Anthology of Speculative Fiction, Volume One

by Short Story Anthology

  "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."

  "Yes," murmured Mayne. "Let's see ... one parallel would be the ancient Terran Hermes, wouldn't it?"

  "Something like that," agreed Haruhiku. "I'm a little vague on the subject, sir. At least, he isn't one of the bloodthirsty ones."

  "That helps," sighed Mayne, "but not enough."

  He got a message blank from the pilot. With some labor, he composed a request to Terran headquarters on Rigel IX for authorization to spend two million credits on good-will preparations for the Terran-Kappan treaty conference.

  It almost sounds diplomatic, he told himself before having the message sent.

  The waiting period that followed was more to be blamed upon headquarters pussyfooting than upon the subspace transmission. When an answer finally came, it required a further exchange of messages.

  Mayne's last communique might have been boiled down to, "But I need it!"

  The last reply granted provisional permission to spend the sum mentioned; but gleaming between the lines like the sweep of a revolving beacon was a strong intimation that Mayne had better not hope to charge the item to "good will." The budget just was not made that way, the hint concluded.

  "It's due to get dark soon, isn't it?" he asked Haruhiku, crumpling the final message into a side pocket. "I don't believe I'll resume the talks till morning. Maybe my head will function again by then."

  * * * * *

  In the morning, one of the scout's crew again took the pilot and Mayne to the meeting by helicopter. Mayne spent part of the trip mulling over a message Haruhiku had received. The spaceship Diamond Belt could be expected to arrive in orbit about the planet later the same day, bearing special envoy J. P. McDonald. The captain, having been informed of Haruhiku's presence, requested landing advice.

  "I told him what I know," said the pilot. "We can give him a beam down, of course, unless you think we should send him somewhere else."

  "Well ... let's see how this goes," said Mayne. "They seem to be waiting for us down there."

  They landed to find Voorhis, Melin, and the native officialdom gathered at the hut facing the new "temple." After exchanging greetings, they sat down at the table as they had the day before.

  "All right, gentlemen," said Mayne to the two Terrans. "You win. The government is going to have to put something in the pot. I want to make it as little as possible, so let us have no more nonsense about the true value of ship or cargo as they stand."

  They looked startled at his tone. Mayne went on before they could recover.

  "The object I have in mind, if it seems at all possible, is to put Captain Voorhis back in business without costing Mr. Melin his job. Now, let's put our heads together on that problem and worry about justifying ourselves later."

  The most difficult part was to convince Voorhis to surrender his dream of fantastic profits; but sometime before Mayne got hoarse, the captain was made to see that he could not have his cake and eat it, too.

  Melin agreed that he might pay the paper value of the Gemsbok if he could pay likewise for the cargo, in which case he would admit a loss. After all, a spaceship anchored by a temple might reasonably be termed unspaceworthy. He would take over the cargo and cut his losses by allowing the government to buy it at two million.

  "You wanna come with me next trip?" invited Voorhis when he heard this. "If that's how you cut loose, we'll make a fortune!"

  "Well, there it is," said Mayne, straightening up to ease his aching back. He must have been leaning tensely over the table longer than he had thought. "The captain gets two and a half million, Mr. Melin gets off with paying only half a million, and you've stuck me for the rest."

  "Congratulations, Judge!" said Melin. "You now own a ship and cargo which I presume you will present to the Kappans."

  "How can he?" demanded Voorhis. "They figure they own it already."

  "We'll worry about that later," said Mayne.

  "You will!" Voorhis guffawed. "I hope you get some credit out of it."

  Haruhiku interrupted to inform Mayne that the Kappans, who had been interested if bewildered listeners, had invited the Terrans to a small feast.

  "I translated enough to let them understand there would be no attempt to disturb their temple building," he explained. "They now feel they owe us hospitality."

  "Good, that's something," said Mayne.

  "I'll tell you what else will be something," grunted Voorhis. "The food!"

  The assemblage repaired to the Kappan village. The Terrans--though it took some doing--survived the feast.

  Mayne thought it best not to inquire into the nature of the dishes served. Eemakh was evidently determined to display his village's finest hospitality, so the Terrans even tried the Kappan beer. Mayne absorbed enough to get used to it.

  Or did it absorb me? he wondered. Igrillik's beginning to look almost human!

  Eventually, carts were brought, and they rode bumpily out to admire progress made on the temple. A fresh breeze helped Mayne to remember that it was now late afternoon and he had yet to settle one matter with Eemakh.

  When they arrived at the site, crewmen from the Gemsbok saw fit to take Voorhis in charge and carry him into their hut. Mayne sank down at the table outside, watching Melin grope to a place beside him. He noticed that Haruhiku's helicopter pilot handed him a message as soon as the lieutenant alighted.

  "That will be from the Diamond Belt," Mayne guessed.

