Fiction Complete, page 7
THE OTHERS were leaning forward, excited by the Psychologist’s implications.
“By Center,” Sortal, the Chemist, swore. “Clerid, it isn’t impossible at all. Remember that planet in Sirius? We could breathe the atmosphere, but after a, few minutes we were complaining of all the aches and pains our bodies had room for; we never did find out the exact cause.”
“And which of us was the most seriously affected?” Clerid asked.
Tornan snapped his fingers. “Center! Rorn! And he was the first to complain, too.”
“Sometimes,” Clerid nodded, “we forget that we’re human, but we shouldn’t. We aren’t automatons—yet. Perhaps, when we reach the stage where we can be bred artificially in laboratories, we will be. Until then, some must be weaker, some stronger: among every group there must be those who will succumb first to illness or diseased.”
Vanda, unconvinced, laughed. “Are you suggesting that if we remain here we’ll all take off our clothes, grab a native, and live in a grass hut?”
“Not at all,” Clerid assured her. “I am saying that it’s possible for some of us to become affected by the Raalkaarian atmosphere in some way. Our arguing and bickering, our nervousness, are ample proof of that. Anyone of us might be next. Myself, you, Hald—anybody. I think we should leave Raalkaar as soon as possible; it will take some time for us to completely recover, I imagine.”
“Rorn was drinking the native liquor,” Keri pointed out. “Gkrana, I think it’s called. Could that have made him more susceptible?”
“Of course,” Tornan said. “As far as I know, Rorn was the only one of us to touch the stuff; but I know from my experiments that it has a high alcoholic content and several peculiar properties.”
“Sort of ‘creeps up on one’,” Clerid said, translating a Raalkaarian phrase.
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BY MORNING the entire crew had reached what was, for them, a state bordering on panic. Immediate preparations had been made to blast off from this frightening little world, leaving Rorn to whatever fate Raalkaar and Fara might hold for him.
They were making last-minute checks of the ship’s instruments’, and Clerid was feeling secure and comfortable for the first time in days, when they heard the sound of stones being pelted against the spaceship’s hull—the signal that the Raalkaarians wanted to contact them.
The Psychologist stood by. nervously, as Keri opened the airlock. Noko, surrounded by an honor guard, armed with spears and stone knives, stood outside. His old face seemed even more lined and drawn than usual. There were traces of tears in his stern eyes and he kept his hands clasped tightly at his sides.
“What is it?” Keri asked, looking over the group.
“By accident,” the chieftain said, “Rorn and Kara were discovered. My people on the island of Seryan were running out of murak, their favorite food, and . . .”
Vanda, always impatient with Raalkaarian ways, stamped impatiently. “Get to the point, old man,” she told him.
They had sent hunting parties to various unsettled, parts of the island in search of more,” Noko said, ignoring her entirely. “One party came upon Korn and my niece, camping at the far end of the island.”
“Did they bring them back?” Keri asked. The other member of the Expedition were crowding close around him.
“We brought them,” Noko said sadly. He turned and motioned to the group behind him. Four huge warriors stepped out of the crowd; between them they carried a crude litter, covered with a blood-stained fabric.
“The hunters were curious,” Noko explained. “Rorn became frightened. When he tried to attack them . . .”
The chief’s voice trailed off as his bearers sat their bundle down on the ground beside the spaceship. As Tornan and Keri stepped out, there was a stir of fear from the crowd waiting a short distance behind Noko. The Raalkaarians had no doubt that these men from space would bring immediate retribution for Rorn’s death—perhaps by blasting all of Raalkaar to bits.
AS THE Doctor and the Captain bent over Rorn, Fara came running toward the ship, scratches and bruises on her arms where she had been restrained by some of her people. Her face was grimy with dirt and tears, her skirt was ripped in a dozen places.
Half naked, she knelt by Rorn’s body and buried her face on his chest. Awkwardly, Tornan and Keri stood aside. There were several seconds of absolute quiet, broken only by Fara’s sobbing. Finally, turning her anguished face toward the Dorjalan’s, the girl cried, “Now you’re free to leave Raalkaar! You leave nothing behind! You need have no fear of our corrupting Rorn now!”
