Collected Short Fiction

by C. M. Kornbluth

  Dodd winced as he thought of it. His specialty on Earth had been labor relations. It had been elementary, to him, to transform the most militant delegation of business agents into a calm, gentle gathering of mannerly arbitrators. Wages and hours, even under the complex labor laws of this Twenty-second Century, were problems that a determined man could resolve. The touchy questions of job seniority, union recognition, and the new device of the Sealed Shop were simple—though Dodd had never thought so when, as an Earthly rocket-construction official, he was obliged to deal with them.

  But his four months on the icy planet of Neptune had given him a brand-new perspective. On Earth, strikes generally had some cause. Here, they never had.

  Dodd wanted to stamp and swear, attack the ships’ frames with his own bare hands. He wanted to ram the cubic miles of heavy-metal alloys they contained right down the throat of his dear friend Prince Fetzop of Neptune. If it hadn’t been for Fetzop he would still be on Earth, where he belonged, where customs preserved a sort of uniformity, and the code of laws didn’t come out of Alice in Wonderland.

  “But no!” he snarled at himself. “You had to show His Highness the town! You had to let him sweet-talk you into founding a new interspace line for the outer planets!” He stared bitterly at the flaring gas-discharge sign that read, in malignant mockery of his sorrow, “Neptunian and Inner-Planet Rocket Transportation Company.”

  The prince had arranged a subsidy from his father’s government, had backed the new company both financially and morally. He had cushioned the way for his Earthly friend, so that the full impact of Neptunian custom and tradition hadn’t hit the Terrestrial until construction was well under way.

  Amazingly, the first real taste of Neptunian idiosyncrasies that Dodd had been forced to take had come not two hours before. That was when he had issued a routine order to one of the men whose work he had been overseeing. Instead of using the pneumatic riveter as Dodd had directed, the guinea-pig-like Neptunian had seemed about to hurl it at the man’s head. After sizzling in unexplained wrath for a second, he had taken out his venom in screaming incomprehensible but obviously inflammatory phrases at the other workers.

  It had looked like the beginning of a riot for a while. But reason had prevailed and the workers had walked out without actually committing mayhem on Dodd. Then Dodd had vidiphoned Prince Fetzop, who had shown vexation but had promised to straighten things out.

  IT WAS a vast relief to Dodd when the rotund figure of the prince appeared in the dimness of Neptune’s high noon. Dodd turned on the yard lights, flooding the vast chamber, and accusingly faced his benefactor.

  “Now what did I do?” he demanded bitterly.

  Fetzop shook hands seriously—though clumsily, for he had only the three fingers usual to his race—and his head drooped.

  “Pm afraid, Kenneth,” he said in slow English, “that this time you’ve hit the jackpot. Of all the customs to violate, you chose the most ticklish one.”

  “Explain,” said Dodd in resignation. “I’ll believe anything.”

  The prince looked up. “It’s a bit complex, Kenneth,” Fetzop sighed. “It has to do with the recent death of my lamented royal father, King Ampoglat. He was a king, you see, and we here are very reverent toward our kings.” He seemed to consider his own statement for a while, then added, with what Dodd took for bitterness, “At least, after they are dead. In fact, there is an immense network of custom surrounding the monarchy that even the most enlightened of us dare not offend. Now, when you spoke this morning of pneumatic riveters, or in our tongue hopstans, you made a veiv—”

  “Hold on a second,” broke in Dodd, feeling dizzy. “I admit I don’t know much about your infuriating language, but I do know that the word for riveter is oglat. Don’t try to tell me different.”

  Fetzop winced. His piglike ears quivered nervously. “That, Kenneth, is what I am driving at,” he explained. “You used the old word. That is very bad; in fact, it cannot be endured. It is an insult to the late king, since his name becomes sacred and must never be referred to again.”

  “But that isn’t his name!” yelled the Earthman. “It’s only part of it. His name was Ampoglat.”

  “Quite as bad,” nodded Fetzop. “No part of his name must ever occur in our speech again.”

  “That,” said Dodd with deliberation, “is nuts. How can you run a planet like that? How do you have any words left?”

