Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction October 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
A WORLD BY THE TALE
This is about the best-hated author on Earth. Who was necessarily pampered and petted because of his crime against humanity....
BY SEATON McKETTRIG
ILLUSTRATED BY LEO SUMMERS
* * * * *
Exactly three minutes after the Galactic left the New York apartmentof Professor John Hamish McLeod, Ph.D., Sc.D., a squad of U.B.I. menpushed their way into it.
McLeod heard the door chime, opened the door, and had to back up aseight men crowded in. The one in the lead flashed a fancily engravedID card and said: "Union Bureau of Investigation. You're ProfessorMac-Lee-Odd." It was a statement, not a question.
"No," McLeod said flatly, "I am not. I never heard of such a name." Hewaited while the U.B.I. man blinked once, then added: "If you arelooking for Professor MuhCloud, I'm he." It always irritated him whenpeople mispronounced his name, and in this case there was no excusefor it.
"All right, Professor McLeod," said the U.B.I. agent, pronouncing itproperly this time, "however you want it. Mind if we ask you a fewquestions?"
McLeod stared at him for half a second. Eight men, all of them underthirty-five, in top physical condition. He was fifteen years olderthan the oldest and had confined his exercise, in the words ofChauncey de Pew, to "acting as pallbearer for my friends who takeexercise." Not that he was really in poor shape, but he certainlycouldn't have argued with eight men like these.
"Come in," he said calmly, waving them into the apartment.
Six of them entered. The other two stayed outside in the hall.
Five of the six remained standing. The leader took the chair thatMcLeod offered him.
"What are your questions, Mr. Jackson?" McLeod asked.
Jackson looked very slightly surprised, as if he were not used to havingpeople read the name on his card during the short time he allowed them tosee it. The expression vanished almost instantaneously. "Professor," hesaid, "we'd like to know what subjects you discussed with the Galactic whojust left."
McLeod allowed himself to relax back in his chair. "Let me ask you twoquestions, Mr. Jackson. One: What the hell business is it of yours?Two: Why do you ask me when you already know?"
Again there was only a flicker of expression over Jackson's face."Professor McLeod, we are concerned about the welfare of the humanrace. Your ... uh ... co-operation is requested."
"You don't have to come barging in here with an armed squad just toask my co-operation," McLeod said. "What do you want to know?"
Jackson took a notebook out of his jacket pocket. "We'll just get afew facts straight first, professor," he said, leafing through thenotebook. "You were first approached by a Galactic four years ago, onJanuary 12, 1990. Is that right?"
McLeod, who had taken a cigarette from his pack and started to lightit, stopped suddenly and looked at Jackson as though the U.B.I. manwere a two-headed embryo. "Yes, Mr. Jackson, that is right," he saidslowly, as though he were speaking to a low-grade moron. "And thecapital of California is Sacramento. Are there any further matters ofpublic knowledge you would like to ask me about? Would you like toknow when the War of 1812 started or who is buried in Grant's Tomb?"
Jackson's jaw muscles tightened, then relaxed. "There's no need to getsarcastic, professor. Just answer the questions." He looked back atthe notebook. "According to the record, you, as a zoologist, wereasked to accompany a shipment of animals to a planet named ... uh ...Gelakin. You did so. You returned after eighteen months. Is thatcorrect?"
"To the best of my knowledge, yes," McLeod said with heavy, bitingsarcasm. "And the date of the Norman Conquest was A.D. 1066."
Jackson balled his fists suddenly and closed his eyes. "Mac. Loud._Stop._ It." He was obviously holding himself under rigorousrestraint. He opened his eyes. "There are reasons for asking thesequestions, professor. Very good reasons. Will you let me finish?"
McLeod had finished lighting his cigarette. He snapped his lighter offand replaced it in his pocket. "Perhaps," he said mildly. "May I makea statement first?"
Jackson took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly."Go ahead."
* * * * *
"Thank you." There was no sarcasm in McLeod's voice now, onlypatience. "First--for the record--I'll say that I consider itimpertinent of you to come in here demanding information withoutexplanation. No, Jackson; don't say anything. You said I could make astatement. Thank you. Second, I will state that I am perfectly awareof why the questions are being asked.
"No reaction, Mr. Jackson? You don't believe that? Very well. Let mecontinue.
"On January twelve, nineteen-ninety, I was offered a job by certaincitizens of the Galactic Civilization. These citizens of the GalacticCivilization wanted to take a shipload of Terrestrial animals to theirown planet, Gelakin. They knew almost nothing about the care andfeeding of Terrestrial animals. They needed an expert. They shouldhave taken a real expert--one of the men from the Bronx Zoo, forinstance. They didn't; they requested a zoologist. Because the requestwas made here in America, I was the one who was picked. Any one ofseven other men could have handled the job, but I was picked.
"So I went, thus becoming the first Earthman ever to leave the SolarSystem.
"I took care of the animals. I taught the Galactics who were with meto handle and feed them. I did what I was paid to do, and it was ahard job. None of them knew anything about the care and feeding ofelephants, horses, giraffes, cats, dogs, eagles, or any one of theother hundreds of Terrestrial life forms that went aboard that ship.
"All of this was done with the express permission of the TerrestrialUnion Government.
"I was returned to Earth on July seventeen, nineteen-ninety-one.
"I was immediately taken to U.B.I. headquarters and subjected torigorous questioning. Then I was subjected to further questioningwhile connected to a polyelectro-encephalograph. Then I was subjectedto hearing the same questions over again while under the influence ofvarious drugs--in sequence and in combination. The consensus at thattime was that I was not lying nor had I been subjected to what iscommonly known as 'brain washing'. My memories were accurate andcomplete.
"I did not know then, nor do I know now, the location of the planetGelakin. This information was not denied me by the Galactics; I simplycould not understand the terms they used. All I can say now--and allI could say then--is that Gelakin is some three point five kiloparsecsfrom Sol in the general direction of Saggitarius."
"You don't know any more about that now than you did then?" Jacksoninterrupted, suddenly and quickly.
"That's what I said," McLeod snapped. "And that's what I meant. Let mefinish.
"I was handsomely paid for my work in Galactic money. They use theEnglish word 'credit', but I'm not sure the English word has exactlythe same meaning as the Galactic term. At any rate, my wages, if suchI may call them, were confiscated by the Earth Government; I was giventhe equivalent in American dollars--after the eighty per cent incometax had been deducted. I ended up with just about what I would havemade if I had stayed home and drawn my salary from Columbia Universityand the American Museum of Natural History.
"Please, Mr. Jackson. I only have a little more to say.
"I decided to write a book in order to make the trip pay off.'Interstellar Ark' was a popularized acc
ount of the trip that made mequite a nice piece of change because every literate and half-literateperson on Earth is curious about the Galactics. The book tellseverything I know about the trip and the people. It is a matter ofpublic record. Since that is so, I refused to answer a lot ofdarn-fool questions--by which I mean that I refuse to answer any morequestions that you already know the answers to. I am not beingstubborn; I am just sick and tired of the whole thing."
Actually, the notoriety that had resulted from the trip and the bookhad not pleased McLeod particularly. He had never had any strongdesire for fame, but if it had come as a result of his work in zoologyand the related sciences he would have accepted the burden. If
A World by the Tale Page 1
