A Galaxy Of Strangers

by Lloyd Biggle Jr

  “I still think we should hire a local attorney to draw up new insurance policies to conform with local practices.”

  “There aren’t any attorneys on Maylor,” McGivern snapped. “I looked into that the first thing—which is what you should have done. Get a move on and find me that claim precedent.”

  Late the next morning Dudley sat at his desk in the Galactic office, nervously contemplating a blank sheet of paper. He’d been up all night, and the blank sheet of paper was the same one he’d started with the previous day. He leaped to his feet in panic when the door opened, but it wasn’t McGivern—it was Hamal Bakr.

  “Come home, old man,” Bakr said with a grin. “All is forgiven. Eleanor has lunch waiting.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dudley demanded. “Eleanor just married—”

  “Her new husband divorced her this morning.” “It didn’t take him long to get acquainted with her.” “Oh, he didn’t want to divorce her,” Bakr said. “He couldn’t help himself.”

  “Eleanor frequently affects people that way.”

  “Nonsense. Have you looked into the divorce laws on Maylor? You should. If a husband refuses to eat the food his wife prepares, that’s grounds for divorce. Eleanor fixed the guy’s breakfast yesterday morning, right after the marriage ceremony. She laced the food with that special sauce of mine. The guy got sick and had to be pumped out. For lunch she gave him more of the same, and his sensitive Maylorian stomach put him in the hospital overnight. This morning he refused to eat breakfast, and she called in a judge and got her divorce.”

  “Obviously some woman thought up that law.”

  “You may be right. A man can divorce his wife any time he likes, just by refusing to eat, but there’s no divorce unless she makes the complaint herself and proves there’s nothing wrong with the food by eating it herself. Fortunately Eleanor has developed a taste for my sauce. It solved the problem neatly.”

  “Very neatly,” Dudley agreed. “Have you seen McGivern?”

  “Saw him yesterday. He gave me my new assignment—resident manager on Nunquad. It’s a pushover, and I leave tonight as planned. Now come to lunch.”

  They walked back to the apartment, Dudley maintaining a glum, meditative silence, and Bakr cheerfully commenting on Maylorian social customs and several times plucking Dudley bodily from the menacing traffic. Eleanor met them at the apartment door, kissed Dudley gushily, and escorted him to the luncheon table.

  “Maylorian stew,” she said brightly. “The recipe was the property of the deceased wife of my ex-husband.”

  “Too bad she didn’t take it with her,” Dudley muttered. He poked doubtfully with his spoon, took a small amount to sample—and doubled up in agony.

  “You put that sauce in it!” he exclaimed, when he had rinsed out his mouth and wiped his eyes.

  “Delicious, isn’t it?” Eleanor asked. “Have some more.”

  “I can’t eat the stuff, and you know it.”

  “This is a terrible blow to a woman’s pride,” Eleanor said. She went to the apartment door and opened it. The old judge stood there scowling.

  “At lunchtime, too,” he grumbled. “You Aliens have no innate sense of decency. Why can’t you divorce your wives at breakfast?”

  “Your Wisdom,” Eleanor said, “my husband refuses to eat the food I have prepared.”

  “Is this true?” the judge demanded. “I ask you now, in the presence of a witness, to eat.”

  Dudley glared at Eleanor. He clenched his teeth and firmly shook his head.

  “You will now eat of the food to demonstrate that it is properly prepared,” the judge said to Eleanor.

  “Certainly,” Eleanor said. She took Dudley’s bowl and ate noisily. “Delicious stuff,” she said.

  “The witness will note that the husband has refused to eat and that the wife has eaten. Present yourself at my office with your witness, and I shall draw up your bill of divorcement.”

  “Certainly, Your Wisdom,” Eleanor said. “Shall we come now?”

  “After lunch,” the judge said. “That’ll be in about three hours.”

  He went out, banging the door behind him.

  “I still have some packing to do,” Eleanor said. She flitted into the bedroom.

  “I suppose Eleanor is leaving Maylor with you,” Dudley said to Bakr.

