CUBS OF THE WOLF
BY RAYMOND F. JONES
It may be that there is a weapon that, from the
viewpoint of the one it's used on, is worse than
lethal. You might say that death multiplies you by
zero; what would multiplication by minus one do?
Illustrated by Rogers
In the spring the cherry blossomsare heavy in the air over the campusof Solarian Institute of Science andHumanities. On a small slope thatrims the park area, Cameron Wilderlay on his back squinting through thecloud of pink-white petals to the skybeyond. Beside him, Joyce Farquhardrew her jacket closer with an irritatedgesture. It was still too cold tobe sitting on the grass, but Camerondidn't seem to notice it—or anythingelse, Joyce thought.
"If you don't submit a subject foryour thesis now," she said, "you'lltake another full six months gettingyour doctorate. Sometimes I think youdon't really want it!"
Cameron stirred. He shifted hissquinting gaze from the sky to Joyceand finally sat up. But he was staringahead through the trees again as hetook his pipe from his pocket andbegan filling it slowly.
"I don't want it if it's not goingto mean anything after I get it," hesaid belligerently. "I'm not going todo an investigation of some sillysubject like The Transience of VenusianImmigrants in Relation to theMartian Polar Ice Cap Cycle. Solariansociologists are the butt of enoughridicule now. Do something like thatand for the rest of your life you getknocking of the knees whenever anybodyinquires about the specialty youworked in and threatens to read yourthesis."
"Nobody's asking you to do anythingyou don't want to. But youpicked the field of sociology to workin. Now I don't see why you haveto act such a purist that it takesmonths to find a research project foryour degree. Pick something—anything!—Idon't care what it is. Butif you don't get a degree and anappointment out of the next sessionI don't think we'll ever get married—notever."
Cameron removed his pipe fromhis mouth with a precise grip andconsidered it intently as it cupped inhis hands. "I'm glad you mentionedmarriage," he said. "I was just aboutto speak of it myself."
"Well, don't!" said Joyce. "Afterthree years—Three years!"
He turned to face her and smiledfor the first time. He liked to leadher along occasionally just to watchher explode, but he was not alwayssure when he had gone too far. Joycehad a mind like a snapping, randommatching calculator while he operatedmore on a slow, carefully shapinganalogue basis, knowing things werenever quite what they seemed buttrying to get as close an approximationof the true picture as possible.
"Will you marry me now?" hesaid.
The question did not seem to startleher. "No degree, no appointment—andno chance of getting one—wecouldn't even get a license. I hopeyou aren't suggesting we try to getalong without one, or on a forgery!"
Cameron shook his head. "No,darling, this is a perfectly bona fideproposal, complete with license, appointment,the works—what do yousay?"
"I say this spring sun is too muchfor you." She touched the dark massof his hair, warmed by the sun's rays,and put her head on his shoulder.She started to cry. "Don't tease melike that, Cameron. It seems likewe've been waiting forever—andthere's still forever ahead of us. Youcan't do anything you want to—"
Cameron put his arms about her,not caring if the whole Institute facultyleaned out the windows to watch."That's why you shou