I dived for the rear wall and tore a fire extinguisher from its mounting, pulled the pin and sprayed the opening with suppressant powder. The fire roared, fizzled and died just as Stramm burst in waving an even larger extinguisher. He doused the last bursts of flame and smoke, then took a flashlight from his utility belt and peered inside the blackened opening. Then, muttering guttural curses, he reached in carefully and removed a blackened, twisted box.
“Very ingenious.”
“More of Rifuti’s work?” I asked.
“Obviously. A Bloat detector connected to some explosives. It wasn’t activated until the Bloat was switched on. The transmitter would work fine until then. But now, after our Bloat, it exploded nicely.”
“No communication . . .” Kirpal said hollowly. “Let’s hope there is a transmitter on Floradora.”
Drenched in gloom we went slowly back to the bridge. Angelina was waiting there with Pinky.
“Trouble?” she asked seeing our dark expressions.
“Lots of it,” I said, bringing her up to speed about the latest sabotage. Pinky sensed our mood, shivered and retreated to the corner. Kirpal went to work
“I have directed a low-power Bloat field towards the planet. We’ll be in orbit around it in a few minutes.”
The primary grew larger even as we watched, then moved slowly off center.
“The planet has been detected and we should reach it as soon as the Bloat ends.”
There was slight tingling in the air and a slight pop as the Bloater Drive shut off. A distant spot grew to a disk then loomed large and filled the screen. Blue skies and white bands of clouds.
“Looks quite nice,” Angelina said.
“We’re getting strong television signals on a number of stations,” Kirpal said. “Let’s see what they have to say.”
He thumbed a button and loud martial music boomed from the speakers. It died away to the background as a harsh male voice rasped out.
“Welcome to the Happy Kiddies Hour. Today little friends we are going to have a jolly time talking about your gas mask and how it protects you from all nasty poison gasses . . .”
I gaped. “They must be joking . . . Try another channel.” The sound gurgled then steadied.
“Welcome to the preparedness evening broadcast. Tonight’s topic is titled ‘How to Build Your Own Bomb Shelter.’ ”
“At least he’s talking Esperanto,” I said.
Angelina frowned. “Not that I care much for the choice of topic. Do you think there is a war on?”
“We’ll take a look,” Kirpal said. He made adjustments to the controls. “I’ve put us into a geostationary orbit over the source of the broadcast. Viewing is fine . . . the electron telescope has high resolution . . .”
A walled city swam into focus. It appeared to be surrounded by fields of some kind. A cloud of dust was clearly visible from one of the fields. The telescope zoomed in on a farm tractor pulling a plow.
A moment later the scene changed. The tractor stopped and the gray-clad driver jumped down. He took one quick look at the sky before he began running. He ran to the city and through a large gate, which began to close behind him. At the same time the radio burst into life on the emergency frequency.
“Alien spacer identify yourself. Ten seconds. Identify yourself. Five seconds . . .”
“What happens when they hit zero?” I asked.
The answer was quick enough in coming. A rocket zoomed up from the city—and burst well below us. Kirpal hit the controls and we moved quickly out of range.
“Welcome to lovely Floradora,” Angelina said. And laughed wryly. “I think I’m going to enjoy it here!”
My dear wife was a woman of a different disposition. Where others might flee or seek safety she went boldly forth. I laughed too, catching her mood. Captain and engineer looked at us as if we were mad.
“Let us leave these paranoid peasants behind us and take a look at the rest of the countryside,” I suggested. “Get below the horizon and make a wide circle out of their sight.”
“Why not,” Kirpal muttered for lack of better inspiration.
It was a pleasant enough planet once the city was left behind. The plowed fields ended abruptly and were replaced by sylvan forest. There were streams and ponds, even a few small lakes.
“Looks like good fishing,” Stramm said, revealing that he had a pastoral side to his nature.
“More plowed fields ahead,” Kirpal said zooming the image in on the countryside below. Unpaved, rustic roads meandered away from the fields—all heading in the same direction. We followed them, passing over green fields filled with grazing cattle, until low structures appeared ahead.
“Do those buildings have thatched roofs?” Angelina asked.
“Indeed they do,” Kirpal said, zooming in on them. “Wattle and daub walls too if I am not mistaken.”
Flowers abounded, while fruit trees lined the roads. I pointed to a large grassy open space next to a small grove, just beyond the buildings. “Why don’t we put the ship down there—and see if the natives are friendly.”
“Done,” the captain said, “but my hand will still be on the throttle if we have to leave abruptly.”
Barnyard power flamed out and we settled gently to the ground. Waited. Nothing stirred. Doors remained closed.
“Anyone home?” Stramm asked. “Maybe they’re suspicious of our intentions.”
“You would be too—considering who their neighbors are.” Angelina said. “I think I’ll take a stroll and see what happens.”
“Not alone,” I said. Patting the small of my back to make sure my weapon was secure.
The lower hatch opened as we approached it and the gangway rattled out and down. There was the clatter of tiny hooves as Pinky joined us. She sniffed the balmy air and squealed happily. Holding hands we followed her down to the grassy ground—where she burst into frantic squealing as she galloped away.
