Fiction complete, p.84
Fiction Complete, page 84
The bureaucrat behind the counter buzzed inquiringly at Rygeef, and Radigan realized with perfect certainty that the question had been, “Did you want something with the Customs Department?”
“Say, Rygeef,” he whispered, “how is it I can understand him?”
“You do not,” replied the monster. “You are still receiving my mental projections. Since I have been thinking at you for some time now, I automatically put this one’s question into your style of thought. It is simpler so.”
The gray hulk behind the counter leaned forward.
“Who was it you just called simple?” it asked unpleasantly. “And, by the way, what is that object you have there?”
“This,” replied Rygeef, “is a being of the planet Terra, named Radigan. I brought it back to Khonyl with me.”
“Well, now, we must check that origin,” said the official.
One forelimb reached beneath the counter and came up with a thick object that Radigan recognized as a book despite a peculiar shape of binding. There must have been a thousand pages of some shiny material halfway in appearance between silk and aluminum foil. The monster turned a number of leaves, scanning them with eyes roving independently. At length, Radigan received the full battery of the jet-orbed stare.
“What planet?”
“Terra,” repeated Rygeef. “You will not find it listed yet. I have just discovered it.”
“So!” The official glowered importantly. “You should know that regulations forbid the importation of pets without an adequate period of quarantine.”
“Whaddya mean, ‘pet’ ?” demanded Radigan.
The customs monster ignored him.
“It is hardly a pet,” answered Rygeef. “Despite its weird looks, it is a perfectly rational being, not far inferior in attainments to us of Khonyl.”
“A likely story!” scoffed the other. “I think you imagine yourself a joker, but just to be serviceable, I shall test this claim.”
Silence fell as the official turned a penetrating scrutiny upon Radigan. The Terran bore it for a few moments, but could not help fidgeting a bit.
“Well, what have you to say now?” demanded the customs clerk, thrusting its unlovely visage at Rygeef. “I thought right at it. Did it give any sign of enlightenment? No!”
“You don’t look too bright to me, either,” muttered Radigan, scowling.
Again, he was ignored, as Rygeef spoke.
“That was because I did not translate to its language,” claimed the explorer. “I have become accustomed to its style of thought.”
“Let us make this clear,” suggested the monster behind the counter. “Do you claim to be a returning traveler or an animal trainer? If the latter, the proper department is Export and Import, to begin with anyway. I will give you some forms to fill out—”
“You blubber-ball!” said Radigan.
“Who are you to call me an animal, anyway?”
“There!” buzzed the official exultantly. “I distinctly heard it growl at me! Are you sure it is safe in that glass muzzle? You will be responsible if it injures anyone, you know.”
Before Rygeef could answer, the other reached across the counter and rapped on Radigan’s visor with one three-digited foreleg.
The Terran jerked his head back as nimbly as was possible in a spacesuit. Raising his right hand, he angrily slapped the monster’s limb away.
He had forgotten the heavy gauntlet of his suit. The official leaped back with a banshee yell, clasping the bruised member in its other forefoot. It danced about behind the counter, tripped over something, and disappeared to the accompaniment of shrieks and rubbery thuds.
Radigan restrained himself from climbing the counter when Rygeef pointed to a doorway at the rear of the enclosed space.
Two monsters clad in dark-red harness were issuing from the room beyond, and at the gallop. Their skin was light-gray and unwrinkled. Besides bearing long staffs, they showed every evidence of being young and in good condition.
The customs official reappeared, pulling itself up behind the counter. Radigan suspected that its features were contorted with pain, but it was difficult for him to be sure. There was, on the other hand, little doubt as to the quality of the stares directed at him by the oncoming reserves. Though originating in markedly alien surroundings, the look had much in common with that which he had received from the guards outside the Terran capitol.
“It’s come to this again,” he muttered to Rygeef.
“I must apply the usual remedy,” answered the other sadly.
The force cyst flowed into visibility about them once more, and the external threat was blotted out. Rygeef stared reflectively at the black cube he held.
“We ought to back up and start all over again,” grumbled Radigan.
“Perhaps,” replied the monster thoughtfully, “it would be best to return and not start at all.”
“How’s that?”
“I shall attempt to reach Procyon again. There, if we can find the right planet, you may return to your ship as if nothing had ever happened.”
Radigan nodded resignedly.
“It would be a relief,” he admitted. “Still . . . we ought to at least exchange coordinates. Now that our races have met, it seems a shame to lose contact. The galaxy isn’t, overstocked with civilizations.”
Rygeef was silent, examining the black cube with patient interest. At last, the creature from Khonyl looked directly at Radigan.
“I agree. Perhaps those who come after us will have better chance at the next contact. A small preparation is all that should be necessary. It is also possible that I may supply you with the means to return to Khonyl.”
The Terran watched as the black cube was unfolded into two halves by the monster’s triple-digited members. From the half opposite the studded face, Rygeef drew a small black box.
“This is meant as an emergency control. You will note that the studs are less numerous, so it should be possible for me to explain their function to you before we part.”
“Will that little thing carry me the way we’ve been going?” asked Radigan skeptically.
