Project Liberty

Project Liberty (Planet Of The Apes)

Landon, get out a last signal! What signal? To Earth! That we've landed! The air's OK! Blow the hatch before we lose all our power! It's no use! The power's gone! Forget it! Abandon ship! She's sinking. Going... Going... Gone. OK. We're here to stay. Well, where are we? Do you have any notion, skipper? We're some light years from Earth on an unnamed planet in orbit around a star in the constellation of Orion. Is that close enough for you? That could be Bellatrix. It's too white for Bellatrix. You didn't have time to read the tapes. So you really don't know, do you? What went wrong? We weren't programmed to land in the water. The question is not so much where we are as when we are. We've had enough sleep to hold us for a while. Let's start earning all that back pay. Dodge, run your soil test. - Got your sensors? - Right. - Geiger counter? - Got it. Let's see. One pistol, rounds ammo, a medical kit, camera, TX . We've got food and water enough for three days. How long is a day? That's a good question. Landon! Hey, Landon! Join the expedition. Sorry. I was thinking about Stewart. What do you suppose happened? Air leak. She died in her sleep. You don't seem very cut up about it. It's a little late for a wake. She's been dead nearly a year. That means we've been away from Earth for months. Our time. You've gone gray. Apart from that you look pretty chipper for a man who's years old. I read the clocks. They bear out Hasslein's hypothesis. We have been away from Earth for years, give or take a decade. Still can't accept it? Time's wiped out everything you ever knew. It's all dust. Prove it. If we can't get back, it's still just a theory. It's a fact, Landon. Buy it. You'll sleep better. Nothing will grow here. There's just a trace of carbohydrates. All the nitrogen is locked into the nitrates. No dangerous ionization? No. Well... If there's no life here, we've got just hours to find it. That's when the groceries run out. Let's go. Which direction? That way. Any particular reason? None at all. Come on... Everybody all right? Water check. Eight ounces. It doesn't add up. Thunder and lightning, and no rain. Cloud cover at night. That strange luminosity... yet there's no moon. If we could just get a fix. What would that tell you? I've told you where you are and when you are. All right, all right. You're light years from your precious planet. Your loved ones are dead and forgotten for centuries. ! Even if you could get back, they'd think you were something that fell out of a tree. Taylor, quit riding him. There is just one reality. We are here and it is now. You get hold of that, or you might as well be dead. I'm prepared to die. He's prepared to die. Doesn't that make you misty? Chalk up another victory for the human spirit. Clue me in on something, will you? Why did you sign on for this trip? You volunteered. Why? Never mind. I'll clue you in. You were the golden boy of the class of ' . When they nominated you for the big one, you couldn't turn it down. Not without losing your all-American image. Climb off, will you? Oh, and the glory. Don't forget that. There's a life-size bronze statue of you standing out there somewhere. It's probably turned green by now and nobody can read the nameplate. But never let it be said that we forget our heroes.

Astronaut Landon :

Taylor, I'm telling you 

to climb off my back.

And there's one last item. Immortality. 

You wanted to live for ever, didn't you? 

Well, you damn near made it. 

Except for me and Dodge, you've lived 

longer than anyone ever born.

And with our lovely Lieutenant Stewart dead, 

it looks like you're the last of the line. 

You got what you wanted, tiger. 

How does it taste? 

Astronaut Landon :

OK. You read me well enough. 

But why can't I read you? 

Astronaut Taylor :

Don't bother. 

Astronaut Landon :

Dodge, there. He's not like me at all.

 But he makes sense. He'd walk naked into 

a live volcano if he thought he could 

learn something that no 

other man knew. But you... 

You're no seeker. 

You're negative.

Astronaut Taylor :

And I'm not prepared to die. 

Astronaut Landon :

I'd like to know why not. 

You thought life on 

Earth was meaningless. 

You despised people. 

So what did you do? 

You ran out. 

Astronaut Taylor :

No, no. It's not 

like that, Landon. 

I'm A Seeker too. 

But my dreams 

aren't like yours —

I can't help thinking somewhere 

in the universe there has to be 

something better than Man. 

Has to be. 

