The Seventh Golden Age of Science Fiction Megapack

by H. B. Fyfe

  A framework was being constructed about the hull by a swarm of natives. They had reached halfway up the ship, which served as a central column. Much of the exterior appeared to be a network of strangely curved sections of wood that had been given a high polish. Mayne suspected the greenish highlights were reflections of the forest color.

  “Bone,” said Voorhis succinctly. “They collect it from things they catch in the sea. Main supports of timber, of course, built to fit the hull.”

  “The fish here grow very large,” put in Haruhiku. “If you could call them fish, that is. I once saw them butchering what looked more like a dinosaur.”

  Mayne realized that the bone framework formed a sort of curtain wall. At the lower levels, some of the natives seemed to be experimenting with a coating of wet leaves which they were molding to the wall.

  “They’ve soaked them in something they boil out of fish parts,” his pilot explained. “Like the village roofs. When it dries, it’s pretty hard, even waterproof. The stink never dries out.”

  “But what do they have in their bony little brains?” asked Mayne. “Just what is that mess supposed to be?”

  “A temple, believe it or not,” answered Voorhis. “They tell me I set her down on land sacred to the great god Meeg!”

  Mayne looked at Haruhiku.

  “Oh, come on, now! I came all the way from—” He stopped as he noticed the pilot’s grave expression. “Oh! That sort of thing could be serious, I guess.”

  He imagined he had seen the chief, Eemakh, come alert at the mention of the local god. Mayne sighed. It was going to be a long day.

  He was saved for the time being by a hail from the direction of the village. A procession was approaching along the set of ruts between Mayne and the ship.

  The place of honor appeared to be occupied by a two-wheeled cart of crude but massive design. Upon it rode a Kappan driver, two Kappans with spears and the look of official guards, and a Terran with a death-grip upon the side railing. A brace of truculent beasts of frighteningly saurian mien shuffled ponderously along in the loose harness. From time to time, one or the other would stumble over a turn in his rut and emit a menacing rumble as if he suspected his team mate of causing the misstep.

  Before and behind this conveyance marched a guard of honor of Kappan warriors. The rear contingent kept close to the cart, but the advance party had opened a noticeable gap between themselves and the hulking team.

  The procession halted, the soldier in charge raised his spear in salute to Eemakh, and the shaken Terran was assisted to dismount. He introduced himself to Mayne as Robert Melin.

  “Let’s go over to the hut they made for us an’ sit down,” suggested Voorhis.

  Melin, a tall, gloomy blond whose civilian suit seemed a trifle formal for the surroundings, acceded gratefully. He mopped the dust from his long face and watched the cart being turned around.

  The procession moved off in the direction of the village, the advance guard stepping out especially smartly, and Mayne began to get his conference arranged.

  He learned that the evicted crew of the Gemsbok had been living in the hut nearby. Before it stood a long table with benches, all evidently knocked together from recently felled timber. Melin was given credit for this by Voorhis, since before the arrival of the insurance adjuster and his crew, no power tools had been available to the men from the Gemsbok.

  Mayne took a place at the end of the table. Some of the Gemsbok’s crew came out of the hut to watch. Most of the Kappan warriors attending the chief took up stations between the table and the ship, in a manner suggesting long habit. Mayne guessed that attempts had been made to re-enter the ship.

  He put Haruhiku at his right hand to translate should it be necessary. Melin and Voorhis sat at his left, their backs to the hut. To the other side of the table, Eemakh brought two Kappans who were explained to Mayne as being the tribal high priest, Igrillik, and Kaynox, who represented a sort of district overlord.

  “I meant to land up by their city,” Voorhis put in, “but we hit some bad winds up in the stratosphere. We got knocked around a bit in the storm, and set down where we could.”

  “Well, tell me about the details,” said Mayne. “I want to get this straight from the start, if I can. By the way, Lieutenant Haruhiku, explain to the chief that a special envoy is on the way, that we want his friendship, and that he will be dealt with fairly.”

