Sci Fiction Classics Volume 4 (30 page)

Lessing wasn't quite sure what to expect when he boarded the spaceship,
but he was rather disappointed. Entry was effected through an obvious air
lock—but thereafter the overall effect was that of one of the larger
and more luxurious liners on Earth's seas. Korring vis Korring led
Lessing, Cappell, and the sublieutenant through alleyways that were
floored with a brightly colored resilient covering whose sides and
overheads were coated with a light, easy-to-keep-clean plastic. They
passed through what seemed to be public rooms, fitted out as they were
with conventional enough chairs and tables and even, in one or two cases,
functional-looking bars. Crewmembers and passengers, both men and women,
looked at them with polite interest. The women, decided Lessing, were
indubitably mammalian and very attractive.

They came at last to a large cabin in which, seated behind a desk, was a
middle-aged man wearing a uniform similar to that worn by their guide.
Like Korring, he wore one of the translators at his belt. He got to his
feet as they entered.

"I am Captain Tardish var Tardish," he said. "Which of you is Captain
Lessing?"

"I am," said Lessing.

"Welcome aboard my ship. Please be seated."

The Earthmen lowered themselves into chairs that proved to be as
comfortable as they looked. Korring vis Korring busied himself with a
bottle and glasses, then, after everybody had a drink in his hand, opened
a box of the self-igniting cigars.

Lessing sipped his drink. It was undeniably alcoholic but far too sweet
for his taste. He took a pull at the cigar. The smoke was fragrant but
lacking in strength.

"My chief officer," said Tardish, "has doubtless told you of the purpose
of our return visit. It has been decided that your world produces many
commodities that would be valuable elsewhere. We are prepared to open a
trading station, and we want you to be in charge of it from your side. One
of our own people, of course, will be in overall charge."

"And what do you want?" asked Lessing.

"Your liquor, your cigarettes, your little firesticks. No doubt you have
other goods that will be of value on the galactic market."

"No doubt," agreed Lessing. "And what do you offer in exchange?"

The captain pressed a stud at the side of his desk. There was a short
silence as the men—Earthmen and aliens—waited. Then two
uniformed women came into the cabin. Each of them was carrying a box not
unlike a terrestrial suitcase. They put the boxes down on the desk, opened
them. Lessing, Cappell, and the sublieutenant got to their feet, stared at
the objects that were being unpacked. There were more of the sun-powered
electric torches—half a dozen of them. There were slim, convoluted
bottles holding a shimmering fluid. There were bolts of dull-gleaming
fabric.

Korring vis Korring joined the Earthmen.

"These," he said, "are our samples. You already have one of the torches,
but, no doubt, others will be interested in these. I must warn you that
the manufacturers of them are very jealous of their secret; each one is a
sealed unit and any attempt to open one up will result only in its
complete destruction. The bottles contain an alcoholic liquor of which we
are rather fond; it is possible that it may appeal to the taste of some of
your people, just as your whisky has appealed to ours. The cloth? It is
dirt repellent, water repellent, wrinkle proof. Used as clothing, it keeps
you cool in summer and warm in winter—"

Cappell interrupted. His thin, bony face was flushed and his carroty hair
seemed suddenly to have stood erect. He said, "I'm a scientist, not a
shopkeeper. I'd like to know just where you come from, and how your ship
is powered, and whether or not you exceed the speed of light—"

"Enough!" The spaceship captain had got to his feet and was looking at the
astronomer as though he were a mildly mutinous crewmember. "I am master of
a merchant vessel, just as Captain Lessing is. My primary function in the
scheme of things is trade,
trade, TRADE.
I have no intention of
seeing this world of yours raise itself to our technological level, of
seeing your ships competing with ours along the galactic trade routes. If
you find out the secret of the stardrive yourselves—then good luck
to you. But we're not helping you." He turned to Lessing. "There you are,
then, Captain. You're appointed our agent as and from now. On our next
call here we shall bring with us a full cargo of the goods of which we
have given you samples. We want you to have assembled a large consignment
of such goods as you think might interest us."