***** 

Don't try to follow us. I'm pretty handy with this. Of that I'm sure. All my life I've awaited your coming and dreaded it, like death itself. Why? I've terrified you from the first, doctor. I still do. You're afraid of me and you hate me. Why? Because you're a man. And you're right. I have always known about man. From the evidence, I believe his wisdom must walk hand in hand with his idiocy. His emotions must rule his brain. He must be a warlike creature who gives battle to everything around him, even himself. What evidence? There were no weapons in that cave. The forbidden zone was once a paradise. Your breed made a desert of it... ages ago. It still doesn't give me the why. A planet where apes evolved from men. There's gotta be an answer. Don't look for it, Taylor. You may not like what you find.

No Moon

The Time Machine (2002) - Moon Breaking Scene

Astronaut TAYLOR :

OK. We're here to stay.

Astronaut LANDON :

Well, where are we? 

Do you have any notion, skipper?

Astronaut TAYLOR :

We're 320 light years from Earth on an unnamed planet in orbit around a star in the constellation of Orion.

Is that close enough for you?

Astronaut DODGE :

That could be Bellatrix.

Astronaut LANDON :

It’s too white for Bellatrix.

Astronaut DODGE :

You didn't have time to read the tapes. 

So you really don't know, do you?

Astronaut LANDON :

What went wrong? 

We weren't programmed to land in the water.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

The Question is not so much 

where we are as when we are.

******

Astronaut LANDON :

It doesn't add up. 

Thunder and lightning, and no rain. 

Cloud cover at night.

Astronaut DODGE :

That strange luminosity, yet no moon.

If we could just get a fix.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

What would that tell you? 

I've told you Where You Are and When You Are.

Astronaut LANDON :

All right, all right.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

You're 300 light years

from your precious planet.

Your loved ones are dead and

forgotten for twenty centuries.

Twenty. Even if you could get back, they'd think you were something that fell out of A Tree.

Astronaut DODGE :

Taylor, quit riding him.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

There is just one reality.

We are here and it is now.

You get hold of that, 

or you might as well be dead.

But Even That Extraordinary Physical Feat is Surely NOT The Point of Interest.

"Help us."

Van Helsing : 

So it struck you as strange, of course.

HARKER :

Well, clearly, there was someone

trapped in The Castle.

Van Helsing :

No. No. The writing. 

"Help us."

HARKER :

It was upside-down.

Van Helsing :

Well, yes, of course, 

because whoever wrote it 

was obliged to hang that way.

But even that extraordinary physical feat 

is surely not the point of interest.

HARKER :

Then what is?

Van Helsing :

What is remarkable, Mr Harker,

what is convenient, is that 

The Words were in English.

HARKER :

Oh...

I didn't think of that.

Van Helsing :

Of course not.

You are an English...man -- 

A combination of presumptions beyond compare.

Proceed.

HARKER :

Well, I knew I had the day to myself,

so I determined to find the room above mine

and see if anyone required my assistance.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

That completes my final report until we touch down.

We're on full automatic, in the hands of the computers.

l've tucked my crew in for the long sleep, 

and l'll be joining them soon.

In less than an hour we'll finish

our sixth month out of Cape Kennedy.

Six months in deep space.

By our time, that is.

According to Dr Hasslein's theory of time in a vehicle traveling nearly the speed of light, the Earth has aged nearly 700 years since we left it, while we've aged hardly at all.

It may be so. 

This much is probably True :

The men who sent us on this journey are long since dead and gone.

You who are reading me now are a different breed.

I hope a better one.

I leave the 20th century with no regrets. 

But one more thing...

If anybody's listening, that is.

Nothing scientific.

It’s purely personal.

Seen from out here, everything seems different.

Time bends. 

Space is, boundless.

It squashes a Man's Ego —

I feel lonely.

That's about it.

Tell me, though... 

Does Man, that marvel of the universe, that glorious paradox who has sent me to the stars, still make war against his brother, keep his neighbor's children starving?

 

Are you all right?

Stewart?

Stewart?

Astronaut TAYLOR :

We're in the soup. She's sinking.

Dodge, read The Atmosphere.

Landon, get out a last signal.

Astronaut LANDON :

What signal?

To Earth. That we've landed.

The air's OK. 

Blow the hatch before we lose all our power.

It’s no use. The power's gone.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

Forget it. Abandon ship.

Astronaut LANDON :

She's sinking.

Going...

Going...

Gone.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

OK. We're here to stay.

Astronaut LANDON :

Well, where are we? 

Do you have any notion, skipper?

Astronaut TAYLOR :

We're 320 light years from Earth on an unnamed planet in orbit around a star in the constellation of Orion.

