Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (98 page)

He wasn’t inclined to give himself overmuch credit for kidding them along so far. The few books he’d been able to read had shown that Zangastan religion was based upon reverence for ancestral spirits. The Zangastans were also familiar with what is known as poltergeist phenomena. The ground had been prepared for him in advance; he’d merely ploughed it and sown the crop. When a victim already believes in two kinds of invisible beings it isn’t hard to persuade him to swallow a third.

But when the Allies beamed Asta Zangasta a curt invitation to make his bed on a railroad track it was possible that the third type of spirit would be regurgitated with violence. Unless by fast, convincing talk he could cram it back down their gullets when it was halfway out. How to do that?

In his cell he was stewing this problem over and over when the guards came for him again. The Commandant was there but Pallam was not. Instead, a dozen civilians eyed him curiously. That made a total of thirteen enemies, a very suitable number to pronounce him ready for the chopper.

Feeling as much the center of attention as a six-tailed wombat at the zoo, he sat down and four civilians immediately started chivvying him, taking it in relays. They were interested in one subject and one only, namely, bopamagilvies. It seemed that they’d been playing for hours with his samples, had achieved nothing except some practice in acting daft, and were not happy about it.

On what principle did a bopamagilvie work? Did it focus telepathic output into a narrow, long-range beam? At what distance did his Eustace get beyond range of straight conversation and have to be summoned with the aid of a gadget? Why was it necessary to make directional search before obtaining a reply? How did he know how to make a coiled-loop in the first place?

“I can’t explain. How does a bird know how to make a nest? The knowledge is wholly instinctive. I have known how to call my Eustace ever since I was old enough to shape a piece of wire.”

“Could it be that your Eustace implants the necessary knowledge in your mind?”

“Frankly, I’ve never given that idea a thought. But it is possible.”

“Will any kind of wire serve?”

“So long as it is non-ferrous.”

“Are all Terran loops of exactly the same construction and dimensions?”

“No, they vary with the individual.”

“We’ve made careful and thorough search of Terran prisoners held by the Lathians. Not one of them owns a similar piece of apparatus. How do you account for that?”

“They don’t need one.”

“Why not?”

“Because when more than four hundred of them are imprisoned together they can always count on at least a few of their Eustaces being within easy reach at any given time.”

Somehow he beat them off, feeling hot in the forehead and cold in the belly. Then the Commandant took over.

“The Allies have flatly refused to accept Terran prisoners ahead of other species, or to exchange them two for one, or to discuss the matter any further. What have you to say to that?”

Steeling himself, Leeming commented, “Look, on your side there are more than twenty lifeforms, of which the Lathians and the Zebs are by far the most powerful. Now if the Allies had wanted to give priority of exchange to one species do you think the Combine would agree? If, for example, the favored species happened to be the Tansites, would the Lathians and Zebs vote for them to get home first?”

A tall, authoritative civilian chipped in. “I am Daverd, personal aide to Zangasta. He is of your own opinion. He believes that the Terrans have been outvoted. Therefore I am commanded to ask you one question.”

“What is it?”

“Do your allies know about your Eustaces?”

“No.”

“You have succeeded in hiding the facts from them?”

“There’s never been any question of concealing anything from them. With friends the facts just don’t become apparent. Eustaces take effective action only against enemies and that is something that cannot be concealed forever.”

“Very well.” Daverd came closer, put on a conspiratorial air. “The Lathians started this war and the Zebs went with them by reason of their military alliance. The rest of us got dragged in for one reason or another. The Lathians are strong and arrogant but, as we now know, they are not responsible for their actions.”

“What’s this to me?”

“Separately we numerically weaker lifeforms cannot stand against the Lathians or the Zebs. But together we are strong enough to step out of the war and maintain our right to be neutral. So Zangasta has consulted the others.”

Lord! Isn’t it amazing what can be done with a few yards of copper wire?

“He has received their replies today,” Daverd went on. “They are willing to make a common front for the sake of enjoying mutual peace—providing that the Allies are equally willing to recognize their neutrality and exchange prisoners with them.”

