Fiction Complete, page 53
“You can bet they’re tryin’. Maybe they will some day; but right now, they gotta get it from underwater plantations on Rerv IV an’ nowheres else. That’s why these vacuums had it so good till the Lrymians tried to push in.”
“They had nothing much to do, the way Fuller put it.”
“That’s right,” agreed Ferris. “The Rervites work the plantations an’ dry the weed on the beaches. But the Terrans control the export, an’ you know what that means.”
“Keeping the price up by shipping out just so much?”
“Sure. Now these hungry wonders from around Lryme are trying to cut in. You’d think a planet would be big enough for everybody, but maybe not. This is the only land for a base, an’ the Terrans got here first.”
“You think that’s Fuller’s angle, to chase the monsters out?”
“What else?” Ferris shrugged. “That’s his business, seein’ to it that Terrans get the inside orbit on any trade through Sol. I think he got us here to start some sort of riot after we get the Terran factors organized the way he told us. Then, either we pitch the Lrymians out, or he can call for government help.”
“Why can’t he anyway?” asked Taylor. “Or start the riot himself, if he wants one?”
“I guess he thinks it ain’t legal for a man in his position,” grinned Ferris. Taylor snorted.
“What’s the matter?” Ferris prodded. “The idea of doin’ something illegal bother you?”
In spite of a brief struggle with himself, Taylor had to smile.
“I’ll tell you one thing, though, to tuck away in your atomic little head,” he declared. “I got a theory that what would bother Fuller would make me turn white. And you, too!”
Ferris grinned and shrugged, but offered no argument.
At dusk, following the lingering afternoon of Rerv IV, they descended to the main hall of the inn for dinner. The green-scaled Rervite waiter brought them a variety of seafood which he assured them—in mushy speech barely understandable as Terran—would be acceptable to their stomachs.
Some of the dishes consisted of shellfish of exotic appearance, some resembled fish, and some caused Taylor to remark about “pickled spinach.” Having visited many planets, however, the two visitors were inured to unfamiliar foods.
They were finishing with a jug of something very like wine—invented by the Terrans from a sea growth, the waiter told them—when a distant hubbub came to their ears.
“Something popping out in the street,” muttered Taylor, setting down his tapered cup. “Coming this way, too.”
“Wait till it gets here,” advised Ferris, pulling him down to the bench again.
They sat quietly at the rough table, watching the few other Terrans present crowd out the door. One of them exclaimed something about Lrymians.
The noise of many voices, Terran and some that were much more shrill, moved closer. Taking the jug with him in one hand and his cup in the other, Ferris drifted to the door. Taylor stepped lightly after him.
Looking out, they saw an angry Terran in the middle of the street, confronting an unhealthy-looking individual with a dull, blue-white skin who could only have been a Lrymian. From the general position of the crowd, it appeared that the gathering Terrans had blocked the passage of about a dozen Lrymians.
“Bet the snakes were chasing some Terrans up the street,” muttered Taylor in his partner’s ear.
Now, outnumbered two or three to one, the aliens hesitated. Ferris examined them curiously.
A foot or so taller than humans, the Lrymians were slender in a snakish way that was emphasized by the way their narrow heads were set upon curving necks two feet long. The bulging black eyes, two pointing forward and two backward, seemed too large for their heads.
At first glance, Ferris thought he saw their legs from the knee down, under the long robes they wore belted twice in the length of their skinny bodies. Then he realized that their legs were no longer than he saw, although the four tentacles of each Lrymian were equivalent in reach and setting to human arms.
The tumult was degenerating into what sounded like an outpouring of complaints and countercharges. The shouting Terran was being out-gestured four to two, but he possessed a loud bellow and the Lrymian was slow of speech. It was about even. Ferris filled his cup from the jug and sipped.
“They won’t fight,” grunted Taylor contemptuously.
He half-turned to go inside.
“Wait a minute!” murmured Ferris, grabbing his friend’s elbow. “Look over there!”