  “People forget,” shrugged the prince. “Since nobody can say it, it cannot last more than one generation. Unless, of course, someone treasonously hides a book in which the word is printed. But that is a severe crime against the state. The language does suffer, though,” he admitted sadly. “For instance, I envy you Earthmen your poetry. We have none.” He seemed to meditate on Terrestrial verse for a second, beaming as much as his fox-featured face would permit. Then: “But to get back to immediate issues, the new word is hopstan. Use it in the future.”

  “I will not,” said Dodd with determination. “I’ll have no use for any Neptunian patois back on Earth, where I’ll be within four days. Unless, of course, the rocket liner in the city yards now suffers a breakdown en route.” He looked carefully at Fetzop to observe the effect of his words. There was only a vague sorrow observable in the mild pink eyes of the prince.

  Tentatively, Dodd took a few steps toward the door. But over his shoulder he heard the mournful voice of the prince saying, apparently to himself, “Neptune is still a sovereign state.”

  Dodd whirled. “Meaning what?” he snapped.

  “Meaning only that a ship cannot leave our ports without an exit clearance.”

  “Ha!” Dodd snarled. “Threatening me! You mean if I try to leave on that ship you’ll stop me?”

  THE portly scion of Neptunian royalty was suddenly serious. “I don’t want to force you to stay here,” he said earnestly. “I think a good deal of you, Kenneth. You know I do. But very much depends on your remaining. Too much to jeopardize. You’ve offended our customs before, you know, and I’ve had to get you out of it.”

  “No I do not know. When?”

  “Oh, many times. Your pernicious Earth habit of smoking, for instance. Every time you light a match you violate a basic taboo. Heat is precious here. Open flames are wasteful. I’ve explained to everyone that your body chemistry required it, so that was all right. My people do not know too much about you yet. Then again, you do not always eat all of your food. But the worst thing of all was your telling someone that you had studied biology in your Earthly college. Even I found it hard to forgive that.”

  “In heaven’s name, why?” Dodd was exasperated. “You teach it in your schools too. You told me so.”

  “Yes,” nodded Fetzop. “But not as you do. You experiment on—live guinea pigs.” His voice dropped down to a horrified whisper as he finished. He carefully refrained from looking Dodd in the face.

  “And you experiment on live glunas,” Dodd accused. “What’s the difference?” Fetzop drew himself erect. “We do not look like glunas,” he declared angrily. “Did you ever stop to consider, Kenneth, what Earthly creature we most resemble?” Dodd got it—and coughed to hide a snicker. The Neptunians were proud of their porcine appearance. He could see clearly how, to their touchy temperament, the use of guinea pigs in laboratories would be a life-and-death offense.

  “Of course,” Fetzop went on, “I told them it was a lie—that you had been joking with them. It was the only way out.” Dodd eyed the Neptunian suspiciously. This sounded very fishy to him, for you could not describe the prince as modest.

  “Why,” he demanded forthrightly, “are you covering for me? And why haven’t you told me about it?”

  The prince squirmed in his tight romper-like clothes. “Well, Kenneth, you know that Eve invested a good deal of money in the company. I can stand to lose it, of course, but I’d rather not. Without you, the company might as well close up shop. On the other hand, your violation of some of our most sacred customs makes it difficult for me if you stay aro
und. The Koshcha”—that was the Neptunian equivalent of the British House of Lords or the ancient Japanese Ronin—“will be electing the new king soon. I’m a potential candidate, of course, and I can’t afford to be associated with a menace to Neptunian traditions. Too much depends on it. So much, in fact, that I’d rather not talk about it. It upsets me.”

  Aha! So that was it, mused Dodd triumphantly. Fetzop was in trouble two ways. He had to keep Dodd around to protect his touchy bankroll. And again, he had to be circumspect about it so as not to queer his chances with the Koshcha.

  “Okay,” said Dodd finally, having reviewed everything to his satisfaction. “I’ll stay—and I’ll try to keep out of trouble. It might help, of course, if you were to write down a few of the most important rules for living around here; but I won’t complain. Now, suppose we get down to this matter of the walk-out . . .”