"This," said Lessing, "is all very vague. To begin with—when can we
expect to see you again?"

"In one-tenth of a revolution of your planet about its primary."

"And where are you landing?"

"Here, of course. Our ships can land only on water. You have surface
vessels; you can bring the cargo out to us."

It was Lessing's turn to feel exasperated.

"To begin with," he said, "I haven't said that I'll take the job. Secondly—you're
quite vague about weights and measures. How many tons of cargo do you want—and
is it weight or measurement? Thirdly—it's obvious that you don't
know that this is one of the most treacherous stretches of water in the
world. You've landed here twice, and each time you've been lucky. The next
time it could well be blowing a gale."

"Don't you have weather control?" asked the captain.

"No. Now, I suppose that you people have made some attempt at photographic
survey of this world on your way down?"

"Of course."

"Could I see the photographs?"

The captain opened his desk, handed a dozen or so glossy prints to
Lessing. The seaman studied them.

"Here," he said at last, "is your ideal landing place." He put the tip of
his finger on Port Phillip Bay. "It's well sheltered, and there are
transport facilities, and there's the possibility of knocking up a few
warehouses on the foreshore or of taking over warehouses that are already
there. I suggest that you come in at night and that you make some sort of
signal before you do so. On your next visit, of course, we'll have to
tackle the problem of radio communication; meanwhile you could let off
some sort of rocket that will explode with a bright green light high in
the atmosphere an hour or so before you're due. This will give us a chance
to outline your landing area with flares."

It was the haphazardness of it all that appalled Lessing, the way in which
the onus had been placed upon Earth to make all the arrangements. Later,
when he was back aboard the destroyer and on his way back to Melbourne, he
realized that this was the way it must have been in the days of the early
explorations. A ship, short of water or other supplies, would stand in for
some hitherto undiscovered island, would make fortuitous contact with the
inhabitants, would trade a few knives and axes and mirrors for whatever
they had to offer, and then, having realized the possibility of commerce,
would promise to return at some vague date in the future, bringing further
trade goods in return for pearls or spices or anything else that would
fetch a high price on the European market.

The month and the few days were over, and all Earth was waiting for the
return of the aliens. From observatories all over the planet reports had
poured in that a huge unidentified object was in orbit about the world,
something far larger than any of the tiny satellites yet launched.
Melbourne had become the Mecca for pressmen and photographers, for radio
commentators and television cameramen—and for military observers,
trade delegations, and high diplomatic officials from all nations.

Waiting on the observation tower that had been erected on Station Pier was
the Terran trade commissioner. Like many shipmasters, Lessing was not
inclined to underestimate his own worth, and had driven a hard bargain.
The aliens had insisted on dealing only with him—and he had unbiased
witnesses to prove it—so it was only fair that he should be given
pay and rank to match his unsought responsibilities. With him stood his
two assistants—Kennedy and Garwood, who had been his chief and
second officers in
Woollabra.
Lessing wished, as he stood there in
the rising, chilly, southerly breeze, that big Tom Green, the bos'n, had
been willing to come ashore as well. He was a good man, Tom—and it
was just possible that his non-European mind might be able to spot some
catch in the seemingly advantageous arrangements.

On the deck below Lessing were the diplomats and the scientists and the
service chiefs. Lessing had insisted on this arrangement, not as a further
bolstering of his self-esteem but as a hangover from his seafaring days.
He was a firm believer in the principle of
Unauthorized Personnel Not
Allowed On The Bridge.
He didn't like to have anybody around except
his officers when he had to make decisions—not that there would be
many to make in this case. He stared at the clear sky. Cross and Centaur
were high in the south, and Jupiter, with Antares, was just rising. He
tried to make out the spot of light that would be
Starlady.
Suddenly there was a brilliance in the heavens, a great sun of vivid green
with a core of blazing blue drifting slowly downward.

"All right," he said to Kennedy. "Tell them to switch on the floods on the
buoys—and tell them to switch off all the city lights apart from the
essential ones."

