Collected Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by J F Bone

  “Since my tribe is a seafaring one,” Harl interjected, “they can be raised under my supervision until we find the exact methods to propagate them in our seas.”

  Hartmann must have been happy to get off the hook. It was a small request, one that was easy to fulfill. It was a good thing that the Niobians didn’t realize what concessions they could wring from the BIT. The Confederation had sunk billions into Niobe and was prepared to sink many more if necessary. They would go to almost any lengths to keep the natives happy. If that meant star-freighter loads of oysters, then it would be star-freighter loads of oysters. The Confederation needed the gerontin that grew on Niobe.

  The commercial worlds needed the anti-aging drug more and more as the exploration of space continued—not to mention the popular demand. Niobe was an ideal herbarium for growing the swampland plant from which the complex of alkaloids was extracted.

  So Hartmann made a note of it, and the subject was dropped.

  I didn’t think anything more about it. Kron was happy, Harl was happy, and Hartmann was feeling pleased with himself. There was no reason to keep the oyster question alive.

  But it didn’t die there. By some sort of telepathy the Niobians scattered along the long tables found out what had been getting talked about at the upper end.

  By this time I was on the ball again. When the orders went in I slipped a note to the cooks to use tabasco or vanaka on the Niobian orders. It was fortunate that there was an ample supply of oysters available, because the banquet dissolved shortly thereafter into an outright oyster feed. The Niobians dropped all pretense. They wanted oysters—with vanaka, with tabasco or with Kala berries. The more effete Earth preparations didn’t rouse the slightest enthusiasm, but the bivalve found its place in the hearts and stomachs of the natives. The oysters ultimately ran out, but one thing was certain. There was a definite bond of affection between our two utterly dissimilar species.

  The era of good feeling persisted for several hours. There was no more quiet undertone of polite suffering among our guests. They were enjoying themselves. The Agreement was signed with hardly an exception being taken to its clauses and wording.

  Niobe became a full member of the Confederation, with sovereign planetary rights, and the viscaya concentrate began flowing aboard the ships waiting at the polar bases.

  A day later I got orders to start winding up the BEE’s installations on Niobe. The consular service would take over after I had finished . . .

  LANCEFORD looked at his watch. “Well, we’re going to have time. It looks like they’ll be late. Want to hear the rest of it?”

  “Naturally,” Perkins said. “I certainly wouldn’t want you to stop here.”

  “Well,” Lanceford continued, “the next four years weren’t much.”

  WE SPENT most of the time closing down the outpost and regional installations, but it took longer than I expected what with the difficulty in getting shipping space to move anything but viscaya concentrate off the planet. Of course, like any of the Confederation bureaus, the BEE died hard. With one thing and another, there were still a lot of our old people left. We still had the three main bases on the continental land masses in operating condition, plus a few regional experiment stations on Alpha Continent and the Marine Biology Labs on Varnel Island. I’d just closed the last regional stations on Beta and Gamma when Heinz Bergdorf paid me an official call.

  Heinz was the senior biologist on Varnel. He was a good looking lad of Teutonic ancestry, one of those big blond kids who fool you. He didn’t look like a scientist, but his skull held more knowledge of Niobe’s oceans than was good for a man. He would have to unlearn a lot of it before he took his next job, or so I thought at the time.

  Anyway, Heinz came into my office looking like someone had stolen his favorite fishnet. The expression of Olympian gloom on his beak-nosed face would have done credit to Zeus. It didn’t take any great amount of brains to see that Heinz was worried. It stuck out all over him. He draped himself limply in the chair beside my desk.

  “We’ve got troubles, Chief,” he announced.

  I grinned at him. I knew perfectly well why he was here. Something had come up that was too big for him to handle. That was Heinz’s only fault, a belief in the omnipotence of higher authority. If he couldn’t handle it, it was a certainty that I could—even though I knew nothing of either his specialty or his problems. However, I liked the man. I did my best to give him the fatherly advice he occasionally needed, although he would have been better off half the time if he hadn’t taken it.

