The Magnificent Wilf

by Gordon R. Dickson

  “I don’t know! But it’s got to be stopped!”

  Desperately, Tom looked around for inspiration. He thought of how he had almost begun to convince the Bulbur that his attitudes were not unique in the universe. He thought of how effective the Bulbur’s gift of song had proved in the room when the Bulbur sang to him.

  “What we need,” he said, “is another Bulbur to sing this one into resisting the Jaktal. And that’s imposs—”

  “Oh, for—” Lucy said, impatiently, broke off and abruptly began to sing, loudly and in French.

  “Allons, enfants de la patrie—” she sang.

  Almost with the first word, Tom understood what she had in mind. His best bathroom baritone chimed in with her. And her own clear soprano picked up the second line.

  “—Le jour de gloire—sing!” she cried to Monsieur Pourtoit, who was standing only a little way away across the open space from them. He looked a little puzzled. But, aside from being the Ambassador from France, there was the fact that he was a Frenchman down to his bones. He could hardly stand silent in a situation like this. He opened his mouth and joined a resonant, trained voice to Lucy’s tones and Tom’s.

  “What is this?” roared Bu Hjark, spinning around to face Tom. His lizard face was agape, showing great dog teeth. He lifted the sword ominously in his hand. Tom swallowed, but continued to sing.

  The Marseillaise, the National Anthem of France, was beginning to sound its battle cry against tyranny from other confused but cooperative lips. The sword swung up. The Gloks turned as one Glok toward Tom. Suddenly a clear, pure note, two octaves above high F, trilled through all the sound of the room, striking everyone in the room motionless for a second. Then they turned as one Being toward the table.

  The fine, thrilling note was coming from the Bulbur. It had stretched upward until it was now almost twice its original height. From what well of knowledge it had picked up the necessary information Tom was never to discover, but it had changed color again. Its lowest tier was now a dark blue, its middle white, and its top red, the colors of the French flag. As those around it stood, like soldiers at attention, it broke magnificently into song to the tune of the anthem itself.

  “Against us long, a tyranny,” it sang in English, in wild masterful accents, “a bloody sword has waved on high!”

  It was pitching its notes directly at Bu Hjark. Those assembled saw the full power of the Bulbur’s melody-borne emotional might driving through the savage ego of the Jaktal like a metal blade through the tender body of a Bulbur. Now the whole assemblage of guests had joined in the song. Spellbound, a chorus of diplomatic and government personnel, Humans and Aliens together, roared with the Bulbur to the tune of the Marseillaise:

  Too long have you kept us subject.

  With your Spanduls, your Naffings

  and your Gloks!

  Why shouldn’t peace be sweet?

  Who dares a Bulbur eat?

  Have done! Have done!

  Let there be an end!

  It’s beautiful PEACE—

  from this hour on, my friend!

  Then, as the last great chord of voices crashed into silence, the huge figure of the Jaktal ambassador could be seen to shiver through all its length; and, leaning more and more at an angle with eyes glazed, it toppled at last, to thunder upon the floor like some mighty mined tower. And the voices of the Spanduls and the Gloks present rose in one great wail, crying “Zzatz! Zzatz! Zzatz…”

  When their cries at last died away into silence, the Bulbur on the table could be seen to have taken on an all-over shade of perky pink.

  “Jaktals,” it mentioned, in mild but audible tones as it leaned slightly to look down at the fallen Bu Hjark, “are also supposed to be very good eating.”

  “—And that remark,” said Tom, as he and Lucy were back home again and once more getting ready for bed, “will undoubtedly go down in the history books of our galactic Sector as the harshest statement ever made by an adult Bulbur.”

  “But what’s going to happen to the Bulburs now?” asked Lucy. “Did you learn anything from that long, scrambled phone conversation you had with Domango after we got home here?”

  “In theory, the Bulburs should now take over the Jaktal Empire. I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, though. Domango had a private talk with our Bulbur after all the fuss was over at the embassy. There’s to be another private session at Domango’s office tomorrow. The other Bulburs, our Bulbur said, would ratify any statement of his—if for no other reason than that they wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings by disagreeing with him.”

