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 Test Bank for Pharmacology for Nurses, 2nd
Edition: Michael P. Adams
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1. MC The nurse is teaching a pharmacology class to student nurses. What does

the nurse include as key events in the history of pharmacology? Select all that
apply.
A. Initial drugs included morphine, cocaine, and penicillin.
B. Modern pharmacology began in the early 1600s.
C.* Pharmacologists synthesized drugs in the laboratory in the
twentieth century.
D.* Early researchers used themselves as test subjects.
E.* The initial intention of pharmacology was to relieve human
suffering.

2. MC The student nurse asks the nursing instructor why he needs to take
anatomy and physiology, as well as microbiology, when he only wants to learn
about pharmacology. What is the best response by the instructor?
A.* "Because an understanding of those subjects is essential to
understanding pharmacology."
B. "Knowledge of all those subjects will prepare you to provide the
best patient care, including the administration of medications."
C. "Because pharmacology is an outgrowth of those subjects."
D. "You must learn all, since those subjects, as well as pharmacology,
are part of the curriculum."

3. MC The nursing instructor is teaching a pharmacology class to student

nurses. The current focus is pharmacology and therapeutics. The nursing
instructor determines that learning has occurred when the students make which
comments? Select all that apply.
A. "Therapeutics is the study of the therapeutic use of drugs."
B.* "Pharmacology is the use of drugs to relieve suffering"
C. "Pharmacology is the study of drugs to prevent disease."
D. "Therapeutics is the study of drug interactions."
E.* "Pharmacology is the study of medicines."

4. MC The nurse administers a vaccine to a child. What is the best

understanding of the nurse as it relates to the manufacture of this vaccine?
A. The vaccine is produced by a combination of animal and plant
products.
B. The vaccine is most commonly synthesized in a laboratory.
C.* The vaccine is naturally produced in animal cells or
microorganisms.
D. The vaccine is produced by natural plant extracts in the
laboratory.
5. MC The elderly client has gastrointestinal bleeding. The client says to the
nurse "I don't understand this. All I did was take ibuprofen (Advil) for my
arthritis." Which plan would be best as it relates to the nurse's education of
this client?
A.* A plan to teach the advantages and disadvantages of ibuprofen
(Advil).
B. A plan to teach the client to use drugs that bypass the
gastrointestinal system, like topical drugs.
C. A plan to teach the client to substitute safer drugs like
acetaminophen (Tylenol).
D. A plan to teach the client to obtain physician approval prior to
the use of over-the-counter (OTC) medications.

6. MC The student nurse is preparing for the first pharmacology exam. In

planning for this exam, what is most important for the student nurse to
remember about the Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act?
A. It gave the government the power to control the labeling content of
medications.
B. It helped standardize the quality of drugs and cosmetics.
C. It prohibited the sale of drugs labeled with false therapeutic
claims that could defraud the public.
D.* It prevented the sale of drugs that had not been thoroughly tested
before marketing.

7. MC The pharmaceutical representative comes to the physician's office and

says his company's pharmaceutical laboratory is marketing a drug that does not
need approval by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA). What is the best
response by the nurse?
A. "Is your pharmaceutical laboratory private? Only public
pharmaceutical laboratories need approval from the Food and Drug Administration
(FDA)."
B.* "Any pharmaceutical laboratory in America must have approval from
the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) before marketing a drug."
C. "Is this an over-the-counter (OTC) drug? They do not need approval
by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA)."
D. "Your pharmaceutical laboratory must be involved in academic
research because they are exempt from approval by the Food and Drug
Administration (FDA)."

8. MC The nurse is employed by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA), and is
involved in clinical investigation. What is the primary role of the nurse in
this phase of the review and approval process by the FDA?
A. To perform tests on human cells cultured in the laboratory
B. To perform tests on the population-at-large
C. To perform tests on various species of animals
D.* To perform tests on human clients
9. MC The student nurse is taking a pharmacology course and studying about the
Food and Drug Administration (FDA). What has the student learned about how the
FDA has decreased the amount of time involved in bringing a new drug to the
market?
A. Drug manufacturers are required by the Food and Drug Administration
(FDA) to test more drugs on an annual basis.
B. The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) is not as strict as it once
was with regard to drug approval.
C. Since consumers have demanded more drugs, the Food and Drug
Administration (FDA) has streamlined the review/approval process.
D.* Drug manufacturers are required to pay yearly user fees, which
allow the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) to hire more employees to increase
its efficiency.

10. MC The student nurse is studying the difference between the American and
Canadian drug approval processes. What is the student nurse's best
understanding of the difference between these two governments in the drug
approval process?
A.* America incorporates the private and government sectors; Canada
uses only the government sector.
B. There is minimal difference; they both rely extensively on
government resources.
C. Canada has much stricter guidelines than America for approving
drugs for the public.
D. America has much stricter guidelines than Canada for approving
drugs for the public.

11. MC The student nurse has completed an initial pharmacology course and tells
the nursing instructor that it was difficult and she is glad it is over. What
is the best response by the nursing instructor?
A. "Learning is always painful, but we must continue anyway."
B. "It really isn't over; you should take a graduate course next."
C. "It may be over, but now you must apply what you have learned to
patient care."
D.* "Learning is gradual and continuous; we never completely master all
areas of pharmacology."

12. MC The client says to the nurse "My wife and I take the same drug, but we
have different side effects "Are we doing something wrong"? What is the best
response by the nurse?
A.* "No. Differences such as your sex can result in different side
effects."
B. "Possibly. This could happen if one uses generic or brand name
drugs."
C. "I'm not sure. Maybe the drug is not the same; you should check
it."
D. "I'll have to check. What is the name of the drug you were using?"
13. MC The client comes to the emergency department with a myocardial
infarction. The client's husband tells the nurse that his wife has been taking
calcium carbonate (Tums) for years for what she thought was indigestion. What
is the best response by the nurse?
A.* "Your wife was self-diagnosing, which is generally not a good
idea."
B. "Why did you let her do that? She should have seen a doctor."
C. "Your wife should not have self-diagnosed herself. I hope she will
be okay."
D. "Well, I am glad she is here, as it certainly wasn't indigestion."

