Sci Fiction Classics Volume 4

by Vol 4 (v1. 2) (epub)

  The day of his journey was not an ideal day for flying. During the bumpy passage, a cup of hot coffee was upset over Lessing's lap, and, as he was wearing a light gray suit, his appearance suffered as well as his feelings. He was very bad-tempered when the plane touched down at the airport, and found it hard to be courteous to the obvious civil servants who were there to greet him. They were diplomatic enough to suggest a drink or two before he was taken to see the high officials who had required his presence, and after a couple of stiff whiskies he felt a little better.

  He did not feel better for long. He said afterward, "They made me feel as though I were a Russian spy. And I was expecting rubber truncheons and glaring lights and all the rest of it at any minute. The trouble was, they just didn't want to believe me. There was the evidence of the torch, and the evidence of the cigars, but they just didn't want to believe me. But they couldn't explain the things that I got from the spaceship any other way."

  Lessing was interviewed. Lessing was interrogated. After the politicians had finished with him, it was the turn of the scientists, and then the lawyers took over to see if they could trap him in any inconsistency. The following day he was joined by his chief and second officers and the bos'n. Their stories tallied with his; there was no reason why they should not have.

  The day after that the spaceship landed in the Bass Strait, just twenty miles north of Albatross Island.

  Lessing, of course, was one of the last people to hear about it. It was the young lieutenant commander to whom he had given the torch and the cigars who told him the news. He burst into the comfortable hotel room in which the captain was almost a prisoner and said, "They'll have to believe you now. Another of those things has come down, just about where you saw the first one."

  But it wasn't another of those things. It was the same one, and she was, apparently, on her return voyage. She lay there in the water until she was sighted by Woollabra, northbound to Melbourne. Woollabra was the only ship on the trade, and she maintained a fairly regular service, so the coincidence was in time rather than in space and was a temporal coincidence only inasmuch as the spacecraft did not have to wait longer than three hours.

  Again Woollabra sent a boat, and again the chief officer of Starlady, Malvar Korring vis Korring, was ferried from his own ship to the surface vessel. Apparently he expressed surprise at not being greeted by Captain Lessing and Mr. Kennedy and said that he especially wished to see Captain Lessing to organize some sort of trade agreement.

  "They're rushing you down to your old ship," said the lieutenant commander. "There's a special plane laid on from here to Melbourne, and, as luck would have it, there's a destroyer at Williamstown ready for sea. There's all the high brass going with you. I wish they could find room for me—"

  So there was another flight, no better than the first one had been, and then an even more uncomfortable sea journey as the destroyer pitched, rolled, and shipped green water in the heavy southwesterly swell. It was late afternoon when she made her rendezvous with Woollabra and Starlady. Woollabra, designed for the rapid and efficient handling of cargo, was her usual unlovely self. Lessing gave her no more than a cursory glance, then stared through a pair of borrowed binoculars at the other ship, the spaceship. It had been at night that he had seen her before, and he retained no more than a confused impression of glaring lights, of gleaming surfaces that reflected the illumination at all kinds of odd angles. Seeing her now, in the light of day, he was pleased to note that his description of her as a "flying pineapple" had not been too unjust. That was what she looked like—a huge pineapple of some black, gleaming metal.

  Lessing was aware that orders were being given and reports acknowledged by the destroyer's captain, that the warship's armament was manned and ready. His attention, however, was occupied by the winking daylight lamp from Woollabra's bridge.

  "Alien officer on board," he read. "He wishes to speak with Captain Lessing."

  "Commander," said Lessing, "that spaceman, Korring was his name, is aboard my old ship. He is waiting for me. Will you send me across in one of your boats?"

  The destroyer captain sucked thoughtfully at his pipe.

  "I wish they'd given me more specific orders, Lessing," he said at last. "All I have is a sort of roving commission—to find out what cooks and to shoot to defend my own ship if necessary, but on no account to start an interplanetary war. It seems that these people are quite determined to see you—"

  One of the civilians on the destroyer's bridge interrupted. "I think that I should go with Captain Lessing."