Is that close enough for you?

Astronaut DODGE :

That could be Bellatrix.

Astronaut LANDON :

It’s too white for Bellatrix.

Astronaut DODGE :

You didn't have time to read the tapes. 

So you really don't know, do you?

Astronaut LANDON :

What went wrong? 

We weren't programmed to land in the water.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

The Question is not so much 

where we are as when we are.

We've had enough sleep for a while.

Let's start earning all that back pay.

Dodge, run your soil test.

Got your sensors?

Astronaut DODGE :

Right.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

Geiger counter?

Astronaut DODGE :

Got it.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

Let's see... One pistol, 20 rounds

ammo, a medical kit, camera, TX9.

We've got Food and Water enough 

for three days.

Astronaut LANDON :

How long is a day?

Astronaut TAYLOR :

That's a good question.

Landon... Hey, Landon.

Join the expedition.

Astronaut LANDON :

Sorry. I was thinking about Stewart.

What do you suppose happened?

Astronaut TAYLOR :

Air leak. She died in her sleep.

Astronaut LANDON :

You don't seem very cut up about it.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

It's a little late for a wake.

She's been dead nearly a year.

Astronaut LANDON :

That means we've been away

from Earth for 18 months.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

Our time.

You've gone gray.

Apart from that you look pretty

chipper for a man who's 2,031 years old —

I read the clocks :

They bear out Hasslein's hypothesis.

We have been away from Earth for

2,000 years, give or take a decade.

Still can't accept it? 

Time's wiped out everything you ever knew.

It's all dust.

Astronaut LANDON :

Prove it.

If we can't get back, it's still just a theory.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

It's a fact, Landon. Buy it. 

You'll sleep better.

Astronaut DODGE :

Nothing will grow here. 

There's just a trace of carbohydrates.

All the nitrogen is locked into the nitrates.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

No dangerous ionization?

Astronaut DODGE :

No.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

Well...

If there's no Life here, we've got just 72 hours to find it.

That's when the groceries run out. 

Let's go. 

Astronaut DODGE :

Which direction?

Astronaut TAYLOR :

That way.

Astronaut DODGE :

Any particular reason?

Astronaut TAYLOR :

None at all.

Come on...

Everybody all right?

Water check.

Eight ounces.

Astronaut LANDON :

It doesn't add up. 

Thunder and lightning,and no rain. Cloud cover at night.

Astronaut DODGE :

That strange luminosity, yet no moon.

If we could just get a fix.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

What would that tell you? 

I've told you Where You Are and When You Are.

Astronaut LANDON :

All right, all right.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

You're 300 light years

from your precious planet.

Your loved ones are dead and

forgotten for 20 centuries.

20. Even if you could get back, they'd think you were something that fell out of a tree.

Astronaut DODGE :

Taylor, quit riding him.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

There is just one reality.

We are here and it is now.

You get hold of that, 

or you might as well be dead.

Astronaut DODGE :

I'm prepared to die.

He's prepared to die —

Doesn't that make you misty? Chalk up another victory for the human spirit.

Clue me in on something, will you?

Why did you sign on for this trip?

You volunteered. Why?

Never mind. I'll clue you in. You were

the golden boy of the class of '72.

When they nominated you,

you couldn't turn it down.

Not without losing your all-American image.

Astronaut LANDON :

Climb off, will you?

Astronaut TAYLOR :

And the glory. Don't forget that.

There's a life-size bronze statue

of you standing out there somewhere.

Probably turned green by now 

and nobody can read the nameplate.

But never let it be said we forget our heroes.

Astronaut LANDON :

Taylor, climb off my back.

And there's one last item. Immortality.

You wanted to live for ever, didn't you?

Well, you damn near made it. Except for me and

Dodge, you've lived longer than anyone ever born.

And with our lovely Lieutenant Stewart dead,

it looks like you're the last of the line.

You got what you wanted, Tiger. 

How does it taste?

Astronaut LANDON :

OK. You read me well enough.

But why can't I read you?

Astronaut TAYLOR :

Don't bother.

Astronaut LANDON :

Dodge, there. He's not like me at all. 

But he makes sense.

He'd walk naked into a live volcano if he thought

he could learn something that no other man knew.

But you... You're no seeker. 

You're negative.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

And I’m not prepared to die.

Astronaut LANDON :

I'd like to know why not.

