TO CHOKE AN OCEAN
by
J. F. BONE
Illustrated by Wood
[Sidenote: _Gourmets all agree that nothing can beat oysters on thehalf-shell--not even the armed might of the Terran Confederation!_]
"Nice that you dropped in," the man in the detention room said. "I neverexpected a visit from the Consul General. It makes me feel important."
"The Confederation takes an interest in all of its citizens' welfare,"Lanceford said. "You _are_ important! Incidentally, how is it going?"
"Not too bad. They treat me all right. But these natives sure are toughon visitors. I've never been checked so thoroughly in all my life--andnow this thirty day quarantine! Why, you'd think I was carrying theplague instead of a sample case!"
The chubby little commercial traveller probably had a right to complain,Lanceford thought. After all, a Niobian quarantine station isn't thepleasantest sort of environment. It's not meant to be comfortable,physical discomfort being as good a way as any to discourage casualvisitors. The ones who have fortitude enough to stand the entryregulations can get in, but tourists seldom visit Niobe. However, theplanet's expanding economy offered a fertile field for salesmen, and menof that stripe would endure far worse hardships than a port of entry inpursuit of the Almighty Credit.
Now this fellow, George Perkins, was a typical salesman. And despite hissoft exterior there was a good hard core inside.
Lanceford looked him over and decided that he would last. "You came hereof your own free will, didn't you?" he asked.
"If you call a company directive free will," Perkins answered. "Iwouldn't come here for a vacation, if that's what you mean. But thecommercial opportunities can't be ignored."
"I suppose not, but you can hardly blame the Niobians for beingsuspicious of strangers. Perhaps there's no harm in you. But they have aright to be sure; they've been burned before." Lanceford uncoiled hislean gray length from the chair and walked over to the broad armorglaswindow. He stared out at the gloomy view of Niobe's rainswept polarlandscape. "You know," he continued, "you might call this CustomsService a natural consequence of uninvestigated visitors." He broodedover the grayness outside. A polar view was depressing--scrubbyvegetation, dank grassland, the eternal Niobian rain. He felt sorry forPerkins. Thirty days in this place would be sheer torture.
"It must have been quite some disturbance to result in this." Perkinswaved his hand at the barren room. "Sounds like you know something aboutit."
"I do. In a way you might say that I was responsible for it."
"Would you mind telling me?"
* * * * *
"I wouldn't mind at all." Lanceford looked at his watch. "If I have thetime, that is. I'm due to be picked up in an hour, but Niobians havesome quaint conceptions of time. So if you want to take a chance that Iwon't finish--"
"Go ahead."
"To start with, take a look at that insigne over the door. The wholestory's right there."
Perkins eyed the emblem of the Niobian Customs Service. It was afive-pointed star surrounding a circle, superimposed over the typicallyTerran motto: "Eternal Vigilance is the Price of Safety." He nodded.
"How come the Terran style?" he asked.
"That's part of the story. Actually that insigne's a whole chapter ofNiobe's history. But you have to know what it stands for." Lancefordsighed reminiscently. "It began during the banquet that celebrated thesigning of the Agreement which made Niobe a member of the Confederation.I was the Director of the BEE's Niobe Division at that time. As a matterof fact, I'd just taken the job over from Alvord Sims. The Old Man hadbeen ordered back to Terra, to take over a job in the Administration,and I was the next man in line.
"The banquet was a flop, of course. Like most mixed gatherings involvingdifferent races, it was a compromise affair. Nobody was satisfied. Itdragged along in a spirit of suffering resignation--the Niobians quietlyenduring the tasteless quality of the food, while the Confederationrepresentatives, wearing unobtrusive nose plugs, suffered politelythrough the watered-down aroma and taste of the Niobian delicacies. Allthings being considered, it was moving along more smoothly than it hadany right to, and if some moron on the kitchen staff hadn't used tobascosauce instead of catsup, we'd probably have signed the Agreement andgone on happily ever after.
"But it didn't work out that way.
"Of course it wasn't entirely the kitchen's fault. There had to be somedamn fool at the banquet who'd place the bomb where it would do somegood. And of course I had to be it." Lanceford grinned. "About the onlything I have to say in my defense is that I didn't know it was loaded!"
Perkins looked at him expectantly as Lanceford paused. "Well, don't stopthere," he said. "You've got me interested."
Lanceford smiled good-naturedly and went on.
* * * * *
We held the banquet in the central plaza of Base Alpha. It was the onlyroofed area on the planet large enough to hold the crowd of high brassthat had assembled for the occasion. We don't do things that way now,but fifty years ago we had a lot to learn. In those days, the admissionof a humanoid planet into the Confederation was quite an event. TheVIP's thought that the native population should be aware of it.
I was sitting between Kron Avar and one of the high brass from theBureau of Interstellar Trade, a fellow named Hartmann. I had no businessbeing in that rarefied air, since Kron was one of the two FirstCouncilors and Hartmann ranked me by a couple of thousand files on thepromotion list. But I happened to be a friend of Kron's, so protocol gotstretched a bit in the name of friendship. He and I had been through alot together when I was a junior explorer with the BEE some ten yearsbefore. We'd kept contact with each other ever since. We had both comeup the ladder quite a ways, but a Planetary Director, by rights,belonged farther down the table. So there I was, the recipient of one ofthe places of honor and a lot of dirty looks.
Hartmann didn't think much of being bumped one seat away from the top.He wasn't used to associating with mere directors, and besides, I kepthim from talking with Kron about trade relations. Kron was busyrehashing the old days when we were opening Niobe to viscayaculture.Trade didn't interest him very much, and Hartmann interested him less.Niobians are never too cordial to strangers, and he had never seen theBIT man before this meeting.
Anyway, the talk got around to the time he introduced me to vorkum, anative dish that acts as a systemic insect repellant--and tastes likeone! And right then I got the bright idea that nearly wrecked Niobe.
As I said, there was both Niobian and Confederation food at the banquet,so I figured that it was a good time as any to get revenge for what mydog-headed friend did to my stomach a good decade before.
So I introduced him to Terran cooking.
Niobians assimilate it all right, but their sense of taste isn't thesame as ours. Our best dishes are just mush to their palates, which areconditioned to sauces that would make the most confirmed spice lover onEarth run screaming for the water tap. They have a sense of thedelicate, too, but it needs to be stimulated with something like liquidfire before they can appreciate it. For instance, Kron liked Earthpeaches, but he spiced them with horseradish and red pepper.
I must admit that he was a good sport. He took the hors d'oeuvres instride, swallowing such tasteless things as caviar, Roquefort andanchovy paste without so much as a grimace. Of course, I was taking anunfair advantage of Kron's natural courtesy, but it didn't bother me toomuch. He had rubbed that vorkum episode in for years. It was nice towatch him squirm.
When I pressed him to try an oyster cocktail, I figured things had gonefar enough.
He took it, of course, even though anyone who knew Niobians could seethat he didn't want any part of it. There was a pleadi
ng look in his eyethat I couldn't ignore. After all, Kron was a friend. I was actuallyabout to stop him when he pulled an oyster from its red bath and poppedit into his mouth. There was a 'you'll be sorry' look on his face. Igestured to a waiter to remove the cocktail as he bit into the oyster,figuring, somewhat belatedly, that I had gone too far.
The grateful look I got from him was sufficient reward. But then ithappened. Kron stopped looking grateful and literally snatched thecocktail back from the startled waiter!
He looked at me with an expression of disgust. "The first decent foodthus far," he said, "and you attempt to send it away!"
"Huh?" I exclaimed stupidly. "I
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