  He eyed Melin with some amusement. The insurance man stared very quietly at the board beneath his elbows. His complexion held a tint of green. Even Eemakh, plodding ponderously up, lowered himself to a bench with a sigh. The high priest seemed less affected by the celebration, and Mayne was proud when Haruhiku walked over with his normal bland alertness.

  "They're getting near?" he asked.

  "Doing braking circles," reported the pilot. "I sent an order for the scout to give them a beam. There may still be time to send them somewhere else--"

  "One more try here first," Mayne decided. "Tell Eemakh we want to straighten out some confusion about Meeg and the cargo."

  * * * * *

  Haruhiku permitted himself a small shrug and translated. Eemakh aroused himself to a show of interest, while Igrillik turned a suspicious orange stare upon Mayne. The latter strove to frame in his mind an argument that would strike them as logical.

  "Tell him," he instructed, "that we believe thi
s Meeg was known on Terra, but by another name. Then describe the mythical Hermes and see what he says."

  Haruhiku began a conversation that lasted several minutes. Igrillik, as an authority, obviously felt moved to deliver a lengthy opinion. At last, the pilot turned to Mayne.

  "They say we are to be congratulated," he reported.

  "Is that all?"

  "Well, they do seem a bit more friendly. I was going to try drawing a picture of that famous statue, with the winged heels and hat, but it would never match their own conception. Igrillik asks if you claim belief in Meeg."

  "Avoid that," said Mayne. "Now--do they know about ship communications?"

  "They are aware that it is done," said Haruhiku. "After all, they just saw me send a message to the scout over the helicopter screen."

  "Good! Point out to them that the Gemsbok also has such equipment."

  Haruhiku engaged in another long talk. The Kappans began to show signs of uneasiness at the end. They remained silent.

  "And that therefore," added Mayne, "the Terran who served this machine should rank in their eyes as a servant of Meeg just as much as Igrillik. The cargo in the ship was no more his than a message belongs to the messenger bearing it."

  The pilot put this into Kappan, with gestures.

  "And furthermore," said Mayne, before it could be suggested that the owner might be Meeg, "what I have arranged here with Melin and Voorhis is that the cargo now belongs to all of the Terran people."

  Eemakh began to scowl, an impressive contortion on a broad, olive Kappan visage. Mayne hurried on.

  "This being the case, the Kappans have absolutely no right to deny us the privilege of contributing all these goods to the glory of their temple!"

  "Oh, boy!" grunted Haruhiku. He rattled off the translation.

  Mayne watched it hit home. Igrillik leaned over to peer at him unbelievingly. Eemakh seemed to have difficulty in focusing his glowing eyes on the Terran.

  There were, of course, requests for clarification. Mayne left the repetitions to the pilot.

  In the end, Eemakh arose and embraced him, a startling action that left Mayne feeling introspectively of his ribs. Igrillik called out something to the bodyguard attending the chief, causing Mayne to repress a shudder at the flashing display of big Kappan teeth. He assumed that a smile was a humanoid constant.

  Haruhiku's pilot approached with a new message.

  "Now they have to land near here, in half an hour or less," said the spacer.

  "There's just one more thing," Mayne told him. "Voorhis is satisfied, Melin--look, he's gone to sleep on the table!--is relieved, the Kappans are friendly, and J. P. McDonald will be happy when he lands. Now I have to get myself off the hook for two million!"

  He turned to the Gemsbok crewmen loitering before the hut.

  "Who was the communications man?" he demanded.

  A lean, freckled youth with a big nose admitted to the distinction. Mayne draped an arm about his shoulders and told him he was back in business.

  "Say to them," he instructed Haruhiku, "that if they are to learn how to use the equipment Meeg has provided for their temple, they must not delay one minute in taking our friend here into the ship ... uh ... make that 'temple.' He will show them how a spaceship is called down from the skies."

  Haruhiku gave him a straight-faced glance that was a masked guffaw. He translated, and orders began to be shouted back and forth among the Kappans, all the way to the top-most level of the construction. The lieutenant called his pilot.

  "I'll have him flash the scout an order to monitor the Gemsbok and transfer landing control as soon as they hear her on the air," he explained.

  Mayne nodded. He clutched the arm of the Gemsbok operator, who was being urged away by Igrillik and a group of warrior escorts.

  "Just one thing, son," he shouted over the babble. "Forget about the ship's call sign. You go on the air calling yourself Kappa Orionis Central Control."

  "Kappa Orionis Central...?" repeated the youth distrustfully.

  "You've got it," said Mayne, and shoved him on his way. He turned to Haruhiku. "The last thing to do is to send the helicopter for some paint. I don't care if it isn't dry when the Diamond Belt touches down--I want a sign over the door of this hut!"

  "A sign?"

  "Make it read 'Spaceport Number 1.' Two million is cheap enough for buying a spaceport already in operation. There won't be any trouble, since the Kappans promised the land."

  Everyone seemed to be running somewhere. Mayne wiped his face with a handkerchief and sat down beside Melin, who looked comfortable enough with his head on the table.

