The intercom made ambiguous sounds which Macduff took for assent.
“Thank you, Captain,” he said cheerily. “There is only one other small matter. It became necessary for me to board the Sutter at the last moment and I found it inexpedient to obtain a ticket. Time pressed. Moreover, I have taken a Lesser Vegan girl under my protection, in order to save her from the dastardly machinations of Ess Pu and it would perhaps be wise to keep any knowledge of her presence in Stateroom R from that lobster.”
He took a deep breath and leaned familiarly against the intercom. “Frightful things have been happening, Captain Masterson—I have been subjected to persecution by a bloodthirsty mob, an attempt to swindle me at dice on Ess Pus part, threats of violence from Angus Ramsay—”
“Ramsay?”
“You may have heard of him under that name, though it’s probably an alias. The man was discharged in disgrace from the Space Service for smuggling opium, I believe—”
A knock came at the door. Macduff broke off to listen.
“Quick work, Captain,” he said. “I assume these are your guards?”
There was an affirmative grunt and a click. “Au revoir,” Macduff said cheerfully, and opened the door. Two uniformed members of the crew were standing outside, waiting. Across the corridor Ess Pu’s door was ajar and the Algolian stood there, breathing hard.
“You’re armed?” Macduff asked. “Prepare yourselves for a possible treacherous attack from that murderous crustacean behind you.”
“Stateroom X,” one of the men said. “Name, Macduff? Captain wants to see you.”
“Naturally,” Macduff said, pulling out a cigar and stepping dauntlessly into the corridor, making certain, however, that one of the crewmen was between him and Ess Pu. Nonchalantly clipping the cigar, he paused abruptly, his nostrils quivering.
“Let’s go,” one of the men said.
Macduff did not stir. From beyond the Algolian a breath of dim fragrance drifted like a murmur from paradise.
Macduff rapidly finished lighting his cigar. He puffed out great clouds of smoke as he hurriedly led the way down the corridor. “Come, come, my men,” he admonished. “To the Captain. Important matters are afoot.”
“We wouldn’t know,” a crewman said, slipping in front while the other one fell in behind. Macduff allowed himself to be escorted into the officers’ quarters, where he caught sight of himself in a reflecting bulkhead and blew out an approving smoke-cloud.
“Imposing,” he murmured. “No giant, of course, but unquestionably imposing in my fashion. The slight rotundity around my middle merely indicates that I live well. Ah, Captain Masterson! Very good, my men, you may leave us now. That’s right. Close the door as you go. Now, Captain—”
THE man behind the desk lifted his gaze slowly. As all but the stupidest reader will have guessed, he was Angus Ramsay.
“Smuggling opium—aye!” said Angus Ramsay, exhibiting his teeth to the terrified Macduff. “Discharrrged in disgrace—och! Ye nosty libelling scum, what am I going to do with ye?”
“Mutiny!” Macduff said wildly. “What have you done? Led the crew to mutiny and taken over the Sutter? I warn you, this crime will not go unpunished. Where’s Captain Masterson?”
“Captain Masterson,” said Ramsay, repressing his ire with a violent effort and losing the worst of his accent, “is in a hospital on Aldebaran Tau. Apparently the puir man got in the way of one of those raving mobs. The result is that I am captain of the Sutter. Offer me no cigars, ye dom scoundrel. I am interested in only one thing. Ye have nae ticket.”
“You must have misunderstood me,” Macduff said. “Naturally I had a ticket. I gave it to the purser when I came aboard. Those intercoms are notoriously unreliable.”
“So is that dom Immortality Elixir of yours,” Captain Ramsay pointed out. “So are some poker games, especially when the carrrds are marked for black-light reading.” The large hands closed significantly.
“Lay a finger on me at your peril,” Macduff said, with faint bluster. “I have the rights of a citizen—”
“Oh, aye,” Ramsay agreed. “But not the rights of a passenger on this ship. Therefore, ye wee blaggard, ye’ll worrk your way to the next port, Xeria, and there ye’ll be thrown off the Sutter bag and baggage.”
“I’ll buy a ticket,” Macduff offered. “At the moment, I happen to be slightly embarrassed—”
“If I catch ye mingling with the passengers or engaging in any games of chance with anyone at all ye will find yourself in the brig,” Captain Ramsay said firmly. “Black light, aye! Smuggling opium, is it? Aha!”