  He waited out the exchange of choppy speech between the pilot and Eemakh.

  “He says he is sure he will be fairly dealt with,” reported Haruhiku.

  “I wonder what he meant by that,” murmured Mayne. “If we make a deal here, and thereby with his overlord, will that cover enough territory to be official?”

  “As much as you can get together anywhere on this world, sir.”

  Mayne nodded, then turned to Captain Voorhis.

  “Now about this so-called crash?” he prompted.

  “Well, there was this storm, like I said. Trouble was we didn’t expect to hit it and…well…somebody took it in his head to blow some of the fuel tanks for a crash landing. That’s why I’m not claimin’ anythin’ on the fuel,” he finished, turning to Melin.

  “We are perfectly willing to pay on that item,” replied the insurance man.

  “Anyhow,” continued Voorhis, “I set down here where we saw the open spot, an’ then of course we were stuck with nothin’ to lift off with. It looked all right. We’d unload our goods, an’ if the local crowd couldn’t use them all, why they’d pass the rest on at a profit to themselves. So we come out to palaver, an’ then they won’t let us go back in the ship. We were just lucky my com man had sent out a landing report when it looked like we piled up, or the Space Force patrol never woulda heard of us.”

  “Was there any trouble?” asked Mayne. “Any unnecessary hostility?”

  Voorhis considered, rubbing the back of his head thoughtfully.

  “Well…I suppose, lookin’ at it their way, they coulda been a lot rougher. A couple of punches got thrown, an’ one of my boys got a spear busted over his head, but mostly they acted…well…maybe more like cops than cannibals.”

  “Just enforcing the native laws, eh?”

  Voorhis did not swallow that quite so graciously. He did not know or care what the local laws might be, but he thought it suspicious in the extreme that he should have plopped down exactly upon the spot chosen by the natives for a temple.

  “So do they have to use my ship to hang it on?” he finished plaintively.

  “The company is in agreement with you there, captain,” Melin put in. “You see, Judge, our point is that nothing is really lost or seriously damaged, neither ship nor cargo. They are merely being withheld from their rightful owner, and we believe that puts the responsibility for recovery upon the Terran government. Captain Voorhis has our entire sympathy—”

  “Yeah!” said Voorhis. “An’ if I get my head sliced off tryin’ to get at that undamaged cargo, you’ll come to my funeral! I say it’s a loss!”

  “Now, gentlemen!” interrupted Mayne. “Let me get on with this. Both of you, I’m sure, realize that I’m not a lawyer in spite of being a special judge. If the colonies way out here had enough lawyers to spare, I certainly wouldn’t be sticking my head into this. Nevertheless, any decision I make here will be regarded as legally binding by the government of Rigel IX, so let us remain level-headed.”

  “Very well, Judge,” said Melin. “Here are the figures on—”

  “Please round them off,” said Mayne. “If I have to listen to a long list in centicredits, I’ll probably go off to see what kind of beer they brew here.”

  “You wouldn’t like it,” muttered Voorhis, staring sourly at the village.

  “No doubt,” grinned Mayne.

  Melin swallowed and returned to an inner pocket a sheaf of papers he had withdrawn.

  “Speak
ing very loosely,” he went on, as if hating to do anything loosely, “the coverage was about as follows: for the Gemsbok herself, two million; but that was really a nominal figure accorded as a sort of courtesy. Otherwise, at her true worth, the authorities would hardly have permitted Captain Voorhis to take her into space—”

  “Get on with it,” urged Mayne, to forestall any wrangle.

  “Er…yes. Then on the cargo, the purchase cost of two hundred thousand credits.”

  Voorhis visibly flinched and began to acquire a ruddy hue.

  “And, finally, on the fuel load, the cost price of three hundred thousand. Of course, Judge, there are detailed clauses as to normal use of fuel. He was actually insured against defects, premature explosions, accidental loss, et cetera.”

  Mayne did some addition in his head.

