Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net A TOOTHACHE ON ZENOB BY BOYD ELLANBEE _Strange to think that from twenty-odd light-years away, other eyes see our own Sun blazing in the middle of a familiar constellation...._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, October 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Pehn Karn sat in the signal dome, idly waiting while his friend, adjusted the dials of the receiver. The recording tape spilled over the table in loops of aluminum. "Doesn't this job get dull?" he inquired. Nautunal turned the fifth dial a few degrees, and glanced up. "Depends on your interest. It's true this is just routine space-sweep, but noise from space is amazingly variegated. Just one more sector to scan tonight, and I'll be through. What's matter with you, Pehn? Your face looks little lopsided." Pehn tried to grin, and fingered the slight swelling on his cheek. "My face will never be my fortune, I guess. I don't know what's matter. Just ache." Even at his best, as Pehn's family loved to remind him, he was an ugly young man; he had none of the rounded placidity of feature which was the ideal of his race. His olive skin stretched too tightly over his cheekbones, and his black eyes peered too intensely from their deep sockets. It helped very little that he happened to be extremely intelligent. Pehn covered the aching place with his hand, and tried to concentrate on the emerging spills of tape. As a matter of fact, he had been having severe periodic toothaches for six months now, but had never spoken of it. Suddenly he bent forward. "Hold it! Just minute. Let me see that." Nautunal raised one eyebrow. "Don't let it get you, lad. Listening to space is apt to make you jumpy. Your friends over at Atomics wouldn't like that. More than once I've thought I was finding some sort of sense in all this chatter, but it never pans out. It's just noise. There may be other inhabited planets besides Zenob, just as Bidagha claims, but if so, they aren't talking." "Stop, watch tape," said Pehn. Nautunal shrugged his shoulders, but he picked up the tape and watched as it trickled through his fingers. The machine was recording short bursts of energy, separated by distinct pauses: ".. .. .... ... ... ...... .... .... ........" "Two and two," remarked Pehn, "are four. Three and three are six. Four--" "I know. I've been to kindergarten too. Four and four are eight. Has your aching face affected your mind? You ought to submit yourself for treatment." He reached to shift the scanner, but Pehn grabbed his hand.