  "All right, Doctor. It seems to me that this situation calls for an astronomer as much as anybody." He turned to his first lieutenant, gave orders for the clearing away of the motor launch.

  In a matter of minutes Lessing was sitting in the boat. With him, in the stern sheets, was Dr. Cappell, the astronomer, and the sublieutenant in charge. The boat was lowered to the water with a run, too fast for Lessing's taste; he was used to the more leisurely procedure of the merchant service. She hit the water just as a huge swell came up beneath her, and the sea fountained on either side of her. The patent slips were released smartly and the lower blocks of the falls whipped up and clear on their tripping lines. The motor was already running and pulled the boat out and clear from the destroyer in a matter of seconds. After the swift efficiency of their launching, the journey across the narrow stretch of water seemed painfully slow.

  At last they came alongside the Woollabra and Lessing clambered up the pilot ladder to her low foredeck. He was followed by the scientist. The young sublieutenant, after giving a few curt instructions to a petty officer, followed. The third officer was there to receive them. Lessing acknowledged the courtesy absentmindedly, himself led the way up to the bridge.

  Fat Kimberley, who had relieved Lessing, was there to meet him. He was exhibiting all the bad temper of the easygoing fat man jolted out of his comfortable routine.

  "Really, Lessing," he said, "this is rather much. First you have to get me called back in the middle of my holidays, and then you have to wish this bloody flying saucer on to me. My wife's flown down from Sydney to be with me for the weekend in Melbourne—and I have to waste precious time loafing around in the Bass Strait standing guard over this … this—"

  "I must apologize, Captain," said a metallic voice. It came, as before, from the little box that Malvar Korring vis Korring carried at his belt. "We thought that Captain Lessing would still be here." He advanced to Lessing with outstretched hand. "Greetings, Captain Lessing."

  "Greetings," replied Lessing, feeling rather foolish. "And what can I do for you, Mr. Korring?"

  "You remember," said the spaceman, "that the last time I saw you we bartered goods. You gave me some of your … cigarettes, and a bottle of the liquor you call whisky, and some boxes of … matches—"

  "But this is incredible," the scientist was saying behind Lessing's back. "This is fantastic. The meeting of two races from different worlds, and all this man is worried about is cigarettes and whisky—"

  "And wild, wild women?" wondered the sublieutenant audibly.

  "We showed what remained of the cigarettes and the whisky to the … commissioner on Maurig, and he was rather impressed. He requested us to call here on our homeward voyage and to make arrangements for regular trade between this planet and the other planets of the galaxy—"

  "This is marvelous!" Dr. Cappell was saying. "Marvelous! The secret of the interstellar drive is ours for the asking!"

  "Who is this man, Captain?" asked the spaceman.

  "One of our astronomers. His name is Dr. Cappell."

  "Dr. Cappell," said Korring, "the secret of the interstellar drive will never be yours until you work it out for yourself. We hope to set up a trading station, and you can rest assured that only goods with which you can do no damage will be sold to you."

  Lessing remembered what Tom, the big Polynesian bos'n, had said. How was it? The familiar pattern—the chance contact, the trader, the missionary, the inci
dent, and the gunboat … But, he thought, Tom is biased. The early European seamen were a rough lot, and the politicians in their home countries were as bad, although more sophisticated. We can expect nothing but good from a people able to travel between the stars.

  "Then," persisted Cappell, "you might allow us, some of us, to make voyages in your ships, as passengers."

  "We might," said Korring vis Korring, and the mechanical voice coming from the translator at his belt sounded elaborately uninterested. He turned to Lessing. "You, Captain, are the first native of this planet with whom we made real contact. In our society—I don't pretend to know how it is with you—the masters of merchantmen are persons of consequence. In any case, we want somebody who is, after all, our own sort of people to act as our … our agent? No, that isn't quite the word—or is it?"

  "I think it's the nearest you'll get," said Lessing. "But it is only fair to warn you that I am a person of very little consequence on this planet. The masters of some merchantmen are people of consequence—but Woollabra isn't Queen Mary."