Macduff spoke wildly of a jury of his peers, at which Ramsay laughed mockingly.
“If I’d caught up with ye back on Aldebaran Tau,” he said, “I’d have taken great pleasure in kicking yer podgy carcass halfway arrround the planet. Now I wull get a deal more satisfaction out of knowing ye are harrd at work in the Hot Gang. Aboard this ship ye will be honest if it kills ye. And if ye have in mind that Lesser Vegan girl I have checked up thoroughly and ye cannot possibly figure out a way to swipe her ticket.”
“You can’t part a guardian and ward like this! It’s inhumanoid!” cried Macduff.
“Oot with ye, mon,” Ramsay said irately, rising. “To work, for probably the first time in yer misspent life.”
“Wait,” said Macduff. “You’ll regret it if you don’t listen to me. There’s a crime being committed on this ship.”
“Aye,” Ramsay said, “and ye’re committing it, ye stowaway. Oot!” He spoke into an intercom, the door opened and the two crew members stood waiting expectantly.
“No, no!” Macduff shrilled, seeing the yawning chasm of hard work widening inexorably at his very toes. “It’s Ess Pu! The Algolian! He—”
“If ye swindled him as ye swindled me,” Captain Ramsay began.
“He’s a smuggler!” Macduff shrieked, struggling in the grip of the crewmen who were bearing him steadily toward the door. “He’s smuggled sphyghi from Aldebaran Tau! I smelled the stuff, I tell you! You’re carrying contraband, Captain Ramsay!”
“Wait,” Ramsay ordered. “Put him down. Is this a trick?”
“I smelled it,” Macduff insisted. “You know what growing sphyghi smells like. It’s unmistakable. He must have the plants in his cabin.”
“The plants?” Ramsay pondered. “Noo I wonder. Hm-m. All right, men. Invite Ess Pu to my cabin.” He dropped back in his chair, studying Macduff.
Macduff rubbed his hands briskly together.
“Say no more, Captain Ramsay. You need not apologize for mistaken zeal. Having exposed this villainous Algolian, I shall break him down step by step till he confesses all. He will naturally be brigged, which will leave his cabin vacant. I leave it to your sense of fair play—”
“Tush,” said Captain Ramsay. “Close yer trap.” He scowled steadily at the door. After a while it opened to admit Ess Pu.
The Algolian lumbered ungracefully forward until he suddenly caught sight of Macduff. Instantly his mouth membranes began to flush. A clicking claw rose ominously.
“Now, now, mon!” Ramsay warned.
“Certainly,” seconded Macduff. “Remember where you are, sir. All is discovered, Ess Pu. Facile lies will get you nowhere. Step by step Captain Ramsay and I have uncovered your plot. You are in the pay of the Xerians. A hired spy, you stole sphyghi seeds from Aldebaran Tau and that sphyghi is even now in your cabin, a silent accuser.”
Ramsay looked thoughtfully at the Algolian.
“Weel?” he asked.
“Wait,” said Macduff. “When Ess Pu realizes that all is known he will see the uselessness of silence. Let me go on.” Since it was obviously impossible to stop Macduff, Captain Ramsay merely grunted and picked up the Handbook of Regulations on his desk. He began to study the thick volume doubtfully. Ess Pu twitched his claws.
“A feeble scheme from the beginning,” Macduff said. “Even to me, a visitor on Aldebaran Tau, it became immediately evident that corruption was at wor
k. Need we seek far for the answer? I think not. For we are even now heading straight for Xeria, a world which has tried frantically for years, by fair means and foul, to break the sphyghi monopoly. Very well.”
HE aimed a cigar accusingly at the Algolian.
“With Xerian money, Ess Pu,” Macduff charged, “you came to Aldebaran Tau and bribed the highest officials, got hold of some sphyghi seeds and circumvented the usual customs search for contraband. You bought the Mayors sealed okay by bribing him with Ao. You need not reply yet,” Macduff added hastily since he had no intention of cutting short his hour of triumph.
Ess Pu made a revolting noise in his throat. “Lethean dust,” he said, reminded of something. “Ah-h!” He made a sudden forward motion.
Macduff dodged hastily around the desk behind Ramsay. “Call your men,” he suggested. “He’s running amuck. Disarm him.”
