Various Fiction

by Robert Sheckley

  But that’s another story . . .

  KHASARA

  I.

  When Brodsky enlisted in the levy from Perdido, he was sent to the planet Target, the Khalian staging ground which the special forces from Perdido, with a little help from the rest of the Fleet, had conquered some two years previously.

  By the time Brodsky got there, the fighting was over and there was nothing much to do. So Brodsky had proceeded to do nothing.

  Then one day, his platoon sergeant came to him and said, “The company commander wants to see you.”

  At the time, Brodsky was off-duty, sitting under a tree watching two crickets watching each other. He’d learned a lot from watching insects and small animals while on Target. It was funny, but when you really watched them closely, you saw that they did stuff the textbooks never mentioned. Individual variation. Despite their lack of personality, their behavior was never quite predictable.

  “What does the company commander want with me?” Brodsky asked.

  “No doubt he would prefer to enlighten you as to that himself,” the sergeant said. “Are you coming?”

  “I suppose so,” Brodsky said.

  “Can’t you just say, ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ like everyone else?”

  “I suppose I could,” Brodsky said. “But I’m not like everybody else. Nobody is.”

  II.

  Brodsky was tall, gangling, awkward, and poorly coordinated. He had an IQ that registered around 185, genius level, but he didn’t seem to have any aptitude to do anything with it. This provided a challenge for his company commander, James P. Kelly from Carthaginia II in the Eastern Ridge Star Sector CJ.

  Captain Kelly was perfectly charming in a sarcastic way. “So here is Brodsky, the company philosopher!”

  “You do me too great an honor, Captain,” Brodsky said. “I am a mere seeker after truth.”

  “Is that why you invariably screw up our close-order drills?”

  “I don’t do it on purpose,” Brodsky said. “I’m not rebellious.”

  “Except unconsciously?”

  “Perhaps. But I submit, Captain, that a man is not to be held accountable for the actions of his subconscious, which is, by definition, unknown and unknowable to him.”

  “If you’d just pay attention,” the captain said.

  “I beg your pardon?” asked Brodsky. He had been staring out the window, wishing he were somewhere else.

  “Brodsky, sometimes I wish we were in one of the old-fashioned armies of the bad old days. Back then, when soldiers screwed up, do you know what their commanding officers did?”

  “Scolded them?” Brodsky guessed.

  “A lot more than that. They punished them.”

  “I don’t understand,” Brodsky said. “What has punishment got to do with screwing up?”

  “Nothing. We know that now. But in the ancient time, they thought they could correct behavior by punishing it.”

  “What a peculiar notion,” Brodsky said.

  “Quite unscientific. But can you imagine, Brodsky, what gratification it would be to me to be able to punish you after all the anguish you have caused me?”

  “Sir, if it will help your state of mind,” Brodsky said, “then by all means punish me. I won’t hold it against you, and I’ll never tell anyone.”

  “I may have emotions,” the company commander said, “but I’m not an old-fashioned thinker. No, Brodsky, I’m not going to punish you, though my heart would delight in giving you pain. On the contrary, I am going to reward you. Is that modern enough for you?”

  “I don’t know if rewarding behavior you despise is really a good idea,” Brodsky said. “And I also have the feeling—call it a presentiment—that I am not going to like this reward.”

  “You can call it a presentiment,” the company commander said, “or you can call it grape jelly. No power on Earth, and certainly no plea on your part, is going to prevent me from rewarding you for your miserable and vile performance ever since you joined my detachment.”

  “Detachment is something you have too little of,” Brodsky said. “But if you’re determined to reward me, let’s get it over with. What’s it to be? A three-day leave so that I can get disgustingly drunk in the horrible little town filled with sarcastic six-foot birds outside of our post?”

  “No, it’s better than that,” the company commander said.

  “Sir, I can’t imagine what it is.”

  “Then I will tell you, Private Brodsky, you are hereby promoted to the rank of first lieutenant.”

  “That’s it?” Brodsky asked. “That’s my reward?”

  “Only part of it. Aren’t you curious why I’ve promoted you?”

  Brodsky shrugged. “Maybe you have a daughter who has seen me and found me desirable and insisted that you give me enough rank so that she can be seen with me socially.”

  In a low, deadly voice the captain said, “Brodsky, have you been seeing my daughter?”

