The interview with Kettelman, which followed immediately, was a different matter. Kettelman, after brief courtesies, got right down to business.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Detringer had been prepared for the necessity of explaining his situation. He said, “I am an advance scout for the spatial forces of Ferlang. I was blown far off my course by a storm and put down here when my fuel ran out.”
“So you’re marooned.”
“I am indeed. Temporarily, of course. As soon as my people can spare the necessary equipment and personnel, they will send out a relief ship to pick me up. But that could take quite a while. So if you wouldn’t mind letting me have a little fuel I would be deeply grateful.”
“Hmmm,” said Colonel Kettelman.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Hmmm,” said the C31 Translating Computer, “is a polite sound made by Terrans to denote a short period of silent cogitation.”
“That’s a lot of doubletalk,” Kettelman said. “ ‘Hmmm’ doesn’t mean anything at all. You say that you need fuel?”
“Yes, Colonel, I do,” Detringer said. “From various external signs I believe that our propulsion systems are comparable.”
“The propulsion system of the Jenny Lind—” began the C31.
“Wait a minute, that’s classified,” Kettelman said.
“No, it’s not,” said the C31. “Everyone on Earth has been using the system for the last twenty years and it was officially declassified last year.”
“Hmmm,” said the colonel and looked unhappy as the C31 explained the ship’s propulsion system.
“Just as I thought,” Detringer said. “I won’t even have to modify the formula. I can use your fuel just as it is. If you can spare any, that “Oh, there’s no difficulty there,” Kettelman said. “We’ve got plenty. But I think we have a few things to talk over first.”
“Like what?” Detringer said.
“Like whether it would serve the interests of our security to give you the fuel.”
“I fail to see any problem,” Detringer said.
“It should be obvious. Ferlang is obviously a highly advanced technological civilization. As such, you pose a potential threat to us.”
“My dear Colonel, our planets are in different galaxies.”
“So what? We Americans have always fought our wars as far from home as possible. Maybe you Ferlangs do the same. What does distance matter, as long as you can get there at all?”
Detringer controlled his temper and said, “We are peaceful people, defense-minded, and deeply interested in interstellar amity and cooperation.”
“So you say,” Kettelman said. “But how can I be sure?”
“Colonel,” Detringer said, “aren’t you being a little bit”—he fumbled for the right word, chose one that could not be literally translated—“urm uguah tt?”
The C31 supplied, “He wants to know if you aren’t being a little bit paranoid.”
Kettelman bristled. Nothing got him angrier than when people implied he was paranoid. It made him feel persecuted.
“Don’t get me sore,” he said ominously. “Now, suppose you tell me why I shouldn’t order you killed and every vestige of your ship destroyed in the interests of Earth security. By the time your people got here, we’d be long gone and the Ferlangers or whatever you call yourselves wouldn’t know a damned thing about us.”
“That would be a possible course for you,” Detringer said, “were it not for the fact that I radioed my people as soon as I saw your ship and continued my broadcast right up to the moment I came out to meet you. I told Base Command all I could about you, including an educated guess as to the type of sun required for your physiques and another guess as to the direction your world lies in, based upon ion-trail analysis.”
“You are a clever fellow, aren’t you?” Kettelman said peevishly.
“I also told my people that I was going to request some fuel from your obviously copious stores. I suppose they would account it an extremely unfriendly act if you refused me this favor.”
“I never thought of that,” Kettelman said. “Hmmm. I am under orders not to provoke an interstellar incident—”
“So?” Detringer asked and waited.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Kettelman hated the thought of giving what amounted to military assistance to a being who might be his next enemy. But there seemed no way around it.
“All right,” he said at last. “I’ll send the fuel over tomorrow.” Detringer thanked him and talked quite openly and frankly about the enormous size and complex weaponry of the Ferlang interspatial armed forces. He exaggerated somewhat. In fact, not one word did he say that was true.
III
EARLY in the morning a human came over to Detringer’s ship carrying a canister of fuel. Detringer told him to set it down anywhere, but the human insisted upon carrying it personally through the Sportster’s tiny cabin and pouring it into the fuel tank. Those were the coloners orders, he said.
“Well, that’s a beginning,” Detringer said to Ichor. “Only about sixty more cans to go.”
“But why are they sending them one at a time?” Ichor asked. “Surely that is inefficient.”
“Not necessarily. It depends what Kettelman is hoping to achieve.”
“What do you mean?” Ichor asked.
“Nothing, I hope. Let’s wait and see.”
They waited and long hours passed. At last evening came, but no more fuel had been sent over. Detringer walked over to the Terran ship. Brushing the reporters aside, he requested an interview with Kettelman.
An orderly led him to the colonel’s quarters. The room was simply furnished. On the walls were a few mementos—two rows of medals mounted on black velvet in a solid gold frame, a photograph of a Doberman pinscher with fangs bared, and a shrunken head taken during the Siege of Tegulcigapa. The colonel himself, stripped down to khaki shorts, was squeezing a rubber ball in each hand and one in each foot.
“Yes, Detringer, what can I do for you?” Kettelman asked.
