The Magnificent Wilf

by Gordon R. Dickson

  “That is not necessarily thinkable,” said Mr. Rejilla. “Each new Race admitted to civilization has qualifications no other Race holds. In the case of your Race, you have this highly pugnacious rating.”

  “What makes you so sure of that?” said Lucy. “In many ways, we’re really quite Civilized—kind and decent and so forth. We may quarrel a little bit among ourselves, but—”

  She stopped, for Mr. Rejilla had held up a long, dark-furred, placating hand.

  “Our instruments are never wrong,” he said. “You must take my word for it. Because of your various actions, and your superb records, since you and Tom left Earth last, there is no one else in our galaxy better fitted to do what we would like you to do, than you, yourselves.”

  “But if we didn’t exist, you’d be finding someone else to do this, wouldn’t you?” said Lucy.

  Mr. Rejilla did not answer right away.

  “Well, er …” said Hmmm.

  “Just tell me one thing!” said Lucy. “Why us? Why Tom and me? Don’t tell me we just happened to be the two most dangerous people on Earth.”

  “I will not,” said Mr. Rejilla. “The honesty which is the backbone of all Oprinkian Civilization compels me to answer you correctly. As Individuals, you are not the two most ferocious people on Earth. But as a pair you are unmatchable among your Race. Our instruments missed nothing. Every two-Being pair on your world was compared to you once you had been found, and you came out far and away above the rest.”

  “We did?” said Tom.

  “That is right,” said Mr. Rejilla.

  “But we’re really very different,” said Lucy. ‘Tin quite ferocious, or pugnacious, or whatever you want to call it. And Tom …”

  Loyalty blocked the further words Lucy had been about to say.

  “I’m more happy-go-lucky,” said Tom. “Not that I can’t get wound up if something serious comes along. But it’s as if I had only two speeds, on or off; and I’m on off most of the time.”

  “Both these things are absolutely right,” declared Mr. Rejilla. “However, this difference between you is exactly the reason you are as you are—two most unlikely individuals to form the pair you do. Clearly you have both made great adjustments to achieve your relationship. This is only possible because you both have high empathy quotients—as witness Tom taking a deep interest in an anonymous spider—Lucy throwing diplomatic politeness to the winds by singing Marseillaise to rescue a Bulbur. The two of you have harnessed empathy to make unusual adjustment. The result is very interesting—I might say, almost unbelievable!”

  “Unbelievable?” said both Tom and Lucy. “Magnificent!” suggested Hmmm.

  “The bonding resulting has tremendously increased your potency for offense and defense for the pair of you. If ordinary pairing of Humans is considered as adding potentials of two individuals, you two have multiplied. Foremost among these is the will to defend each other. So, when your race is threatened by these Extra-Galactics, each one of you feels the other threatened also, and reacts accordingly. Believe me, you were without doubt, our best choice.”

  Tom and Lucy looked at each other, wordlessly. “Nonetheless,” went on Mr. Rejilla, “I must also in fairness point out that your selection is not completely complimentary. As the last Race admitted to membership in Civilization, you are still close to the barbaric stage and therefore the fiercest presently recognized. In short, you combine minimum elements of Civil with maximum elements of Fierce. I need scarcely add you are the only two with enough exposure to our Galactic situation to fully understand the need for what you are now asked to do.”

  “Yes!” chittered Hmmm. “And already you’ve demonstrated a truly galactic sense of responsibility toward other Races of our galaxy, by what you did for us Xxxytl in the case of the Sharks.”

  “That also is very true,” said Mr. Rejilla. “Responsibility is a cornerstone of Civilization.”

  Tom and Lucy looked at each other again.

  “Maybe we should sleep on it,” Tom said to Lucy. “I’m afraid,” said Mr. Rejilla, “such will not be possible. You have yet to learn the intricacies of interstellar timal action, not to mention intergalactic timal interaction. You must take my word for it that if you take a night to sleep on it, the invaders will have the equivalent of fifty more of your world’s years to consider the situation here.”

  “Fifty years!” said Tom.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Rejilla, “though this only applies if you wait to accept the task we offer you. Once you do, the timal fraction for the Extra-Galactics becomes exactly the same as ours, because of interaction. You no doubt find that a paradox; but I must ask you to trust me. It is a timal fact.”