  Bakr nodded. “The ship leaves at midnight. We’ll have the captain marry us as soon as we go on board.” “You’re entirely welcome,” Dudley said.

  “Glad you feel that way, old man—though I can’t understand why you’re so eager to give up a wife like Eleanor. She was afraid you’d fight it.”

  “She flatters herself.”

  “At least we can part friends. And we wish you luck with the insurance problem and especially with McGivern. I’ve never seen the old boy in such a violent mood. It’s too bad we didn’t think of that divorce gimmick earlier. We could have saved a lot of trouble.”

  “Bakr!” Dudley exclaimed. “You killed that woman deliberately!”

  Bakr grinned. “So what? Have you worked for McGivern all these years without his sermon getting through to you? Hasn’t he ever pointed his finger and said, ‘Be ruthless!’?”

  “He has. Quite recently, in fact.”

  “You should have listened. Men at the home office have been wondering for years when their bright boy Dudley will grow up and start doing a man’s work. The groundcar accident was Eleanor’s idea. She wanted to get you incarcerated so you couldn’t keep her from leaving Maylor. Apart from divorce, the law on this planet is entirely on the husband’s side. But neither of us bore you any ill will, and when we thought of that divorce gimmick we used it to get the judge and the police off your back. We didn’t have to, you know. I could have smuggled Eleanor away from Maylor and left you incarcerated indefinitely. Ready, Eleanor?”

  “Ready,” Eleanor said, bringing two suitcases from the bedroom. “You can junk the rest of the stuff, Walter, unless you want to keep it as a memento. Bye, bye. Keep a grip on yourself and don’t be too ruthless.”

  Dudley went to the window and looked out. He saw Bakr and Eleanor leave the building together and walk slowly through the construction area. There was a momentary lull in the street traffic; the two of them were alone except for the workers, who were raising another load of brick.

  The impulse struck Dudley so suddenly, the timing was so perfect, that he acted before he quite knew what he was doing. He whipped his penknife from his pocket, leaned out, sliced the nearest strand of rope. The sling collapsed instantly and the entire load of brick poured down upon Bakr and Eleanor.

  The horrified workers ran forward. Dudley turned away, seated himself on the sofa, and waited. His only thought was that the pathetic body under his groundcar had somehow been revenged, and he almost looked forward to suffering whatever penalty this queer Maylorian legal system imposed for killing one’s soon to be ex-wife.

  Then McGivern burst into the room. “You idiot!” he panted. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Dudley smiled calmly. “I’ve never felt saner.”

  “I was across the street—saw the whole thing.” McGivern flopped down beside him. “I don’t blame you for getting rid of that alley cat, but—in broad daylight, with fifty witnesses about? There’s bound to be a scandal, your connection with Galactic will be publicized, and it’ll be bad for business. Had you thought about that?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it in precisely that way.”

  “You wouldn’t. Consider yourself fired as of yesterday. If you can manage this so Galactic isn’t mentioned, I’ll furnish any money you need for your defense and buy you a one-way ticket to the world of your choice when—or if—they let you go.”

  “That’s magnanimous of you.”

  “I think so. Why’d you have to kill Bakr, too? I’ll admit he wasn’t much more than an ornament, but he had his uses. Of all the stupid, asinine, irrational things to do—”

  There was a knock at the door. Dudley calmly
admitted a police officer.

  “There’s been a most unfortunate accident,” the officer said. “Accident!” McGivern exclaimed.

  The police officer looked at him doubtfully. “Which of you is the Alien Dudley?” Dudley nodded gravely. “A clumsy oaf of a workman has managed to kill your wife,” the officer said. “Would you oblige us by identifying the body?”

  “Is that necessary?” Dudley asked.

  “No. Two of your neighbors already have done so. I have sent for a judge and the workman’s wife.”

  “The workman’s wife?” McGivern sputtered. “What the devil for?”

  “The workman has killed Alien Dudley’s wife. He must, therefore, give his wife to Alien Dudley. Are you not familiar with our Rule of Justice?”