  “So your company,” he said aloud, “is prepared to pay two and a half million for the loss sustained by Captain Voorhis. What seems to be wrong with that?”

  Both men began to talk but Melin, struggling less with temper, got the lead.

  “Actually,” he said, “we feel liable for only three hundred thousand.”

  Now it will get tough, thought Mayne. He silently awaited elucidation.

  The combined stares of all parties, including the enigmatic glance of Eemakh, calmed the spluttering Voorhis. Melin continued.

  “In the first place, the true value of the ship, even if we consider her to be incapacitated—which we do not—is only about one hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “She’s worth more than that as scrap!” bellowed Voorhis.

  “No, captain, just about that. It is exactly how we valued her. Do you have any idea, Judge, of how old that crock is?”

  “Let’s not go into that just yet,” suggested Mayne.

  “As to the fuel,” said Melin, “I am willing, as a gesture of good will, to stick my company’s neck out—and mine with it, you may be sure—and honor a full claim.”

  “Even though he used about half the fuel getting here?” asked Mayne.

  “We’ll ignore that. We admit that he is out of fuel, and we want to—”

  “You want to give me a moon and take a star,” said Voorhis.

  “Just a minute!” Mayne held up his hand. “That’s the ship and the fuel. What about the cargo?”

  “Why, as to that, Judge, we do not admit that it is lost. It is right over there, easily accessible. We consider it more the job of the Space Force to restore rightful possession than it is the responsibility of the company to reimburse Captain Voorhis for the inflated value he sets upon it.”

  “I begin to see,” murmured Mayne. “You can’t stick each other, so you’re out to slip me the bill.”

  That aroused a babble of denials. Mayne eventually made himself heard and demanded to know how the spacer’s evaluation differed from Melin’s. Voorhis pulled himself together, glowering at the insurance man.

  “In the first place,” he growled, “I don’t want his lousy payment for fuel. I said I’d take the blame for that, an’ I will. On the ship…well, maybe she ain’t worth two million. Maybe she ain’t been for a few years now—”

  Melin made a show of counting on his fingers.

  “…But they charged me premiums by that figure an’ I say they oughta pay by that figure.”

  “But can you prove she’s a total loss, captain?” asked Mayne.

  Voorhis grimaced and spat upon the ground.

  “Try to get near her, Judge! You’ll get proof fast enough!”

  “Well…about the cargo, then?”

  “That’s where he’s gouging me!” exploded Voorhis. “The idea of using the cost as of loading on Rigel IX! Hell, you know the margin of profit there is in trading on these new planets, twenty to one at least. I figured to lift off with four million worth of ores, gems, curios, and whatnot.”

  “So your point is that the mere transportation of the goods through space to this planet increased their value. What about that, Mr. Melin?”

  Melin shifted uncomfortably on his bench. Mayne would have liked to change his own position, but feared splinters.

  “There is an element of truth in that,” admitted Melin. “Still, it would be rash to expect such a return every time a tramp spaceship lands to swap with some aboriginal easy marks.”

  “I suppose,” said Mayne, “that our orange-eyed friends speak no Terran?”

  “I hope not!” exclaimed Voorhis.

  “Well, anyway,” Melin said after a startled pause, “how can we be expected to pay off on hopes? He wants the paper figure for the ship; but he refuses the paper figure for the cargo.”

  Mayne shrugged. He turned to Haruhiku.

  “If Captain Voorhis and Mr. Melin don’t mind, lieutenant, I’d like to get the chief’s view of all this.”

  “Hah!” grunted Voorhis, clapping both hands to his head.

  Melin contented himself with rolling his eyes skyward.

  With Haruhiku translating, Mayne began to get acquainted with the Kappans. The visitor from the neighboring city chose mostly to listen attentively, but Igrillik, the priest, occasionally leaned over to whisper sibilantly into Eemakh’s recessed ear. Mayne fancied he saw a resemblance between the two, despite Igrillik’s professional trappings—a long robe of rough material that had been dyed in stripes and figures of several crude colors, and a tall cap to which were attached a number of pairs of membraneous wings.