14. MC The nurse is teaching a class for clients about over-the-counter (OTC)
medications. The nurse determines that education has been effective when the
clients make which statement?
A. "We should always ask the pharmacist about how to take the over-
the-counter (OTC) medicine."
B. "Medicines that are available over-the-counter (OTC) are really
safe, or they would be prescription medicines."
C. "We should not take any over-the-counter (OTC) medicine without
first calling and checking with the doctor's office."
D.* "We must read all the directions on the label and call the doctor's
office if they are not clear."

15. MC The client has skin lesions that have not responded to prescription
drugs. He tells the nurse he has heard about some research going on with a new
drug and questions why he can't take it. What is the best response by the
nurse?
A. "Your skin lesions really aren't that bad, but maybe the new drug
will be available soon."
B. "The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has very strict rules about
new drugs; it is important to be patient regarding the review/approval
process."
C.* "I know it is frustrating, but the Food and Drug Administration
(FDA) approval process is in place to ensure that drugs are safe."
D. "Maybe you could contact the drug company about becoming involved
in a clinical trial."
Another random document with
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Not willing to be put off any longer, Comstock asked, "Bowdler, since
you're a Father, why are you doing what you're doing?"
"No time for that, boy, no time at all."
Grundy added his curiosity, "But we must know, Bowdler, we can't
keep up this insane hare and hounds chase unless we know what's
going on!"

Bowdler pushed Grundy and Helen towards Comstock and snapped,

"Later, later. For now, all I can say is that I am fed up with the
unfairness of the way our world is being run. I went out into your
world to try and find rebels to use as the nucleus for a revolution. But
there's no time now for any further explanations. Listen to me
carefully. The guards at the front entrance would recognize you,
Comstock, even in that uniform, so you must escape by the back exit.
To get to it, turn right when you leave here, go to the end of the long
hall, and then turn left, follow that passage to its end and then turn
right. That'll lead you to the garage. Commandeer a car and go to 14
Anthony Comstock Road. I'll join you as soon as I safely can."
"Right, left, right," Grundy said. "Okay, Bowdler. I hope you can join
us soon!"
"Before you go," Bowdler said, "Sock me on the jaw."
Grundy asked, "Hit you? Why should I?"
"Do as he says," Helen said impatiently. "He has to have an alibi for
our escape."
Closing his eyes, Grundy lashed out suddenly. His fist missed
Bowdler's chin and landed high on his cheek near Bowdler's eye. He
snorted in annoyance, but said, "All right, all right, that'll have to do.
Now run!"
Throwing himself on the thickly carpeted floor he imitated the truly
unconscious man who was slumped there.
Lifting his head he said, "Beat it! Go on ... hurry!"
They left.

Comstock chanted to himself over and over again as they walked

down the long impressive marble corridor, right, left, right. What was
behind the doors they passed? Would he ever know? Each one
seemed more menacing than the one before it. And somehow, high
above him, Comstock could feel the brooding majesty of The
Grandfather. Surely here in the buildings that were sacred to Him,
The Grandfather must know what they were doing. His knees shook
and his stomach turned over as he thought of the effrontery of what
they were doing.
If one of the doors that lined the corridor had so much as squeaked,
Comstock thought, he would die. He knew it. He knew his weak heart
would not be able to stand the strain and that was all there was to it.
The silence that surrounded them was harrowing.
Grundy, his arm around Helen protectively, kept his eyes busy
searching, hoping against hope that no one would see them,
question them ... or suspect them.
Comstock's palm and fingers were sweaty with the agony of the grip
he had on the butt of the stun-gun.
Ahead of them was the end of the corridor and no one had seen
them.
Taking an even deeper breath, Comstock strode to the left. The other
two followed in his footsteps. This corridor was shorter, he was
grateful to see, and the one that went off to the right at the end of it
seemed lighter. At least it did not seem quite as dark and gloomy as
the way they had come.
And then they had come to the end of the last hallway and ahead
was the door that Bowdler said led to escape. But the highest hurdle,
Comstock thought, was still ahead. They had to steal an auto from a
garage. He had learned that the astrobatless-carriage that had
conveyed them there was called an auto, but what in the world was a
garage?
He hoped it wasn't some new horror.
All three of them froze. The door that led outdoors was opening.
Grundy had to nudge Comstock in the ribs to make him move. For
the sight of a platoon of black-garbed R.A.'s stretching off into the
middle distance that was revealed when the door opened had been
enough to end any and all thoughts of resistance on the part of
Comstock.
The leader of the R.A.'s snapped a salute at Comstock which he
answered only when Grundy's elbow dug deeply into his rib cage.
The R.A. Leader said, "Reporting to The Fathers!"
Comstock made a gesture that he hoped would look as if he was
giving the Leader permission. It was obvious from the way the man
was behaving that he thought Comstock outranked him. And as
Comstock, Grundy and the girl passed the platoon, it occurred to
Comstock that any R.A. who was employed at this fountainhead
would of necessity outrank any others.
The platoon stood at frozen-faced, stiff-backed attention as the trio
left the back door and walked across the greensward toward a
building that Grundy whispered to Comstock must be the garage.
When they were out of earshot of the platoon, Comstock sneaked a
look back over his shoulder. The black-garbed men, like automatons,
were marching into the building.
Grundy said, "Okay, so we've found the garage, but how are we
going to drive the car? That's the next big question."
Comstock was too relieved, first by the fact that they had escaped
the R.A.'s and second by the fact that the garage had turned out to
be just a building, to take on any new worry for a while.
Smiling a little, Helen said, "Hold on, Bowdler said we were to take a
car, therefore, it must be easy to drive one; or else we'll have to force
an R.A. to drive it for us."
"I suppose you're right," Grundy said, but he sounded dubious.
"If we make an R.A. drive it for us, that'll mean we're stuck with
him," Comstock said. "I don't think we want one of them around, do
we?" Then he saw a black uniform and he snapped, "Quiet!"
The man saluted as, Grundy in the lead, Helen following him, and
Comstock bringing up the rear, they entered the "garage". Comstock
said, "I have been ordered by the Fathers to take these prisoners on
a journey."
The black uniform was dirty and greasy which surprised Comstock.
He'd never before seen an R.A. who was not spotless. However, when
he saw what the man had been working on he was no longer
surprised. The man waved a filthy hand at an object on four wheels
and said, "Try this one. I'm having a lot of trouble with these blasted
things." He shook his head. "If we only had some new parts. I don't
know how much longer I can keep stealing parts from one car and
putting them in another."
Comstock had to make a decision. His hand still on his stun-gun, he
said to Grundy, "Get behind that wheel, and let's get started."
Slightly taken aback, Grundy gulped and then said, "Yes sir. Right
away, sir."
There was no other way that Comstock could see that it could be
done. An R.A. would not have driven the car and allowed the two
prisoners to sit idly in the back of the conveyance.
The dirty uniformed man, mumbling under his breath, got down on
all fours and began to tinker with the underneath part of the "car" he
had been working on when they entered the "garage".
That was a bit of luck for it allowed Grundy to enter the "car," get
behind the wheel and examine the various controls. Comstock and
Helen sat grandly in the back seat and waited.
Finally, after a long wait, Comstock leaned forward and whispered to
Grundy, "Better get started before he gets suspicious."
He was a little shocked at the curses that Grundy directed at him.
They ended by the man saying, "All right, genius, you tell me what to
do!"
The dirty man's legs were all that showed from the place where he
was working. Comstock leaned over Grundy's shoulders and said,
"What about that key? It seems to be part of the works."
Shrugging, Grundy turned the key. There were a lot of things sticking
up out of the floor and Comstock said, "They look like feet would fit
on them, don't they?"
Sticking out one foot experimentally, Grundy said, "Hmmm ... yes,
they do."
Then there was a series of explosions, and a sudden jolting start that
threw Comstock into Helen's lap.