The glare of lights in the bay came hard on the heels of his command. The
brownout of the city took longer. Lessing remembered how long he had had
to argue with civic officials about the necessity for this order. He
looked shoreward from his high platform, saw the lights going out one by
one—the neon signs advertising whisky and biscuits and breakfast
foods and beer, two street lamps in every three. While he was watching,
the green flare in the sky faded and died. It was suddenly very dark.

There was an eerie flickering along the foreshore. Lessing wondered what
it was, then realized that it came from the flaring of matches and
lighters as the crowds lighted their cigarettes. He had been against
allowing the public so close to the starship's landing place, but in this
matter he had been overruled. He was pleased, however, that the bay had
been cleared of all pleasure craft and that the entrance had been closed
to inward and outward traffic.

It was a long wait. It was some sharp-eyed watcher along the beach who
first spotted the spaceship. A long, drawn-out
aaahh
went up from
the crowd. Lessing, Kennedy, and Garwood stared aloft, saw at last the
little, but visibly waxing, point of light that was
Starlady.

She came in slowly, cautiously. It was all of an hour before the watchers
could see the big bulk of her gleaming dimly above the flickering
luminescence of her drive. She came in slowly, seemingly at first a little
uncertain of her landing place.
I should have ordered a complete
blackout,
thought Lessing. She circled, and then steadied over the
rectangle of water marked by the special buoys with their floodlights.
With increasing speed she dropped. The wave created by her coming lapped
the piles of the pier, drove up in foaming turbulence onto the beach and
the road beyond.

Lessing came down from his tower, walked without haste to the head of the
steps by which the launch was moored. Kennedy and Garwood followed him.
They boarded the launch. The skipper cast off, steered for the dark bulk
of the alien ship, for the circle of light that was her air lock. He
seemed unimpressed by the momentous occasion. He grunted, "I'd'a thought
you'd'a had some o' them admirals and generals along, Cap'n. And a few
boys with Owen guns."

"I know these people," said Lessing, "and they know me."

"You're the boss."

They were passing through the line of buoys now. Even the launch skipper
fell silent as he looked up to the vast bulk of
Starlady.
All that
he said was, "Can that thing
fly?
" Then, expertly, he maneuvered
his craft alongside the circular, horizontal platform that was the outer
valve of the open air lock.

There were people standing in the air lock itself—men and women. One
of them stepped forward—it was Korring vis Korring—and caught
the launch's painter, snubbed it around a convenient projection. "Welcome
aboard, Captain Lessing," he said. His voice was warmly human and came
from his mouth, not from a box at his waist.

Lessing stared at the spaceman. He was wearing colorful garments—a
sky blue blouse, scarlet trousers, knee-high boots that could have been
made of dark blue suede. "Congratulate me," he said.

"Why?" asked Lessing stupidly.

"Because I've got a planet job. I'm no longer chief officer of this wagon
… I'm now the local galactic trade commissioner. I'm to work with
you."

"But your translator—"

"Oh,
that.
We brought along a team of experts this time, and we
were picking up the programs of your various broadcast stations before we
could pick you up in our telescopes. A few hours under the hypno-tutor,
and I'm a linguist. So are those who are staying here with me. I'll
introduce 'em all when I have time. There's a professor of linguistics, a
sociologist, a dietician, a biologist, and
the
expert on women's
fashions. Oh, and a priest. I'm sure that you have your own religion, but
he thinks … he
knows,
rather … that ours is better.
He's still inside getting his baggage packed. He was deep in prayer while
the rest of us were packing ours."

Lessing stepped from the launch onto the platform. He shook hands with the
professor of linguistics, a scholarly, birdlike, gray-haired man. He shook
hands with the sociologist, who was short and fat and merry. He bowed
stiffly to the dietician and the biologist, both of whom were women, and
attractive women. He wasn't sure whether to shake hands with or bow to the
fashion expert then decided that such things were probably the same all
through the galaxy as on Earth, and shook hands. He was going to shake
hands with the lean, scarlet-robed priest who had just come into the air
lock, but Korring, with an unobtrusive gesture, restrained him. The priest
raised his arms in benediction and intoned, "The blessing be upon you, my
son." Lessing felt embarrassed and vaguely hostile.