  “Well, what’s the trouble now?” I asked. “From the look on your face it must be unpleasant. Or maybe you’re just suffering from indigestion.”

  “It’s not indigestion, Chief.”

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me so I can worry too.”

  I didn’t like the way he looked. Of course, I’d been expecting trouble for the past year. Things had been going far too smoothly.

  “Oysters!” Bergdorf said laconically.

  “Oysters?”

  I looked at him incredulously. Bergdorf sat straight up in his chair and faced me. There was no humor in his eyes. “For God’s sake! You frightened me for a moment. You’re joking, I hope.”

  “Far from it,” Bergdorf replied. “I said oysters and I mean oysters. It’s no joke! Just who was the unutterable idiot who planted them here?”

  IT TOOK a minute before I remembered. “Hartmann,” I said. “Of the BIT. He ordered them delivered at the request of Kron Avar and Tovan Harl. I suppose Harl planted them. I never paid very much attention to it.”

  “You should have. It would have been better if they had imported Bengal tigers! How long ago did this infernal insanity happen?”

  “Right after the Agreement was signed, I guess. I’m sure it was no earlier than that, because Niobians met up with oysters for the first time at that affair.” I still didn’t get it, but there was no doubt that Heinz was serious. I tried to remember something about oysters, but other than the fact that they were good to eat and produced pearls I could think of nothing. Yet Bergdorf looked like the end of the world was at hand. There was something here that didn’t add up. “Well, get on with it,” I said. “As far as marine biology is concerned I’m as innocent as a Lyranian virgin. Tell me—what’s wrong with the oysters?”

  “Nothing! That’s the trouble. They’re nice healthy specimens of terrestrial Ostrea lurida. We found a floating limb with about a dozen spat clinging to it.”

  “Spat?”

  “Immature oysters.”

  “Oh. Is that bad?”

  “Sure it’s bad. I suppose I’d better explain,” Bergdorf said. “On Earth an oyster wouldn’t be anything to worry about, even though it produces somewhere between sixteen and sixty million fertile eggs every year. On Earth this tremendous fertility is necessary for survival, but here on Niobe where there are no natural enemies to speak of, it’s absolutely deadly!

  “Just take these dozen spat we found. Year after next, they’d be breeding size, and would produce about three hundred million larvae. If everything went right, some three years later those three hundred million would produce nine thousand trillion baby oysters! Can you image how much territory nine thousand trillion oysters would cover?”

  I STOPPED listening right then, and started looking at the map of Niobe pinned on the wall. “Good Lord! They’d cover the whole eastern seaboard of Alpha from pole to pole.”

  Bergdorf said smugly, “Actually, you’re a bit over on your guess. Considering the short free swimming stage of the larvae, the slow eastern seaboard currents, poor bottom conditions and overcrowding, I doubt if they would cover more than a thousand miles of coastline by the fourth year. Most of them would die from environmental pressures.

  “But that isn’t the real trouble. Niobe’s oceans aren’t like Earth’s. They’re shallow. It’s a rare spot that’s over forty fathoms deep. As a result, oysters can grow almost anywhere. And that’s what’ll happen if they aren�
��t stopped. Inside of two decades they’ll destroy this world!”

  “You’re being an alarmist,” I said.

  “Not so much as you might think. I don’t suppose that the oysters will invade dry land and chase the natives from one rain puddle to another, but they’ll grow without check, build oyster reefs that’ll menace navigation, change the chemical composition of Niobe’s oceans, pollute the water with organic debris of their rotting bodies, and so change the ecological environment of this world that only the hardiest and most adaptable life forms will be able to survive this!”

  “But they’ll be self-limiting,” I protested.

  “Sure. But by the time they limit themselves, they will eliminate about everything else.”

  “If you’re right, then, there’s only one thing to do. We’ll have to let the natives know what the score is and start taking steps to get rid of them.”