“Such sudden unanimity among the small fry tells me something pretty good,” observed Leeming with malice.

“It tells you what?”

“Allied forces have won a major battle lately. Somebody has been given a hell of a lambasting.”

Daverd refused to confirm or deny it. “You are the only Terran we hold on this planet. Zangasta thinks he can make good use of you.”

“How?”

“He has decided to send you back to Terra. It will be your task to persuade them to agree to our plans. If you fail, a couple of hundred thousand hostages will suffer—remember that!”

“The prisoners have no say in this matter, no hand in it, no responsibility for it. If you vent your spite upon them a time will surely come when you’ll be made to pay—remember that!”

“The Allies will know nothing about it,” Daverd retorted. “There will be no Terrans and no Eustaces here to inform them by any underhanded method. Henceforth we are keeping Terrans out. The Allies cannot use knowledge they do not possess.

“No,” agreed Leeming. “It’s quite impossible to employ something you haven’t got.”

They provided a light destroyer crewed by ten Zangastans. With one stop for refueling and the fitting of new tubes it took him to a servicing planet right on the fringe of the battle area. This dump was a Lathian outpost, but those worthies showed no interest in what their smaller allies were up to, neither did they realize that the one Terranlike creature really was a Terran. They got to work relining the destroyer’s tubes in readiness for its journey home. Meanwhile, Leeming was transferred to an unarmed one-man Lathian scout-ship. The ten Zangastans officiously saluted before they left him.

From this point he was strictly on his own. Take-off was a heller. The seat was far too big and shaped to fit the Lathian backside, which meant that it was humped in the wrong places. The controls were unfamiliar and situated too far apart. The little ship was fast and powerful but responded differently from his own. How he got up he never knew, but he made it.

After that there was the constant risk of being tracked by Allied detector stations and blown apart in full flight. He charged among the stars hoping for the best and left his beam transmitter severely alone; calls on an enemy frequency might make him a dead duck in no time at all.

He arrowed straight for Terra. His sleeps were restless and uneasy. The tubes were not to be trusted despite that flight-duration would be only a third of that done in his own vessel. The strange autopilot was not to be trusted merely because it was of alien design. The ship itself was not to be trusted for the same reason. The forces of his own side were not to be trusted because they’d tend to shoot first and ask questions afterward.

More by good luck than good management he penetrated the Allied front without interception. It was a feat that the foe could accomplish, given the audacity, but had never attempted because the risk of getting into Allied territory was as nothing to the trouble of getting out again.

In due time he came in fast on Terra’s night side and plonked the ship down in a field a couple of miles west of the main spaceport. It would have been foolish to take a chance by landing a Lathian vessel bang in the middle of the port. Somebody behind a heavy gun might have stuttered with excitement and let fly.

The moon was shining bright along the Wabash when he approached the front gate afoot and a sentry bawled, “Halt! Who goes there?”

“Lieutenant Leeming and Eustace Phenackertiban.”

“Advance and be recognized.”

He ambled forward thinking to himself that such an order was manifestly dunderheaded. Be recognized. The sentry had never seen him in his life and wouldn’t know him from Myrtle McTurtle. Oh, well, baloney baffles brains.

At the gate a powerful cone of light shone down upon him. Somebody with three chevrons on his sleeve emerged from a nearby hut bearing a scanner on the end of a thin, black cable. He waved the scanner over the arrival from head to foot, concentrating mostly upon the face.

A loudspeaker in the hut ordered, “Bring him into Intelligence H.Q.”

They started walking.

The sentry let go an agitated yelp. “Hey, where’s the other guy?”

“What guy?” asked the sergeant, stopping and staring around.

“Smell his breath,” Leeming advised.

“You gave me
two
names,” asserted the sentry, full of resentment.

“Well, if you ask the sergeant nicely he’ll give you two more,” said Leeming. “Won’t you, Sarge?”

“Let’s get going,” growled the sergeant, displaying liverish impatience.

They reached Intelligence H.Q. The duty officer was Colonel Farmer. He gaped at Leeming and said, “Well!” He said it seven times.