  “They’re that sensitive?” said Lucy.

  “Yes,” said Tom, taking a thoughtful swallow from the champagne that Lucy had insisted on opening in honor of the occasion, “but shrewd—Domango suspects. And I agree with him. Domango told me there was one interesting thing the Bulbur said in the course of their conversation, without explaining it—‘Greater love hath no being than to take on authority as a duty rather than as a privilege.’ ”

  “You’re right,” said Lucy. “It’s a very good thing to say, but there’s a definitely ominous sound to it, all the same.”

  “Yes,” said Tom, “and in any case, the Secretariat is in for one hell of an expansion. There’s going to be a full department of Technical Advisors—but you and I aren’t going to be a part of it.”

  “We’re not?” said Lucy. “Particularly after tonight? What’s Domango got in mind for us, then?”

  Tom sighed heavily. Rex licked his hand sleepily. “Love Tom and Lucy,” he telepathed softly.

  “Domango wouldn’t tell me,” said Tom.

  They fell silent and both drank some more champagne. In the quiet, they could hear the yells and shouts from a night soccer game, winding up under the lights of a nearby cleared area of the parkland and penetrating through their living room walls.

  It sounded to both Tom and Lucy a little like Glok and Spandul voices in the distance, faintly and forebodingly crying, “Zzatz! Zzatz!”

  Chapter 9

  “This is a critical moment for the people of our world ,” Domango said to Lucy and Tom two days later, as they sat in his office, now flooded with morning sunlight through perfectly ordinary, but large, windows. Domango was behind his desk, and Tom and Lucy were in the comfortable armchairs facing it. “So forgive me if I ramble a bit as I tell you things. I was up most of the night talking not only to the Oprinkian representative on Cayahno, but some others on the Sector Council.”

  “You can talk between here and Cayahno?” said Tom. “That’s hundreds of light years away from here.”

  “Alien technology.” Domango gave a tired wave of his hand, barely lifting it from the desk. “I don’t have the slightest idea how it’s managed; but I do have a voice-and-picture link to Mr. Valhinda, the Oprinkian on the Council; and he put me in touch with several other members from even older, wiser civilizations. The problem, of course, is compounded by the fact that the Bulbur wants to leave immediately for his home-world aboard the Jaktal Ambassador’s spaceship—which is, of course, now entirely at his disposal. The Ambassador himself, incidentally, will survive, after all. But he is a broken Being. There is no physical defense against an emotional strength like that Bulbur showed us. You might even say the Bulbur owns the Jaktal spaceship, now. To him, of course, leaving for Bulburnia immediately seems like a simple decision.”

  He paused and looked at Tom and Lucy, who were staring back at him. After a moment he blinked.

  “I am rambling, aren’t I?” he said. “At my age trying to get by with a couple of hours’ sleep makes things difficult. Excuse me a moment.”

  He reached into a drawer of his desk and came up with a vase holding a single golden, tulip-shaped flower in it. “This is one of the few native Bulburnian things the Jaktal Ambassador allowed the Bulbur to have. He passed it on to me, since he said he would have no great need now, himself, for it. He said if for any reason I was troubled or ill I should sniff it.”

 
He put the blossom to his nose and sniffed. Immediately his eyes brightened up and a smile changed his face. “Remarkable!” he said in a strong voice, putting it back in the drawer of his desk. “I should have done that before you came in. The effect only lasts for about an hour or two, but that will do for our conversation. I can’t remember exactly what I’ve said so far. Did I tell you the Jaktal Ambassador has recovered from his defeat by the Bulbur?”

  “You told us he’s still alive,” Lucy helped him out.

  “Oh, yes,” answered Domango. “I saw him being assisted on to the now Bulbur-owned spaceship, myself, a little earlier this morning. He was able to walk, with aid; but he was very unsteady on his legs. I understand what happened to him was analogous to the vital fluid—might as well call it blood, I suppose—freezing in his veins. But he thawed out without a problem, after the Bulbur sang a reassuring melody to him.”

