Astounding Science Fiction Stories Vol 1

by Anthology

  I parked my floater beside the house that had sheltered Kron as long as I had known him. I entered without announcing myself.

  As an old friend I had this privilege, although I seldom used it. But if I had come formally there would have been an endless rigmarole of social convention that would have had to be satisfied before we could get down to business. I didn't want to waste the time.

  * * * * *

  Kron was seated behind a surprisingly modern desk, reading a book by the light of a Confederation glowtube. I looked at its title--The Analects of Confucius--and blinked. I'd heard of it. It and Machiavelli's Prince are classics on governmental personality and philosophy, but I had never read it. Yet here, hundreds of light years from the home world, this naked alien was reading and obviously enjoying that ancient work. It made me feel oddly ashamed of myself.

  He looked up at me, nodded a greeting and laid the book down with a faint expression of regret on his doglike face. I found a chair and sat down silently. I wondered how he found time to read. My job with the BEE kept me busy every day of the 279-day year. And his, which was more important and exacting than mine, gave him time to read philosophy! I sighed. It was something I could never understand.

  I waited for him to speak. As host, it was his duty to open the wall of silence which separated us.

  "Greetings, friend Lanceford," Kron said. "My eyes are happy with the pleasure of beholding you." He spoke in the ancient Niobian formula of hospitality. But he made it sound as though he really meant it.

  "It's a double joy to behold the face of my friend and to hear his voice," I replied in the same language. Then I switched to Confed for the business I had in mind. Their polite forms are far too clumsy and uncomfortable for business use; it takes half a day to get an idea across. "It seems as though I'm always coming to you with trouble," I began.

  "What now?" Kron asked. "Every time I see you, I hope that we can relax and enjoy our friendship, but every time you are burdened. Are you Earthmen forever filled with troubles or does my world provoke them?" He smiled at me.

  "A little of both, I suppose," I said.

  Kron hummed--the Niobian equivalent of laughter. "I've been observing you Earthmen for the past twenty years, and I have yet to see one of you completely relaxed. You take yourselves much too seriously. After all, my friend, life is short at best. We should enjoy some of it. Now tell me your troubles, and perhaps there is no cause to worry."

  "You're wrong, Kron. There is plenty of cause to worry. This can affect the well-being of everything on this world."

  Kron's face sharpened into lines of interest. "Continue, friend Lanceford."

  "It's those oysters the BIT sent you a few years ago. They're getting out of hand."

  Kron hummed. "I was afraid that it--"

  "--was something serious!" I finished. "That's what I told Heinz Bergdorf when he came to me with this story. Now sober down and listen! This is serious!"

  * * * * *

  "It sounds pretty grim," Kron said after I had finished. "But how is it that your people didn't foresee the danger? Something as viciously reproductive as the oyster should be common knowledge."

  "Not on our world. You see, the study of sea life is a specialized science on Earth. It is one of the faults of our technological civilization that almost everyone must specialize from the time he enters secondary school. Unless one specializes in marine biology, one generally knows little or nothing about it."

  "Odd. Very odd. But then, you Earthmen always were a peculiar race. Now, if I heard you right, I believe that you said there is an animal on your world which preys upon these oysters. A starfish?"

  "Yes."

  "Won't this animal be as destructive as the oyster?"

  "Bergdorf doesn't think so, and I trust his judgment."

  "Won't this animal also kill our Komal? They are like these oysters of yours in a way."

  "But they burrow, and the starfish doesn't. They'll be safe enough."

  Kron sighed. "I knew that association with you people would prove to be a mixed blessing." He shrugged his shoulders and turned his chair to his desk. A Niobian face appeared on the screen. "Call a Council meeting and let me know when it is ready," Kron ordered.

  "Yes, Councilor," the face replied.

  "Well, that's that. Now we can relax until the Council manages to get together."

  "How long will that take?"

  "I haven't the least idea," Kron said. "Several days--several weeks. It all depends upon how soon we can get enough Council members together to conduct business."

  I said unhappily, "I'd like to have your outlook but we're fighting against time!"

  "You Earthmen pick the most impossible opponents. You should learn to work with time rather than against it." He pulled at one ear reflectively. "You know, it is strange that your race could produce ethical philosophers like this one." He tapped the Analects with a webbed forefinger. "Such contrast of thought on a single world is almost incredible!"

  "You haven't seen the half of it!" I chuckled. "But I'm inclined to agree with you. Earth is an incredible world."

  * * * * *

  Fortunately there was a battle cruiser in the Polar spaceport on a goodwill mission. We had no trouble about getting the detectors Bergdorf needed, plus a crew to run them. The Navy is co-operative about such things, and every officer knows the importance of the BEE on a planetary operation. We could have had the entire cruiser if we had wanted it.

  A week later the four Marine Lab ships, each equipped with a detector, started a search of Niobe's oceans. Their atomic powerplants could drive them along at a respectable speed. Bergdorf and I expected a preliminary report within a month.

  We weren't disappointed.

