Delay in Transit (8 page)

 

 

It was an endless belt of stranded travelers robbing and stranding other
travelers, who then had to rob and strand still others, and so on and
on. . .

 

 

 

 

Cassal didn't have a chance of catching up with Murra Foray. She had
used the time -- and Dimanche -- to create her own identification tab
and escape. She was going back to Kettikat, home of the Huntners, must
already be light-years away.

 

 

Or was she? The signs on the Bureau had just been changed. Perhaps the
ship was still in the spaceport, or cruising along below the speed of
light. He shrugged defeatedly. It would do him no good; he could never
get on board.

 

 

He got up suddenly on one elbow. He couldn't, but Manche could! Unlike
his old instrument, it could operate at tremendous distances, its power
no longer dependent only on his limited nervous energy.

 

 

With calculated fury, he let Manche strike out into space.

 

 

"There you are!" exclaimed Murra Foray. "I thought you could do it."

 

 

"Did you?" he asked coldly. "Where are you now?"

 

 

"Leaving the atmosphere, if you can call the stuff around this planet
an atmosphere."

 

 

"It's not the atmosphere that's bad," he said as nastily as he
could. "It's the philanthropy."

 

 

"Please don't feel that way," she appealed. "Huntners are rather unusual
people, I admit, but sometimes even we need help. I had to have Dimanche
and I took it."

 

 

"At the risk of killing me."

 

 

Her amusement was strange; it held a sort of sadness. "I didn't hurt
you. I couldn't. You were too cute, like a -- well, the animal native
to Kettikat that would be called a Teddy bear on Earth. A cute, lovable
Teddy bear."

 

 

"Teddy bear," he repeated, really stung now. "Careful. This one may
have claws."

 

 

"Long claws? Long enough to reach from here to Kettikat?" She was
laughing, but it sounded thin and wistful.

 

 

Manche struck out at Cassal's unspoken command. The laughter was canceled.

 

 

"Now you've done it," said Dimanche. "She's out cold."

 

 

There was no reason for remorse; it was strange that he felt it. His
throat was dry.

 

 

"So you, too, can communicate with me. Through Manche, of course. I
built a wonderful instrument, didn't I?"

 

 

"A fearful one," said Dimanche sternly. "She's unconscious."

 

 

"I heard you the first time." Cassal hesitated. "Is she dead?"

 

 

Dimanche investigated. "Of course not. A little thing like that wouldn't
hurt her. Her nerve system is marvelous. I think it could carry current
for a city. Beautiful!"

 

 

"I'm aware of the beauty," said Cassal.

 

 

An awkward silence followed. Dimanche broke it. "Now that I know the
facts, I'm proud to be her chosen instrument. Her need was greater
than yours."

 

 

Cassal growled, "As first counselor, she had access to every--"

 

 

"Don't interrupt with your half truths," said Dimanche. "Huntners are
special; their brain structure, too. Not necessarily better, just
different. Only the auditory and visual centers of their brains resemble
that of man. You can guess the results of even superficial tampering
with those parts of her mind. And stolen identification would involve
lobotomy."

 

 

He could imagine? Cassal shook his head. No, he couldn't. A blinded and
deaf Murra Foray would not go back to the home of the Huntners. According
to her racial conditioning, a sightless young tiger should creep away
and die.

 

 

Again there was silence. "No, she's not pretending unconsciousness,"
announced Dimanche. "For a moment I thought -- but never mind."

 

 

The conversation was lasting longer than he expected. The ship must be
obsolete and slow. There were still a few things he wanted to find out,
if there was time.

 

 

"When are you going on Drive?" he asked.

 

 

"We've been on it for some time," answered Dimanche.

 

 

"Repeat that!" said Cassal, stunned.

 

 

"I said that we've been on faster-than-light drive for some time. Is
there anything wrong with that?"

 

 

Nothing wrong with that at all. Theoretically, there was only one means
of communicating with a ship hurtling along faster than light, and that
way hadn't been invented.

 

 

*Hadn't been until he had put together the instrument he called Manche.*

 

 

Unwittingly, he had created far more than he intended. He ought to have
felt elated.

 

 

Dimanche interrupted his thoughts. "I suppose you know what she thinks
of you."

 

 

"She made it plain enough," said Cassal wearily. "A Teddy bear. A
brainless, childish toy."

 

 

"Among the Huntners, women are vigorous and aggressive," said
Dimanche. The voice grew weaker as the ship, already light-years away,
slid into unfathomable distances. "Where words are concerned, morals
are very strict. For instance, 'dear' is never used unless the person
means it. Huntner men are weak and not overburdened with intelligence."