Lounging at the rear of the Terran crowd, though obviously not a part of it, was a chunky man in still unfaded clothes. He was hatless in the lingering warmth of the twilight and his wavy golden hair was neatly brushed. He wore a handsome purple jacket, but was apparently “roughing it” without a neck scarf.
As his casual blue stare met Ferris’ dark gaze over the heads of the crowd, he ran a finger along his blond mustache and looked away with no sign of recognition.
“Well,” said Ferris, “he knows we’re here. I guess working hours start now, instead of tomorrow.”
Fie poured the last few drops of wine from his jug and nudged Taylor.
“Get out among ’em, Gerry; an’ when it starts, you finish it! I’ll cover in case things get serious.”
He waited, sipping his wine unhurriedly, while Taylor bulled his way to the point in the crowd where the Terrans ended and the Lrymians began. Ferris took a careful look around to make sure he was unobserved.
Then he hurled the jug past his partner . . .
There were about fifty Terrans at the meeting the next morning.
Those too late to find space on the benches covered the tables of the inn hall. Ferris and Taylor lounged on chairs tilted against the Terran-style bar at one end of the chamber, while the beefy man encountered on their arrival haranged the assemblage.
Finally, the speaker hauled out a large handkerchief, mopped his ruddy face, and gestured to Ferris. The lean spaceman rose and surveyed the faces watching him. As a result of Taylor’s performance the evening before, they were uniformly friendly.
“I admit,” he began, “that when I first met Ludman, we had words. But since last night, Gerry an’ me have been thinkin’ over what you guys are up against here.”
Exclamations of satisfaction greeted the reference to the riot.
“Now,” Ferris announced, “there’s only one thing to do.”
His audience hunched forward. “You got to get together an’ kick those snakes out before any more pile in here. It’s a nice setup, but they’re gonna squeeze you out if they can!”
“We know that,” called a voice above the growls. “What’re we going to do?”
“That’s easy,” Ferris retorted. “There’s fifty of you here now; that’ll do to start with. All we need is a little organizing. As soon as we get the rest of the Terrans on Rerv IV in, we’ll have a solid front. Then let them look out!”
He talked for a few minutes more, until he felt he had solidified the reputation he and Taylor were acquiring. When the ruddy Ludman rose once more to call for a vote, the two spacemen were unanimously appointed heads of the “Terrans Protective Committee.” A crude document was hastily drawn up authorizing them to act for the planters.
It developed during the next few days, however, that communications were poor among the islands. Many of the outlying planters spent part of their time undersea supervising the native Rervites working the tohkine beds. Some had telephone lines, but those with bases on the smaller islands could be contacted by telescreen only at intervals.
In all, about a Terran week passed while the planters gathered in New Honolulu, dribbling in by boat, by rocket, or by aircar. Ferris wore a smug look the day he roused Taylor from an afternoon nap to tell him he had finally slipped into the building where Fuller had set up an office.
“Good,” approved the other. “I was wondering when we’d get some definite orders. What’s he want?”
“He says he’ll let us know pretty soon.”
“I hope so,” grunted Taylor. “It ain’t so easy to keep these guys from charging over to the Lrymian settlement and starting a massacre. I had to pop one of them yesterday to shut him up.”
“I know, I know,” said Ferris. A shadow flickered in his dark eyes. “I hope that slicker hasn’t got any ideas about slippin’ the jets an’ leavin’ us to explain all his talk about inspectin’ Rerv IV for possible annexation.”
“Aw . . . I don’t think so,” said Taylor slowly. “What’s there in it for him that way?”
“I dunno. He wouldn’t likely tell me, would he? Not him!”
“Didn’t he say anything?”
“Well,” explained Ferris, “he had this message from the Lrymians, he said. Seems they heard about his big inspection tour, an’ they don’t like the chances of the planet bein’ taken over by Terra any more’n the planters do.”
“Taxes,” commented Taylor succinctly.