“Since it taps energy of the galaxy, you have to need no fear. It is just that some . . . tricks . . . it can not do. But first, we must find this star you call Procyon.”
After arriving in the vicinity of Procyon’s fifth planet, it required only four attempts to bring the force cyst to rest in a spot both secluded and on the surface within easy walking distance of Radigan’s ship. Radigan, under constant coaching, achieved one of the shifts; and its failure to carry them to any desirable spot was interpreted by Rygeef as evidence of forgetting the terrain rather than as clumsiness with the control cube.
“It would perhaps be well for you to experiment cautiously against the time when you may wish to contact Khonyl,” the monster advised. “Until such time, I shall desire good chances for you.”
“Good luck to you, too,” said Radigan.
He found that he regretted the parting, for he was beginning to get used to Rygeef’s monstrous appearance. It was difficult, also, to dispel a certain awe at the gift that had been thrust upon him. He wondered, if the positions had been reversed, whether he would have managed such generous cooperation.
“I’ll get in touch with you for sure!” he promised, slipping through a gap in the shield that Rygeef opened for him.
The gully in which he stood after the force cyst had disappeared from visibility led him down to the plain where the exploring ship had landed. Radigan trudged doggedly across the stony expanse of waste land and eventually reached the towering spacecraft.
Two men, suited but with their helmets open, were evidently packing the last few odds and ends of equipment onto a tracked vehicle. One of them was making a determined, though only partly successful, effort at smoking a pipe. The other, a bantam redhead, put down a folding pick to watch Radigan come up.
“Hi, Johnson,” said the prodigal son.
“Where’ve you been?” demanded Johnson. “Thought for a while the Old Man was gonna sidetrack our party to search for you.”
“Party?”
“Yeah. Jimmy, here, and Conn and I are fixin’ to take a turn around those hills to see what might be dug out of them—if anything. Conn’s just now up talking to the Old Man about looking you up first. All the others that went out on foot were back hours ago. Where you been?”
Radigan looked back at the hills, then glanced at the ladder up which he would presently climb on his way to some crowded nook in the ship where he could examine his black control box in detail. The question was so totally beyond his ability to answer rationally that he could think of no rejoinder.
“Oh, I got around a little,” he offered weakly.
He held Rygeef’s instrument unobtrusively behind his hip and tried to change the subject.
“You guys are going to look through the hills?” he asked.
“Yup,” said Jimmy, removing the dead pipe regretfully from his mouth. “Got any tips for when we get there?”
“Just one,” said Radigan. “Stay out of caves. Can’t tell what you might fall into.”
He glanced up at the sky as he started up the ladder.
I’ll have to come out after dark, he reminded himself, and get a good fix on Sol. Next time I get lost, it won’t he where the boys can find me.
THE END
1955
The Shell Dome
Zhufegh was a trading planet . . . and they had the “goods” to prove it!
WHAT IS IT, Jollok? Oh, the visitors from interstellar space, the two of them, eh? Bring sponge mats, and mind they are suitably sopping!
Now, then, sirs? Gentlemen? Is either the correct term? I know that I speak your so-called lingua galactica but poorly. It is that my speech organs are in their structure influenced by our undersea origin, but I hope to make myself understood.
I do? Thank you. Please to take a sponge mat. Lie, sit. . . . whatever you do. My, but you are flexible——Your pardon! I should say. . . . let me see. . . . supple?
Yes, it is me, the shell, my exterior. I am not as immovable as may seem to beings possessed of your four powerful limbs, so strong that in our gravity you need only two to move about. Still, I can extend my foot, which has many, many small muscles to creep along the ground, and there are also little. . . . doors. . . . in my carapace through which I can put out arms—you would call them tentacles, I believe.
What is the matter? You would prefer them more dry? Ho, Jollok! Squeeze out the sponge mats! And spread the water evenly; the floor is almost dry enough to be sticky.
Yes, it is of shell grown for us by domesticated creatures, as is the rest of the dome, although we use metals and other materials for decorative partitions sometimes. You must pardon Jollok’s clumsiness, if you will be so forgiving. He makes a very useful house attendant for all of his limited intelligence. As you may have surmised, we obtained him from a planet several light years from here.
Yes, space traders. They made us a present of him. I could not bear to part with him now. With those six heavy tentacles, he is almost as mobile as yourselves and very willing to be of service.
Oh, forgive me! In my excitement at greeting visitors from who shall guess what depths of space, I have displayed the aridity of mind to omit introductions. My name is Ueshlepp, and we call our world Zhufegh.
How is it? Richard Bralier, of the planet Terra? You must explain to me where that is later. And Phyllis Montoya. Welcome to Zhufegh. I feel Phyllis to be a pleasing name, one which vibrates soothingly upon the auditory membranes.
Ears? Those? You truly hear with those? I, on the other course, have a long row along the edge of my carapace. . . . here. And you get along with only two—remarkable! What occurs should one be bitten off, or otherwise injured? Can you then walk or swim straight?