You thought life on Earth was meaningless. 

You despised people.

So what did you do? You ran out.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

No. It's not like that, Landon.

I'm A Seeker too. But My Dreams aren't like yours :

I can't help thinking somewhere there has to be something better than Man. Has to be.

Astronaut DODGE :

Taylor, over here.

Life.

Where there's one, there's another. 

And another and another.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

Let's find 'em.

Astronaut DODGE :

Skipper.

Look.

Scarecrows?

Astronaut TAYLOR :

Let's see.

To hell with the scarecrows.

Whoo-hoo.

Hey. Yay. Yay.

Ah.

Ah-hoo.

Whoo. Whoo.

Ah.

Taylor.

Look at this.

Taylor, look.

They didn't leave much, did they?

Well, at least they haven't tried to bite us.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

Blessed are the vegetarians.

Astronaut DODGE :

They look more or less human,

but I think they're mute.

Astronaut LANDON :

We got off at the wrong stop.

Astronaut TAYLOR :

You're supposed to be the optimist,

Landon. Look on the bright side.

If this is the best they've got around here,

in six months we'll be running this planet.

Smile.

Which one was wearing the strange clothes?

This one.

Will he live?

I don't know.

This beast has lost a lot of blood.

- There's no probe here. Find one.

- Yes, sir.

This place is dirty, Doctor.

Doctor, these animals are dirty.

They stink. They carry diseases. Why aren't

they cleaned up before they're brought here?

- You don't sound happy in your work.

- l'm little more than a vet in this laboratory.

You promised to speak to Dr Zaius about me.

I did. You know how he looks

down his nose at chimpanzees.

But the quota system's been abolished. 

You made it. Why can't I?

What do you mean "made it"? 

I'm an animal psychologist, that's all. 

We have no authority.

You do all right getting

space and equipment.

That's because Dr Zaius realizes our work has value.

The foundations of scientific brain

surgery are being laid right here 

in studies of cerebral functions of these animals.

They're still dirty, doctor. 

And their bite is septic. 

There. Look at that.

Hold his jaw.

Good morning, Dr Zira.

Morning, Julius. 

How's our patient?

No change. The minute you open

the door, he goes into his act.

Well.

And what do we want this morning?

Do we want something? Come on. Speak.

Come on, speak.

Do we want some sugar, Old-Timer?

You could get hurt doing that, doctor.

Don't be silly. 

He's perfectly tame.

They all are, ‘til they take a chunk out of you.

Well, Bright Eyes. Our throat feeling better?

Still hurts, doesn't it?

See? He keeps pretending he can talk.

That Bright Eyes is remarkable.

He keeps trying to form words.

You know what they say —

Human see, human do.

All Life's Really Serious Journeys Involve a Railway Terminus

“All life's really serious journeys involve a railway terminus,” remarked Stephen Fry, playing Oscar in the film Wilde and riffing neatly on The Importance of being Earnest.

[After Voldemort kills Harry in The Forest, he is left in Limbo and meets Dumbledore in what looks like King’s Cross Station]

Albus Dumbledore: 

Harry, you wonderful boy.

You brave man. Let us walk.

Harry Potter: 

Professor, what is that?

[A creature that looks like a much smaller version of Voldemort is in the fetal position under a bench]

Albus Dumbledore: 

Something beyond either of our help. 

A part of Voldemort, sent here to die.

Harry Potter: 

And exactly where are we?

Albus Dumbledore: 

I was going to ask you that. 

Where would •you• say that we are?

Harry Potter: 

Well, it looks like King's Cross Station, only cleaner, and without all the trains.

Albus Dumbledore: 

King's Cross, is that right? 

This is, as they say, your party. 

I expect you now realize that you and Voldemort have been connected by something other than Fate, since that night in Godric's Hollow all those years ago.

Harry Potter: 

So it's True then, isn't it, Sir? 

A part of him lives in me, doesn't it?

Albus Dumbledore: 

Did. It was just destroyed many moments ago by none other than Voldemort himself. 

You were the Horcrux he never meant to make, Harry.

[They sit on a bench]

Harry Potter: 

I have to go back, haven't I?

Albus Dumbledore: 

Oh, that's up to you.

Harry Potter: 

I have a Choice?

Albus Dumbledore: 

Oh, yes. We're in King's Cross, you say? 

I think if you so desired, you'd be able to board A Train.

