, and Farmer began to feel slightlyafraid. Was he alone, in a spot like this, with a madman? The saltybreeze turned colder.

  Then Ray smiled--a smile that was surprisingly soft and sweet. JohnAndrew reached two decisions: that he was safe, and that he liked the"Judge." (One of Farmer's weaknesses, in fact, was that--thoughthoroughly masculine himself--he completely distrusted women, and wastoo trusting with men.)

  "I could go into theories and scientific details," Ray said; "I couldexplain principles of operation and the construction of the machine forhours. But you would be bored, and wouldn't understand anyway. It issufficient to say that the Ray will work because--I invented it!"

  Farmer caught himself nodding, and blamed the boat's motion. He shifteduneasily on the built-in seat, and got a splinter in a vital spot. Hefrowned.

  Ray was bending over his machine, making motions designed to impress aswell as to make it work. "In very simple terms," he was saying, "this isa combination of color television and super-radar. It will bring in aperfect color picture of the ocean at whatever depth I set it for, orwill set itself automatically to present a view of the ocean floor. Itwill...."

  His voice trailed off. The machine hissed, snapped, and crackled. Thetelevision set flickered, hummed, gave out a flashing dance ofsurrealistic doodles, and abruptly presented a picture. It was a pictureof Milton Berle.

  Ray looked mad, started to aim a kick at the screen but thought betterof it. A small wave almost made him sit down on the deck before he gotboth feet planted again. He swore and started to check the wiring.

  "Maybe there's something wrong inside the dingus itself," John Andrewsuggested tentatively.

  Ray turned on him with a look that would have seared the Sphinx."There's _nothing_ wrong with the machine!" he said,almost-but-not-quite shouting. "There's _nothing_ wrong with thetelevision! There's _nothing_ wrong with the wiring! There _must_ besomething wrong at the other end--where the Ray is focussed! And Iintend to find out!"

  Farmer pondered the idea of a transmitter that worked under water like aball-point pen, broadcasting weary vaudeville routines. He scratched hishead and looked wistfully at the New England shoreline--or was that LongIsland? He wasn't sure any more....

  * * * * *

  A clank and clatter brought his attention to the launch. He gawked; Rayhad thrown back a deck hatch and produced a diving suit which looked asun-shipshape as the rest of the boat's equipment.

  Ray looked it over hastily, then turned a speculative glance on Farmer.He shook his head. "Too small for you," he murmured. "You wouldn't knowwhat to look for anyway; I'll have to go down myself."

  Farmer changed his mind again about Ray's being cracked. "Listen." Hesaid the first thing that came to mind. "Didn't you say you rented thisboat for the fir
st time today? How do you know that thing doesn't leak?"

  Ray smiled again, as he climbed briskly into the suit. "I'll be allright," he said serenely. "You just keep an eye on things here--butdon't touch anything. I'll be right back...." He settled the helmet onhis head, motioned for Farmer to help him check the connections of thesuit's self-contained oxygen supply.

  John Andrew was straightening up from doing this when he saw the nonapusfor the first time. It was climbing over the rail at the stern, andalready beginning to make a puddle on the deck. Farmer froze, and gulpedwordlessly.

  Behind the barred faceplate, Ray looked puzzled, then annoyed. From thecorner of his eye, Farmer could see Milton Berle still cavortingsilently on the television screen, and this seemed to add the finaltouch of insanity to the