by James Warner
These guys didn’t mince words. Probably they have a tight time schedule to meet and have, out of courtesy to the present human occupants, chosen not to just blast everyone and take over the whole planet. I could like someone like that.
“There is the matter of your fleet. Should I simply destroy all the ships, or do you have some other suggestion?” The way these guys started up the conversation, I thought I should make them aware that this was not going to be an easy invasion. They looked at each other; at least I assume that was what they were doing. Then they looked at me closely. Then one took a device out of his pocket and looked at it.
“You are one of the occupants of the space ship we assumed our scouts destroyed?”
I didn’t know if we were still shielded, but you never find things out by not doing anything, so I pressed the alert signal on my jeweled “bracelet”. It was immediately answered by the acknowledgement light under the “emerald”. So we were open and Meph was monitoring. That made me breathe easier.
“Yes. However my ship was not destroyed and rests comfortably in the port on this planet. Now what should I do about your fleet?”
One of the aliens just disappeared then. The other who had been talking turned to me. “Our leader advises me that you could be dangerous. What sort of formalities do you require for the accomplishment of our goal of settling here? We can offer payment of technological exchange or some valuable substance for the land we require. Is there anything else?”
This was growing into one of the most bizarre summit meetings I had ever been involved in. “Are you empowered to make final agreements between your civilization and another?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Fine. So am I. This is how we customarily do it. The agreement is put into a non-computer permanent record such as a Nynex bar or crystal lattice cube. In this document are listed all the conditions as agreed upon by each representative of the civilizations, along with some sort of official symbol to make it obvious to all who view the record that it is a true and valid record. Then a computer copy of the agreement is circulated to every repository of knowledge of the civilization so all beings have access to the information. The actual negotiations are recorded in real time by the respective cultural representatives and the recordings are compared prior to creation of the permanent record. At an agreed upon time the conditions of the agreement are considered in force and the new actions begin. Is this acceptable to you?”
“Yes. I will recall my associate so we may begin.” Thus began the summit meeting. Of course, it was my first with an advanced alien civilization, so that probably accounted for my cold clammy hands during the entire eight hours.
The Port Captain was placed in a stasis field so he wouldn’t interfere with the process and his secretary was frequently sent out to procure various items we needed to proceed. During the entire affair I surreptitiously monitored my bracelet, but the telltale lights never flickered, indicating Sassy was recording without interference. After the initial blustering, things went amazingly smoothly and rapidly. All treaties should be so easily created.
At last, with the official computer records finished (and a complete recording safely in the Hornet’s data banks) I had to send for someone who could create the official record. Talking to the secretary in the relaxing environment of tropical palms, nut trees and large leafy plants with gently running water in the downstairs lounge of the Port Captain’s building I began to appreciate the finer points of the aliens’ conversation.
The Port Captain was already arranging for some scientists and engineers to meet with the new colonists to work out how our cultures could assist each other on the outpost world. O-Frbyl, as my alien associate was called, arranged to download his star map into the Hornet. The last I heard, Meph was talking animatedly via another translator to the Frbylzks’ chief engineer about phase-pulsed message packets and such.
We agreed to keep each other’s copy of the summit documents in secure storage. So I got a totally invisible (to normal human sight) “something” in an iridium box. O-Frbyl got a nicely done gold paged document in a special Nynex case which seemed to be visible to them very well, in spite of its opacity to my senses.
The fleet, it turned out, was almost entirely transport ships, with only five armed escorts. They hadn’t noticed the human settlement at all when they had set out to colonize this place because of the different frequencies their perceptions use. It was quite a surprise and a serious setback, to find aliens already firmly in place. And how about old “Last Chance Bar and Grill?” I never met either of the founding Captains, as both were off on a holiday near the Galactic core in one of the pleasure planets so prevalent there. Oh well... I figured I had a day or so to soak up the “primitive” atmosphere of this exotic port.
Chapter 5.
I hadn’t seen nor heard from Meph in days, since he got that manual on their shielding system from the aliens’ warp drive officer. He was refining his equipment and having a wonderful time, having the Hornet’s food synthesizer make various strange concoctions when he remembered to eat. One particularly unusual dish was steamed hot dogs with peanut butter and mustard on a slice of whole grain wheat bread. Ugh!
And I, well, there was this promising youth I met on “Last Chance,” a handsome teenage boy. He had monopolized me for all of two hours over lunch about how to become a Scoutship Captain. I was having a turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich with apple juice in a pub near the port and he was cleaning the floors. There were very few people in the pub. I noticed he kept cleaning the floor near and around my table, over and over again, sneaking surreptitious glances at me.
Finally I took charge of the situation.