“Ye cannot disarm an Algolian without dismembering him,” Captain Ramsay said rather absently, looking up from the Handbook of Regulations. “Ah—Ess Pu. Ye dinna deny this charrge, I gather?”
“How can he deny it?” Macduff demanded. “The short-sighted scoundrel planted the sphyghi seeds in his cabin without even setting up an odor-denaturalizer. He deserves no mercy, the fool.”
“Weel?” Ramsay asked, in an oddly doubtful manner.
Ess Pu shook his narrow shoulders, crashed his tail emphatically against the floor and spread his jaws in what might have been a grin.
“Sphyghi?” he asked. “Sure. So?”
“Convicted out of his own mouth,” Macduff decided. “Nothing else is necessary. Brig him, Captain. We will share the reward, if any.”
“No,” Captain Ramsay said, putting down the Handbook decisively. “Ye have put yer foot in it again, Macduff. Ye are no expert in interstellar law. We are now beyond the limits of ionization and therefore beyond the jurisdiction of Aldebaran Tau—with a guid deal of gibble—the voice of the lobster gabble the lawyers put in. But the meaning is clear enough. It was the job of the Aldebaranese to keep that sphyghi from being smuggled awa’ from them and since they failed, noo it is not my job to meddle. In fact, I canna. Against Regulations.”
“That’s it,” Ess Pu said with complacent satisfaction.
Macduff gasped. “You condone smuggling, Captain Ramsay?”
“I’m covered,” the Algolian said, making a coarse gesture toward Macduff.
“Aye,” Ramsay said, “he’s richt. Regulations make it perfectly clear. As far as I am concerned it makes no difference whether Ess Pu is keeping sphyghi or daffodils in his cabin—or a haggis,” he added thoughtfully.
Ess Pu snorted and turned toward the door.
Macduff put a plaintive hand on the Captain’s arm.
“But he threatened me. My life isn’t safe around that Algolian. Just look at those claws.”
“Aye,” Ramsay said reluctantly. “Ye ken the penalty for murder, Ess Pu? Vurra good. I order ye not to murrder this nae doot deserving miscreant. I am bound to enforce Regulations, so dinna let me catch ye assaulting Macduff within earshot of me or any other officer. Ye ken?”
Ess Pu seemed to ken. He laughed hoarsely, ground a claw at Macduff and stalked out, swaying from side to side. The two crewmen were visible outside the door.
“Here,” Captain Ramsay ordered. “I have a job for ye two. Take this stowaway doon to the Hot Gang and turn him over to the Chief.”
“No, no!” squealed Macduff, retreating. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on me! Put me down! Outrageous! I won’t go down that ramp! Release me! Captain Ramsay, I demand—Captain Ramsay!”
CHAPTER III
Award of Ao
DAYS had passed, arbitrarily, of course, aboard the Sutter.
Ao lay curled in her shock hammock, thinking her own dim thoughts and looking at nothing. High up in the wall there was a puffing sound, a scuffle and a grunt. Behind the grille of the ventilating inlet appeared the face of Macduff.
“Ah, my little friend,” he said kindly. “So there you are. Now they have me creeping down the ventilating tubes of this ship like a phagocyte.”
He tested the meshed grille cautiously.
“Sealed, like all the others,” he observed. “However, I assume you’re being well treated, my dear.” He glanced greedily at the covered lunch tray on a nearby table. Ao looked dreamily at nothing.
“I have sent a cable,” Macduff announced from the wall. “I bartered some small treasured heirlooms I happened to have with me and raised enough cash to send a cable, by the press rate. Luckily I still have my press card.” Macduff’s vast collection of credentials very likely may have included a membership in the Little Mens Chowder and Marching Society, to choose the least likely example.
“Moreover, I have just received a reply. Now I must run a grave risk, my dear, a grave risk. Today the conditions of the ships pool—a lottery, you know—will be announced in the grand lounge. I must be present, even at the risk of being brigged by Captain Ramsay and savaged by Ess Pu. It will not be easy. I may say I’ve been subjected to every indignity imaginable, my dear, except perhaps—outrageous!” he added, as a cord tied around his ankle tightened and drew him backward up the shaft.