  “I don’t see why—” Lucy broke off. “You mean if we even think about doing it, this time fraction changes?”

  “Yes,” said both Mr. Rejilla and Hmmm.

  Tom and Lucy consulted each other with their eyes for a third time.

  “Well . . .” said Tom.

  “I suppose,” said Lucy.

  They both looked back at Mr. Rejilla.

  “Yes,” said Tom, heavily, “I guess we’ll try it!”

  “Yay!” said Hmmm.

  “I am congratulating, with admiration,” said Mr. Rejilla. “Shall we shake hands to celebrate?”

  They shook hands solemnly to celebrate; and each took one of Hmmm’s fins gently between the tips of two fingers and moved it. slightly up and down after shaking hands with Mr. Rejilla.

  “Well, then,” said Tom. “How do we start?”

  “We start,” chittered Hmmm, “by interviewing the most notorious of the trader Sharks here on Cayahno; and getting what information he has out of him about his connections with the Extra-galactic aliens.”

  “And the timal fraction is now in effect,” said Mr. Rejilla, “so, if all are agreed, we will go immediately.”

  And (this being Cayahno) immediately they did so.

  The room around them was suddenly another room: walled, floored, and with a ceiling—all of blue marble and holding an atmosphere of damp, scented air. There were half a dozen hassocks scattered around the floor, on which visitors could sit, crouch, he, coil, or whatever they wished to do while they waited; and beyond these a businesslike desk, behind which a purple, worm-like Being about four feet tall was seated on something or other out of sight and wearing a fanciful sea-green hat, but nothing else.

  “I am Mr. Rejilla, the incoming Oprinkian Sector Representative on the Sector Council,” that individual said to the worm, affably. “With me, is a Representative from Xxxytl and the doubled Ambassadors-at-Large from the Human Race. It is important we see Mr. Slasjik at once.”

  “Will your Eminences be seated?” whined the worm. “I will tell—” it broke off, then went on almost immediately “—Mr. Slasjik has just informed me he already knows you are here; and he will be honored to see you immediately. Shall I effect the change of rooms?”

  “If you would be so kind,” said Mr. Rejilla.

  Instantly, they were somewhere else again, with walls, floor and ceiling and atmosphere very much like the one they had just left. There were also hassocks here; and, on a large sort of chair-bed, a dark, gray shark-like being about fifteen feet long reclined at an angle of forty-five degrees.

  There was a slit in the back of the piece of furniture that upheld him to accommodate his back fin. Otherwise, he had stubby arms and legs; but his pointed snout, under-slung jaw, and in that jaw the several rows of vicious teeth he displayed as he smiled at them, were as shark-like as anyone could expect.

  “You are welcome,” he said; and added, turning to a small red-shelled, crab-like being who was busily polishing his tail-fin, “you may scurry away now, Niglik!” The crab-like being gave a wordless squeak, scuttled across the floor with amazing speed and disappeared through a wall, although there was no visible opening in it. Meanwhile, Mr. Rejilla had switched from the Cayahno official language to English to explain something to Tom and Lucy in an undertone.

  “M
r. Slasjik,” he murmured to Tom and Lucy, “is a leader among the Gnassh—as the collective races of Sharks are generally referred to here on Cayahno.”

  The conversation switched back into the official Cayahno language again, which was one of the ones that Tom had been taught in his original briefing, and which he had since taught to Lucy, utilizing some of the Alien techniques he had learned in the briefing.

  “In what way can I be of use to you?” said Mr. Slasjik. “Anything that an unimportant trader can do for you would be my pleasure.”

  “Come, come,” said Mr. Rejilla. “We know your interstellar worth—and your capabilities. Let us not pretend to underestimate each other. It is of importance to me, and to my colleague here from Xxxytl— and to a great extent that of the Sector Council itself — that Tom and Lucy, here, accomplish the tasks they have now set out to do. And kindly spare us the pretense you don’t know what that is; we know the underhanded capabilities of you Gnassh. In furtherance of their accomplishment, we could use information; and, with your well-known connections, we have guessed that you could tell us what they need to know.”