  “I didn’t even know that you had one. My supposition was purely hypothetical.”

  “I have promoted you,” the company commander said, “because, according to the new directives, lieutenant is the lowest rank permitted to operate a scoutship.”

  “A scoutship? Me fly a scoutship? Sir, I can’t even drive a car!”

  “They are simple enough to learn. Intelligence is the magic key that unlocks all techniques. You told me that yourself.”

  At this time the search was on for the missing planets of the old empire. Two thousand years previously, the First Empire had come to an end. Its original nucleus had been thirteen planets, one of which was Earth. In the days of the last emperor the empire grew to encompass one hundred thousand planets. Power was in the hands of the Fleet, which headquartered at Tau Ceti, the Port.

  When the Empire broke up, many records were lost, and many planets went entirely out of communication. It was a time of dark ages. Part of the present day work of the Alliance was to find these planets, reestablish contact, bring them back into the Alliance.

  Brodsky hadn’t thought the exploration program would affect him. He was not an explorer type. He was not even a military type. In fact, he had good reason to suspect that he wasn’t even a type at all.

  “I don’t know anything about piloting,” Brodsky said.

  “There is an instruction manual on board the ship. You will have several hours to study it. Also, you will have a partner, no doubt more technologically competent than you.”

  “Why me?” Brodsky asked. “And why a scoutship?”

  “Scoutships,” the company commander said, “are the ships of choice in the locating and contacting of civilizations.”

  “You want to send me out exploring?”

  “It’s important work, Brodsky. Two thousand years ago we were part of an empire of a hundred thousand planets. Think of it!”

  “Unwieldy,” Brodsky commented.

  “Lofty. Noble. A grand conception.”

  “To each his own. I personally think there’s entirely too much nostalgia for the Old Empire. The dark ages sound like much more fun.”

  “We need to find those planets,” Captain Kelly said. “We need them back in the Alliance. We’re at war, in case you forgot. The Khalians, remember? And the sinister intelligences behind them. Enormous forces are moving against us, Brodsky. We need everyone and everything on our side. And if self interest doesn’t move you, think of someone else’s problems for a change. Do you know what the enemy does to unprotected civilizations?”

  “I don’t want to hear about it,” Brodsky said.

  “These planets are defenseless. Most of the planets have not been able to sustain an interplanetary civilization on their own. After a few generations of isolation, space flight is forgotten, or remembered only as a possession of some godlike race that once came and went. When the Khalians and others come across such people, it’s easy enough to enslave them, or to kill them off, or have them quick-frozen for meat supplies.”

  “Please,” Brodsky said, �
��I’ve got a sensitive stomach.”

  “I’ve said enough,” the company commander said. He rummaged in his desk drawer and found a shiny ornament.

  “Here is your lieutenant’s medallion. Put it around your neck. That’s it. Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Brodsky.”

  Brodsky fingered the ornament. “Honestly now, sir, all humor aside. Is this really such a good idea? Sending me out in a scouter to explore alien worlds? I mean, that’s work for an expert, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed it is,” the company commander said. “We have considered carefully the ideal requirements for the job. You should be a trained linguist, of course, and quick at learning new languages and understanding dialects. A knowledge of chemistry will help you stay unpoisoned when you try to eat on your new planetary home. You should have some training in various disciplines—economics, politics, technology of all sorts—so that you can determine how important this planet might or might not be to the Alliance. It would help if you were a geologist, because there are still rare earths and metals to be found . . . a botanist and biologist, because some of our best cultures for a variety of things come from alien platforms. If the place has an ocean, as most oxygen-rich worlds do, it would help if you were an oceanographer. We’d like you to be a zoologist so that you could tell us something about the animals you encounter. If you were a sociologist and an ethnologist you could make some guesses about the various cultures, because the cultures we have come across so far have been anything but homogeneous, and they tend to have as much variation or more as races, groups, clans, religions, on Earth. It takes a trained man to deal with all this without giving offense. Maybe we’d better add psychologist to your list of credits. It stands to reason that you should be a doctor, if for no other reason than to heal yourself when you fall ill far from home and don’t care to rely on the local methods, steeped as they are in alien physiology and alien nutrition. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t be bad if you were also a nutritionist.”

  “Well, I’m not any of those, things,” Brodsky said.

  “I know. None of our explorers has the necessary requirements. They wouldn’t do.”