  FETZOP FIXED UP the walk-out without too much trouble. Dodd didn’t ask how he’d done it; it was enough that it had been accomplished. The Earthman made a mental vow to have as little to do with Neptunians as he could. He avoided them very thoroughly, conversing with them only to issue what orders were absolutely necessary. And to double-check his caution, he got Fetzop to rehire the Neptunian translator who had interpreted for Dodd during his first weeks on the planet.

  The interpreter wasn’t quite perfect, of course, but Dodd assured himself that nothing was ever perfect on this forsaken sphere. The Neptunian didn’t know English any too well, though he’d spent several years on Earth. Most of it had been spent in space-port bars, Dodd guessed. That might explain how he’d lost the section of his lower lip which caused his lisp.

  But he did speak English of a sort. And he knew Neptunian night life. When the quitting whistle sounded—an Earth innovation on which Dodd had insisted—the Terrestrial turned to his sharp-faced interpreter and regarded him without enthusiasm. “Suppose we can get a drink tonight?” he asked coldly.

  The Neptunian looked shocked. “Alcohol?” he gaped. “Of courth not. It ith forbidden.”

  Dodd, who had expected it, nodded stoically. “Why this time? Another religious rite?”

  “A very sacred one. They are holding the new electionth for the monarchy. All over Neptune it ith forbidden to—”

  Dodd leaned over and sniffed. The fumes of alcohol that floated from the dog-faced one’s lips brought a dour smile to his own. “Skip it,” he advised. “I suppose it will cost us double rates to blaspheme a little.”

  The taut Neptunian face split into a snaggy grin. “That ith better,” he commented. “Do you wish a floor show or jutht a bar?”

  Dodd, remembering the chorus of Neptunian beauties he had seen the week before, shuddered and said, “Bar.” He made a mental resolve to visit the Earth-rocket in port and see if he could horn-swoggle the steward into selling him a case or two of Terrestrial Scotch. The Neptunian firewater, apparently distilled from bat-blood and brimstone, let Dodd forget his troubles for a while. But it always doubled them the morning after.

  THERE WAS A TERRIBLE rattle in the middle of the night. Dodd, who seldom had callers, didn’t venture a guess as to who it might be. He rolled out of bed with a moan and just managed to catch his bursting head as it tumbled off his shoulders.

  The clapper sounded again, like the clashing of dry mastodon bones. Dodd cursed and struggled into robe and slippers.

  He opened the door and in staggered the prince. Dodd scarcely believed his eyes, for it was a totally changed Neptunian he saw—haggard, distrait, eyes rolling with terror.

  “Hide me!” begged Fetzop, his chest heaving. “Get me out of sight. They’ll kill me—vivisect me—tear my limbs off one by one!”

  “Why?” yelped Dodd. “What’s the matter?”

  Fetzop didn’t answer directly. “Give me a drink,” he implored. “I’m going to die so I might as well die in peace.”

  Dodd mutely mixed him a drink. He thought of making one for himself, but caught a whiff of the liquor, turned faint green, and refrained.

  The Neptunian gulped it down, choked, and held out his glass for a refill. The alcohol seemed to calm him down. He slumped into a chair and wrung his three-digited hands. He stared with anguish at the Terrestrial.

  “Kenneth,” he said mournfully, “you’ve been a good friend to me. Do you know what has happened to me now?”

  Dodd shook his head. “Something bad?” he ventured.

  “Bad!” barked Fetzop. “The very worst. Eve been elected king!” He began to sob piteously. The tragedy seemed too much for his morale.

  Dodd reeled. “Why, congratulations!” he began automatically. “I’m very happy for Your Majesty. May you enjoy a long and—”

  “Kenneth, stop mocking me!” howled the prince—the king, now. “Don’t you understand? It is our custom that the king shall be a popular man. To make sure of that, he is compelled to go through a three-day period immediately after his election when any Neptunian may club, maim, shoot, or otherwise injure him without redress.”

  Dodd took only a second to answer. Danger was always a spur to him. “We’ll see about that,” he snapped vigorously. He slid open a drawer and drew out a young arsenal of handguns and charges, tried to pass a brace of them to the new king.

  Fetzop recoiled in horror, his hands fluttering behind his back. “No!” he exclaimed. “I can’t take those! I might lose my head and attempt to defend myself. That is punished very severely.”