Harry Potter: 

And where would it take me?

Albus Dumbledore: 

[chuckles] 

On.

[Dumbledore begins walking away]

Harry Potter: 

Voldemort has The Elder Wand.

Albus Dumbledore: 

True.

Harry Potter: 

And The Snake's still alive.

Albus Dumbledore: 

Yes.

Harry Potter: 

And I've nothing to kill it with.

Albus Dumbledore: 

[walks back to Harry] 

Help will always be given at Hogwarts, Harry, to those who ask for it. 

I've always prized myself on my ability to turn a phrase. 

Words are, in my not so humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of Magick. 

Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it. 

But I would, in this case, amend my original statement to this: 

"Help would always be given at Hogwarts to those who DESERVE it." 

Do not pity The Dead, Harry. 

Pity The Living.

And above all, those who live without Love.

Harry Potter: 

Professor, my mother's Patronus was a doe, wasn't it? 

It's the same as Professor Snape's. It's curious, don't you think?

Albus Dumbledore: 

Actually, if I think about it, it doesn't seem curious at all. 

I'll be going now, Harry. 

[turns to leave]

Harry Potter: 

Professor? Is this all real? 

Or is it just happening inside my head?

Albus Dumbledore: 

Of course it's happening inside your head, Harry. 

Why should that mean that it's Not Real? 

[he fades into The Light]

Harry Potter: 

Professor, what shall I do? Professor?

[Back in The Forest]

Bellatrix Lestrange: 

The Boy... is he dead?

Narcissa Malfoy: 

[Leaning into Harry, her eyes widen as she feels his heart still beating] 

Is he alive? Draco, is he alive?

Narcissa Malfoy: 

[after Harry nods, she stands and faces Voldemort] 

Dead.

At the end of a week or so Niggle tottered out to his shed again. He tried to climb the ladder, but it made his head giddy. He sat and looked at the picture, but there were no patterns of leaves or visions of mountains in his mind that day. He could have painted a far-off view of a sandy desert, but he had not the energy.

Next day he felt a good deal better. He climbed the ladder, and began to paint. He had just begun to get into it again, when there came a knock on the door.

"Damn!" said Niggle. But he might just as well have said "Come in!" politely, for the door opened all the same. This time a very tall man came in, a total stranger.

"This is a private studio," said Niggle. "I am busy. Go away!"

"I am an Inspector of Houses," said the man, holding up his appointment-card, so that Niggle on his ladder could see it. "Oh!" he said.

"Your neighbour's house is not satisfactory at all," said the Inspector.

"I know," said Niggle. "I took a note to the builders a long time ago, but they have never come. Then I have been ill."

"I see," said the Inspector. "But you are not ill now."

"But I'm not a builder. Parish ought to make a complaint to the Town Council, and get help from the Emergency Service."

"They are busy with worse damage than any up here," said the Inspector. "There has been a flood in the valley, and many families are homeless. You should have helped your neighbour to make temporary repairs and prevent the damage from getting more costly to mend than necessary. That is the law. There is plenty of material here: canvas, wood, waterproof paint."

"Where?" asked Niggle indignantly.

"There!" said the Inspector, pointing to the picture.

"My picture!" exclaimed Niggle.

"I dare say it is," said the Inspector. "But houses come first. That is the law."

"But I can't . . ." Niggle said no more, for at that moment another man came in. Very much like the Inspector he was, almost his double: tall, dressed all in black.

"Come along!" he said. "I am the Driver."

Niggle stumbled down from the ladder. His fever seemed to have come on again, and his head was swimming; he felt cold all over.

"Driver? Driver?" he chattered. "Driver of what?"

"You, and your carriage," said the man. "The carriage was ordered long ago. It has come at last. It's waiting. You start today on your journey, you know."

"There now!" said the Inspector. "You'll have to go; but it's a bad way to start on your journey, leaving your jobs undone. Still, we can at least make some use of this canvas now."

"Oh, dear!" said poor Niggle, beginning to weep. "And it's not, not even finished!"

"Not finished?" said the Driver. "Well, it's finished with, as far as you're concerned, at any rate. Come along!"