She got up and walked slowly to the airlock where Vanda stood. The Engineer retreated a pace.
“You couldn’t have Rorn,” Fara said between sobs, “and now neither can I. But I had something from him for a little while that you could never have in all your years with him. I had his love—his tenderness and affection.
“Even now I’m carrying the germ of him inside me. I’m lucky enough to be the one to have Rorn’s child—something of his to love and train and watch grow the way he would have wanted.”
Calmer now, she turned to her uncle. “Look, Noko. These are the godpeople—the voyagers from the sky. Rorn was killed because he had the courage to fight when he thought he and I were in danger. He fought with his bare hands to protect me. Do you think any of these would have done the same?”
Noko squirmed uncomfortably and said nothing.
“You don’t have to fear what Rorn’s child might be like now, uncle. It will be like Rorn, and Rorn was as different from them as we are. It took his death to prove it, but we could have kept him here with us if they hadn’t been so worried about their precious ideals.” She turned back to the Dorjalans. “You ought to wish that you—all of you—could become as Rorn became—human!”
Then she turned and walked back to her people, ignoring her uncle, never glancing at Rorn’s blood-soaked body on the ground beside the spaceship.
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A calm had settled over most of the crew. Death had removed the problem confronting them; only Clerid, of all the Dorjalans, felt sorrow at leaving the tiny world. Watching the tableau below from the ship’s vision screen, the Psychologist realized he had little kinship toward his own people.
Back on Raalkaar, by the edge of the calm blue sea, the natives were digging a grave . . .
Aunt Liz
DEAR NEPHEW:
When I heard of your marriage to a Centaurian I was, of course, greatly surprised. Although I must admit that I feel some pride in the fact that at least one Stillon of the present generation had enough old-fashioned guts to do what he wanted and practically tell the rest of the family to go to the devil, I cannot condone your actions.
Like any other Terran of good family and background would be, I am shocked at the idea of you taking a foreign wife. In my opinion the various racial and cultural differences make such a marriage unthinkable. At least there is one consolation—I understand that there can be no children born of a union between a Terran and a Centaurian.
Although I wish you and your Kia every happiness and success, please be advised that I have already changed my will, dividing what was to have been your share among the other members of the family. I sincerely hope that you will bear me no ill will for this decision, but that you will understand that I cannot permit any part of my estate or the family business to fall into the hands of heathen foreigners, and in case you were to die before your wife that is what would happen.
Your aunt,
Elizabeth Demarra Stillon
1 June 2160
Dear Roger:
Your brief note and the picture were appreciated. I am glad that you bear me no enmity, although your letter was very short. A rich old woman has few people who like her for herself alone.
You and Kia certainly appear happy, and as a woman who has loved passionately in her time (although you who have known me only as an ancient old dame will probably find this hard to believe) I certainly hope that the bloom of love lasts for many years. The girl looks quite lovely—in her savage way, of course. She is not so green-skinned after all, is she?
Please write again and let me know more about your life there. When will you be returning for a visit?
Affectionately,
Aunt Elizabeth
P.S.—Although I realize it is probably the custom on Tarko Sil, do you think it is quite wise for you and Kia to live with her family? After all, you are an outsider and I wonder if such an arrangement might not cause some hard feeling.
15 August 2160
Dear Roger:
Your long letter greatly appreciated. It cheered me up immensely. It looks as though my reply will be quite as long, but certainly not as cheerful and as happy as yours.
Roger, you cannot imagine the mess the Stillons are in the midst of.
Despite my age, I like to think that I am a progressive person. In my opinion, therefore, the day of the rocket is at an end. The old tubs served us faithfully and well for two main so—unless by some stroke of good luck something drastic happens hundred years, but the time has come when they will be replaced. Mark my words, this new teleportation business—Immediate Transition, I believe they call it—is the coming thing. My great difficulty is that I am unable to make these idiotic nieces, nephews and grandchildren of mine see it.