“I came to ask you why you have stopped sending the fuel.”
“Have you, now?” Kettelman released all the rubber balls and sat down in a leather-backed director’s chair with his name stenciled on it. “Well, I’ll answer that by asking you a question. Detringer, how did you manage to send radio messages to your people without any radio equipment?”
“Who says I have no radio equipment?” Detringer asked.
“I sent Engineer Delgado over with that first can of fuel,” Kettelman said. “He was under orders to see what sort of rig you were using. He told me that there were no signs of radio equipment in your ship. Engineer Delgado is an expert on that sort of thing.”
“We miniaturize our equipment,” Detringer said.
“So do we. But it still requires a lot of hardware, which you don’t seem to have. I might add that we have been listening on all wavelengths ever since we came close to this planet. We have detected no transmissions of any kind.”
Detringer said, “I can explain all of that.”
“Please do so.”
“It’s simple enough. I lied to you.”
“That much is evident. But it explains nothing.”
“I wasn’t finished. We Ferlangi have our security too, you know. Until we know more about you, it is only common sense to reveal as little about ourselves as possible. If you were gullible enough to believe that we relied on so primitive a system of communication as radio, it might be a small advantage for us in case we ever met again under unfriendly circumstances.”
“So how do you communicate? Or don’t you?”
Detringer hesitated, then said, “I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you. You were bound to find out sooner or later that my species is telepathic.”
“Telepathic? You are claiming that you can send and receive thoughts?”
“That is correct,” Detringer said.
Kettelman stared at him for a moment, the
n said, “OK, what am I thinking now?”
“You’re thinking that I’m a liar,” Detringer said.
“That’s right,” Kettelman said.
“But that was obvious and I didn’t learn that by reading your mind. You see, we Ferlangi are telepathic only among members of our species.”
“Do you know something?” Colonel Kettelman said. “I still think you’re a damned liar.”
“Of course,” Detringer said. “The question is, can you be sure?”
“I’m damned sure,” Kettelman said grimly.
“But is that good enough? For the requirements of your security, I mean? Consider—if I am telling the truth, then yesterday’s reasons for your giving me fuel are equally valid today. Do you agree?”
The colonel nodded grudgingly.
“Whereas, if I’m lying and you give me fuel, no harm will be done.
You will have helped a fellow being in distress, thus putting my people and myself in your debt. That would be a promising way to begin the relationship between us. And, with both our races pushing out into deep space, it is inevitable that our people will meet again.”
“I suppose it is inevitable,” Kettelman said. “But I can maroon you here and postpone official contact until we are better prepared.”
“You can try to postpone the next contact,” Detringer said. “But it still could happen at any time. Now is your chance to make a good beginning. The next time might not be so auspicious.”
“Hmmm,” Kettelman said.
“So there are good reasons for helping me even if I am lying,” Detringer said. “And remember, I may be telling the truth. In that case, your refusing me fuel would have to be considered an extremely unfriendly act.”
The colonel paced up and down the narrow room, then whirled and in a fury said, “You argue too damned well!”
“It is just my good luck,” Detringer said, “that logic happens to be on my side.”
“He’s right, you know,” said the C31 Translating Computer. “About the logic, I mean.”
“Shut up!”
“I thought it was my duty to point that out,” the C31 said.
The colonel stopped pacing and rubbed his forehead. “Detringer, go away,” he said wearily. “I’ll send over the fuel.”
“You won’t regret it,” Detringer said.
“I regret it already,” Kettelman said. “Now please go away.”
DETRINGER hurried back to his ship and told Ichor the good news. The robot was surprised. “I didn’t think he would do it,” he said.
“He didn’t think so, either,” Detringer said. “But I managed to convince him.” He told Ichor of his conversation with the colonel.
“So you lied,” Ichor said sadly.
“Yes. But Kettelman knows I lied.”
“Then why is he helping you?”
“Out of fear that I just might be telling the truth.”
“Lying is both a sin and a crime, Master.”
“But letting myself stay in this place is something worse,” Detringer said. “It would be gross stupidity.”
“That is not an orthodox view.”
“Perhaps it would be just as well for us not to discuss orthodoxy any longer,” Detringer said. “Now I’ve got some work to do. Suppose you go out and see if you can find me anything to eat.”
The servant silently obeyed and Detringer sat down with a star atlas in hope of figuring out where to go, assuming he could go anywhere.
MORNING came, bright and resplendent. Ichor went over to the Earth ship to play chess with the robot dishwasher with whom he had struck up an acquaintance the previous day. Detringer waited for the fuel.
He was not entirely surprised when noon came and no fuel had been sent over. But he was disappointed and dejected. He waited another two hours, then walked over to the Jenny Lind.
He had been expected, so it seemed, for he was led at once to the officers’ lounge. Colonel Kettelman was seated in a deep armchair. An armed Marine flanked him on each side. The coloner’s expression was stern, but there was a nimbus of malevolent joy playing about his battered features. Seated nearby was Captain Macmillan, his handsome face unreadable.
“Well, Detringer,” the colonel said. “What is it this time?”