  “I will be only too glad to so help,” said Mr. Slasjik. “Meanwhile, may I offer you some fresh, warm blood?”

  His guests politely declined.

  “In that case, if you don’t mind,” said Mr. Slasjik, “I believe I’ll have a noggin, myself. I always get a little thirsty while talking.”

  He extended one of his stubby arms and abruptly there was a tankard in it, like a large pilsner glass about three feet long, and holding perhaps a gallon and a half of red liquid. Lucy closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again.

  “What would you like to know, then?” asked Mr. Slasjik, courteously.

  “As you undoubtedly know,” said Mr. Rejilla, “there are Extra-Galactics currently here on Cayahno.”

  “Dear me,” said Mr. Slasjik, “you don’t say so. I hope someone has warned the rascals off, so they’ll be gone shortly.”

  “I would guess that you know better than that,” said Mr. Rejilla. “I believe you are not only aware of their presence, but that they seem resistant to any land of physical force known to the Civilized races of our galaxy. Let us not fence verbally, Mr. Slasjik. You are informed, and we merely wish a piece of that information.”

  “It’s true, I did hear something about some Extra-Galactics,” said Slasjik, waving his glass dismissively, “but I took it for mere rumor, and paid no attention to it.”

  “I put it to you, Mr. Slasjik,” said Mr. Rejilla—and Tom looked at him with new respect. Could Mr. Rejilla, he asked himself, while learning about the Human Race in proper scholarly fashion, have also studied British movies with courtroom scenes in them? “—That your knowledge is far greater than that. I suggest you not only knew first-hand of the presence of these beings from an Alien Galaxy, but have personally been in contact with them.”

  “Dear, dear, dear,” said Mr. Slasjik, smiling as winningly as he could with his full mouthful of teeth, “but you must not jump to conclusions, Mr. Rejilla—”

  “These are not conclusions,” said Mr. Rejilla, “they are essential certainties in the minds of myself and my companion here from Xxxytl. We know you not only know these invaders, but have done business with them.”

  “Mr. Rejilla!” said the Shark, in a tone of distress. “I hardly know how to deal with such an accusation. It seems almost ridiculous for me to deny what you suggest. But, if deny it I must, then I will. I do categorically assure you I—”

  He broke off suddenly, for Mr. Rejilla was slowly raising a long, black, furry forefinger.

  “You force me,” said Mr. Rejilla, in a tone of voice that Tom and Lucy had never heard him employ before, “to make use of the one power of dominance that we Oprinkians have not discarded in the progress of our development into a stage of Upper Civilization. I therefore require you—”

  “No! No!” cried Mr. Slasjik, in a high, terrified voice, shrinking back into his piece of furniture. “Not the Finger of Truth! I’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything! Just turn your finger away from me.”

  “It stays steady upon you until we have heard what you have to say,” said Mr. Rejilla.

  Tom and Lucy looked at him in admiration.

  “Awesome beings, these Oprinkians,” chittered Hmmm, barely loud enough to be heard as he floated momentarily between Tom’s right ear and Lucy’s left one. “What a pity their Finger of Truth, like everything else we’ve got, seems useless against the Extra-Galactics!”

  “—Now, tell me everything,” Mr. Rejilla was going on. “Otherwise, you’ll tell nothing but the truth to any Being for the rest of your life!”

  “No!” cried Mr. Slasjik. “Not that! It would ruin me; and then my fellow Gnassh would eat up what was left of me. Yes, yes, I’ve dealt with Extra-Galactics; but I never knew what they were like until several came here, a few months ago. What else could I do but deal with them? It was only common sense. They could pay much more for the—” His eyes flickered to Hmmm for a guilt-filled moment. “But I didn’t invite them here to our galaxy. Believe me, I didn’t. They just came; and I couldn’t stop them!”

  “None of us are surprised at that,” said Mr. Rejilla, coldly. “Stopping an Extra-Galactic invasion is something far beyond the capacity of you Gnassh. They offered you and your kind survival, if you aided them to gain information about our galaxy before they invaded in force—didn’t they?”

  “Well, yes, but I ask you, what else could I do?” babbled Mr. Slasjik. “I was in their power. If I’d refused, there’s no telling what would have happened to me—right then. And, naturally, we Gnassh want to survive, as any Beings would!”