Later, when they had learned a bit about driving, they were all very
grateful that the "car" had been pointed at the opening in the door
when it started, for they knew that they would never have been able
to figure out how to reverse it.
Their vehicle bucked and bounced as it roared out through the
doorway. It was only after the first thirty seconds of movement that
Grundy remembered that the other driver had held his hands on the
wheel.
Trying this, he found that the car responded to his touch. Rather
delighted, he turned the wheel sharply. Instantly Comstock was
thrown off Helen's lap onto the floor of the "car". She landed on top
of him driving the breath out of his lungs in a gasp that he
momentarily feared was so noisy that The Grandfather, perched high
in his tower, would hear.
But the sound of the explosions in the front of the car drowned out
all other noises.
Careening down the esplanade away from the frightening buildings,
away from the Fathers and The Grandfather, Comstock finally
managed to push Helen off of him and get back into the seat. She
was grinning excitedly and he found that he too shared in the feeling.
In the front seat Grundy called back, "Hey, this is kind of fun!"
It stopped being fun when it became necessary to turn a corner. This
was a difficult maneuver and when it was over, Helen and Comstock
were again entwined in a manner that was highly indecent. Now that
the buildings they had escaped from were receding into the distance,
Comstock found that he was rather enjoying the feel of Helen's soft
flesh.
It made him blush and his heart must have suffered from the strain,
but nevertheless he did, he told himself, enjoy being near her. What a
ghastly perversion! To find youth exciting! What would his dear
Father have thought?
But then he decided not to worry too much about Father. One
thought was uppermost in his mind. He wanted a girl just like Helen.
If one could be found.
Grundy yelled above the sound the vehicle was making. "We're
almost there. What number house did Bowdler say?"
"Fourteen, I think," Comstock said and he was glad to have a break
in the direction that his thoughts were taking.
Next to him, Helen pursed her full lips and whistled. She said, "Take a
look!"
The house well repaid a look. It was the closest that Comstock had
ever been to a home that belonged to one of the Fathers. Immense,
sprawling, with a lawn that was as carefully tended as time and work
could make it, crisp bushes, trimmed and shaped, the house was a
gem. It was on the side of a hill that sloped steeply downwards.
They drew up in front of it and a new problem arose. Grundy yelled,
"Better jump. I don't know how to stop this thing!"

One after the other they leaped from the "car" which, since Grundy
did not know how to shift the gears, was still in first and was making
all of fifteen miles an hour.
Rolling over and over, hands and knees badly scraped, Comstock
thought, "There must be a better way than that to get out of a car".
But then, as the vehicle sped faster and faster down the decline of
the hill, he said, "Grundy.... Helen.... Did you notice anything odd on
the way here?"
They were picking themselves up and Grundy was being, Comstock
thought, a little too solicitous about Helen and whether she was hurt,
so he repeated himself a little more loudly.
"Odd?" Grundy finally said after he had patted Helen in various
places, in none of which it seemed to Comstock, it had been likely for
the girl to have injured herself, "What do you mean?"
"Don't you realize we didn't pass a single human being all the way
here?"
"You're right," Helen said. "That is peculiar!"
Grundy looked about them. There was no one in sight. No one at all.
That was not too peculiar, not here, not this near a Father's house,
but the other streets should have been full of people.... It was all
very strange.
Down at the bottom of the hill the driverless "car" crashed into a
tree. It was the only sound but for their breathing. Helen shivered.
Comstock said, "Let's get in the house. Quickly."
It was one thing, Comstock thought, to have been in a room that
belonged to a Gantry, as they had been, but it was a completely
different and much more frightening thing to be walking up the path
to a house that belonged to a Father, even one like this that belonged
to Bowdler who certainly had seemed to be friendly.
They were on the steps of a broad pleasant verandah now, and the
entrance to the house was directly in front of them. The door was
white, and had neatly lettered on it, "Enter."
Comstock grabbed Helen's free hand, her other was in the fold of
Grundy's arm. Then all of them moved slowly towards the door.
It opened before Comstock could put his hand on the knob.
It swung wide enough for them to see that no one had opened it for
them.
From inside the house, a heavy metallic voice said, "Welcome may
you be."