  * * * *

  The first thing that Mayne learned was that the Gemsbok was not a spaceship; it was a symbol, a sign sent to the Kappans by the great god Meeg.

  “And why did he send it?” asked Mayne.

  He had sent it as a sign that he was impatient with his children. They had vowed him a temple, they had set aside the necessary land, and yet they had not begun the work.

  “Is that why they’re all over there, slaving away so feverishly?”

  It was indeed the reason. After all, Meeg was the god of the inner moon, the one that passed so speedily across the sky. If he could guide the strangers’ ship directly to his own plot of ground, he might just as easily have caused it to land in the center of the village. They had seen the flames that attended the landing. Could the honored chief from the stars blame them for heeding the warning?

  “I see their point,” muttered Mayne resignedly. “Well, maybe we can talk sense about the cargo. Tell them that there is much in the holds that would make their lives richer. Tools, gems, fine cloth—give them the story, lieutenant.”

  This time, Eemakh conferred with the high priest. It developed that the cargo was a sacred gift to be used or not as the god Meeg might subsequently direct. The chief meant no insult. The Kappans realized that Voorhis and his crew were no demons, but starmen such as had often brought valuable goods to trade. The Kappans had not sought to harm or sacrifice them, had they? This was because they were both welcome as visitors and respected as instruments of Meeg.

  Eemakh wished to be fair. The starmen might think they had lost by the divine mission. Very well—they would be granted land, good land with forest for hunting and shoreline for fishing. But go near the temple they should not!

  “Could I get in to inspect the cargo?” asked Mayne.

  Haruhiku took this up with the Kappans, who softened but did not yield.

  “The best I can get, Judge,” said the pilot, “is that they wish it were possible but only those who serve the purposes of Meeg may enter.”

  “They would look at it that way,” sighed Mayne. “Let’s leave it at that, until we can think this over some more. It’s time for a lunch break anyway.”

  * * * *

  He and Haruhiku were flown back to the scout ship. Mayne brooded silently most of the way. Voorhis thought he was entitled to about six million credits for ship and cargo; Melin thought half a million for the ship and fuel would be st
retching it. Mayne foresaw that he would have to knock heads.

  The two of them lunched in the pilot’s cabin, with hardly room to drop a spoon. Except for companionship, Mayne would as soon have eaten standing in the galley.

  He considered the vast area of the planet’s land surface. Would it be wiser for the envoy to land elsewhere? What sort of ties were there between tribes?

  “Loose,” the pilot told him. “Still, word gets around, with no great mountain or ocean barriers. They’ve split into groups, but there is a lot of contact.”

  “So if the Space Force should seize the Gemsbok, they’ll all hear about it?”

  “Within a few weeks, sir. That kind of news has wings on any world. I think we could take her for you, but we might do some damage. The size of a scout crew doesn’t lend itself to hand-to-hand brawls.”

  “And if you sling a couple of torpedoes at the Kappan village, you’ll probably wipe it out,” said Mayne thoughtfully. “Give the story a month to spread, and no Terran would be trusted anywhere on the planet. Hm-m-m…hardly practical!”

  “There would also be a chance of damaging the Gemsbok.”

  “Actually, Eric, I’d hardly care if you blew her into orbit, with Voorhis and Melin riding the fins! But I’m supposed to spread sweetness and light around here—not scraps and parts of spaceships.”

  He gnawed moodily upon a knuckle, but saw no way to escape putting up some government money. Soaking the company would just make them appeal instead of Voorhis.

  “This Meeg,” he said to change the subject. “How important is he?”

  Haruhiku considered a moment before replying.

  “They have a whole mess of gods, like most primitive societies. Meeg is pretty important. I think he has a special significance to this tribe…you know, like some ancient Terran cities has a special patron.”

  “He’s the god of that little moon?” Mayne asked.

  “Oh, more than that, I think. Really the god of speed, a message bearer for the other divinities. There always seems to be one in every primitive mythology.”