I had my hand on my gun when Angelina put her hand on my arm.
“Relax,” she cozened. “It appears to be a nut tree of some kind.”
“The edible kind,” I said to the sound of happy munching.
“There is someone watching us from the building behind you,” Angelina said quietly. “I saw the window curtain move.”
“The other buildings too. One of the closed doors is open a bit now.”
“Let’s reassure them,” she said, as she bent and gathered a small bouquet of white flowers from a nearby patch. Then she turned towards the house of the twitching curtain—and held them out, smiling as she did.
It worked like a charm. The curtain dropped back and a moment later the door opened. Hesitantly, a rustically dressed woman emerged. Angelina walked slowly across the green towards her—and handed her the flowers.
Other doors were now opening and men and women cautiously appeared. One gray-haired, gray-bearded man left the group and walked over to us. When he came close he raised his hand, palm outwards, in what could only have been a gesture of peace; I responded in kind.
“Welcome peaceful strangers—and fine animal—welcome to Floradora,” he said formally. “I am Bilboa of Burgansee.”
“My thanks and I return greetings, oh fine gentleman of Floradora.” This kind of thing was catching. “I am Jim of diGriz.”
From behind me I heard the all too familiar nasal tones of Elmo.
“Hi there, Cousin Jim. That fresh air shore do smell great. The swine think so too—can we let them out to root around?”
Why not. “But just the sows and piglets first.” I didn’t want the thundering boars to spoil the party.
There were oohs and ahhs from the growing crowd of Floradorans as the porcuswine swept out. In a moment their joyful squealing died away to be replaced by happy rooting and munching. One of the women swooned with delight.
As I turned back to Bilboa I saw that Angelina was in close conversation with an attentive circle of women. So far so good.
“Nice planet you have here, brother Bilboa.”
“It is indeed a world of wonder, brother Jim. Legend has it that we came here from a planet of darkness where we suffered and were despised for our pure beliefs. But we, the Children of Nature and Love, did flee the darkness and impurities and did come to this planet of shining peace for lo—millennia. Until . . .” He groaned aloud and shook his fists at the sky.
“Then they came and brought great evil with them . . .” He shivered and lowered his fists. “I beg your indulgence and pardon, brother Jim of diGriz. I sully this happy day of new friends, both two-legged and four-legged, and beg you to excuse me.”
“No problem, brother Bilboa, let’s enjoy . . .”
The radio buzzed in my head.
“Jim—what’s happening out there? I see quite a crowd.”
“It’s going great, Captain. I’ll call you back soonest.” Bilboa was interested. “You speak to your friends in the ship of space?”
“I do indeed.”
“Perhaps they will join us—as you see we prepare for a feast of greetings.”
While we had been shooting the breeze men had been carrying out tables and chairs. Moments later burdened women had spread them with cloths, plates of food, bowls of flowers. And interesting jugs of liquid refreshment. I was beginning to like these simple folk. I quietly said radio on.
“It’s party time and the fun is about to begin—and you’re all invited.”
“Enjoy. I and Stramm are staying here. I’ll let the passengers out—and lock the airlock after them.”
“Understandable after the way our luck has been running. We’ll bring you back a picnic basket.”
There was laughter—and even cheers—when the company emerged. Oohs of admiration greeted the appearance of the boars, each carefully tethered by a hind leg. They trotted across the field, rumbling with pleasure, and joined the rest of the herd in a good root under the trees. There were excited shouts of greetings on all sides: I seized the moment to investigate the chilled jugs of liquid.
I sipped from an earthenware mug. Fresh fruit flavors—and a hint of something else. Alcohol? I chugalugged some more. Yes indeed, my old friend Ethyl, if I was not mistaken. And I rarely was.
“I see that you are enjoying our tinkleberry wine,” Bilboa said, pouring himself a good mug full.
“Health and happiness,” I said. We thunked jugs together.
“Nature and love.”
We smiled happily and he poured refills.
The party was now in full swing. I nibbled on some delicious baked cheese biscuits. Then Angelina joined us and, in the spirit of the day, put her radio on the table and switched on some pastoral music.
“A wondrous device,” Bilboa said.
“Don’t you use radios?”
“Happily, no. The simple, natural life is sacred to us. We left all the machines behind when we sealed and abandoned the vessels that brought us here. Along with other evils like money, property tax, income tax, guns and goatmobiles—or so legend has it. Though I know not the meaning of these words.”
“You’re better off without them. So . . . no machines, music players, radios, interstellar communications machines?”
Casually mentioned . . .
“None of those.” My spirits fell. Still, the city had machines—if TV and ground-to-air missiles counted.
I waited until we had knocked back a few more mugs of Old Relaxing Juice before I worked the conversation around to more serious matters.
“Dear friend Bilboa, I so welcome your many kindnesses. But, at the risk of offending you who offers such hospitality and largesse, I must return to a topic of great importance to me. Those who live in the walled city . . .”
He sighed tremulously and his smile vanished as I made my pitch.
“Though we approached them in peace they used a weapon in an attempt to destroy us. For our own protection I must know who they are and why they fired on us. We have an expression: know your enemy. I must know more about these people for our own protection.”
