The Star Beast (18 page)

No answer. He shouted again. This time Lummox answered sleepily, “What’s the matter, Johnnie?”

“You’ve been asleep,” he accused.

“You didn’t say not to, Johnnie.”

“Well…all right. Are we on the same road?”

Lummox consulted his alter ego and answered. “Sure. Did you want another road?”

“No. But we’ve got to get off this one. It’s getting light.”

“Why?”

John Thomas did not know how to answer that question; trying to explain to Lummox that he was under sentence of death and must hide did not appeal to him. “We have to, that’s why. But just keep going now. I’ll let you know.”

The stream climbed up to meet them; in a mile or so the road lay only a few feet above it. They came to a place where the stream bed widened out into a boulder field, with water only in a central channel. “Whoa!” called out Johnnie.

“Breakfast?” inquired Lummox.

“Not yet. See those rocks down there?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to step wide onto those rocks. Don’t put your big feet on that soft shoulder dirt. Step from the pavement to the rocks. Get me?”

“Don’t leave tracks?” Lummox asked doubtfully.

“That’s right. If anybody comes along and sees tracks, you’ll have to go back downtown again—because they’ll follow the tracks and find us. See?”

“I won’t leave any tracks, Johnnie.”

Lummox went down onto the dry stream bed like a gargantuan inchworm. The maneuver caused John Thomas to grab for his safety line with one hand and for his supplies with the other. He yelped.

Lummox stopped and said, “You all right, Johnnie?”

“Yes. You just surprised me. Upstream now and stay on the rocks.” They followed the stream, found a place to cross, then followed it on the other side. It swung away from the road and soon they were several hundred yards from it. It was now almost broad daylight and John Thomas was beginning to worry about air reconnaissance, even though it was unlikely that the alarm would be out so soon.

Up ahead a grove of lodgepole pines came down to the bank. It seemed dense enough; even if Lummox were not invisible in it, nevertheless holding still he would look like a big, mountain-country boulder. It would have to do; there was no time to pick a better place. “Up the bank and into those trees, Lum, and don’t, break the bank down. Step easy.”

They entered the grove and stopped; Johnnie dismounted. Lummox tore down a branch of pine and started to eat. It reminded John Thomas that he himself had not eaten lately but he was so dead tired that he was not hungry. He wanted to sleep, really sleep…not half awake and clutching a safety line.

But he was afraid that if he let Lummox graze while he slept the big stupid lunk would wander into the open and be spotted. “Lummie? Let’s take a nap before we have breakfast.”

“Why?”

“Well, Johnnie’s awful tired. You just lie down here and I’ll put my sleeping bag beside you. Then when we wake up, we’ll eat.”

“Not eat until you wake up?”

“That’s it.”

“Well…all right,” Lummox said regretfully.

John Thomas took his sleeping bag out of his picket, flipped the light membrane open, and plugged in the power pack. He set the thermostat and switched it on, then while it heated he inflated the mattress side. The thin mountain air made it heavy work; he stopped with it only partly blown up and peeled off all his clothes. Shivering in the frosty air he slid inside, closed it to a nose hole. “G’night, Lummie.”

“G’night, Johnnie.”

Mr. Kiku slept badly and was up early. He breakfasted without disturbing his wife and went to the Spatial Affairs hall, arriving while the great building was quiet except for the handful on night duty. Seated at his desk, he tried to think.

His subconscious had been nagging him all night, telling him that he had missed something important. Mr. Kiku had high respect for his subconscious, holding a theory that real thinking was never done at the top of the mind, which he regarded merely as a display window for results arrived at elsewhere, like the “answer” windows in a calculator.

Something young Greenberg had said…something about the Rargyllian believing that the Hroshii, with only one ship, were a serious menace to Earth. Mr. Kiku had discounted it as a clumsy attempt by the snake boy to bluff from weakness. Not that it mattered; the negotiation was about over…the one remaining detail being to set up permanent relations with the Hroshii.

His subconscious had not thought so.

He leaned to his desk and spoke to the night communications supervisor. “Kiku. Call the Hotel Universal. There’s a Dr. Ftaeml there, a Rargyllian. As soon as he orders breakfast I want to talk a him. No, don’t wake him, a man is entitled to his rest.”