“Hello. What’s your name?” I asked, with my most inviting smile. He stopped mopping and stared at me with open adoration. I may have blushed a bit.
“Frederick, ma’am.”
“My name is Caryn, Frederick. Can you take a break and sit with me here?”
“Uh, I dunno, ma’am. I guess so. Let me check with the boss.”
He left with the mop and returned a couple minutes later, without his rubber gloves and the mop.
“He says I’m on my own time.”
I patted the chair next to me. “Come on, Frederick, sit here and talk to me. Call me Caryn.”
He sat, but he was too shy to talk yet. I pushed my untouched glass of juice to him and he took a big swig, placing it back on the table a little shakily.
“How old are you, Frederick?” I asked, to get the conversation started.
“I’m seventeen next week.”
“Do you know anything about the Scout Program?” I realized I’d have to do all the prodding until the ice broke.
“Uh, yes ma’am. I’ve been studying it all my life.”
“Well I’m a Scoutship Captain. Is there anything you’d like to ask me?” I said, hoping he’d warm to the task.
“You are? Oh wow! Where do I start? Uh, how long have you been in space, sir?”
He had a refreshing politeness. I really liked him, though he was way too young for romance.
“This is my tenth year,” I answered.
“How did you become a Scoutship Captain?”
“Well, I had it all planned out in high school. I studied science, especially geology, physics and biology and took flying classes on weekends. What are you studying in school?”
“Oh I took all those classes already that they had in school. But I can’t afford the flying lessons right now. That’s why I’m working here. My folks aren’t well off like some of my friends.”
Hmmm. I could help this guy out, I thought. I began scheming. If he got into the Academy on Earth soon, he’d graduate at about the right age for a romantic exploration when I finished my mission. I really liked him and saw a great potential.
“Well Frederick, or can I call you Fred?”
“Yeah, Fred is good. Can I call you Caryn, sir?”
“Of course, you’re not in the military yet. So what else wo
uld you like to know?”
He was very keen to know everything about the Admiralty, so I humored him and told him grizzly stories of my adventures (mostly true). Then I wrote down on a napkin the name of a friend back at the Academy who might be able to pull some strings in my name to get him in – if he kept up his grades and took flying lessons in the next two years.
He would be just the right age for dating when I returned to base after this mission thanks to that old fart Einstein and his incomplete theory of relativity! And, being naturally lecherous, I had designs on him upon his graduation, assuming he would eventually be assigned to Hamarabus as a Scoutship First Mate, or maybe even Captain.
When I was finished with him and he had to get back to work, I decided to lay my web.
“Sassy, put me in touch with a local flying school.”
“Yes, Captain. You going to brush up a little?”
In a few moments my cell phone rang with the receptionist for the ‘Last Chance Fly-Away Aeronautical Academy’. That sounded right.
“Hello. My name is Caryn McDowell and I would like to pay for a full training program for a friend of
mine, Frederick Boyington.”
“Yes Miss McDowell. When will he be starting?”
“I think within the next few weeks. I don’t have the date yet. Can you make it an open enrollment?”
“Yes Miss McDowell. That will cost extra though.”
“Okay. Include full ground school, maintenance and flight lessons. What is the cost?”
“We have a spring special going right now, only five thousand Earth dollars. You save over five hundred.”
“Dollars? Very well, I’ll have my ship contact you for payment details momentarily. Good bye.”
“Your ship? Very well Captain McDowell and thank you.”
“Sassy, make the arrangements immediately. And find the Boyingtons’ number and connect me right away.”
“Yes, Captain, it’s your money.”
My cell rang and it was Fred’s mother.
“Hello, Mrs. Boyington?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“My name is Captain Caryn McDowell and I’m calling about your son.”
“Oh my god! From the holo shows? Is this some kind of joke?”
“No ma’am. I really am the REAL Caryn McDowell, not the holo show actress. Please be calm.”
I could hear yelling and running in the background.
Sometimes I just hated that show about me.
“Yes, uh Captain McDowell, how can we help you? Has Freddie done something wrong?” she came back to me. From the heavy breathing I heard on the line it seemed everyone in the house was listening in, maybe everyone on the planet!
“Nothing is wrong. I ran into Fred in the Café de Lune while I was having lunch and we were talking about the Scoutship program.”
“Oh of course. It’s all he ever talks about. Did he bore you with questions?”
“No, it was very refreshing. I was wondering if I could come by in a few minutes and talk to you about the program.”
“Oh. Oh. I’m afraid we can’t afford it. My husband’s a rancher and we just don’t make enough money to send him to Earth for school.”
“May I come and talk to you anyway?”