  “God help us!” groaned Dodd, remembering a mild punishment Fetzop had once mentioned to him. It had involved boiling in molten tungsten, inch by inch. “What a race to be born into! What will we do?”

  “That,” said the king somberly, “is your problem. I am not allowed even to run away. No one within our dome-cities will hide me, and I may not go out of them. Even you will not be able to hide me. They will be here soon, seeking me.”

  Dodd thought it over, then shrugged. “Well,” he said caustically, “if you can’t stay and can’t leave, maybe you’d just better take your medicine and get it over.”

  “I didn’t say I had to remain in the city,” Fetzop said carefully. “I said I could not go out. Now, if you were to pick me up by main force and drag me out, there is little I could do about it since you could overpower me.”

  Overpower him! Dodd looked at the Neptunian’s seven-foot, three hundred pound frame and thought what a liar the man was. But he was a friend, so Dodd had to make sacrifices.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.” He looked surprised when the prince, looking worried, did not move.

  “You’ll have to carry me,” he said gently.

  THEY were practically at the edge of the city, skulking through its great dim basements, before the first sounds of pursuit became audible. At the noise of the approaching searchers, Fetzop leap off the improvised sledge on which Dodd had been straining to drag him along and rolled into action.

  “May my ancestors forgive me for this!” he gasped. “Go up through there! Hurry!” He boosted Dodd through a ceiling trap, followed himself, and then rolled it shut, closing out the sound of the followers. They were on a street near the edge of the city, next to one of the great heat-locks.

  Fetzop looked worried. “Did I do wrong, Kenneth?” he implored. “I didn’t actually run away from them; I merely came out of the basement to the ground level. That should be ethical, shouldn’t it?”

  “Sure. But what now?” panted Dodd.

  The monarch sighed and a new expression came into his face.

  “Kenneth,” he explained painstakingly. “I’m not going to watch you for the next few minutes, but I earnestly caution you that honesty is the best policy and that it would be criminal and irreligious to break open a storehouse—should there be one around—and take out of it two heat-suits, concentrated food for three days, and a motor sled.”

  Deliberately he turned his back on the storehouse just across the way. Dodd stared at him in strange fascination, then bent to the lock on its door. He smashed it cleanly aw
ay, whirled as a voice spoke to him.

  But it was only the king, his back still turned, who seemed to have forgotten something. “Don’t steal any fuel either, Kenneth,” he added.

  AS THEY SPED across the frozen tundra of outer Neptune, Dodd monkeyed with the engine of the little streamlined sled. He finally got it running satisfactorily. He turned off the giveaway running lights and turned up the rheostat of his heat-suit a trifle.

  “What,” he then demanded, settling back and staring reflectively at the brilliant stars in the night sky above, “is this all about?”

  The King of Neptune seemed to have recovered some of his calm. “It is the custom,” he said simply. “I do not know when it started or how, but I curse the day. “As you know, the royal family is complicated by polygamy. Commoners on Neptune are allowed only one wife, but the king may have as many as the Koshcha approves. My late father left some thirty sons by his twelve wives. The Koshcha, upon the death of a sovereign, elects the new king from the sons of the old.

  “This time I was the unfortunate one. The theory is that they first choose the sons they like least. These are rapidly killed off within their respective three-day periods. Then, as they commence choosing more popular princes, and the real malignancy goes out of the hue and cry after the elected one, the people are assured of a well-loved king. If they didn’t love him, they would kill him. What could be simpler?”

  “Poisoning the drinking water system of Neptune,” suggested Dodd, but His Majesty was not amused.

  “I was,” he went on sorrowfully, “thoroughly unpopular. And, I am sorry to say, that was largely because of you. If I—”

  He choked off and pointed wordlessly upward, his piggy eyes bulging with terror. Above them Dodd saw the characteristic rocket-flare of a plane. It was low and circling.

  Luckily, it was still dark—though even Neptunian daylight is a dim, dusky thing compared to the brilliant sunlight of Earth. They could not see the plane except by its flare; the plane, therefore, would also be unable to see them. As if to make a liar out of Dodd’s thoughts, a slim finger of pinkish light reached down and touched the ground a hundred yards away. It flecked and darted about with grim determination. The chances were against its striking them, but . . .”