  “Oh, I’m right. I don’t think you’ll find anyone who’ll disagree with me. We kicked this around at the Lab for quite a spell before I came up here with it.”

  “Then you’ve undoubtedly thought of some way to get rid of them.”

  “Of course. That was one of the first things we did. The answer’s obvious.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Sure. Starfish. They’ll swamp up the extra oysters in jig time.”

  “But won’t the starfish get too numerous?”

  “No. They die off pretty fast without a source of food supply. From what we can find out about Niobe’s oceans, there is virtually no acceptable food for starfish other than oysters and some microscopic animal life that wouldn’t sustain an adult.”

  “Okay, I believe you. But you still leave me cold. I can’t remember anything about a starfish that would help him break an oyster shell.”

  BERGDORF grinned. “I see you need a course in marine biology. Here’s a thumbnail sketch. First, let’s take the oyster. He has a big muscle called an adductor that closes his shell. For a while he can exert a terrific pull, but a steady tension of about nine hundred grams tires him out after an hour or so. Then the muscle relaxes and the shell gapes open. Now the starfish can exert about thirteen hundred grams of tension with his sucker-like tube feet, and since he has so many of them he doesn’t have to use them all at one time. So, by shifting feet as they get tired, he can exert this pull indefinitely.

  “The starfish climbs up on the oyster shell, attaches a few dozen tube feet to the outside of each valve and starts to pull. After a while the oyster gets tired, the shell opens up, and the starfish pushes its stomach out through its mouth opening, wraps the stomach around the soft parts of the oyster and digests it right in the shell!”

  I shuddered.

  “Gruesome, isn’t it?” Bergdorf asked happily. “But it’s nothing to worry about. Starfish have been eating oysters on the half shell for millions of years. In fact I’ll bet that a starfish eats more oysters in its lifetime than does the most confirmed oyster-addict.”

  “It’s not the fact that they eat them,” I said feebly. “It’s the way they do it. It makes me ill!”

  “Why should it? After all a starfish and a human being have a lot in common. Like them, you have eaten oysters on the half shell, and they’re usually alive when you gulp them down. I can’t see where our digestive juices are any easier on the oyster than those of a starfish.”

  “Remind me never to eat another raw oyster,” I said. “On second thought you won’t have to. You’ve ruined my appetite for them forever.”

  Bergdorf chuckled.

  “Well, now that you’ve disposed of one of my eating habits,” I said bitterly, “let’s get back to the problem. I presume that you’ll have to find where the oysters are before you start in working them over with starfish.”

  “You’ve hit the reason why I’m here. That’s the big problem. I want to find their source.”

  “DON’T you know?”

  “I can make a pretty good guess. You see, we picked this limb out of the Equatorial current. As you know, Varnel Island is situated right at the western termination of the current. We don’t get much littoral stuff unless it comes from the Islands or West Beta. And as far as I can figure the islands are the best bet. These spat probably came from the Piralones, that island group in the middle of the current about halfway across.”

  I nodded. “It would be a good bet. They’re uninhabited. If Harl wanted an isolated spot to conduct oyster planting experiments, I couldn’t think of a better location. Nobody in his right mind would visit that place willingly. The islands support the damnedest assortment of siths you ever saw.”

  “If that’s where it is,” Bergdorf said, “we can thank heaven for the natives’ suspicious nature. That location may help us save this world!”

  I laughed at him. “Don’t be so grim, Heinz—or so godlike. We’re not going to save any worlds.”

  “Someone has to save them.”

  “We don’t qualify. What we’ll do is chase this business down. We’ll find out where the oysters come from, get an idea of how bad things are and then let the Niobians know about it. If anyone is going to save this planet it won’t be a bunch of Confederation exploration specialists.”

  Bergdorf sighed. “You’re right, of course.”

  I slapped him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Heinz.” I turned to my appointment calendar and checked it over. There was nothing on it that couldn’t wait a few days. “Tell you what,” I continued. “I need a vacation from this place. We’ll take my atomic job and go oyster hunting. It ought to be fun.”