Well, to be sure, I am getting out of the main current. We must exchange such knowledge later. First, it is to see that you are comfortable. Please allow for my ignorance of your needs. We on Zhufegh have many visitors from space (you will afterwards meet a few) and the variety of customs is indeed bewildering. I can only inquire if you desire darkness, light, food, warmth, opportunity to lay eggs.
What have I said? How is it that one of you is able to change his color?
Oh. . . . her color? Remarkable! I did—forgive me—think you rather dull but for your visual organs and the reddish tendrils one of you grows from her head. At least, not to be compared with the necreous pinks and greens of my shell pattern, or why else would you disguise yourselves with those clumsy coverings? But now I wonder. Can you turn other colors besides pink?
Ah, the reference to egg-laying! I apologize. How was I to know? Indeed—two of you? An interesting method, though possibly clumsy. And we have here one of each kind. . . . how fortunate!
Yes, fortunate. I shall show you what I mean. Jollok!
Jollok, fetch my electric cart.
You will see that we of Zhufegh are quite conscious of the comforts of industrialization, even though we have not found it advisible to venture into space. I could, of course, walk, but it would more time take. We used to build our domes with shell lined canals for floating from one cell to another, but that has gone out of fashion.
Ah, here we are! Help me on, Jollok, then close the curtain behind us. Richard, Phyllis, if you will follow. . . .
I do not drive too fast? Good! See there! The translucent section in the wall of shell? We call it a weatherport. Since the sun is obviously shining outside, we shall use the submerged passage to the next dome. It is a short way only.
Thank you; I did not think it would seem far, since you appear accustomed to greater weight. . . .gravity, should I say? Through here, if you please. . . .
What? Oh, no, no. He is from a very distant planet. Do not worry—he cannot break through at you, for the shell, though transparent here, is very strong. Ugly, yes, to my sight lenses also. He affects most visitors that way; they usually hurry on to the other specimens I have collected here. I think it must be because he is so big and purple, although it may be the blotches of warts among his scales.
Please to not fear. He will not break the wall, no matter how he tries. I think it is that his feeding time is approaching—tomorrow or next day, it must be. We have to keep him sealed off in such a chamber because our air is too thick and moist for him. What a world he must have grown on!
You did not know such existed, Phyllis? Oh, these we are passing now! Well, I believe I could show you many forms of life that would be strange to you. Many, many traders and space explorers have reached Zhufegh. The astronomers tell me it has something to do with the position of our sun at the intersection of three great swirls of stars. Doubtless you understand that better than I. My interests, as you perceive, are mainly zoological.
Ah, observe this little beauty. Listen, and you may hear him hissing. As he breaths the same air we do, it is possible to have him kept simply behind metal screening. He usually greets me whenever I drive by. Well. . . . perhaps he is shy at the sight of. so strange—because you are strange to him. A creature of rather low intelligence which I obtained from a ship that had traveled to many worlds.
Here, then, is the door that awaits us. Allow me, please, to edge my electric cart ahead to where I can reach the lever. Thank you, but I can manage quite well. Just let me get this left front tentacle extended through the shell opening . . . there!
Yes, inside. I will keep it open by holding the lever while you step through. So!
Yes, naturally, I closed it. Yes.
Come in? What would I want to come in for? Is the air not breathable, or is there something else you require?
No, no! I reside in the other dome; you will be kept here. You do not seem to understand, although the guardians assured me that you had been prepared as soon as your ship had been sent away. I should have someone shelled for this negligence! All they did was extract the language from your sleeping minds!
I know, I know; but we will have it made more comfortable for you. Tomorrow, I shall have transparent panels installed on the entire front of the cell so you can see the visitors too. And if you will make some sort of list of furnishings for your cage, I shall obtain whatever I can.
Oh, do be quiet! I hope you do not intend to become tedious, like the one down the row which always tries to kill the keeper who brings its food. Do not threaten me with your spaceship! You do not seem to understand that it was sent away with the minds of its crew blank concerning this place. Why else do you think certain of us are assigned to guardian duty? What we lack in mobility, we must make up in mental power, or Zhufegh would be overrun by all sorts of queer monsters.
We have enough of you to study as it is. Please do not make the duty more difficult for me. You might as well make yourselves happy.
After all, you have a long time to live here, if I can help it, I am here to see that you do, for you are very rare and valuable specimens.
1957
The Night Of No Moon
A rough planet, Boyd III—survival of the fittest gave way to survival of the worst tempered!
THE MAIN TROUBLE with the planet Boyd III was one satellite too many.
Had there been no third moon, large and dose, the tides might have been less confused and the weather more predictable. Certain peaks of atmospheric wildness, recurrent coastal catastrophes, logical but distressing customs of the natives—lack of these factors would have made Boyd III a much more attractive world.
The same lack, however, would not have tempted Pete Guthrie to survey such conditions from the surface of the planet as part of his exploratory and mapping duties. But it was too late now to be sorry he had not secured his rocket properly against the incredible tides of the shoreline he had rashly chosen for a landing.
He mentioned this, for about the hundredth time, to Polf.
“Huh! Cables! Braces! No matter when wind-spirits want you,” retorted the local humanoid, darting a cowed glance at the sky from beneath his heavy brow-ridge. “They want you stay, we will keep you.”