CHAPTER 8

Perhaps the single most frightening thing in the big living room to
Comstock was the fact that the walls were solid with books. The
cases ran from the floor to the ceiling and every available space was
stuffed helter skelter with books, books and more books. In all his life
it is highly unlikely that Comstock had ever seen more than ten or
fifteen books at one time, and then only in what passed for a library
in his culture.
Why, he thought, there must be thousands of books here. On what
subjects could the authors have written? What was there to write
that much about? A small hope persisted for a moment that maybe,
for some strange reason, most of the books might be duplicates. But
that was eradicated when he looked at the odd, mysterious titles of
the volumes. There were no duplicates and seemingly the books were
divided up into categories. But some of the categories were so
strange to Comstock that they passed his ability to comprehend.
What, he wondered, could sociology be? Or anthropology, or
psychology, or these massive volumes full of poems ... not simple
enjoyable poems like Father Goose, but queer, abstruse ones, whose
words made no sense at all to Comstock's reeling brain.
While he hurried around the room blowing dust off the tops of the
books he was looking at, Helen and Grundy were concerned with who
had greeted them on their entrance.
Leaving Comstock to his perusal of the shelves, Grundy tip-toed out
of the room, and then looking in no particular direction, he called,
"Hello? Who are you! Where are you?"
The same metallic voice answered, "I am the house. I am here to
supply your wants, to feed you and make you comfortable."
When Comstock heard this the shock was too much for him. He
swayed, and then sank, with an armful of books, into the deep
recesses of an easy chair. A cloud of dust surrounded him. Instantly a
whirring sound emanated from a screened section of the floor and he
felt rather than saw the dust disappearing.
Considerably shaken, Grundy came back into the library. Helen said,
"What do you suppose it is, darling?"
"Bowdler has told me about robots ... machines that act almost like
we do, but I never, ever, thought that one could run a whole house
this way!"
Comstock was willing to accept the robot as he would have the word
fairy when he was a child and he was even more inclined to confuse
the two things, when at Grundy's mention of being hungry, the door
swung open and a wheeled cart entered loaded down with food the
like of which none of the three had ever seen.
Sitting in a rather numb silence the three people stared at the food.
But then the odors that came from it were too much for them and
disregarding the magic of its appearance they ate as they never had
before.
That was the beginning, for Grundy and Helen and Comstock, of an
enchanted month. At first, from minute to minute, they expected
pursuit, and capture. But as time passed happily by, as every fleeting
fancy was instantly taken care of by the house, they relaxed, and
what was most important, began to devote almost all their waking
hours to the books that confronted them on every side, in every room
of the house.
No one ever seemed to pass the house, they heard no sounds from
outside. They were in a charmed circle, in which every desire was
instantly fulfilled.
Comstock was not aware of how and when it happened, but soon he
was not even embarrassed at the sight of Grundy and Helen kissing
and caressing each other. He no longer wanted to swoon when he
heard them exchange love words. But what did happen was that he
wanted some one like Helen more and more as time went on.
At first they waited impatiently for Bowdler to put in an appearance,
but when days passed and there was no sign of him they ceased to
expect him. Then worry began to take the place of expectancy.
Suppose, they'd say, suppose he was found out by the Board of
Fathers ... was a Father ever punished? They did not know.
Occasionally, but only very occasionally, Comstock would put his hand
to his chest and wonder why his heart disease no longer troubled
him, but a question which is unanswerable ceases in some cases to
be a question, and he almost forgot about it most of the time.
Then too, the contents of the books which they were devouring with
such avidity were so exciting that it almost seemed that there was
not enough time in one day for all the reading they wanted to do.
They'd rise in the morning and the instant they sat up in their
respective beds, the doors of their bedrooms would open, wheeled
carts would enter their room, and the house would serve them their
breakfasts.
Having risen, clean clothes would be supplied. Then they'd hurry to
the library, discuss what they'd been reading and then, undisturbed
except by luncheon and dinner, they'd read, read, read.

Sometimes the house would seem to feel that they were devoting too
much time to books and it would suddenly and magically produce
games and they'd play away an evening.
But when the morrow dawned the lure of the books would call them
back.
Their biggest problem was in deciding which of the books they read
were fact and what fiction. This was their only noteworthy argument.
One morning for instance, Comstock said, "I found a wonderful old
book last night filled with reports on criminals. Fascinating! One of
them was about a court in some kingdom or other back on earth
where a prince found out that his step-father had murdered his real
father in order to marry his mother."
"I remember that one," Helen said, "It ended with practically
everyone in the court murdered."
"That's the one," Comstock nodded.
"Y'know," Grundy said. "I wonder if that was really a report on actual
criminals."
"Must have been," Comstock argued, "no fiction writer would have
had the prince dilly dally the way that one did, never able to make up
his mind what to do. Only in real life do people bumble along that
way."
"Mmm...." Grundy disagreed, "I think a fine writer might have done
just that in order to make the character seem real."
"Prince Hamlet must have been real," Comstock said, "He could not
have been imagined. No, I'm sure that is fact. But this book I'm
reading now, what nonsense!"
He held up Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire."
"What an imagination! Fantastic!" Shaking his head he went on with
his reading.