Having done what could be done, he turned to the mind-soothing routine of clearing up accumulated work.

His incoming basket was empty for the first time in some days and the building was beginning to stir when his desk communicator showed a blinking red light.

“Kiku here.”

“Sir,” the face said anxiously, “on that call to Hotel Universal. Dr. Ftaeml did not order breakfast.”

“Sleeping late perhaps. His privilege.”

“No, sir. I mean he skipped breakfast. He’s on his way to space port.”

“How long ago?”

“Five to ten minutes. I just found out.”

“Very well. Call space port, tell them not to clear his ship. Make certain that they understand that it has diplomatic clearance and that they must actually do something…not just scratch its clearance on the board and go back to sleep. Then reach Dr. Ftaeml himself—my compliments to the Doctor and will he do me the honor of waiting a few minutes to see me? I am on my way to the port.”

“Yes, sir!”

“That done, there is a matter of a special efficiency report for you…uh, Znedov, is it? Make out the form and grade yourself; I want to see your opinion of yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Kiku switched off and called Transportation. “Kiku. I am leaving for the space port as quickly as I can reach the roof. Provide a dart and a police escort.”

“Yes,
sir!
”

Mr. Kiku stopped only to tell his secretary where he was going, then stepped into his private lift to the roof.

At the space port Dr. Ftaeml was waiting out on the passengers’ promenade, watching the ships and pretending to smoke a cigar. Mr. Kiku came up and bowed. “Good morning, Doctor. It was most gentle of you to wait for me.”

The Rargyllian tossed the cigar aside. “The honor is mine, sir. To be attended at the port by a person of your rank and pressing duties…” He finished with a shrug which expressed both surprise and pleasure.

“I will not keep you long. But I had promised myself the pleasure of seeing you today and I had not known that you intended to leave.”

“My fault, Mr. Under Secretary I had intended to pop up and pop back and then to wait your pleasure this afternoon.”

“Good. Well, perhaps by tomorrow I shall be able to present an acceptable solution of this problem.”

Ftaeml was plainly surprised. “Successful?”

“I hope so. The data you provided yesterday has given us a new clue.”

“Do I understand that you have
found
the missing Hroshia?”

“Possibly. Do you know the fable of the Ugly Duckling?”

“‘Ugly Duckling’?” The Rargyllian seemed to be searching his files. “Yes, I know the idiom.”

“Mr. Greenberg, following the clue you provided, has gone to fetch the Ugly Duckling. If by wild chance it turns out to be the swan that we are seeking, then…” Mr. Kiku gave a shrug unconsciously like that of Ftaeml.

The Rargyllian seemed to have trouble believing it. “And is it the…‘swan,’ Mr. Under Secretary?”

“We will see. Logic says that it must be; probability says that it cannot be.”

“Mmmm…and may I report this to my clients?”

“Suppose we wait until I hear from Mr. Greenberg. He has left Capital, to investigate. Can I reach you through the scout ship?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Uh, Doctor…there was one more thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You made an odd remark to. Mr. Greenberg last night…supposedly a joke…or perhaps an accident. You said something about Earth being ‘volatilized’.”

For a moment the Rargyllian said nothing. When he did speak he changed the subject “Tell me, sir, in what way does logic state that your ‘Ugly Duckling’ is a swan?”

Mr. Kiku spoke carefully. “A Terran ship visited a strange planet at the time defined by your data. The dominant race could have been Hroshii; the identification is not exact except as to time. A life form was removed and brought here. This being is still alive after more than one hundred twenty years; Mr. Greenberg has gone to fetch it for identification by your principals.”

Dr. Ftaeml said softly, “It must be. I did not believe it but it
must
be.” He went on, louder and quite cheerfully, “Sir, you have made me happy.”

“Indeed?”

“Very. You have also made it possible for me to speak freely.”

“You have always been free to speak, Doctor, so far as we were concerned. I do not know what instructions you have from your clients.”

“They have placed no check on my tongue. But… You are aware, sir, that the customs of a race are implicit in its speech?”

“I have sometimes had cause to suspect so,” Mr. Kiku answered dryly.

“To be sure. If you visited a friend in a hospital, knowing him to be dying, knowing that you could not help him, would you speak to him of his doom?”