Out in the Belt, Homer Gyron—he’s Bertha’s husband, you will recall—has gone in hock completely to corner the stellarium market. Except for myself, Stillon Company is behind him to the hilt. The fortune may be mine, but Homer is elected head of the corporation and will re- to the little pipsqueak—for the next eight years.
The damned Solar Federation is explicit in its corporation laws—unless a president’s actions are incompetent or harmful to the Government he may not be removed from power for the decade for which he is elected.
While the stupid Stillons have gone to great expense to corner all existing stellarium, our only competitor—that upstart Kildraine’s Rocket Enterprises—has quietly gone and manufactured a synthetic fuel, probably vastly superior to the natural stuff and the first major improvement in rocketry since the Frankhauser Convertor twenty-five years ago. Nothing is out in the open yet, but I know what is going on. Kildraine is planning to squeeze us out—probably he thinks that with an improved fuel he can get Rocket Enterprises subsidized by the Federation and create a rocket monopoly. He has powerful friends, and he can swing it.
My idea is for the Stillons to buy Irving Baum’s Immediate Transition outfit, which as I said I believe to be the coming thing in transportation. Teleportation would outstrip rocket travel just as the mechanical age of the ancients put an end to animal transportation.
So you can see the three-way squeeze I’m in. I control the Stillon purse strings, but the rest of the family has outvoted me. Legally, there isn’t a damned thing I can do except watch what happens. I’m aching to invest in I. T., but they have me at a standstill. Baum’s company is still in the experimental stage—he needs financing badly—but if he ever puts it over, goodbye rockets. And goodbye Stillon Company.
I’m sorry to be such an old crybaby, Roger, especially when there is nothing you can do about the situation here. You are well out of it, my boy—God bless you for being a black sheep. I think the Stillons need more like you. Too bad you’re the end of the one live branch on the decayed family tree.
Your letter about Centaurian customs and traditions was most interesting. I imagine you are having a wonderful time. I’m glad too that you get on so well with your wife’s family—r that alone is half the battle. More and more I am beginning to admire your courage in shedding yourself of the rest of us and striking out on your own.
By the way, you have not made it clear just what field you are in. I would enjoy hearing about your work.
All my love and good will,
Aunt Liz
VIA PRIVATE SPACEGRAM
12 SEPTEMBER 2160
AMAZED THAT I. T. HAS FORMED SUCH A LARGE ORGANIZATION ON TARKO SIL, BUT UNDERSTAND THE NECESSITY OF CARRYING ON RESEARCH OUTSIDE THE JURISDICTION OF THE FEDERATION. CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR POSITION. YOU MAY WIND UP BEING THE RICHEST STILLON YET.
AUNT ELIZABETH
VIA PRIVATE SPACEGRAM
25 SEPTEMBER 2160
OF COURSE YOU AND KIA ARE WELCOME TO VISIT ME AT ANY TIME, BUT STICK TO THE ROCKETS FOR NOW. DO NOT RELISH THE THOUGHT OF YOU TWO BEING THE FIRST HUMANS SENT VIA I. T.
AUNT ELIZABETH
2 October 2160
Dearest Roger and Kia:
You cannot imagine how wonderful it was to see you, even for so short a time. As I told you, the fact that Immediate Transition has advanced to a point when it could actually transport human beings safely merely added to my assurance that the day of the rocket is finished.
I agree with you that teleportation will not find a warm welcome with the Federation at this time. I repeat that the Solar Council is as crooked as a Venusian khanda vine. I have investigated very closely since my talk with you and I have found that my fears are well founded. Kildraine has infiltrated his men everywhere. He is probably more aware of the danger that I. T. presents to rocketry than anyone else on Terra. In one fell swoop he is making certain by planting his own men in the right places that (1) Stillon Company is doomed and (2) Immediate Transition will die still-born.