Niggle went, quite quietly. The Driver gave him no time to pack, saying that he ought to have done that before, and they would miss the train; so all Niggle could do was to grab a little bag in the hall. He found that it contained only a paint-box and a small book of his own sketches: neither food nor clothes. They caught the train all right. Niggle was feeling very tired and sleepy; he was hardly aware of what was going on when they bundled him into his compartment. He did not care much: he had forgotten where he was supposed to be going, or what he was going for. The train ran almost at once into a dark tunnel.

Niggle woke up in a very large, dim railway station. A Porter went along the platform shouting, but he was not shouting the name of the place; he was shouting Niggle!

Niggle got out in a hurry, and found that he had left his little bag behind. He turned back, but the train had gone away.

"Ah, there you are!" said the Porter. "This way! What! No luggage? You will have to go to the Workhouse."

Niggle felt very ill, and fainted on the platform. They put him in an ambulance and took him to the Workhouse Infirmary.

He did not like the treatment at all. The medicine they gave him was bitter. The officials and attendants were unfriendly, silent, and strict; and he never saw anyone else, except a very severe doctor, who visited him occasionally. It was more like being in a prison than in a hospital. He had to work hard, at stated hours: at digging, carpentry, and painting bare boards all one plain colour. He was never allowed outside, and the windows all looked inwards. They kept him in the dark for hours at a stretch, "to do some thinking," they said. He lost count of time. He did not even begin to feel better, not if that could be judged by whether he felt any pleasure in doing anything. He did not, not even in getting into bed.

At first, during the first century or so (I am merely giving his impressions), he used to worry aimlessly about the past. One thing he kept on repeating to himself, as he lay in the dark: "I wish I had called on Parish the first morning after the high winds began. I meant to. The first loose tiles would have been easy to fix. Then Mrs. Parish might never have caught cold. Then I should not have caught cold either. Then I should have had a week longer." But in time he forgot what it was that he had wanted a week longer for. If he worried at all after that, it was about his jobs in the hospital. He planned them out, thinking how quickly he could stop that board creaking, or rehang that door, or mend that table-leg. Probably he really became rather useful, though no one ever told him so. But that, of course, cannot have been the reason why they kept the poor little man so long. They may have been waiting for him to get better, and judging "better" by some odd medical standard of their own.

At any rate, poor Niggle got no pleasure out of life, not what he had been used to call pleasure. He was certainly not amused. But it could not be denied that he began to have a feeling of-well, satisfaction: bread rather than jam. He could take up a task the moment one bell rang, and lay it aside promptly the moment the next one went, all tidy and ready to be continued at the right time. He got through quite a lot in a day, now; he finished small things off neatly. He had no "time of his own" (except alone in his bed-cell), and yet he was becoming master of his time; he began to know just what he could do with it. There was no sense of rush. He was quieter inside now, and at resting-time he could really rest.

Then suddenly they changed all his hours; they hardly let him go to bed at all; they took him off carpentry altogether and kept him at plain digging, day after day. He took it fairly well. It was a long while before he even began to grope in the back of his mind for the curses that he had practically forgotten. He went on digging, till his back seemed broken, his hands were raw, and he felt that he could not manage another spadeful. Nobody thanked him. But the doctor came and looked at him.

"Knock off!" he said. "Complete rest-in the dark."

 

Niggle was lying in the dark, resting completely; so that, as he had not been either feeling or thinking at all, he might have been lying there for hours or for years, as far as he could tell. But now he heard Voices: not voices that he had ever heard before. There seemed to be a Medical Board, or perhaps a Court of Inquiry, going on close at hand, in an adjoining room with the door open, possibly, though he could not see any light.

"Now the Niggle case," said a Voice, a severe voice, more severe than the doctor's.

"What was the matter with him?" said a Second Voice, a voice that you might have called gentle, though it was not soft-it was a voice of authority, and sounded at once hopeful and sad. "What was the matter with Niggle? His heart was in the right place."

"Yes, but it did not function properly," said the First Voice. "And his head was not screwed on tight enough: he hardly ever thought at all. Look at the time he wasted, not even amusing himself! He never got ready for his journey. He was moderately well-off, and yet he arrived here almost destitute, and had to be put in the paupers' wing. A bad case, I am afraid. I think he should stay some time yet."

"It would not do him any harm, perhaps," said the Second Voice. "But, of course, he is only a little man. He was never meant to be anything very much; and he was never very strong. Let us look at the Records. Yes. There are some favourable points, you know."

"Perhaps," said the First Voice; "but very few that will really bear examination."