“No. Not unless he brought up the subject.”

“Precisely! Speaking to you and to Mr. Greenberg I was perforce bound by your customs.”

“Dr. Ftaeml,” Mr. Kiku said slowly, “let us be blunt. Am I to believe that you are convinced that this single foreign ship could do a serious damage to this planet, with its not inconsiderable defenses?”

“I will be blunt, sir. Should the Hroshii eventually conclude that, through the actions of this planet or some member of its culture, their Hroshia had died or was forever lost, Earth would not be damaged; Earth would be destroyed.”

“By this one ship?”

“Unassisted.”

Mr. Kiku shook his head. “Doctor, I am sure that you are convinced of what you say. I am not. The extent and thoroughness of the defenses of this, the leading planet of the Federation, cannot possibly be known to you. But should they be so foolish they will learn that we have teeth.”

Ftaeml looked sorrowful. “In all the many tongues of civilization I find no words to convince you. But believe me…anything that you could do against them would be as futile as throwing stones at one of your modern warships.”

“We shall see. Or, fortunately, we shall not see. I do not like weapons, Doctor; they are the last resort of faulty diplomacy. Have you spoken to them of the willingness of the Federation to accept them into the Community of Civilizations?”

“I have had grave difficulty in explaining to them the nature of your offer.”

“Are they, then, so hopelessly warlike?”

“They are not warlike at all. How can I put it? Are you warlike when you smash…strike…swat…yes, swat a fly? The Hroshii are practically immortal by your standards, and even by mine. They are so nearly invulnerable to all ordinary hazards that they tend to look down…how is your idiom?…‘Olympian’…they look down on us from Olympian heights. They cannot see any purpose in relations with lesser races; therefore your proposal was not taken seriously, though, believe me, I put it.”

“They sound stupid,” Kiku answered sourly.

“Not true, sir. They evaluate your race and mine most exactly. They know that any culture possessing star travel has at least some minor skill in the physical arts. They know therefore that you will regard yourselves as powerful. For that reason they are even now contemplating a display of force, to convince you that you must forthwith deliver up their Hroshia…they think of this as being like a goad to a draft animal, a sign which he will be able to understand.”

“Hmm… You know the nature of this demonstration?”

“I do. My trip this morning to their ship is to persuade them to wait. They intend to touch lightly the face of your satellite, leave on it an incandescent mark perhaps a thousand miles long, to convince you that they…uh…‘ain’t foolin’.”

“I am not impressed. We could order a force of ships and make such a sign ourselves. Not that we would.”

“Could you do it with one ship, in a matter of seconds, without fuss, from a distance of a quarter million miles?”

“You think they could?”

“I am sure of it, A minor demonstration. Mr. Under Secretary, there are novae in their part of the sky which were not accidents of nature.”

Mr. Kiku hesitated. If it all were true, then such a demonstration might serve his own needs by causing the Hroshii to show their hand. The loss of a few worthless lunar mountains would not matter…but it would be difficult to evacuate such an area of even the few who might be in it. “Have you told them that our Moon is inhabited?”

“It is not inhabited by their Hroshia, which is all that matters to them.”

“Hmm… I suppose so. Doctor, could you suggest to them, first, that you may be about to find their Hroshia, and second, that their Hroshia may be somewhere on our satellite, which is why the search has taken so long?”

The Rargyllian simulated a wide human grin. “Sir, I salute you. I shall be happy to convey such a suggestion. I am sure there will be no demonstration of force.”

“Good health, Doctor. I’ll be in touch with you.”

“Your good health, sir.”

On his way back Mr. Kiku realized that he had felt not a single twinge in the presence of the medusoid…why, the blighter was rather likable, in a horrid way. Dr. Morgan was certainly an adroit hypnotherapist.

His work basket was choked as usual; he put the Hroshii out of mind and worked happily. Late that afternoon communications informed him that they were holding a circuit for Mr. Greenberg. “Put him on,” Mr. Kiku said, feeling that at last the pieces were falling into place.

“Boss?” Greenberg began.

“Eh? Yes, Sergei. What the deuce are you looking upset about?”

“Because I’m wondering how I’m going to like it as a private in the Outer Legion.”