  For one of the few times in his life, McGivern was speechless. “I shall return when all is ready for the marriage ceremony,” the police officer said. “Thank you,” Dudley told him.

  He returned to the window. A crowd of spectators had blocked off the street. Workmen were reloading the bricks, and a doctor’s robe was spread over the two bodies.

  “Marriage ceremony!” McGivern said hoarsely. “What are you up to?”

  “Does it matter? You just fired me.”

  McGivern was silent for a long time. Finally he said, “Does this fiasco have anything to do with solving the insurance problem?”

  “Certainly,” Dudley told him. “What did you think I was working on?”

  He intended the words as sarcasm, but even as he spoke he realized that a possible solution was in his grasp. In all of their previous cases they had been in the awkward position of offering a financial settlement to a claimant who didn’t want it. Supposing the claimant demanded such a settlement?

  Lost in thought, he paced the floor energetically while a strangely subdued McGivern looked on. “Can I help?” McGivern asked finally.

  Dudley shook his head. “It’s a long shot.”

  “I like men who play long shots. I like them even better when they win.”

  Another knock sounded, and Dudley admitted the police officer, a young judge, and an attractive young Maylorian woman.

  “Alien Dudley?” the judge asked. “Are you ready for the ceremony?”

  “I’m not completely familiar with your customs, Your Wisdom,” Dudley said. “This procedure seems very strange to me. Where I come from, the custom is for the violator to pay financial compensation.”

  “Such a thing is unheard of on Maylor,” the judge said. “How could money compensate for the loss of a wife?”

  “Nevertheless, Your Wisdom, I would like to know if I cannot request compensation according to my own custom.”

  The judge frowned. “I don’t know. I can’t recall such a thing ever happening.”

  “Is there any law that would forbid such a thing, Your Wisdom?”

  The police officer was regarding Dudley with open-mouthed amazement. The young woman modestly kept her eyes on the floor, as though the conversation could not possibly concern her. The judge had his eyes closed in thought.

  “The Rule requires only that justice be done,” the judge announced finally. “I should have to consider whether or not it would be unjust to deny you justice according to your own custom. To my knowledge no such request has ever been made of a violator, but if such a request were made, I should—yes, I should feel obliged to honor it. Do you now make this request?”

  “I do, Your Wisdom.”

  “And what amount of compensation do you request?”

  “Your Wisdom should establish the amount.”

  “That would require much thought on my part. There is no precedent, none at all. I shall have to postpone settlement of this case until I am able to reach a decision as to the amount.”

  “That will be satisfactory, Your Wisdom.”

  Judge, police officer, and workman’s wife filed out solemnly. Dudley closed the door and turned to find himself the recipient of one of McGivern’s rare smiles. “Dudley, I badly underestimated you. This is the most brilliant stroke I’ve ever seen.” McGivern scrambled to his feet and waddled about the room excitedly. “And I was telling you to be ruthless! You’ve wrapped the whole thing up nicely. This gives us our legal precedent. One more case—”

  “We have it,” Dudley said. “My groundcar killed a woman a few days ago. That’s why I was under house arrest. The husband—it’s a rather complicated story—the husband ended up with nothing because of Eleanor’s maneuvering. Now I’ll offer him a cash settlement for the death of his wife, the amount to be determined by the judge. He’ll refuse, but I’ll tell him my own customs demand that I give it to him. He’ll end up accepting it if only to oblige me. The Maylorites are a very obliging people.”

  “Well done, my boy. Well done!”

  “And what progress have you made with your problem?”

  McGivern started. “That’s what I came to see you about. These people are so naive that hiring professional underworld men would be a waste of money. Last night I took a few crewmen from the Indemnity, and we set a dozen fires and looted twenty shops. Did you know that they don’t even lock their doors?”

  Dudley nodded.

  “I’ve arranged to stay on for a few days. I’m going to take a ground-floor office in a conspicuous location and get out some advertising circulars. We’ll hit different neighborhoods tonight and tomorrow night, and after that you won’t have to sell insurance. They’ll come demanding it.”