“Right. The way things are now, the B.S.T. gets the tohkine shipped to Terra duty-free because it makes so much difference in other deals. Anyway, Fuller wanted me to go see this Zrok-Tu that heads the Lrymians.” Taylor sat up straight on the hard bed.
“You ain’t going?” he exclaimed. Ferris grinned, and continued in a lower voice.
“I’ve already been!”
He moved lithely to the curtained doorway and satisfied himself that they were alone.
“What’s the idea?” whispered Taylor fiercely, when the other had returned to perch upon the foot of the bed. “If that mob hears about this—!”
“Nobody saw me,” Ferris reassured him. “I came in the other side of town and walked between the Rervite houses to the inn. Gerry, I think we have both ends of the jet plugged!”
“Yeah?” Taylor was skeptical. “Yeah! Before I left, I let the Lrymians talk me into makin’ a deal. They’re willin’ to co-operate to stay on Rerv IV.”
Taylor pursed his lips, considering. “We might work somethin’,” insisted Ferris. “I harped on the chance of the Terran government steppin’ in, so Zrok-Tu promised not to start anythin’ till he hears from me.”
“You got promises the Terrans won’t start it?” asked Taylor doubtfully.
“We got control, ’specially since we got them all to turn in their guns for safekeepin’ at the ship. They all know each other from ’way back, so naturally none of them lets the others tell him anythin’. That’s why we’re in charge—nobody has any old grudges against us outsiders.”
Taylor leaned back with hands clasped behind his head.
“I like to hear you figure the angles,” he said. “Now, tell me why the Lrymians don’t just send for help, too. Lryme is only a few light-years from here.”
“I found that out, too,” grinned Ferris. “Fuller wouldn’t tell me, but Zrok-Tu did. The slicker has three Terran space cruisers in an orbit around Rerv IV.”
He nodded at Taylor’s exclamation, and continued.
“The Lrymians are about numb for fear the annexation will go through an’ they’ll get sent back to Lryme without doin’ what they were sent for. They must have a cheerful kind of planetary government; they’re all shimmy in’ to the tips of their tentacles!”
“Well, that’s a relief,” sighed Taylor. “Maybe Fuller can figure out some place for them to escape to.”
He lay back after Ferris bounced out jauntily in search of lunch. The heat of early afternoon on Rerv IV encouraged the siesta habit.
Taylor thought of the sea that covered almost all the planet. From the Rervites he bad found time to speak with, he knew something of the general topography; and he could easily understand why most of the plantations were on the inner or polar side of the island ring. This was well populated by the odd but respectably advanced Rervite civilization. The few plantations on the comparatively narrow shelf to the outside, on the other hand, were subject to raids by the voracious sea life that roamed the deeper waters.
Just the same, thought Taylor, I bet it’d be nice on a day like this to put on a spacesuit and go under for a few hours. Hunting with those bone spears they showed me could be sport.
Hurried footsteps in the hall roused him from his reverie. Rolling silently to his feet, he hitched his shoulder holster into perfect position. For a moment, he considered slipping on the jacket that lay on the chair beside the bed.
The curtain was swept aside and three Terrans strode angrily in. Ludman, in the lead, slowed at the sight of Taylor and peered about suspiciously.
“Ferris here?”
“No,” answered Taylor, thinking swiftly and trying to keep the effort from showing in his expression. They’re onto him, he thought. I knew he shouldn’a gone!
“Ain’t seen him since morning,” he added.
Ludman turned to the other pair. One of them, a lean, bony-faced man with lank hair, said, “He could be lying.”
Their beefy leader looked doubtfully from him to Taylor, but remembered his grudging respect for the latter.
“Maybe not,” he said. “Listen, Taylor, did you know your partner went out to the Lrymian settlement this noon?”
Taylor looked shocked.
“What would he do that for? What happened?” he asked.
“That’s what we want to know,” growled Ludman. “Would he sell out?”
“Sell out?” echoed Taylor in horrified tones.
Ludman looked at him pityingly.
“We better find Ferris,” he told the others. “Looks like he crossed his partner, too.”