She sounded a little bit down now, but I had to make sure what I was planning would be okay.
“All right. My husband and I are home right now, come on over.”
“Thank you Mrs. Boyington. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Bye.”
I hung up and spoke to Sassy.
“Sassy, did you get a lock on that call?”
“Yes sir. Their ranch is a few miles outside of town. Do you want to use your convertible?”
“Yes. Just download the coordinates. I’m going now.”
“Yes, sir. It’s afternoon, watch out for the bugs.”
I left the restaurant and jumped into my speeder and away I went. I was as excited as going on a date. I didn’t really think through the possibility that if my plans succeeded in a few years these people could become my in-laws.
It was no trouble finding the ranch. I broke all the speed limits getting there. I just love driving fast. Their place was humongous. They didn’t seem as poor as Mrs. Boyington let on. But I guess ranching is a very expensive business with pretty high overhead. Anyway, I parked at the front door of their house and walked up the steps to ring the doorbell. But they must have been watching, because the door opened and a young girl about half my height in a light print dress and bare feet yelled back into the house, “She’s here, ma.”
I was enjoying the smell of growing things and fresh air. We were on the opposite side of the mountain range from the Last Chance spaceport and as far as the eye could see in three directions was flat planted farmland. I wondered how much of it these people owned.
In a moment Mrs. Boyington came to the door and took me to their parlor where we all sat after introductions. Mr. Boyington was well over six feet tall and in a long sleeved shirt and blue jean coveralls with not too dirty boots. Mrs. Boyington was in a pretty print dress of the same material as her daughter that revealed her extremely shapely legs. She was about 5’-8” tall, small boned and very pretty. I’d guess they were about forty years old planet time.
Mr. Boyington got right to the point. “So what’s your interest in our son, Miss McDowell?” he said, not quite hostilely, but nonetheless very businesslike.
“I’m not going to beat around the bush, Mr. Boyington. I’m wealthy and being in space eleven months of the year I don’t have a lot to spend my money on. I want to help your son achieve his dreams.”
“We don’t need charity!” He said. This negotiation was going to be tough!
“Oh Charles! Be civil. Can’t you see she wants to help Freddy?”
“You’re obviously an honest hard working man, Mr. Boyington. You have an exceptional son who has dreams that on this outpost world are not very likely to come to fruition. I can help. It’s not charity. I recognized in him today the potential to be a great Scoutship captain. All he needs is a leg up. I’m setting up a scholarship program for young people with high potential. Fred qualifies more than anyone else I’ve interviewed. I think of it as an investment. Is that so onerous?”
“I expected him to help out on the ranch after he finished school,” he said. At last the key point came out.
“I understand. But consider this, Mr. Boyington: how much can you expect from someone who has dreamed all his life of going off into space? It’s not likely to get you as good a farm hand as hiring someone in town who just needs the money. Be sensible. Your son has dreams that not too many people have the chance of realizing. I’m here to tell you not only can he achieve those dreams, I can help.”
“Oh Charles! Imagine, our son a Scoutship Captain! They get paid very well. He could help us out much more that way than just as another farm hand. Please listen to this woman, honey!”
Charles Boyington sat in his chair and stared at me. I think he was trying to stare me down. No chance! I looked back at him, my negotiating skills never really in doubt. All I had to do now was shut up. Eventually he flinched.
“How’s he going to get flying lessons? We can’t afford that,” he said
“Local flight school is included in the program,” I answered in my most kindly voice.
“Shit. You women ‘ave been conspiring against me. I know it. Well, all right then. He can go flying and we’ll see how he does in school. I’m not really against it, you know,” he capitulated.
“Oh honey!” Mrs. Boyington yelled as she threw herself all over her husband, kissing him. She ended up snuggled in his large strong arms, tears coming now down her pretty cheeks. Her husband was smiling. He wasn’t as tough a customer as he let on. It was just his style of negotiation.
“I have to count on you two to keep his nose to the academic grindstone. His grades have to continue to be good, there’s no way around that. It’s going to be a heavy load. And if he makes it,
you’re going to be very proud.”
“Oh Miss McDowell! You are a jewel. I’m sure your parents are very proud of you,” Mrs. Boyington said.
“Well, I uh, I have to go now. Duty calls,” I said hurriedly, wiping away the beginning of tears. I didn’t want to put a damper on our meeting by my momentary loss of control.
I got up and their daughter ran to me and grabbed my hand.
“Freddy’s really gonna go into space, Captain?” she said, walking me to the door with her parents.
“That’s the idea,” I said, turning my head and wiping at my eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Fiona.”
“That’s a good name. I sure hope so, Fiona Boyington. I sure hope so.”
