That was it for the org.

A noise came from beneath the rows of razor blades in its mouth asI scored a touch on its soft underbelly and whipped my arm away to theside--a noise halfway between an exhalation and "peep"--and that was itfor the org (short for"organism-with-a-long-name-which-I-can't-remember").

I switched off my cane and walked around it. It was one of thosethings which sometimes come out of the river. I remember that Ilooked back at it three times, then I switched the cane on again atmax and kept it that way till I was inside my apartment with the doorlocked behind me and all the lights burning.

Then I permitted myself to tremble, and after awhile I changed mysocks and mixed my drink.

May your alleys be safe from orgs.

Saturday.

More rain.

Wetness was all.

The entire east side had been shored with sand bags. In someplaces they served only to create sandy waterfalls, where otherwisethe streams would have flowed more evenly and perhaps a trifle moreclearly. In other places they held it all back, for awhile.

By then, there were six deaths as a direct result of the rains.

By then, there had been fires caused by the lightning, accidentsby the water, sicknesses by the dampness, the cold.

By then, property damages were beginning to mount pretty high.

Everyone was tired and angry and miserable and wet, by then. Thisincluded me.

Though Saturday was Saturday, I went to work. I worked inEleanor's office, with her. We had the big relief map spread on atable, and six mobile eyescreens were lined against one wall. Sixeyes hovered above the half-dozen emergency points and kept us abreastof the actions taken upon them. Several new telephones and a bigradio set stood on the desk. Five ashtrays looked as if they wantedto be empty, and the coffee pot chuckled cynically at human activity.

The Noble had almost reached its high water mark. We were not anisolated storm center by any means. Upriver, Butler Township washurting, Swan's Nest was adrip, Laurie was weeping the river, and thewilderness in between was shaking and streaming.

Even though we were in direct contact we went into the field onthree occasions that morning--once, when the north-south bridge overthe Lance River collapsed and was washed down toward the Noble as faras the bend by the Mack steel mill; again, when the Wildwood Cemetery,set up on a storm-gouged hill to the east, was plowed deeply, gravesopened, and several coffins set awash; and finally, when three housesfull of people toppled, far to the east. Eleanor's small flyer wasbuffeted by the winds as we fought our way through to these sites foron-the-spot supervision; I navigated almost completely by instruments.Downtown proper was accommodating evacuees left and right by then. Itook three showers that morning and changed clothes twice.

Things slowed down a bit in the afternoon, including the rain.The cloud cover didn't break, but a drizzle-point was reached whichpermitted us to gain a little on the waters. Retaining walls werereinforced, evacuees were fed and dried, some of the rubbish wascleaned up. Four of the six eyes were returned to their patrols,because four of the emergency points were no longer emergency points.

...And we wanted all of the eyes for the org patrol.

Inhabitants of the drenched forest were also on the move. Seven_snappers_ and a horde of panda-puppies were shot that day, as well asa few crawly things from the troubled waters of the Noble--not tomention assorted branch-snakes, stingbats, borers, and land-eels.

By 1900 hours it seemed that a stalemate had been achieved.Eleanor and I climbed into her flyer and drifted skyward.

We kept rising. Finally, there was a hiss as the cabin began topressurize itself. The night was all around us. Eleanor's face, inthe light from the instrument panel, was a mask of weariness. Sheraised her hands to her temples as if to remove it, and then when Ilooked back again it appeared that she had. A faint smile lay acrossher lips now and her eyes sparkled. A stray strand of hair shadowedher brow.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"Up, high," said I, "above the storm."

"Why?"

"It's been many days," I said, "since we have seen an unclutteredsky."

"True," she agreed, and as she leaned forward to light a cigaretteI noticed that the part in her hair had gone all askew. I wanted toreach out and straighten it for her, but I didn't.

We plunged into the sea of clouds.

Dark was the sky, moonless. The stars shone like broken diamonds.The clouds were a floor of lava.

We drifted. We stared up into the heavens. I "anchored" theflyer, like an eye set to hover, and lit a cigarette myself.

"You are older than I am," she finally said, "really. You know?"

"No."

"There is a certain wisdom, a certain strength, something like theessence of the time that passes--that seeps into a man as he sleepsbetween the stars. I know, because I can feel it when I'm aroundyou."

"No," I said.

"Then maybe it's people expecting you to have the strength ofcenturies that gives you something like it. It was probably there tobegin with."

"No."

She chuckled.

"It isn't exactly a positive sort of thing either."

I laughed.

"You asked me if I was going to run for office again this fall.The answer is 'no'. I'm planning on retiring. I want to settledown."

"With anyone special?"

"Yes, very special, Juss," she said, and she smiled at me and Ikissed her, but not for too long, because the ash was about to falloff her cigarette and down the back of my neck.

So we put both cigarettes out and drifted above the invisiblecity, beneath a sky without a moon.

I mentioned earlier that I would tell you about Stopovers. If you aregoing a distance of a hundred forty-five light years and are takingmaybe a hundred-fifty actual years to do it, why stop and stretch yourlegs?

Well, first of all and mainly, almost nobody sleeps out the wholejaunt. There are lots of little gadgets which require humanmonitoring at all times. No one is going to sit there for ahundred-fifty years and watch them, all by himself. So everyone takesa turn or two, passengers included. They are all briefed on what todo til the doctor comes, and who to awaken and how to go about it,should troubles crop up. Then everyone takes a turn at guard mountfor a month or so, along with a few companions. There are alwayshundreds of people aboard, and after you've worked down through therole you take it again from the top. All sorts of mechanical agentsare backing them up, many of which they are unaware of (to protect_against_ them, as well as _with_ them--in the improbable instance ofseveral oddballs getting together and deciding to open a window,change course, murder passengers, or things like that), and the peopleare well-screened and carefully matched up, so as to check and balanceeach other as well as the machinery. All of this because gadgets andpeople both bear watching.

After several turns at ship's guard, interspersed with periods ofcold sleep, you tend to grow claustrophobic and somewhat depressed.Hence, when there is an available Stopover, it is utilized, to restoremental equilibrium and to rearouse flagging animal spirits. This alsoserves the purpose of enriching the life and economy of the Stopoverworld, by whatever information and activities you may have in you.

Stopover, therefore, has become a traditional holiday on manyworlds, characterized by festivals and celebrations on some of thesmaller ones, and often by parades and world-wide broadcast interviewsand press conferences on those with greater populations. I understandthat it is now pretty much the same on Earth, too, whenever colonialvisitors stop by. In fact, one fairly unsuccessful young starlet,Marilyn Austin, made a long voyage Out, stayed a few months, andreturned on the next vessel headed back. After appearing on tri-dee acouple times, sounding off about interstellar culture, and flashingher white, white teeth, she picked up a flush contract, a thirdhusband, and her first big part in tapes. All of which goes to showthe value of Stopovers.