It was a day or two later when he was reading what he considered

another criminal report, the story of a Moor and jealousy, that the
idea occurred to him.
Putting down the book, he stared thoughtfully off into space. The
idea had just never entered his brain before. Was it possible, he
wondered, that he might be able to woo Helen away from Grundy?
Not knowing a thing about how to go about it interfered quite a bit,
he found. His flirtation, if you could call it that, began to resemble a
game of hide and go seek, for he would lurk in dark corners of the
house and wait for Helen to walk by alone.
Then, darting out, he'd try to manufacture love talk, or what seemed
to pass for it in the book he'd been reading. One day, having
succeeded in scaring Helen half out of her wits, by popping out of a
linen closet and appearing at her side completely unexpectedly, he
made a groping motion and managed to capture one of her hands.
Bending over it, he kissed it.
That surprised Helen almost as much as his darting out of the closet
and she was even more surprised when he said, his voice low, so that
Grundy in the next room would not hear him, "Helen ... I...." But then
his voice vanished and he was unable to go on with the speech he
had prepared.
One eyebrow raised so high that it almost succeeded in touching her
hair line, Helen considered him. Then she asked, "Is anything wrong?
Do you feel all right?" Then she put her hand on his forehead and
said, "Are you feverish?"
The speech that should have come tumbling out of his mouth raced
through his mind, he thought, "Yes, I am feverish, burning with
desire.... Nothing can put out the fire but you...." That is what he
thought. What he said, was, "Um.... I guess I am feeling sick. I think
I'll go up and lay down for a while." Then tottering off he left her
there.
Lying down, even with a cool cloth on his head, he found did not
suffice to quench the fire that was threatening to consume him.
Returning to his reading he found that on occasion, earthmen had
murdered the men who stood in the way of their desire. Then it was
that he began to trail Grundy instead of Helen. He'd stand in a
doorway, while Grundy innocently read, and think of ways to kill his
friend. Poison, he found in his reading, was one of the commoner
ways of removing the other lover. That would have been fine and
he'd have been glad to poison Grundy but for the small fact that he
didn't have the vaguest idea what poison was.
And, what if he killed Grundy and even then Helen didn't fall in love
with him? That was a big factor and one that succeeded in baffling
him for quite a while. Perhaps, he decided finally, he'd better make
sure she at least liked him before he went to the slightly extreme
extent of murdering his friend.
But before he could take matters of any kind in hand, there came an
interruption in the even tenor of their ways. Precisely a month after
they entered Bowdler's house, the door opened and Bowdler came
through the entrance, a broad smile of inquiry on his heavy face.
He asked no questions about how they were making out, he told
them nothing about what he had been doing. Instead he asked, "Has
she arrived yet?"
"She?" The word was chorused by the trio.
"Yes," Bowdler said, his expression changing and worry showing on
it. "She should have been here by now if she escaped from the
R.A.'s." Shaking his head, he sat down in one of the big comfortable
chairs that were scattered all around the library. "She's the best
possibility I've found since you three. Courageous, with a real brain in
her head. I hope she's not been captured."
Grundy, Comstock and Helen stifled the questions which were
crowding to their lips, questions about the house, about the books,
about the reason for their having been sequestered so long. In the
face of Bowdler's worry, their questions seemed picayune.
"When should she have arrived?" Comstock asked.
"This morning. I helped her get away last night, gave her directions,
and then turned off the force field that's been protecting the house
and you three in my absence. If she doesn't appear soon, I'll have to
turn it back on. I can't risk having the R.A.'s stumble on this retreat
of mine."
"Force field?" Grundy asked timorously.
"Sure, a smaller version of the thing that the last scientists built to
protect our whole planet from interlopers. Unseen, it blankets the
whole area around the house in an invisible sheath that keeps
anyone from even being aware of the house."
So that, Comstock thought, was why they had heard no one, seen no
one passing by.
Bowdler got up from his chair and began to pace the floor uneasily.
"It's getting later. I'd better turn the force field back on, even though
it means that she'll never get here. Sometimes sacrifice is essential."
Rather to Comstock's surprise, he got to his feet, jutted out his rather
insignificant jaw and said, "I'm going looking for her!"
"Good boy!" Grundy said approvingly.
Helen asked, "But how will you manage to get back even if you find
her?"
"I don't know. All I know is that I can't rest thinking of someone
wandering around at the mercy of the Father's Right Arms."
"I've got it," Bowdler said, slowly, "You go ahead, Comstock. Look for
her to the east, down around Puritan Square. That's the direction
from which she would be coming, if she's not been captured. Then,
at twelve midnight, and twelve noon, I'll turn off the field for exactly
thirty seconds each day and night till you return." The if, was
unspoken.
"Shall I go dressed in the R.A.'s uniform or as a citizen?" asked
Comstock.
"Umm...." Bowdler pulled at his lip thoughtfully, then said, "I'd go as
a private individual. That way there should be fewer problems."
Helen asked the question that should have occurred to Comstock.
"How will he know her?"
"She's about Comstock's height, willowy, red-haired, and instead of
the dull apathetic look that most of our fellow citizens have, she has
bright green eyes that penetrate right to the core of any problem.
You'll know her as a fellow rebel as soon as you see her!"
Comstock wanted to ask how old she was but he couldn't. He felt
that it might reveal the motives that were driving him out of the
security of Bowdler's house into the harsh reality of his world which
he had grown to hate and fear.
Waving his hand in farewell to Bowdler, Helen and Grundy, he tried to
look like one of the heroes he had been reading about. With that
image in mind, he threw back his shoulders, took a deep breath, and
slammed the door behind him. Then, head held high, he walked
straight off the verandah and missed the top step completely.
Floundering, he landed in a heap at the bottom of the four steps.
It wasn't particularly heroic he feared, rising and brushing himself off.
Gulping, he walked out of sight of the enchanted house as quickly as
he could. Ahead lay a world of danger, of familiar things that now
were menacing, and terrible.
But beckoning him on his way was a picture of a lovely red-haired,
green-eyed girl who would fall languishing into his arms when he
rescued her from the hands of the enemy.
Thinking about just what ways she would reveal her gratitude carried
him along on seven league boots. As a matter of fact before he quite
knew how he had covered the distance between the house and
Puritan Square, he was there.
The streets were crowded with people but of a lovely red-haired siren
there was no sign, no sign at all.