  “I’m glad,” said Lucy. “He’s a horrible alien, but—”

  “I know,” said Domango, sympathetically, “I feel the same way. But he can’t help being a Jaktal. All his instincts plus a lifetime of training have fitted him for one occupation —tyranny. But you’d hardly have recognized him. He even made a great effort and shook hands with me weakly, as he passed me on his way to the ship. I had to be there, you see, officially. He is, after all, still officially the Ambassador from the Jaktal race. He also tried to apologize to me in a faltering voice. I told him it was quite all right. No one had been offended.”

  “A white lie,” murmured Tom.

  “Exactly,” said Domango. “It will do no harm in our future relationship with the Jaktals. But—back to the point I wish to talk to you about—the important matter confronting us right now. As I say, I took the advice of several of the more knowledgeable members on the Alien Sector Council on Cayahno and they thoroughly agree with me. Unfortunately, it has to be a handshake decision between me and the Bulbur, before he leaves. There’s no time for our All-Earth Federation to discuss this matter and take a vote on it. That would take months at least; and by that time there would be no knowing what the situation would be with the Jaktal Empire as we know it at this moment. Other aggressive probationary civilizations might have tried to snap up parts of it.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” said Lucy, “but you haven’t yet told us what the decision’s about.”

  “It’s a little difficult for me to come to the point on it,” said Domango. “It appears so simple and is actually anything but that. You see, our Bulbur here told me last night that his race would have no great desire to run the Jaktal Empire. He offered the authority over that Empire to us Humans; with the Bulburs committed to back us up in case our authority was challenged. All other Bulburs, he said, would ratify that move, if they were contacted by us—if for no other reason than that they wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings by disagreeing with him.”

  “Yes, Tom told me something about that last night,” said Lucy.

  “Did he? Good!” said Domango. “The Bulbur also said he believed he was turning the authority over to people who would regard it as a sacred trust.”

  “What a fine thing to say!” said Lucy.

  “Isn’t it?” said Domango. “If we all just—but back to business. I wasn’t in a position to disillusion him with the information that we have more than a few people on this planet of ours who are far from being that trustworthy. But, you see, particularly if that offer was passed on to the U.R. Assembly, it would be very hard for many there to turn down the opportunity. A ready-made galactic empire is a tempting thing to many minds.”

  Tom and Lucy nodded solemnly.

  “My own feelings, of course,” went on Domango, “are that not only are we not ready for such responsibility, but if we did, we would most certainly be in the position of, barehanded, catching a Jaktal by the tail. To say nothing of the Spanduls, the Naffings, the Gloks and the others among their subservient races. The Bulbur will not turn down the responsibility to oversee and discipline the Jaktal Empire, if we decide not to take it on—the Sector Council on Cayahno would have to approve our doing so, in any case. They are—if I may say so—a far, far better Race than we are. Accordingly, I told the Bulbur that we might not feel equal to the task—and found that there was a snag to that course.”

  “A snag?” said Tom, sharply.

  “Yes,” said Domango. “He told me quite frankly that if that was the case the Bulburs would agree to manage the Jaktal Empire—but only for a certain length of time; until we humans proved that we were able to handle it, and felt that we could.”

  “But there’s no way we can do that!” said Tom.

  “Well, yes and no,” said Domango. “To begin with, the length of time they would be talking about would be up to several thousand years. But, nonetheless, to come from our— between the three of us—very low state of civilization to one with all the power, will and authority to peacefully control something like the Jaktal Empire—we haven’t got a moment to waste. In the end, he and I agreed that in any case we should get started on trying to achieve an interstellar profile as a Race; and achieve a higher civilized status as quickly as we’re able to.”

  “How?” said Lucy.

  “That’s the thing,” said Domango. “I used the same word in questioning him; and he offered a suggestion—about the only practical suggestion that appears to have any chance at all of being successful; and that brings me to the reason you two are here talking to me today. I assume you were both somewhat startled to hear there was now to be a Department of Technical Advisors in the Secretariat, but you two were to have no part in it?”