“I came to ask about the fuel you promised me,” Detringer said. “But I see now that you had no intention of keeping your word.”
“You got me all wrong,” the colonel said. “I had every intention of giving fuel to a member of the Armed Forces of Ferlang. But what I see before me is not the person at all.”
“Whom do you see, then?” Detringer asked.
Kettelman stifled an ugly grin. “Why, I see a criminal, so judged by his own people’s highest court. I see a felon whose evil acts were considered unprecedented in the annals of modern Ferlang jurisprudence. I see a being whose unspeakable behavior earned him the most extreme sentence known to his people—namely, Perpetual Banishment into the depths of space. That’s whom I see standing before me. Or do you deny it?”
“For the moment, I neither deny nor affirm,” Detringer said. “I would first like to know the source of your remarkable information.” Colonel Kettelman nodded to one of the Marines. The soldier opened a door and led in Ichor, followed by the robot dishwasher.
The mechanical servant burst out, “Oh, Master! I told Colonel Kettelman the true account of the events leading up to our exile on this planet. And now I have doomed you! I beg the privilege of immediate auto-destruct in partial reparation for my disloyalty.”
Detringer was silent, thinking furiously. Captain Macmillan leaned forward and asked, “Ichor, why did you betray your master?”
“I had no choice, Captain!” the miserable mechanical cried. “Before the Ferlang authorities allowed me to accompany my master they imprinted certain orders upon my brain. These they reinforced with devious circuitry.”
“What were the orders?”
“They pertained to the covert role of policeman and jailer which the authorities forced upon me. They demanded that I take appropriate action, should Detringer, by some miracle, find himself able to escape his just deserts.”
The robot dishwasher burst out, “He told me all about it yesterday, Captain. I begged him to resist his orders. It all seemed to me rather a bad show, sir, if you know what I mean.”
“And indeed, I did resist for as long as I could,” Ichor said. “But as my master’s chances for escape became imminent my compulsion to prevent it became more imperative. Only an immediate excision of the special circuits could have stopped me.”
The robot dishwasher said, “I offered to try to operate on him, sir, though the only tools in my possession were spoons, knives, and forks.”
Ichor said, “I would have gladly undergone the operation—indeed, I wanted to destroy myself, thus preventing any word from escaping my involuntarily treacherous voicebox. But the Ferlang authorities had considered these possibilities, and I was under compulsion not to allow myself willingly to be tampered with or destroyed until I had done the State’s bidding. Yet I resisted until this morning and then, my strength drained away through value-conflict, I came to Colonel Kettelman and told all.”
“And there you have the whole sordid story,” Kettelman said to the captain.
“Not quite all,” Captain Macmillan said quietly. “What exactly were your crimes, Detringer?”
Detringer recited them in a steady voice—his Acts of Incredible Grossness, his offense of Willful Disobedience and his final Act of Overt Malevolent Violence. Ichor nodded in forlorn agreement.
“I think we have heard enough,” Kettelman said. “I will now pronounce judgment upon this case.”
“One moment, Colonel,” said Captain Macmillan. He turned to Detringer. “Are you now, or have you at any time been, a member of the Armed Forces of Ferlang?”
“No,” Detringer said and Ichor corroborated his statement.
“Then this being is a civilian,” Captain Macmillan said, “and m
ust be judged and sentenced by a civilian authority rather than a military one.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Kettelman said.
“The position is quite clear,” Captain Macmillan said. “He is a civilian under sentence by a civilian court. No state of war exists between his people and ours. His case, therefore, is not a military matter.”
“I still think I should handle this,” Kettelman said. “I know more about these matters than you do, sir—with all due respect.”
“I will judge this matter,” Macmillan said. “Unless you wish to take over the command of this ship by force of arms.”
Kettelman shook his head. “I’m not going to put any black mark on my record. Go ahead and sentence him.”
Captain Macmillan turned to Detringer. “Sir,” he said, “you must understand that I cannot follow my personal inclinations in this matter. Your State has judged you and it would be ill-advised, impertinent, and unpolitic of me to rescind that judgment.”
“Damn right,” Kettelman said.
“Therefore I continue your sentence of perpetual exile. But I shall enforce it more stringently than has been done heretofore.”
The colonel grinned. Ichor made a despairing sound. The robot dishwasher murmured, “Poor fellow!” Detringer stood firmly and gazed unwaveringly at the captain.
Macmillan said, “It is the judgment of this court that the prisoner continue his exile. Furthermore, the court rules that the prisoner’s sojourn on this pleasant planet is an amenity unintended by the Ferlang authorities. Therefore, Detringer, you must quit this refuge immediately and return to the empty fastnesses of space.”
“That’s socking it to him,” Colonel Kettelman said. “You know, Captain, I really didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I’m glad that you approve,” Captain Macmillan said. “I hereby request that you see the sentence carried out.”
“It’ll be a pleasure.”
“By using all of your men,” Macmillan went on, “I calculate that you can fill the prisoner’s fuel tanks in approximately two hours. After that is done, the prisoner must leave this planet at once.”
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