CHAPTER 9
A wave of revulsion turned Comstock's stomach making him forget,
for a moment, the girl for whom he was seeking. All around him in
eddying mobs were elderly, grey and white-haired women, their long
dresses dragging on the ground. The idea that he had ever found
them exciting was hard for him to bear. And the way the young men
held the women's arms, talked to them, guided and protected them,
made Comstock feel even queazier.
It was a Grandfather's Meeting night and all the couples were on
their way to the meeting house. Above them all, the crazily careening
green moon sent down harsh high lights that made the old women
seem even more decrepit than they really were.
But search as Comstock would, of the red-haired girl he found no
sign.
It was getting later and he saw an R.A.'s carriage come down the
street, its astrobats dancing as the R.A. driver lashed them. He called
out, "Nine o'clock, time for meeting!"
Knowing that he would be arrested if he stayed out on the street
while everyone else went into the meeting house, Comstock decided
he had better try to look like a normal citizen. Even so, however, he
was the recipient of an icy stare from the R.A. For he was the last
person to enter the meeting place.
Comstock's flesh crawled when he found the last empty hard seat,
and sat listening to the only too familiar smooth patter of the Elder
who stood in the front of the hall, on a little podium and mouthed the
old, only too familiar platitudes, about The Grandfather.
Closing his eyes, Comstock tried unavailingly to close his ears to the
now meaningless words that flooded him and all the others in the
crowded smelly meeting place.
The Elder was speaking, his seamed face hanging in lank folds, his
jowls wobbling as they barked out the words, "And so, we know now
that only in the lap of The Grandfather is there to be found the peace
that passes all understanding...."
Comstock's eyes blinked open in shock when a clear, sweet voice
interrupted the maunderings of the Elder by saying, "Poppycock!"
The Elder's face froze in ludicrous astonishment as he repeated after
his heckler, "Poppycock?"
And then he saw her, Comstock did, and he was glad he hadn't
murdered Grundy, and he was even gladder that his frozen tongue
had not been able to utter words of love he had wanted to say to
Helen. For he saw the girl for whom he had been searching and she
was all his maddest dreams come true.

She stood up on her chair at one side of the hall and her eyes were
as clear as Bowdler had said, and now they were flashing in anger.
Her chest was heaving with indignation and Comstock found himself
admiring the way her chest lent itself to this sort of treatment.
Waving one hand in the air for attention, she said, "You fools! How
much longer are you going to be duped by the maunderings of these
old fools? Don't you know that it's all a lie?"
The audience rose in its wrath and with one voice roared loudly
enough to drown out all sounds that might have come from the girl.
The Elder, pointing a shaking arthritic forefinger at the girl, said in a
feeble voice that didn't reach through the tumult. "She is insane. Call
the R.A.'s."
But the crowd was too upset for any such normal proceedings. None
of Comstock's reading had covered lynchings but that was the feeling
that emanated from the furious people. This was a many-headed
mob that wanted blood.
She was grabbed by so many hands that Comstock wondered if
anything would be left of her. One man, bigger and stronger than the
rest of the crowd roared out, "To the stocks with her!"
There was no way that Comstock could fight his way to her side, and
even if he could have there was little he could have done but be
attacked in his turn.
"The stocks," he kept thinking. They were outside in the square, just
to one side of a statue of The Grandfather, where the graven image
could look down in its infinite wisdom and be soothed and assuaged
by the sight of its recalcitrant grandchildren being punished in the
stocks.
If he waited, Comstock thought, till she was in them, there would be
little he could do, for few ever lived through more than an hour of
that treatment. The rocks and stones thrown by the good, lawful
citizens of the community made sure of that.
No he could not wait, and yet what could he do as of that moment?
What had possessed her to make her speak out in the meeting? The
little fool. He'd shake some of the nonsense out of her, if he ever got
her away from those menacing hands.
The crowd surged out of the meeting house, down the stairs and
toward the statue. There was still no sign of any R.A. But then, why
should there have been? Once everyone was at meeting, the R.A.'s
could relax, having done their duty for the evening.
But how long could the rumble, the frightening mutter of an outraged
mob continue before some R.A. heard it?
Comstock came to a sudden decision, as a ferocious and even more
elderly woman than most reached forward and ripped the girl's dress
from her neck to her navel, screeching, "The hussy! Put her in the
stocks! I've got a stone for her! A big one ... perhaps one of you
young sirs would help me throw it?" She looked about her
coquettishly and her plea did not fall on empty air.
Running around the outer perimeter of the mob, Comstock made his
way to the statue of the kindly-faced Grandfather. Skirting the stocks
which were ugly and dull with the blood that had so many times
defaced them, Comstock reached up and pulled himself into the lap
of the stone Grandfather.
From that point of vantage he yelled, "Stop!"
His voice squeaked a little of course and did not come out with quite
the roar that he had wanted it to, but it was enough, it served to halt
the mob in its tracks.
Down below him, the girl, naked to the waist, her torn gown hanging
from the belt that was all that retained the shreds of cloth that
remained from the old woman's tearing hands, looked up at him.
The sight of her bare b.....s was almost too much for Comstock. It
unmanned him momentarily, but raising his eyes to her face, and
seeing the courage that shone from her eyes, he recovered his lost
voice and this time it came out with a roar, as he yelled, "Sanctuary! I
claim the right of sanctuary for this girl and myself!"

It had been over four hundred years since last a human voice had
claimed that right. But in an ancestor-directed culture like his,
Comstock was sure that since old things were automatically the best
things, his plea would have to be honored. Once having claimed
sanctuary and while in the lap of the Grandfather, no one, not even
the R.A., would tear you from that sacred place.
The mob was not at all happy, but it surrendered as he had been
sure it would. The girl was passed up to him. His hands reaching
down for her, were gladdened by the soft silkiness of her skin as he
pulled her to him. Once she too was seated next to him in that broad
capacious lap, the first thing she did, and he was sorry to see it
happen, was to pull the shreds of her garment close around her.
Down below them the crowd was not silent. It looked up, and after a
while its many faces merged into one, a fearful, frightening visage
with one big voice that chanted, "You have sanctuary. We cannot
deny you that. But sooner or later you must leave for you must eat
and drink ... and when you do...."
And when they did, Comstock knew, they'd be torn to shreds. For the
anger which formerly had been noisy and quarrelsome, was now
quiet and, if anything, even more menacing than the noise had been.
But it would be a long time before he and the girl were forced to
leave their sanctuary, and looking at her face, he decided that if he
had to die, there were worse ways to go.
Shyly he put his hand out and stroked her flaming hair. Then he
asked, "What's your name?"
"Patience and Fortitude Mather." She was still busy trying to arrange
her torn clothing.
He gulped.
Noticing his surprise, she said, "But just call me Pat. What's your
name?" But before he could answer she said, "Don't tell me you're a
friend of...."
Nodding, he said, "Yes, I'm one of Bowdler's rebels." Then he
identified himself.
"I should have known."
"Why," he asked with some asperity, "didn't you join us at Bowdler's
house?"
"I couldn't shake off the R.A. who was following me and I wouldn't
jeopardize the sanctum."
"Of course. But what made you decide to get up and carry on the
way you did at the meeting?"
"When I finally did get away from the R.A. it was too late. It was past
the time that Bowdler said I would be able to get through the force
field. I knew I was lost and I decided I might just as well go down to
defeat saying the things I'd always wanted to say."
"In case," Comstock said, "just in case, there is any chance of an
escape from our present situation, and we should become
separated," and he told her about the two times of the day when it
would be possible to get to Bowdler's house.