  “That’s right,” said Tom. “I should think that if anyone has, we’ve qualified ourselves—”

  “You have indeed,” interrupted Domango. “In fact, you’ve qualified yourselves for more than that. The Bulbur suggested that you two be sent out as Ambassadors-at-Large to the other Races of our Sector; with the announced mission merely of establishing contact with other Races that have been admitted at least to a probationary stage of civilization.”

  “I don’t see how that’ll help,” said Lucy, frowning.

  “In itself, it’ll do nothing at all,” said Domango. “Officially, it’ll appear that you’re merely on a sort of goodwill mission. But, the Bulbur pointed out, backed up by the very high report the Oprinkian had to give after investigating you two and your dog, under the cover of this mission you could gain a necessary familiarity with other important Alien races. At the same time, you could both get a general picture of the Alien situation in our Sector of the galaxy; and possibly find opportunities to establish the ability of humans to take control of situations involving other Aliens.”

  “What opportunities?” asked Tom, dealing with an itching earlobe by thoughtfully rubbing it between thumb and first finger. “That’s the question.”

  “The Oprinkian representative on the Sector Council,” said Domango, “told me that the Bulbur was quite right in his suggestion. On the larger stage of the Sector community, opportunities would present themselves, the counterpart of which you’d never run into, here on the small world that is our Earth. And by the way, Tom, I would advise you to refer to the briefing you’ve been studying and brush up on your racial gestures. That action with your ear, just now, is regarded as the most deadly insult to anyone of the Heffalumpia Race. They have very large ears, you see, about which they are extremely modest. Very like we Humans and—well, certain parts of our bodies.”

  “Would it be dangerous?” asked Lucy.

  “I am afraid it might—at times,” said Domango. “I’d want you both to go into this with your eyes open if you decide to take on the job. But on the other hand, it may prove the only key to the future of the human race as a power in this Sector of the galaxy—particularly since Humanity has so far been restricted to this one small world. It’s not as if we were spread over a number of planets in a number of star systems.”

  “It does sound interesting,” said Lucy, almost to herself.

&n
bsp; Tom felt a tingle of temptation in him also. It would be personally attractive to go out and visit these other Aliens and their worlds. It would make being tourists in other parts of Earth ridiculous by comparison.

  The older man was eyeing him keenly.

  “You would be the first two humans ever to visit Alien worlds,” Domango said.

  “We’d have to leave Rex at the boarding kennel, though,” said Lucy to Tom, “and he hates the kennel.”

  “Oh, by no means,” said Domango. “Rex must go with you.”

  “Take him along, too?” Tom stared at the Secretary.

  “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t have to, every trip,” said Domango. “Perhaps it would complicate your planet-hopping. But both the Bulbur and the Oprinkian seemed to think he’d prove to be an asset.”

  “It’s hard to see why,” said Lucy.

  “Evidently, our Human relationship to our pets is unheard of among other Races in this Sector of the galaxy. The relationship would strongly impress the other Races you would meet,” answered Domango.

  “You mean Mr. Rejilla was impressed that way?” asked Lucy.

  “Yes indeed,” said Domango.

  “How would we travel, then?” asked Lucy. “In a spaceship like the Jaktal Ambassador did; or like the one that must have brought Mr. Rejilla here?”

  “Actually,” said Domango, with a cough, “Oprinkians, like most of the older and more civilized Aliens, don’t bother with anything as clumsy as a spaceship to travel around. But they can arrange to find you one—or perhaps find you passage on a spaceship going in the right direction and belonging to an Alien race that does use them.”

  Tom nodded thoughtfully and looked at Lucy and then back at Domango.

  “Now,” said Domango, “as I said, there’s not a minute to lose. On the other hand, I understand something like this is really too important a step in your lives to be decided on the spur of the moment. Between the three of us, I should tell you, however, it was the Oprinkian on the Council who first strongly suggested that you should go out if at all possible. But the Bulbur won’t leave for another forty-eight hours; and I should think I could give you that much time to think it over, if you want.”