  The results were shocking, but not unexpected. Preliminary search revealed no oysters in the other two major oceans, but the Baril Ocean was badly infested. There were groups and islands of immature oysters along the entire course of the Equatorial current and the tropical coast of Alpha. Practically every island group in the central part of the ocean showed traces of the bivalves. It was amazing how far they had spread. Even the northern shallows had a number of thriving young colonies.

  Bergdorf was right. Another year and we'd have been swamped. As it was it was nothing to laugh about.

  The news reached Kron just before the Council meeting, which, like most of Niobe's off-season politics, had been delayed time after time. Since a Council meeting requires an attendance of ninety per cent of the Council, it had been nearly impossible to schedule an assembly where a quorum could be present. But our news broadcasts over the BEE radio reached every corner of the planet, and the note of urgency in them finally produced results.

  The Niobians held the emergency session at Base Alpha, where our radio could carry the proceedings to the entire planet. Whatever else they may be, Niobian government sessions are open to the public. Since the advent of radio, practically the entire public listens in.

  Like the natives, I listened too. I wasn't surprised when Kron appeared in my office, his eyes red and swollen from lack of sleep, but with a big grin on his face that exposed his sharp sectorial teeth. "Well, that's over, friend Lanceford. Now send us your starfish."

  "That's easier said than done," I replied gloomily. "I've contacted the Confederation. They won't ship twenty pounds of starfish--let alone the twenty thousand tons Bergdorf says we'll need!"

  "Why not? Are they crazy? Or do they want to destroy us?"

  "Neither. This is just a sample of bureaucracy at work. You see, the starfish is classed as a pest on Earth. Confederation regulations forbid the exportation of pests to member planets."

  "But we need them!"

  "I realize that, but the fact hasn't penetrated to the highest brass." I laughed humorlessly. "The big boys simply can't see it. By the time we marshal enough evidence to convince them, it will be too late. Knowing how Administration operates, I'd say that it'd take at least a year for them to become convinced. And another two months f
or them to act."

  "But we simply can't wait that long! Your man Bergdorf has convinced me. We're in deadly danger!"

  "You're going to have to wait," I said grimly. "Unless you can find some way to jar them out of their rut."

  Kron looked thoughtful. "I think that can be done, friend Lanceford. As I recall, your bureaus are timid things. Furthermore, we have something they want pretty bad. I think we can apply pressure."

  "But won't your people object? Doesn't that deny your basic philosophy of non-interference with others?"

  Kron grinned ferociously. "Not at all. Like others of your race, you have never understood the real significance of our social philosophy. What it actually boils down to is simply this--we respect the customs and desires of others but require in turn that they respect ours."

  "You mean that you will use force against the rest of the Confederation? But you can't do that! You wouldn't stand a chance against the Navy."

  "We will first try a method we have used with our own tribes who get out of line. I don't think anything more will be necessary." Kron's voice was flat. "It goes against the grain to do this, but we are left no choice." He turned and left the room without a farewell, which was a measure of his agitation.

  I sat there behind my desk wondering what the Niobians could do. Like my ex-boss Alvord Sims, I had a healthy respect for them. It just could be that they could do plenty.

  They could.

  * * * * *

  Organization! Man, you've never seen anything like what the Niobians tossed at our startled heads! We always thought the Planetary Council was a loose and ineffective sort of thing, but what happened within the next twenty hours had to be seen to be believed. I saw it. But it was days before I believed it.

  Within a day the natives had whipped up an organization, agreed on a plan of action and put it into effect. By noon of the next day Niobe was a closed planet. A message was sent to the Confederation informing them that Niobe was withdrawing until the emergency was over. An embargo was placed on all movement of shipping.

  And everything stopped.

  No factories operated. The big starfreighters stood idle and empty at the polar bases. Not one ounce of gerontin or its concentrate precursor left Niobe. Smiling groups of Niobians, using subsonics to enforce their demands, paralyzed everything the Confederation had operated on the planet. No one was hurt. The natives were still polite and friendly. But Confederation business came to an abrupt halt, and stayed halted.

  It was utterly amazing! I had never heard of a planet-wide boycott before. But Niobe was entirely within her rights. The Confederation had to accept it.

  And, of course, the Confederation capitulated. If the Niobians were fools enough to want pests as a condition of resuming viscaya shipments--well, it was their affair. The Confederation needed viscaya. It was willing to do almost anything to assure its continued supply.

  With the full power of the Confederation turned to giving Niobe what she wanted, it wasn't long before the oysters were under control. We established a systematic seeding procedure for the starfish that kept arriving by the freighter load. In a few months Bergdorf reported that an ecological balance had been achieved.

  * * * * *

  "But didn't the starfish create another pest problem?" Perkins asked.

  "Not at all," Lanceford said. "I told you that the Niobians had an odd sense of taste. Starfish proved to be quite acceptable to the Niobian palate. They merely added another item to Niobe's food supply."

  Perkins shuddered delicately. "I wouldn't eat one of those things in a million years."