 

 

The voice was barely audible, but it continued: "The principal romantic
figure in the dreams of women. . ." Dimanche failed altogether.

 

 

"Manche!" cried Cassal.

 

 

Manche responded with everything it had. ". . . is the Teddy bear."

 

 

The elation that had been missing, and the triumph, came
now. It was no time for hesitation, and Cassal didn't hesitate.
Their actions had been directed against each other, but their
emotions, which each had tried to ignore, were real and strong.

 

 

 

 

The gravitor dropped him to the ground floor. In a few minutes, Cassal
was at the Travelers Aid Bureau.

 

 

Correction. Now it was Star Travelers Aid Bureau.

 

 

And, though no one but himself knew it, even that was wrong, Quickly he
found the old technician.

 

 

"There's been a reorganization," said Cassal bluntly. "I want the signs
changed."

 

 

The old man drew himself up. "Who are you?"

 

 

"I've just elected myself," said Cassal. "I'm the new first
counselor."

 

 

He hoped no one would be foolish enough to challenge him. He wanted
an organization that could function immediately, not a hospital full
of cripples.

 

 

The old man thought about it. He was merely a menial, but
he had been with the bureau for a long time. He was nobody,
nothing, but he could recognize power when it was near him.
He wiped his eyes and shambled out into the fine cold rain.
Swiftly the new signs went up.

 

 

STAR TRAVELERS AID BUREAU
S. T. A. with us
Denton Cassal, first counselor

 

 

Cassal sat at the control center. Every question cubicle was visible at a
glance. In addition there was a special panel, direct from the spaceport,
which recorded essential data about every newly arrived traveler. He
could think of a few minor improvements, but he wouldn't have time to
put them into effect. He'd mention them to his assistant, a man with a
fine, logical mind. Not really first-rate, of course, but well suited to
his secondary position. Every member quickly rose or sank to his proper
level in this organization, and this one had, without a struggle.

 

 

Business was dull. The last few ships had brought travelers who were bound
for unimaginably dreary destinations, nothing he need be concerned with.

 

 

He thought about the instrument. It was the addition of power that made
the difference. Dimanche plus power equaled Manche, and Manche raised
the user far above tho level of other men. There was little to fear.

 

 

But essentially the real value of Manche lay in this -- it was a
beginning. Through it, he had communicated with a ship traveling
far faster than light. The only one instrument capable of that was
instantaneous radio. Actually it wasn't radio, but the old name had
stuck to it.

 

 

Manche was really a very primitive model of instantaneous radio. It
was crude; all first steps were. Limited in range, it was practically
valueless for the purpose now. Eventually the range would be
extended. Hitch a neuronic manufactured brain to a human one, add the
power of a tiny atomic battery, and Manche was created.

 

 

The last step was his share of the invention. Or maybe the credit belonged
to Murra Foray. If she hadn't stolen Dimanche, it never would have been
necessary to put together the new instrument.

 

 

The stern lines on his face relaxed. Murra Foray. He wondered about
the marriage customs of the Huntners. He hoped marriage *was* a custom
on Kettikat.

 

 

Cassal leaned back; officially, his mission was complete. There was no
longer any need to go to Tunney 21. The scientist he was sent to bring
back might as well remain there in obscure arrogance. Cassal knew he
should return to Earth immediately. But the Galaxy was wide and there
were lots of places to go.

 

 

Only one he was interested in, though -- Kettikat, as far from the center
of the Galaxy as Earth, but in the opposite direction, incredibly far
away in terms of trouble and transportation. It would be difficult even
for a man who had the services of Manche.

 

 

Cassal glanced at the board. Someone wanted to go to Zombo.

 

 

"Delly," he called to his assistant. "Try 13. This may be what you want
to get back to your own planet."

 

 

Delly Mortinbras nodded gratefully and cut in.

 

 

Cassal continued scanning. There was more to it than he imagined,
though he was learning fast. It wasn't enough to have identification,
money, and a destination. The right ship might come in with standing room
only. Someone had to be "persuaded" that Godolph was a cozy little place,
as good as any for an unscheduled stopover.

 

 

It wouldn't change appreciably during his lifetime. There were too many
billions of stars. First he had to perfect it, isolated from dependence
on the human element, and then there would come the installation. A slow
process, even with Murra to help him.

 

 

Someday he would go back to Earth. He should be welcome. The information
he was sending back to his former employers, Neuronics, Inc., would more
than compensate them for the loss of Dirnanche.

 

 

Suddenly he was alert. A report had just come in.

 

 

Once upon a time, he thought tenderly, scanning the report, there was
a Teddy bear that could reach to Kettikat. With claws -- but he didn't
think they would be needed.