The day appeared to darken and the warmth was gone from the air.
“You are correct and I was wrong to keep this knowledge from you. It has been written that one black day our peaceful and loving existence—alone on this friendly planet—was broken by the thunder of their great ships landing. Like us they came here seeking escape and the solitude to pursue their own philosophy and ends.”
His eyes sparkled and he shook his fist at the defenseless sky. “While we are one with nature, they attack it with foul machines and great stinks. They attempted to force us to join them in their evil beliefs. We could only flee in horror. In the end they tired of attempting to convert us to their Church of the Vengeful God and retired behind their city walls.”
“Then you no longer have any contact with them?”
Bilboa sighed again, most unhappily, and shook his gray head.
“Would that were so. Perhaps we are weak, but we welcome their medicines that cure us of illness.”
“But these Vengefulers don’t sound like the type to indulge in generosity . . .”
“They are not! We pay a high price! Not in this money thing you talk of, but in toil and labor in exchange for these vital needs.”
Getting close now! “And that is . . . ?”
“Flowers.”
That was a stopper. Interstellar flower power? Religious nutcases with a weakness for blooming buds? I managed to gasp out a query.
“But . . . I mean what . . . why flowers?”
“When their machines break down they must be repaired, replaced. Or so it has been explained to me although I know not the details.”
This was it. Interstellar contact for replacement and repairs.
“Do you know what they do with these flowers?” I asked humbly.
“By some devious means they turn the blooms into perfume. It has been said that the flowers of Floradora make a perfume of such beauty that it is prized throughout the galaxy.”
“You wouldn’t know how this perfume of delight reaches said galaxy?”
“They summon spacers who bring things they require in exchange.”
Bull’s-eye! Contact could be made!
I STROLLED OVER WITH THE jug and refilled Angelina’s mug with the potent Floradora fruit punch. She smiled her thanks. I bent close.
“Good news from the local capo. They trade flowers with the city people in exchange for medicine.”
She raised a quizzical eyebrow. “How very nice for them. And you have a reason for telling me this?”
“Indeed. The war-happy city citizens turn the flowers into perfume—which is picked up by off-planet traders . . .”
“Contact!” she said, clapping her hands with pleasure. She glanced over my shoulder at the lowering sun. “Time to go back to the ship and report the good news.”
“I’ll bid our good-byes and start the pigs and people moving.”
“And I’ll fix a picnic basket for Kirpal and Stramm. I hope they don’t mind vegetarian food.”
“Is it? I never noticed.”
“It was so good it didn’t matter. You’ll have plenty steaks on the ship.”
I saw Bilboa carrying out a fresh jug and joined him for a stirrup cup. We thudded mugs.
“Fine as this day was—new friends and fine food—all good things must end,” I said. His face dropped.
“We have much to talk of, new friend Jim.”
“We do indeed, fine friend Bilboa, but it will have to wait until another day.”
“Can we say tomorrow? You must see our dairy!”
“First thing in the morning. Your milk and butter—and cheese—are more than excellent.”
“Warm thanks! Until the morning then.”
The party was slowly breaking up. Tables were being cleared, good-byes rang out and reboarding began. Stomachs full, the swine trotted happily back to their pens. So did the farmers—though not to their stys. A number of hearty handclasps later we waved our good-byes and rejoined the others. I rolled in the ramp
and sealed the port. By reflex—since I didn’t think the Floradorans meant us any harm. In the dining room I found the ship’s crew tucking into the lavish spread.
“Farm fresh and delicious!” Kirpal sounded like a TV commercial. Stramm wasted no time on talk only nodded and crunched. I joined them in some fruit punch until they were sated.
“The good news is that the city dwellers, who are followers of a cult religion called the Church of the Vengeful God, have interstellar communication.”
I nodded agreement with their happy cries.
“That’s the good news. The bad news is that they may take some persuading, for they are a surly and bigoted lot—as their surface-to-air missile proved.”
Kirpal rubbed his jaw and frowned. “Church of the Vengeful God? Never heard of them.”
“No reason you should have. There were a great number of nutcase religions during the breakdown years.” I pointed to the communicator unit on the wall. “Does that connect to the ship’s central computer?”
“Of course—by law. A mini mainframe with almost unlimited memory banks.”
I put the communicator on the table and the captain ran a Gurgle search. “There it is.” I leaned close and read—
CHURCH OF THE VENGEFUL GOD
During the Breakdown Years on Earth (or Dirt), thought to be the original planet that was home to mankind, there were a number of remarkable, and distasteful, religions that sprang up. All of them died out—though it is possible that some of them spread to other of the colonized planets.
The Vengefulers, as this odd religion was called, had a rather obnoxious philosophy. They believed that God was really the Devil—having displaced the true God and chained him in Hell. Only by practicing a rigid discipline could they satisfy the Devil-God and convince him to finally release God from Hell so they could join him in heaven. To this end they mortified the flesh, since they believed it to be intrinsically evil, and forewent all pleasures and luxuries. They also believed that the rest of mankind was jealous of them and waged eternal war against them. To say that they were extremely paranoid understates the case.
The Stainless Steel Rat Returns Page 6