  "You're going to have to eat vorkum if you expect to survive on this world. Compared to vorkum, a starfish is sheer pleasure! But that wasn't the end of it," Lanceford added with a smile. "You see, shortly after things had simmered down to normal Kron dropped into my office.

  "'I think, friend Lanceford,' he said, 'that we are going to have to create a permanent organization to keep unwanted visitors out. This little affair has been a needed lesson. I have been reading about your planetary organization, and I think a thing like your Customs Service is vitally needed on our world to prevent future undesirable biological importations.'

  "'I agree,' I replied. 'Anything that would prevent a repetition of this business would be advisable.'

  "So that was how the Customs Service started. The insigne you will recognize as a starfish opening an oyster. Unfortunately the Niobians are quite literal minded. When they say any biological importation will be quarantined and examined, they mean Confederation citizens too!

  "And that, of course, was the entering wedge. You'll find things quite homelike once you get out of here. The natives have developed an organization that's a virtual copy of our Administrative Branch. Customs, as you know, is a triumph of the bureaucratic system, and naturally the idea spread. Once the natives got used to a permanent government organization that was available at all times, it was only a question of time before the haphazard tribal organization became replaced by a planetary union. You could almost say that it was an inevitable consequence."

  Lanceford grinned. "The Niobians didn't realize that the importation of foreign Customs was almost as bad as the importation of foreign animals!" He chuckled at the unconscious pun.

  * * *

  Contents

  NEXT LOGICAL STEP

  by Ben Bova

  Ordinarily the military least wants to have the others know the final details of their war plans. But, logically, there would be times--

  "I don't really see where this problem has anything to do with me," the CIA man said. "And, frankly, there are a lot of more important things I could be doing."

  Ford, the physicist, glanced at General LeRoy. The general had that quizzical expression on his face, the look that meant he was about to do something decisive.

  "Would you like to see the problem first-hand?" the general asked, innocently.

  The CIA man took a quick look at his wristwatch. "O.K., if it doesn't take too long. It's late enough already."

  "It won't take very long, will it, Ford?" the general said, getting out of his chair.

  "Not very long," Ford agreed. "Only a lifetime."

  The CIA man grunted as they went to the doorway and left the general's office. Going down the dark, deserted hallway, their footsteps echoed hollowly.

  "I can't overemphasize the seriousness of the problem," General LeRoy said to the CIA man. "Eight ranking members of the General Staff have either resigned their commissions or gone straight to the violent ward after just one session with the computer."

  The CIA man scowled. "Is this area Secure?"

  General LeRoy's face turned red. "This entire building is as Secure as any edifice in the Free World, mister. And it's empty. We're the only living people inside here at this hour. I'm not taking any chances."

  "Just want to be sure."

  "Perhaps if I explain the computer a little more," Ford said, changing the subject, "you'll know what to expect."

  "Good idea," said the man from CIA.

  "We told you that this is the most modern, most complex and delicate computer in the world ... nothing like it has ever been attempted before--anywhere."

  "I know that They don't have anything like it," the CIA man agreed.

  "And you also know, I suppose, that it was built to simulate actual war situations. We fight wars in this computer ... wars with missiles and bombs and gas. Real wars, complete down to the tiniest detail. The computer tells us what will actually happen to every missile, every city, every man ... who dies, how many planes are lost, how many trucks will fail to start on a cold morning, whether a battle is won or lost ..."

  General LeRoy interrupted. "The computer runs these analyses for both sides, so we can see what's happening to Them, too."

  The CIA man gestured impatiently. "War games simulations aren't new. You've been doing them for years."

  "Yes, but this machine is different," Ford pointed out. "It not only gives a much more detai
led war game. It's the next logical step in the development of machine-simulated war games." He hesitated dramatically.

  "Well, what is it?"

  "We've added a variation of the electro-encephalograph ..."

  The CIA man stopped walking. "The electro-what?"

  "Electro-encephalograph. You know, a recording device that reads the electrical patterns of your brain. Like the electro-cardiograph."

  "Oh."

  "But you see, we've given the EEG a reverse twist. Instead of using a machine that makes a recording of the brain's electrical wave output, we've developed a device that will take the computer's readout tapes, and turn them into electrical patterns that are put into your brain!"

  "I don't get it."

  General LeRoy took over. "You sit at the machine's control console. A helmet is placed over your head. You set the machine in operation. You see the results."

  "Yes," Ford went on. "Instead of reading rows of figures from the computer's printer ... you actually see the war being fought. Complete visual and auditory hallucinations. You can watch the progress of the battles, and as you change strategy and tactics you can see the results before your eyes."

  "The idea, originally, was to make it easier for the General Staff to visualize strategic situations," General LeRoy said.

  "But every one who's used the machine has either resigned his commission or gone insane," Ford added.

  The CIA man cocked an eye at LeRoy. "You've used the computer."

  "Correct."

  "And you have neither resigned nor cracked up."

  General LeRoy nodded. "I called you in."