Taylor picked up his jacket and donned it to hide the dart pistol, striving desperately to think of some diversion. As he turned back to the delegation, they all stiffened to the sound of running footsteps in the corridor.
A second later, a ginger-haired Terran with splotchy freckles thrust his head through the curtains. Seeing the other planters, he was emboldened to enter.
“He’s down in the hall right now, eating!” he panted. “One of the Rervites outside the hall told me he just came back.”
The four looked at each other, then at Taylor, who suppressed a sigh of relief at the Rervite’s ignorance of Ferris’ trip upstairs.
“All right, Tim,” Ludman began, turning to the bony-faced man, “you cover the back door and—”
Taylor interrupted before the strategy could become too elaborate. “I want to see him face to face right away! You fellows got guns?”
Ludman looked aggrieved.
“You guys made us turn them in so’s there wouldn’t be any premature accidents.”
“Well, I’ve got mine,” said Taylor. As an afterthought, he added, “Even if Ferris is a lot faster than me!”
The thing to do, he thought as they tramped down the stairs, is let him know right off that they’re wise to him. That way, maybe he can get out without queering the whole deal.
Accordingly, he stamped over to the door of the dining hall in a fashion he knew would alert Ferris. He saw the latter rising from his table with one hand adjusting his neck scarf.
“The boys tell me you’ve been making friends with the snakes!” Taylor challenged loudly. “What’s the idea? Why didn’t you let me in on it?”
Ferris stared at him intently, and the big man saw the understanding dawn rapidly in the dark eyes. The planters crowding behind him must have made the situation only too clear.
“None of your business, sucker!” Ferris snarled as he whipped out his dart pistol.
Taylor dropped to the floor, tossing the planters aside with a mighty outward thrust of his arms. He heard them thudding down beside him as the string of needles wefit pok-pok-pok-pok through the woven cane jamb that decorated the doorway.
He looked up and saw that the holes were a good two feet above him; and it was with an effort that he suppressed a grin.
“Let’s rush him!” grunted the man called Tim.
Taylor kicked his feet from under him as he started to rise and reached under his jacket for his own pistol.
“Stay down; he’ll kill you!” he warned.
When he thought Ferris’ pattering footsteps must have reached the rear doorway, he raised himself on one elbow and shot at the wall beside it. As the gun vibrated in his hand, he saw the curtain drop loosely over the exit, so he shifted his aim to make a few holes for show.
The group rose as one and scrambled past tables and benches to the alley exit. There, however, Taylor restrained them.
“Careful how you stick your head out there!” he warned.
Ludman dropped the curtain abruptly.
“But we can’t just let him get away!” he complained.
“Why not?” demanded Taylor, scowling like one betrayed. “Let him go over to the snakes! We still control all the force—if we can get out to my ship in time!”
It took perhaps three seconds for the implication to sink in, whereupon Taylor was swept out the front entrance of the inn with the rush. In response to Ludman’s bawled commands, a light truck was procured in a matter of a minute and they piled in. The freckled planter drove, Taylor clung to the seat beside him, and the other three bumped around in the back.
Now I gotta think quick of a reason for not handing out the guns! Taylor told himself as the ship came into view.
When they slithered to a halt beneath its ladder, however, he discovered that he had been relieved of that problem. The bland features of agent Fuller peered down from the open port. Over the B.S.T. man’s shoulder gleamed the big teeth and eyes of a pair of Rervites.
“I thought you gentlemen might possibly be along,” remarked Fuller. “That is why I decided to impound this rocket and its collection of weapons.”
He’s not ready for the showdown then, thought Taylor.
As he watched Fuller narrowly for some kind of hint, a nudge from behind reminded him that he must make a showing.
“You can’t do that!” he retorted, feeling asinine but unable to produce any better comment in view of his relations with Fuller.
To carry the bluff through, he reached for his dart pistol, being carefully obvious about it. To his relief, Fuller moved before the weapon cleared Taylor’s jacket.
“I should consider it regrettable to distribute you gentlemen all about the spaceport,” said Fuller.