"Well," said the Second Voice, "there are these. He was a painter by nature. In a minor way, of course; still, a Leaf by Niggle has a charm of its own. He took a great deal of pains with leaves, just for their own sake. But he never thought that that made him important. There is no note in the Records of his pretending, even to himself, that it excused his neglect of things ordered by the law."

"Then he should not have neglected so many," said the First Voice.

"All the same, he did answer a good many Calls."

"A small percentage, mostly of the easier sort, and he called those Interruptions. The Records are full of the word, together with a lot of complaints and silly imprecations."

"True; but they looked like interruptions to him, of course, poor little man. And there is this: he never expected any Return, as so many of his sort call it. There is the Parish case, the one that came in later. He was Niggle's neighbour, never did a stroke for him, and seldom showed any gratitude at all. But there is no note in the Records that Niggle expected Parish's gratitude; he does not seem to have thought about it."

"Yes, that is a point," said the First Voice; "but rather small. I think you will find Niggle often merely forgot. Things he had to do for Parish he put out of his mind as a nuisance he had done with."

"Still, there is this last report," said the Second Voice, "that wet bicycle-ride. I rather lay stress on that. It seems plain that this was a genuine sacrifice: Niggle guessed that he was throwing away his last chance with his picture, and he guessed, too, that Parish was worrying unnecessarily."

"I think you put it too strongly," said the First Voice. "But you have the last word. It is your task, of course, to put the best interpretation on the facts. Sometimes they will bear it. What do you propose?"

"I think it is a case for a little gentle treatment now," said the Second Voice.

Niggle thought that he had never heard anything so generous as that Voice. It made Gentle Treatment sound like a load of rich gifts, and the summons to a King's feast. Then suddenly Niggle felt ashamed. To hear that he was considered a case for Gentle Treatment overwhelmed him, and made him blush in the dark. It was like being publicly praised, when you and all the audience knew that the praise was not deserved. Niggle hid his blushes in the rough blanket.

There was a silence. Then the First Voice spoke to Niggle, quite close. "You have been listening," it said.

"Yes," said Niggle.

"Well, what have you to say?"

"Could you tell me about Parish?" said Niggle. "I should like to see him again. I hope he is not very ill? Can you cure his leg? It used to give him a wretched time. And please don't worry about him and me. He was a very good neighbour, and let me have excellent potatoes very cheap, which saved me a lot of time."

"Did he?" said the First Voice. "I am glad to hear

There was another silence. Niggle heard the Voices receding. "Well, I agree," he heard the First Voice say in the distance. "Let him go on to the next stage. Tomorrow, if you like."

 

Niggle woke up to find that his blinds were drawn, and his little cell was full of sunshine. He got up, and found that some comfortable clothes had been put out for him, not hospital uniform. After breakfast the doctor treated his sore hands, putting some salve on them that healed them at once. He gave Niggle some good advice, and a bottle of tonic (in case he needed it). In the middle of the morning they gave Niggle a biscuit and a glass of wine; and then they gave him a ticket.

"You can go to the railway station now," said the doctor. "The Porter will look after you. Good-bye."

 

Niggle slipped out of the main door, and blinked a little. The sun was very bright. Also he had expected to walk out into a large town, to match the size of the station; but he did not. He was on the top of a hill, green, bare, swept by a keen invigorating wind. Nobody else was about. Away down under the hill he could see the roof of the station shining.

He walked downhill to the station briskly, but without hurry. The Porter spotted him at once.

"This way!" he said, and led Niggle to a bay, in which there was a very pleasant little local train standing: one coach, and a small engine, both very bright, clean, and newly painted. It looked as if this was their first run. Even the track that lay in front of the engine looked new: the rails shone, the chairs were painted green, and the sleepers gave off a delicious smell of fresh tar in the warm sunshine. The coach was empty.

"Where does this train go, Porter?" asked Niggle.

"I don't think they have fixed its name yet," said the Porter. "But you'll find it all right." He shut the door.

The train moved off at once. Niggle lay back in his seat. The little engine puffed along in a deep cutting with high green banks, roofed with blue sky. It did not seem very long before the engine gave a whistle, the brakes were put on, and the train stopped. There was no station, and no signboard, only a flight of steps up the green embankment. At the top of the steps there was a wicket-gate in a trim hedge. By the gate stood his bicycle; at least, it looked like his, and there was a yellow label tied to the bars with niggle written on it in large black letters.