  "But we know you," replied the spaceman. "Perhaps if you were to come aboard our ship we could draw up a contract."

  "May we use your boat?" Lessing asked the sublieutenant.

  "I'll have to ask," replied the naval officer. "Have you a signalman?" he demanded of Captain Kimberley.

  "We have not," replied the fat man. "But if you're incapable of using the Aldis lamp, doubtless my third mate will be able to oblige. And he can ask your captain if I'm supposed to hang around here while you all play silly beggars. I want to be getting back to Melbourne."

  The daylight lamps flickered on the bridges of man-o'-war and merchant vessel in staccato question and answer. After a few minutes Lessing was shaking hands with Kimberley, and in a minute more was clambering down the pilot ladder to the destroyer's boat. The boat was barely clear of the ship when Lessing heard the jangle of engine room telegraphs, saw the frothing wake appear at Woollabra's stern. Woollabra's whistle blurted out the three conventional farewell blasts. And then the alien starship was ahead of them, bulking big and black and ominous in the golden path of light thrown by the setting sun.

  Lessing wasn't quite sure what to expect when he boarded the spaceship, but he was rather disappointed. Entry was effected through an obvious air lock—but thereafter the overall effect was that of one of the larger and more luxurious liners on Earth's seas. Korring vis Korring led Lessing, Cappell, and the sublieutenant through alleyways that were floored with a brightly colored resilient covering whose sides and overheads were coated with a light, easy-to-keep-clean plastic. They passed through what seemed to be public rooms, fitted out as they were with conventional enough chairs and tables and even, in one or two cases, functional-looking bars. Crewmembers and passengers, both men and women, looked at them with polite interest. The women, decided Lessing, were indubitably mammalian and very attractive.

  They came at last to a large cabin in which, seated behind a desk, was a middle-aged man wearing a uniform similar to that worn by their guide. Like Korring, he wore one of the translators at his belt. He got to his feet as they entered.

  "I am Captain Tardish var Tardish," he said. "Which of you is Captain Lessing?"

  "I am," said Lessing.

  "Welcome aboard my ship. Please be seated."

  The Earthmen lowered themselves into chairs that proved to be as comfortable as they looked. Korring vis Korring busied himself with a bottle and glasses, then, after everybody had a drink in his hand, opened a box of the self-igniting cigars.

  Lessing sipped his drink. It was undeniably alcoholic but far too sweet for his taste. He took a pull at the cigar. The smoke was fragrant but lacking in strength.

  "My chief officer," said Tardish, "has doubtless told you of the purpose of our return visit. It has been decided that your world produces many commodities that would be valuable elsewhere. We are prepared to open a trading station, and we want you to be in charge of it from your side. One of our own people, of course, will be in overall charge."

  "And what do you want?" asked Lessing.

  "Your liquor, your cigarettes, your little firesticks. No doubt you have other goods that will be of value on the galactic market."

  "No doubt," agreed Lessing. "And what do you offer in exchange?"

  The captain pressed a stud at the side of his desk. There was a short silence as the men—Earthmen and aliens—waited. Then two uniformed women came into the cabin. Each of them was carrying a box not unlike a terrestrial suitcase. They put the boxes down on the desk, opened them. Lessing, Cappell, and the sublieutenant got to their feet, stared at the objects that were being unpacked. There were more of the sun-powered electric torches—half a dozen of them. There were slim, convoluted bottles holding a shimmering fluid. There were bolts of dull-gleaming fabric.

  Korring vis Korring joined the Earthmen.