  “You may be underestimating them.”

  “Nonsense. You take care of those claims, and then I want you to start canvassing the northwest section and explain fire insurance to the neighbors of the people who had fires last night. I’ll be looking for that new office. I’ll meet you back here this evening.”

  “Right,” Dudley said.

  McGivern was waiting when Dudley returned to the apartment. He said quickly, “How’d you make out?”

  Dudley seated himself wearily. “I think I’ve established an entirely new legal principle. And I’m worn out.”

  “You think? Is that the best you could do?”

  “The judges are coming tonight to give me their verdicts. I’ve been to the northwest section. Whatever you used to start those fires was darned effective.”

  “The Indemnity’s engineering officer made some incendiary bombs. He could only get a dozen ready on short notice, but tonight there’ll be twice as many.”

  “If you’d planted them differently, you could have had much better results,” Dudley said.

  “I suppose. We don’t want to burn down the city, though. A small fire is better for our purposes than a large one.” He chuckled. “It wouldn’t do to burn so much that they have nothing left to insure.”

  “What’d you do with the stuff that was stolen?”

  “It’s stashed away on the Indemnity. We’ll dump it as soon as we get into space.”

  “Then tonight you’ll start twenty-four fires?”

  “Right,” McGivern said. “And we’ll loot about fifty shops. Southwest section this time.”

  “And the new office?”

  “Couldn’t find anything I liked. I’ll look again tomorrow. What is this legal principle you’re working on?”

  “I finally found out what was behind the Maylorian Rule of Justice. On this world the husband has to put up a sum of money when he’s married—a kind of bride fee. The whole point in giving the violator’s wife to the husband of the victim is that it supplies him with another wife without cost. Actually it’s much more complicated than that, and the practice is encrusted with all manner of historical twists and precedences. What I’m trying to establish is that this is not a Rule of Justice—it’s manifestly unjust because it breaks up a marriage and forces unknown and probably unwanted new spouses on the violator’s wife and the victim’s husband, who are innocent parties. The problem could be solved easily and justly by requiring the violator—or his insurance company—to supply the marriage money so the husband of the victi
m can choose his own wife.”

  McGivern nodded thoughtfully. “If they accept that, we’ll certainly have a basis for selling insurance.”

  Dudley said tiredly, “They’ve already accepted it on an optional basis. They’re not ready to dump a time-tested social custom on the world of an Alien, but they’re willing to let the victim’s husband demand the price of a new wife in compensation if he prefers it that way. What I’m trying to get from them is a legal requirement that all groundcar drivers carry insurance—in the interest of justice.”

  McGivern’s eyes bulged with excitement. “Gad! And Galactic is the only insurance company on Maylor!”

  A knock sounded. “Want to hear the verdict?” Dudley asked.

  “I can’t wait!”

  Dudley opened the door and brought in the two judges and an escort of three police officers. The old judge muttered, “Tomorrow would have done just as well. I’ll be late for dinner.”

  “Have you reached a decision, Your Wisdom?” Dudley asked.

  “We have. Your petition is granted. Settlement in the two cases in which you are involved shall be as you requested, and we take note of your generous offer to accept a token settlement from the workman whose clumsiness killed your wife. Your petition is also granted as to the insurance requirement, which will be presented to

  the Council tomorrow, along with the charter application of the Maylorian Insurance Company.”

  “Maylorian Insurance Company?” McGivern exclaimed.

  “Thank you, Your Wisdom,” Dudley said. “Did you record in full the conversation that took place while you were waiting?”

  The judge sighed. “We did. We found it difficult to believe, but the facts you have revealed to us support it completely. We accept your recommendations. The charter of the Galactic Insurance Company will be revoked tomorrow. Clearance will be denied Alien McGivern’s yacht until the stolen articles are returned and compensation paid for the fire damage. We will arrange with the Interplanetary Authority to securely incarcerate him at the port until justice has been fulfilled. Is this satisfactory?”

  “Perfectly satisfactory,” Dudley said. “I’d like a few words in private with Alien McGivern, and then you can have him.”