  Bergdorf’s grin was like a sunrise on Kardon.

  I BROUGHT the ’copter down slowly through the overcast, feeling my way cautiously down to the ground that radar told me was somewhere below. We were hardly a hundred and fifty meters up before it became visible through the drenching tropic rain. Unless you’ve seen it you can’t imagine what rain is really like until you’ve been in the Niobian tropics. It literally swamps everything, including visibility.

  It was the Piralones all right.

  The last time I’d seen them was when I led the rescue party that pulled Wilson Chung and his passengers out of the Baril Ocean, but they were still the same, tiny deserted spots of land surrounded by coral reefs. We were over the biggest one of the group, a rounded hummock barely a kilometer in diameter, surrounded by a barrier reef of coral. Between the reef and the island a shallow lagoon lay in sullen grayness, its surface broken into innumerable tiny wavelets by the continual splash of rain. The land itself was a solid mass of olive-green vegetation that ended abruptly at a narrow beach.

  “Well, we’re here,” I said. “Grim looking place, isn’t it?”

  “Whoever spoke of the beauties of tropical islands didn’t have Niobe in mind,” Bergdorf agreed. “This place looks like something left behind by a cow.”

  I couldn’t help the chuckle. The simile was too close for comfort. I tilted the rotors and we went down to hover about ten meters off the beach. Bergdorf pointed down the beach. I headed the ’copter in that direction as Bergdorf looked out of the bubble, intently scanning the waters of the lagoon. Finally he looked up with an expression of understanding on his lean face.

  “No wonder I missed them!” he murmured with awe. “There are so many that there’s no floor of the lagoon to spot them against. They cover the entire bottom! You might as well set her down here; it’s as good a place as any.”

  I throttled back and landed the whirlybird on the beach. “You had your quota of vorkum?” I asked as Bergdorf reached for the door handle.

  The biologist made a wry face. “Naturally. You think I’d be fool enough to go outside without it?”

  “I wouldn’t know. All I’m sure of is that if you’re going to get out here, you’d better be loaded.” I followed after him as he opened the door and jumped down to the ground.

  A small horde of siths instantly left the cover of the jungle and buzzed out to investigate. A few years ago, that would have been the signal for ray beams at
fan aperture, but both Bergdorf and I ignored them, trusting in the protection of the vorkum. The beasties made a tactical pass at Heinz, thought the better of it and came wheeling over in my direction. I could almost see the disappointed look in their eyes as they caught my aura, put on the brakes and returned disappointed to their shelter under the broadleaves. Whatever vorkum did, it certainly convinced insects that we were inedible and antisocial.

  One or two ventured back and buzzed hopefully around our heads before giving up in disgust.

  “It beats me what they live on,” Bergdorf said, gesturing at the iridescent flash of the last bloodsucker as it disappeared beneath the broadleaves.

  “As long as it isn’t us, I don’t give a damn,” I said. “Maybe they live on decaying vegetable matter until something live and bloody comes along. Anyway, they seem to get along.”

  Bergdorf walked the few steps to the water’s edge. “I won’t even have to go swimming,” he said as he walked into the water a few steps, bent and came up with what looked like a handful of rocks.

  “OYSTERS?” I asked, turning one over in my hand.

  “Yep. Nice little O. lurida. About three years old, I’d guess, and just ripe for breeding. You know, I’ve never seen them growing so close to the shore. They must be stacked on top of each other out there a ways. There’s probably millions of them in this lagoon alone!”

  “Well, we’ve found where they’re coming from. Now all that’s left is to figure out what to do about it.”

  “We’d still better check Beta. They might possibly have reached there.”

  “Not unless someone’s planted them,” I said. “You’re forgetting the ocean currents.”

  “No. I was thinking of planted areas.”

  “Well, think again. You may know your biology, but I know Niobians. They’re too suspicious to bring untried things too close to where they live. They’ve been that way as long as I can remember them, and I don’t think that anything—even something as delightful as an oyster—would make them change overnight.”