His distant cries grew fainter. He announced in a fading voice that he had a bottle of 2, 4, 5—trichlorophenoxyacetic acid in his pocket and that broken glass was a safety hazard. So saying he departed into inaudibility. Since Ao had not really noticed that he was present she remained unaffected.
“Ah, well,” Macduff philosophized as he flew down a corridor slightly ahead of the Atmospheric Inspector’s hurtling toe-cap, “Justice is blind. This is my thanks for working overtime—at least three minutes overtime. But now I am off duty and free to set my plans in motion.”
Five minutes later, having eluded the Inspector and smoothed his ruffled plumage somewhat, he made his way briskly toward the lounge.
“There’s one point in my favor,” he reflected. “Ess Pu apparently doesn’t know Ao is aboard. The last time he chased me he was still speaking bitterly of my part in forcing him to leave her on Aldebaran Tau. Unhappily that’s practically the only point in my favor. I must now mingle with the passengers in the grand lounge, while remaining undetected by Ess Pu, Captain Ramsay or any ship’s officer. I wish I were a Cerean.[3] Ah, well.”
As Macduff cautiously made his way toward the lounge his memory dwelt all too vividly on his recent progress from riches to rags. His meteoric descent from job to worse job had been little short of phenomenal.
“Would you set a cinematome to digging ditches?” he had inquired. “Would you weigh elephants on a torquemeter?”
He was told to stop gabbling and pick up that shovel. Instantly he began to work out the most efficient application of the law of leverages. There was some delay while he extended his decimals to include the influencing factor of low-threshold radioactivity upon the alpha waves of the brain.
“Otherwise, anything can happen,” he explained, demonstrating. There was a crash.
Macduff was then, by request, taken off the Hot Gang and put to work elsewhere. But, as he took pains to point out, his frame of reference did not include special skills in the block-processing of garbage for fuel, oiling of the symbiotic hemostatic adjustment mechanisms provided for the comfort of the passengers or testing refractive indices of liquid-coated bimetallic thermostats. He proved this empirically.
So he was—by request—removed to Hydroponics, where the incident of the radioactive carbon tracer occurred. He said it wasn’t the carbon, it was the gammexene, and besides it wasn’t really the gammexene so much as his inadvertent neglect to supplement the insecticide with meso-inositol.
But when thirty square feet of rhubarb plants began breathing out carbon monoxide as a result of sudden heredity changes brought on by the gammexene Macduff was promptly sent down to the kitchens, where he introduced a growth hormone into the soup, with nearly catastrophic results.
At present he was an unvalued member of the staff of Atmosph
eric Controls, where he did the jobs nobody else wanted to do.
MORE and more he had become conscious of the odor of sphyghi pervading the ship. Nothing could disguise its distinctive fragrance, which seeped by osmosis through membranes, trickled along the surface of molecular films and very likely rode piggyback on careening quanta. As Macduff made his stealthy way toward the lounge he realized that the word sphyghi was on every tongue, just as he had anticipated.
He paused warily on the threshold of the lounge, which ran like a belt (or cravat) around the entire ship, so that in two directions the floor seemed to slope steeply, until you tried to walk up it. Then it felt like a squirrel cage, which compensated automatically to your own speed.
Here was luxury. Macduff’s sybaritic soul yearned toward the tempting buffets of smorgasbord, ti-pali and Gustators. Like a palace of ice an ornate perambulating bar swung slowly past on its monorail track. An orchestra was playing Starlit Days and Sunny Nights, an eminently suitable choice for a ship in space, and sphyghi fragrance sent its luxurious breath from wall to wall.
Macduff stood with unobtrusive dignity near the door for some minutes, regarding the crowd. He was waiting for the appearance of Captain Ramsay. Presently a buzz of interested comment began to arise and a throng of passengers converged down the salon’s slopes. The Captain had arrived. Macduff melted into the crowd and vanished with the suddenness of a Boojum.
Ramsay stood at the bottom of a concave sectioned amphitheater, looking up at his audience with an unaccustomed smile on his seamed face. There was no trace of Macduff, though a repressed mutter of sotto voce comment came occasionally from behind a broad-beamed member of the Plutonian lepidoptera.
Captain Ramsay spoke.
“As ye probably ken,” he said, “we are here to arrange aboot the ship’s pool. Some of ye may not have travelled in space before, so the acting firrst mate wull explain how this is done. Mister French, please.”
Collected Fiction Page 702