I’m afraid, Roger, that there is nothing we can do except wait for the end. I hope you will understand why I do not take your well-meant advice. True, I could unload and salvage at least a small portion of the Stillon empire for myself, but you and I are Stillons of the old school, my boy—we’ll meet the end fighting.
The day may well come-when I will accept your invitation to come to Tarko Sil with you and Kia, but I’m afraid I’ll be a broken old woman then—you probably won’t want me.
Love to you both,
Aunt Liz
15 December 2160
Dear Roger:
I am aghast at your letter. To satisfy my own mind, I have made discreet inquiries here among the leading biologists. All of them repeat what I knew before—there is no possibility of a Terran male impregnating a Centaurian woman.
I can scarcely believe it of Kia, but there seems to be no other course but to accept what you fear is true. I think you are wise to continue as you are now—convince Kia that you believe the innocence she professes, in spite of the evidence. I only hope your love is great enough to see the two of you through this crisis.
In the meantime, I have a few ideas of my own and if you do not resent an old woman being a busybody, I shall continue with them.
There is nothing new in the other situation as yet, but the handwriting is on the wall. With the new elections coming up, I have no doubt but what Kildraine will have his way and take over the Council entirely.
Courage, my boy.
As ever,
Aunt Lu
4 January 2161
Dear Roger:
In less than two weeks now, the elections will be upon us. Kildraine’s men seem to be gaining in popularity and that only stabilizes my theory that this year will see the downfall of the Stillon empire.
But now for the big news. I have met and talked with that great man, Irving Baum. How I managed it is of no concern, but rest assured that this old woman still has her ways.
Ordinarily Baum and I would be the greatest rivals, but we are both threatened by the stronger Kildraine and that allies us, He is certainly a grand old man and he has terrific courage in spite of the odds against him. He is truly inspiring.
There’s life in the old girl yet, to use an ancient and worn cliche.
Lovingly,
Aunt Liz
P.S.—Regards to Kia.
GREAT NEWS FOR US ALL LETTER FOLLOWS.
15 March 2161
Dearest Roger and Kia:
Well, Kildraine has had his way and his Councilmen have taken over, but Stillon Company still has its own bag of tricks.
That offensive little Homer Gyron has been moved down to an unimportant post in Industrial Relations and we have a new head—your Aunt Elizabeth. In spite of the fact that most of our money is invested in stellarium, I will still be able to liquidate the firm quietly and invest the remainder where I think it will do the most good—and you, of course, know where that is.
As soon as Kildraine’s men took over, one of their first actions was to announce that Homer was not acting in the best interests of the Federation. That little idiot had done a great thing for us by buying up all the stellarium holdings, even though he didn’t know it. It seems that Kildraine’s formula is synthetic in its other ingredients, but still uses a stellarium base. It is, of course, vastly superior to what we’ve been using, but he still needs the real article.
And in buying up stellarium, Homer Gyron had created a monopoly. It seems that it is all perfectly legal for Kildraine to create such a monopoly for himself by perfecting his secret synthetic fuel to the point where it will knock Stillon Company from its perch, but illegal for Stillon to control the stellarium market. It is all very involved and I don’t fully understand it myself, but since it is Kildraine’s idea, I say the hell with it.
Well, the dethroning of Homer left the rest of the family in a swivit, I can tell you. They were more than eager for an experienced hand to take over the company and since I controlled the money, it was simple for me to get myself elected. Kildraine isn’t the only one who can control elections, even though he does think Stillon Company is frozen out.
But by keeping up the guise of continuing to operate a failing rocket line, all of the Stillon wealth is now swung over to research upon and perfecting of Immediate Transition. In a few years we’ll have teleportation advanced to the point where it will entirely outmode rocketry, as I’ve always said it would.
Now, as for you kids. I told you that it was dangerous for you two to be the first humans to travel by I. T. In fact, Irving was furious about it until I quieted him down. Since I told him of your clandestine trip and the fact of Kia’s later pregnancy, he’s been doing a lot of research upon the animals they’ve sent through experimentally.