  "These," he said, "are our samples. You already have one of the torches, but, no doubt, others will be interested in these. I must warn you that the manufacturers of them are very jealous of their secret; each one is a sealed unit and any attempt to open one up will result only in its complete destruction. The bottles contain an alcoholic liquor of which we are rather fond; it is possible that it may appeal to the taste of some of your people, just as your whisky has appealed to ours. The cloth? It is dirt repellent, water repellent, wrinkle proof. Used as clothing, it keeps you cool in summer and warm in winter—"

  Cappell interrupted. His thin, bony face was flushed and his carroty hair seemed suddenly to have stood erect. He said, "I'm a scientist, not a shopkeeper. I'd like to know just where you come from, and how your ship is powered, and whether or not you exceed the speed of light—"

  "Enough!" The spaceship captain had got to his feet and was looking at the astronomer as though he were a mildly mutinous crewmember. "I am master of a merchant vessel, just as Captain Lessing is. My primary function in the scheme of things is trade, trade, TRADE. I have no intention of seeing this world of yours raise itself to our technological level, of seeing your ships competing with ours along the galactic trade routes. If you find out the secret of the stardrive yourselves—then good luck to you. But we're not helping you." He turned to Lessing. "There you are, then, Captain. You're appointed our agent as and from now. On our next call here we shall bring with us a full cargo of the goods of which we have given you samples. We want you to have assembled a large consignment of such goods as you think might interest us."

  "This," said Lessing, "is all very vague. To begin with—when can we expect to see you again?"

  "In one-tenth of a revolution of your planet about its primary."

  "And where are you landing?"

  "Here, of course. Our ships can land only on water. You have surface vessels; you can bring the cargo out to us."

  It was Lessing's turn to feel exasperated.

  "To begin with," he said, "I haven't said that I'll take the job. Secondly—you're quite vague about weights and measures. How many tons of cargo do you want—and is it weight or measurement? Thirdly—it's obvious that you don't know that this is one of the most treacherous stretches of water in the world. You've landed here twice, and each time you've been lucky. The next time it could well be blowing a gale."

  "Don't you have weather control?" asked the captain.

  "No. Now, I suppose that you people have made some attempt at photographic survey of this world on your way down?"

  "Of course."

  "Could I see the photographs?"

  The captain opened his desk, handed a dozen or so glossy prints to Lessing. The seaman studied them.

  "Here," he said at last, "is your ideal landing place." He put the tip of his finger on Port Phillip Bay. "It's well sheltered, and there are transport facilities, and there's the possibility of knocking up a few warehouses on the foreshore or of taking over warehouses that are already there. I suggest that you come in at night and that you make some sort of signal before you do so. On your next visit,
of course, we'll have to tackle the problem of radio communication; meanwhile you could let off some sort of rocket that will explode with a bright green light high in the atmosphere an hour or so before you're due. This will give us a chance to outline your landing area with flares."

  It was the haphazardness of it all that appalled Lessing, the way in which the onus had been placed upon Earth to make all the arrangements. Later, when he was back aboard the destroyer and on his way back to Melbourne, he realized that this was the way it must have been in the days of the early explorations. A ship, short of water or other supplies, would stand in for some hitherto undiscovered island, would make fortuitous contact with the inhabitants, would trade a few knives and axes and mirrors for whatever they had to offer, and then, having realized the possibility of commerce, would promise to return at some vague date in the future, bringing further trade goods in return for pearls or spices or anything else that would fetch a high price on the European market.

  The month and the few days were over, and all Earth was waiting for the return of the aliens. From observatories all over the planet reports had poured in that a huge unidentified object was in orbit about the world, something far larger than any of the tiny satellites yet launched. Melbourne had become the Mecca for pressmen and photographers, for radio commentators and television cameramen—and for military observers, trade delegations, and high diplomatic officials from all nations.

  Waiting on the observation tower that had been erected on Station Pier was the Terran trade commissioner. Like many shipmasters, Lessing was not inclined to underestimate his own worth, and had driven a hard bargain. The aliens had insisted on dealing only with him—and he had unbiased witnesses to prove it—so it was only fair that he should be given pay and rank to match his unsought responsibilities. With him stood his two assistants—Kennedy and Garwood, who had been his chief and second officers in Woollabra. Lessing wished, as he stood there in the rising, chilly, southerly breeze, that big Tom Green, the bos'n, had been willing to come ashore as well. He was a good man, Tom—and it was just possible that his non-European mind might be able to spot some catch in the seemingly advantageous arrangements.