Without preamble, Leeming demanded, “What’s all this about us refusing to make a two-for-one swap for Terran prisoners?”

Farmer appeared to haul himself with an effort out of a fantastic dream. “You know of it?”

“How could I ask if I didn’t?”

“All right. Why should we accept such a cockeyed proposition? We're in our right minds, you know!”

Bending over the other’s desk, hands splayed upon it, Leeming said, “All we need do is agree—upon one condition.”

“What condition?”

“That they make a similar agreement with respect to Lathians. Two of our men for one Lathian and one Willy.”

“One
what?”

“One Willy. The Lathians will take it like birds. They have been propagandizing all over the shop that one Lathian is worth two of anything else. They’re too conceited to refuse such an offer. They’ll advertise it as proof positive that even their enemies know how good they are.”

“But—” began Farmer, slightly dazed.

“Their allies will fall over themselves in their haste to agree also. They’ll do it from different motives to which the Lathians will wake up when it’s too late. Try it for size. Two of our fellows for one Lathian and his Willy.”

Farmer stood up, his belly protruding, and roared, “What the blue blazes is a Willy?”

“You can easily find out,” assured Leeming. “Consult your Eustace.”

Showing alarm, Farmer lowered his tones to a soothing pitch and said as gently as possible, “Your appearance here has been a great shock to me. Many months ago you were reported missing and believed killed.”

“I crash-landed and got taken prisoner in the back of beyond. They were a snake-skinned bunch called Zangastans. They slung me into the jug.”

“Yes, yes,” said Colonel Farmer, making pacifying gestures. “But how on earth did you get away?”

“Farmer, I cannot tell a lie—I hexed them with my bopamagilvie.”

“Huh?”

“So I left by rail,” informed Leeming, “and there were ten faplaps carrying it.” Taking the other unaware, he let go a vicious kick at the desk and made a spurt of ink leap across the blotter. “Now let’s see some of the intelligence they’re supposed to have in Intelligence. Beam the offer. Two for a cootie-coated Lathian and a Willie Terwilliger.” He stared around, a wild look in his eyes. “And find me someplace to sleep—I’m dead beat.”

Holding himself in enormous restraint, Farmer said, “Lieutenant, is that the proper way in which to talk to a colonel?”

“One talks in
any
way to anybody. Mayor Snorkum will lay the cake. Go paddle a poodle.” Leeming kicked the desk again. “Get busy and tuck me into bed.”

There is a legend, much believed and repeated, that when Eric Frank Russell submitted
Sinister Barrier
to John W. Campbell at
Astounding
that Campbell was so taken with the bizarre and unusual tale that he talked Street and Smith, publishers of the magazine, into launching a new magazine,
Unknown,
just to showcase it and to have a place for tales that didn’t follow conventional
genre
paths. It’s a nice story, and even Russell loved hearing it, but it’s not true.

What
is
true is that
Barrier
was the first novel in the first issue of
Unknown.
It had indeed been submitted to Campbell
lot Astounding Science Fiction.
Campbell was at that time assembling and creating
Unknown
and decided to shift the novel from
Astounding
to the new magazine because it was a perfect length and could fit in either magazine.
None But Lucifer,
by H.L. Gold, which Campbell had given, against Gold’s strenuous objections, to L. Sprague DeCamp for a rewrite and polish wasn’t back before the debut deadline. He already had a cover originally done for a future ASF, so . . . Thus are legends born.

Russell was a lifelong follower of and admirer of Charles Fort, the collector of odd phenomena like rains of frogs and Saharan ice storms who had written a number of books on the subject and whose followers created a society to compile and collect such reports. The Fortean Society has branches in many countries, and still exists. Fort was a believer in science, but not in scientists; he thought they tended to dismiss or overlook what they found inconvenient, and when pressed on why such bizarre things happened, they often came up with explanations so outlandish they were more unbelievable than magic spells (which Fort didn’t particularly believe in, either). Today, this tendency is generally called “the knowledge filter”—when science dismisses evidence as impossible or inconvenient without ever really looking at it.