  From inside the hut, Mayne could hear snores that must have Voorhis as a source; the rest of the Gemsbok crewmen had followed the crowd to the control tower that was also a temple. After a while, Haruhiku returned and sat down across from Melin.

  "Magnificent, Judge!" he said. "We might even get away with it."

  "Of course we will," said Mayne, gazing at Melin and listening to Voorhis. "After all, Hermes was the god of thieves, too!"

  THE END

  FREDERIK POHL

  1919 - 2013

  Frederik Pohl had been about everything that it is possible to be in the field of science fiction, from consecrated fan and struggling poet to critic, literary agent, teacher, book and magazine editor and, above all, writer.

  Called by Kingsley Amis (in Amis's critical study of science fiction, New Maps of Hell) "the most consistently able writer science fiction, in its modern form, has yet produced," Frederik Pohl was clearly in the very first rank of writers in the field. He won most of the awards the science-fiction field has to offer, including the Edward E. Smith and Donald A. Wollheim memorial awards, the International John W. Campbell award (twice), the French Prix Apollo, the Yugoslavian Vizija, the Nebula (three times, including the "Grand Master" Nebula for lifetime contributions to the field) and the Hugo (six times; he was the only person ever to have won the Hugo both as writer and as editor), as well as such awards from sources outside the science-fiction community as the American Book Award, the annual award of the Popular Culture Association, and the United Nations Society of Writers Award. Other honors include election as a Fellow to both the British Interplanetary Society and the American Association for the Advancement of Science.

  Apart from the field of science fiction, he was a noted lecturer and teacher in the area of future studies, and was the author of, among other non-fiction works, Practical Politics, a how-to-do-it manual of the American political process; Our Angry Earth, on the world's environmental problems, written in collaboration with the late Isaac Asimov, which Sir Arthur C. Clarke called "perhaps the most important book either of its authors has produced"; and, most recently, Chasing Science, on the uses of science as a spectator sport. He was also the Encyclopedia Britannica's authority on the First Century A.D. Roman emperor, Tiberius.

  Many of Frederik Pohl's works have been adapted for radio, television, or film, beginning with the two-part Columbia Workshop of the Air version of the classic The Space Merchants in 1953. In Europe, a number of his stories have been televised by the BBC and his famous novella, "The Midas Plague," became a three-hour special on German television. The 1981 NBC two-hour television film, The Clonemaster, was based on an original concept of his; his award-winning novel, Gateway, has been dramatized for live theatrical production; and his novelette, "The Tunnel under the World," became a feature film in Italy. (Gateway was also made into a computer game under the title of "Frederik Pohl's Gateway" by Legend Entertainment; a second game, "Gateway II: The Home World," was released a year later.)

  Among Pohl's most recent novels are The World at the End of Time, Outnumbering the Dead, Stopping at Slowyear, The Voices of Heaven, O Pioneer, and The Siege of Eternity.

  He traveled widely, sometimes to lecture on behalf of the United States State Department (in places as widely separated as Singapore, New Zealand and most of the countries of both Eastern and Western Europe) or to attend internati
onal conferences on science or science fiction in places like the Republic of South Korea, Canada, the People's Republic of China, Australia, Brazil, the former Soviet Union, the former Yugoslavia, and most of Western Europe. He served as president of both World SF and the Science Fiction Writers of America and as Midwest Area Representative to the Authors Guild, having served for nine years as a member of the Guild Council before moving to the midwest. For many years he made his home in Palatine, Illinois, with his wife, Dr. Elizabeth Anne Hull, who is a past president of the Science Fiction Research Association and a noted scholar in the field.

  Frederik Pohl died September 2, 2013, in Palatine, IL.

  The Tunnel Under The World, by Frederik Pohl

  A classic satirical look at consumerism.

  I

  Pinching yourself is no way to see if you are dreaming. Surgical instruments? Well, yes—but a mechanic's kit is best of all!

  On the morning of June 15th, Guy Burckhardt woke up screaming out of a dream.

  It was more real than any dream he had ever had in his life. He could still hear and feel the sharp, ripping-metal explosion, the violent heave that had tossed him furiously out of bed, the searing wave of heat.

  He sat up convulsively and stared, not believing what he saw, at the quiet room and the bright sunlight coming in the window.

  He croaked, "Mary?"

  His wife was not in the bed next to him. The covers were tumbled and awry, as though she had just left it, and the memory of the dream was so strong that instinctively he found himself searching the floor to see if the dream explosion had thrown her down.

  But she wasn't there. Of course she wasn't, he told himself, looking at the familiar vanity and slipper chair, the uncracked window, the unbuckled wall. It had only been a dream.

  "Guy?" His wife was calling him querulously from the foot of the stairs. "Guy, dear, are you all right?"

  He called weakly, "Sure."

  There was a pause. Then Mary said doubtfully, "Breakfast is ready. Are you sure you're all right? I thought I heard you yelling—"