  “You were a fool, of course,” said Mr. Rejilla. “Didn’t you realize that after they had exterminated all life on all other worlds, they would clean off your kind as well?”

  “Well, we thought it was a possibility, but …”

  The trader Shark began to sob, convulsively. Mr. Rejilla lowered his forefinger, for Slasjik was clearly now a broken Being.

  “Where are they?” he asked, in a more gentle voice. “Here!” sobbed Mr. Slasjik. “Here, in my own modest establishment. They even had me construct a special place for them. But I can’t even face .them there. No one can! There’s four of them—like huge gray mountains . . . pyramids. Nothing physical hurts them; and they can reflect back with extra strength any emotion directed at them, so even their psyches are unassailable—”

  Mr. Slasjik broke down again.

  “So, they’re in your home, are they?” said Mr. Rejilla, thoughtfully.

  “Yes, do … do you really want to see them?” quavered Mr. Slasjik.

  “Not quite yet,” said Mr. Rejilla.

  Chapter 21

  They were—abruptly—once more back in Tom and Lucy’s room of the night before—Mr. Rejilla, Tom, Lucy and Hmmm.

  “It’s always wisest never to give one of the Gnassh any clue to what you plan to do,” said Mr. Rejilla. “Now, perhaps you and Lucy, Tom, would like to have a moment to yourselves. I have to brief two other honorable Beings. The matter of the Extra-Galactics has been Sector Top Secret until this moment.”

  He pointed past them, and Tom and Lucy turned to see that two other figures had appeared behind them. One of which was either Drakvil, or a clone of that galactic Assassin, looking unperturbed. A Skikana officer was standing about ten feet away, elaborately ignoring him and looking defiantly unafraid. Tom and Lucy had barely taken in the sight of these two, however, before they found themselves in yet another room, where they were alone.

  Tom dropped heavily into one of its human-style overstuffed chairs. Lucy sat down in another one, facing him, and looked at him narrowly.

  “What is it?” asked Lucy.

  “Lucy,” said Tom, “I don’t think I can do it.”

  Lucy looked at him for a long moment, lie was sitting with his head supported on his left fist, the elbow of it on the armrest of the chair and staring at the white carpet below his A
ssassin’s boots. She got up, came over and sat down with him (the chair was easily big enough for the two of them) put her arms around him and laid her cheek against his.

  “Then, don’t,” she said. “Let somebody else try to stop these Extra-Galactics if they can; and if they can’t, then you and I’ll have at least as much time as everyone else they’re due to exterminate—instead of being cut off short in the next hour or so. We can be together that much longer.”

  Tom straightened up. He put his arm around her but looked at her grimly.

  “What’s this ‘we’ business?” he asked. “Whatever happens, Lucy, you’re not going to be there if I face them. Whatever happens, you’re to stay away!”

  “No,” said Lucy.

  “Lucy—

  “No,” said Lucy, “and there’s no way you can make me stay away. So we won’t talk about it. That’s settled.”

  Tom shook his head slowly.

  “Oh Lord!” he said, looking at the marble-like wall across from him. “What I got you into!”

  “You didn’t get me into it.”

  Lucy had not let go of him and not stirred.

  “—We got into it together. Remember?” she said.

  Tom opened his mouth and then shut it again.

  “Does that mean you do want to be mixed up in this?” he asked.

  “I want what you want,” said Lucy.

  “But if I didn’t exist and you were here by yourself—”

  “Yes, I’d want to be in on it.”

  “Blasted Thorsdatter,” muttered Tom.

  They sat there in silence for a moment that stretched out and out. At last Tom sighed again.

  “Well,” he said, putting his own arm around her and holding her tight. “I guess we might as well get on with it, then. I wonder how long Mr. Rejilla is going to leave us here?”

  “I’ll bet, until we want to go back,” said Lucy.

  The words were hardly out of her mouth, before they and the chair in which they were sitting were once more with Mr. Rejilla, the Assassin and the Skikana. Hmmm was nowhere to be seen. Tom and Lucy both looked at Mr. Rejilla angrily. It was as it might have been for any couple bound up in a tender personal moment, suddenly finding the chair they were in sitting in the middle of a busy downtown sidewalk.