The temperature went down as they sat on the cold stone and
became acquainted. S.x was the farthest thing from Comstock's mind
when he moved closer to the girl and held her in his arms to try and
preserve their mutual body heat. At least s.x was far from his mind in
the beginning of the long night. But as the evening hours wore away
and the insane moon moved higher and higher in the sky, he found
that hunger and thirst, cold and fear were not enough to keep certain
thoughts from his now over-heated brain. Just sitting so close to her
was the most exciting experience he had ever had.
Below them the Hydra-head of the angry multitude began to murmur
as he disregarded some of the conventions on which he had been
raised. "Shameful," "Disgusting," "Perverted," "Horrible," were some
of the milder epithets that were thrown through the air.
Her skin he found on investigation put any flower he had ever beheld
to shame. Her breath was sweet on his nostrils. The feel of her was
unlike any thing he had ever dreamt of.
He said, his voice as low as his intentions, "Pat, do you think what I
feel for you is love?"
Snuggling closer to him, she answered, "If it isn't, it's as good an
imitation as we're likely to find." Then her inquisitive lips met his.
It was, he thought, even as he was experiencing it, a highly unlikely
place in which to enjoy a honeymoon.
The shamelessness of their conduct was not lost on the waiting
throng. At one point even the R.A. who had joined the mob and
whose hand had never left the butt of his stun-gun, found it
necessary to walk away. None of the onlookers, as a matter of fact,
could bear to watch.
So it was, that when Comstock accomplished his desire, and leaning
back against The Grandfather's stony beard expressed some of his
satisfaction by wishing he could fight the Board of Fathers, en masse,
with one hand tied behind his back, he and Pat found that of the
whole mob there was not a remnant.
Their conduct had shamed and frightened away the crowd.
Slipping down from the statue's lap, unable to believe their eyes, they
skittered away in the now all-encompassing darkness, expecting at
any moment to be halted by an R.A. or grabbed by some die-hards
from the waiting crowd.
Jogging along at his beloved's side at a half-run, half-walk, Comstock
wondered if even death could eradicate the exultation which he felt.
But feeling as he did was not conducive, he found, to gloomy, dismal
thoughts.
Not even when they ducked down a long alleyway, which he thought
led in the general direction of Bowdler's house, did he really, deeply
feel concerned about capture. Life could not be so unfair, he decided,
as to raise him up to such heights as he had just surmounted, and
then drop him into a gloomy pit.
But of course life could, and did, do just that.

CHAPTER 10

He could not help wonder as they ran through the alleyway towards a
lighted area that might or might not lead to Bowdler's house, just
how long the shock of what he had just done would keep the irate
citizens off his trail. Pat ran at his side, her long legs easily keeping
stride with him. If she was concerned about her own safety it did not
show in her expression which was calm, and almost contemplative, if
you disregarded the little quirk of a smile that turned up the ends of
her full lips.
Despite the anxiety of his position, Comstock could not help but
compare the feeling of ebullience and general physical well-being that
surged through him, with the sadness and the feeling of
despondency that he had always experienced after his monthly visits
to the b.....l.
If he had not been so busy running and praying that they could avoid
the R.A.'s, he would like to have sat down and tried to reason out
just what was the underlying reason for this change in his attitude
towards sex, and its aftermath.
The pounding of their feet was the only sound in the silent night.
Beside them the grey brick walls that lined the alley through which
they ran were completely featureless. No windows or doors broke the
long straight lines that reared up around them.
Pat paused and said, "Why are we running? It's quite clear that we
..." she giggled, "scared everyone away with our outrageous
conduct."
The fact that she was able to muster up a smile under these dire
circumstances made a warm feeling well up in Comstock's chest. He
feebly returned the smile, and then putting out his arms took her in
them. He kissed her chastely on the lips and found that even this
modest gesture made his temples pound.
Enfolding her and drawing her closer to him, he leaned his back
against the nearest wall and whispered into her ear some of the
phrases he had stored up from his reading which he had meant to
say to Grundy's girl, Helen.
Their bodies were glued so tightly together that when the sound
came, their start of surprise was completely mutual. "Ssssst." It
sibilated. And then again, "Sssst!"
Thunderstruck, their arms still pressing around each other, Pat and
Comstock looked around them. There was nothing to see. Nothing at
all.
Then the sound became words, "Sssst, the R.A.'s after you?"
"Uh huh." Comstock managed to answer.
"Count three and then press against the fifth block from the ground."
Feeling that they had absolutely nothing to lose, Comstock obeyed
the whispered command.
The fifth block up looked exactly like all the others. But when
Comstock pushed at it, an irregular segment suddenly swung
inwards. Low light was visible for a moment through the opening.
Then it vanished and Comstock, holding Pat by the hand as though to
give her reassurance, but really so that he could draw strength from
her nearness, stepped through the dark aperture.
At that particular moment, back at Bowdler's house, Grundy, Helen
and the owner of the robot house were seated in the library. Bowdler
had his hand outstretched to a lever that projected from behind some
books. His eyes were glued to a clock. He said, "Five seconds ... four
... three ..." then he shook his heavy head, and threw the lever back
in its slot. "I'm afraid we'll have to give them up. It's past midnight.
We'll try again at noon tomorrow."
"Don't you dare leave the force field open for a few moments more?"
Grundy pleaded.
Shaking his leonine head, Bowdler pushed some books into place so
that the lever was hidden from sight. "I would if I could, Grundy. But
they must take their chances now."
"Even if Comstock has found that poor girl," Helen said, "what can
they do out in the night?"
"Twelve more hours before they can make another attempt to reach
safety here." Grundy shook his head. "I can't imagine where they can
hide from the omnipresent R.A.'s."
"If only Comstock knew a little more," Helen said, "but we didn't dare
try to open his eyes till you were here and it could be done under
your aegis."
"The poor innocent," Bowdler said, "you were right to wait for me,
but I wish things had worked out differently. Pat doesn't know much
more about reality than Comstock." He sighed and then rested his big
head on the myriad chins that formed a collar of flesh around his
neck.
"What," Grundy asked, "will the R.A.'s do if they capture them?"
"Stun them to death, I'm afraid," Bowdler said.
"No," Helen said hopelessly, "no, they wouldn't...."
But the R.A.'s would, all three of them knew that. Then they just sat
and waited, Bowdler staring sightlessly off into a future that only he
could envisage, Helen and Grundy holding onto each other
desperately in just the same fashion that Pat and Comstock were
clinging to each other, as they followed someone or something
through a pitch black room that seemed to stretch out forever.

The peculiar door had swung to behind them making all seeing
impossible. Comstock held his right arm around Pat's waist and held
his left hand before him wishing that his finger tips could see.
The unknown voice that they had heard only once said, "Just a
couple of seconds more, my buckos, and we'll be able to dispense
with this blasted Stygian darkness."
A fumbling sound, a click, and then white light poured down in an
iris-closing flood.
Blinking, Comstock and Pat looked around them. The room through
which they had been moving sightlessly was big but not as big as
their imaginations had made it. The clutter dwarfed the dimensions in
any event. Every available foot of space ahead of them was piled
high with a tangle of household objects that ranged from chairs and
tables to rugs and bed linen.
Their mysterious host was facing them and as their eyes became
accustomed to the light they saw a man of more than average
height, lean as a willow branch, a piratical smile creasing his lantern
jawed face, as he opened his arms in an all embracing gesture and
said, "Welcome to the Haven."
Danger had made Comstock super-cautious, otherwise he might have
ruined everything right then and there; for the first thought that
occurred to him was that by some stroke of incalculable luck they had
stumbled onto still another rebel. But remembering that Bowdler had
said that there were only four fellow fighters altogether made
Comstock wait for a lead. He said, "Thanks. You've probably saved
our lives."
Hands on his narrow hips, the stranger frankly eyed Pat
appreciatively. A low whistle preceded his next words, "Put twenty
years on you, honey child, and you're going to be a real live doll!"
If this man liked old women, Comstock reasoned, he could not be a
fellow rebel. But that made his conduct even more remarkable. Go
slow, very slowly and carefully, Comstock brooded, as Pat smilingly
asked, "May we know who you are?"
With vast mock-modesty, the man bowed low, and said, "I am known
by a variety of names, none of them my own. I am perhaps best
known as the Picaroon." Then he waited for them to express surprise
and pleasure.
They just looked at him. Slightly crestfallen he rose from his bowing
position, and said, almost anxiously, "You've heard of me? The
Picaroon? I steal from the poor and give to the rich?"
Comstock turned his head and looked inquiringly at Pat. She was as
puzzled as he.
Considerably crestfallen the man said, "The greatest outlaw in all
New Australia? The man the R.A.'s would give their left arms to
capture?" A frown crossed his face, then he said as though talking to
himself, "The dirty rats! They were supposed to write me up, they
promised they would, when I got sick and had to become a thief."
Whirling around on tip toe like a dancer, he pointed at the
accumulation of odds and ends that crowded the room. "Then what
have I been working so hard for? Why have I worked my fingers to
the bone stealing ... stealing, out every night when I should be
asleep, burglarizing every innocent house I come to? Why, I ask you,
why? It's enough to make a man become a cynic, that's what it is!"
Slumping into a chair that was already overcrowded with various
objects, he put his head in his hands. A terrifying thought seemed to
occur to him. He looked up at them. "If you don't even know who I
am, if they aren't even writing up my criminal exploits, what did I go
to all the trouble of preparing this Haven for? If they're not chasing
me, if there is no danger, how can my cure work?"
"I'm sure I don't know," Comstock said since the man seemed to
want some kind of an answer. All the while the thief had been talking,
Comstock had been racking his weary brain trying to recollect what
illness crime was a cure for. He couldn't remember.
A hopeful look came over the man's face and he leaped up from his
seat. A long forefinger jutted out at Comstock. The man said, "I've
got it. You're lying to me! You're undercover workers for the R.A.
You're spies come to root me out! Luckily I have taken precautions
against that very thing. The Picaroon can't be caught napping! No
indeed!"
Whirling around the man who called himself the Picaroon suddenly
swooped towards a pile of metallic looking objects whose identity
Comstock had not yet been able to determine.
The thing he grabbed was about three feet long, made of some
shining metal, was about an inch in diameter and came to a point.
The handle, if that was what it was, glittered as he inserted his hand
in the metallic basketwork and twirled the point of the object
dangerously near Comstock's nose. Comstock felt his nostrils twitch
as the object stirred up a breeze as it swirled past him.
The lean man said, "I knew this old sword would come in handy
some day. No one can outwit the Picaroon." He laughed and his voice
was pitched at what Comstock considered an almost hysterical note.
The point of what the Picaroon had called a sword swung back and
forth in front of Pat and Comstock. With his other hand he grabbed a
long loop of narrow cloth and threw it to Pat. "Tie up your fellow spy
and then I'll take care of you...."
Comstock said, "Do as he tells you, Pat, darling. Do it instantly." His
voice quavered for he had suddenly recollected what sickness it was
that thieving cured.