  “That’s contradictory. Why?”

  “Because the explorer would be so burdened by knowledge that he wouldn’t know how to respond to a new situation. It happens all the time in exploring. On these worlds, nothing is like you were taught, your analogies are imperfect, your inferences are incorrect, and, all in all, you’re best off just playing it by ear.”

  “So how do you choose your explorers?”

  “We take the ones we think will be pretty good at adjusting to weird situations. Misfits and oddballs, that’s what we usually get.”

  “And you think that I fit?”

  “Oh, yes, Brodsky, do you ever fit.”

  “Captain, if I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you of having a sense of humor.”

  “That’s probably a compliment, coming from you. But don’t worry, Brodsky, I’m not being funny. I honestly think you might be well suited for this work.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Brodsky said. “I don’t know a thing about alien civilizations or how to greet our long-lost brothers from the old empire.”

  “True, but you have one big thing going for you. You always expect the unexpected.”

  “Of course”, Brodsky said. “What else is there to expect? Doesn’t everybody?”

  “Most people,” the captain said, “expect only the expected, and are very surprised when matters turn out otherwise. You will never have that failing, Brodsky. Now let’s go out and inspect your new ship, and I’ll introduce you to your new partner.”

  III.

  The scoutship was fifty feet long. That seemed generous in a ship designed to carry only two or three people. But most of the narrow hull was taken up with the engines, operating and navigational equipment, and stores. There was a tiny bathroom and shower, a galley and a small recreation room with a sofa and armchairs and entertainment center. The control room was up in the bow, small and cramped and covered from floor to ceiling with instruments.

  Somebody was sitting in one of the command chairs, idly tapping the computer keyboard.

  “Who’s that?” Brodsky asked.

  The occupant of the command chair turned around. She was about seventeen years old, dark skinned with delicate features. She had long lustrous black hair, which she wore down her back in a thick braid. She was small, and she looked fragile. She wore heavy gold bracelets. There was a small caste mark on her forehead.

  “Lieutenant Brodsky,” the company commander said, “let me introduce you to your partner in exploration, Lieutenant Muckerjee.”

  “Are you from India?” Brodsky said. “Or do you just wear a sari for kicks?”

  “Neither,” Anna said. “I am from Khali Twelve, originally settled from India and Pakistan.”

  “I had always been under the impression that Indian women stayed at home and left the fighting to the men.”

  She shook her head firmly. “On Khali Twelve the women are the warriors. I am fully qualified to fly spaceships of this size. What do you specialize in?”

  “Goofing off,” Brodsky said.

  “I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted,” Captain Kelly said and left, grinning to himself.

  IV.

  Their first argument took place on the first day of their flight. That made it easy to remember.

  After blastoff, when the ship had moved beyond the effective gravitational pull of Target, and while they were waiting for the computer-predicted moment to switch to FTL drive, Anna took out several large spiral-bound volumes, opened them, and began to study the contents.

  Brodsky had watched without comment as she had done the entire liftoff herself. She was a trifle unfriendly, perhaps. But nice looking. He liked her eyes, which were long and almond shaped. Her head was well-shaped on a long, graceful neck. She seemed very competent. Brodsky liked that. Or at least he thought he liked that. Brodsky didn’t always know what he liked until later.

  “Nice takeoff,” he told her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It was just a standard takeoff spiral as prescribed in the manual. I tightened it somewhat in response to reports of approaching traffic from the control tower.”

  “That was clever of you,” Brodsky said.

  “But of course it was still within regulation parameters.”

  “Hey, that’s good to hear,” Brodsky said.

  She frowned slightly. “They warned me about you. They said you liked to do things in your own way.”

  Brodsky nodded. “To put it mildly.”

  “But in takeoffs, there’s not much room for self-expression.”

  “I know. That’s why I let you do it.”

  “You let me? I wasn’t aware that you were in charge of this expedition.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that,” Brodsky said; “What I’m trying to say is, if I’d felt that takeoffs were something I did well, I would have done it.”

  She turned to face him. Brodsky noticed what a nicely shaped mouth she had. But he didn’t like what came out of it.

  “Lieutenant Brodsky,” she said, “let’s get something straight right away. I’ve got the technical skills for this job. You do not. As far as I can see, your commander put you here just to get rid of you. You’re dead weight. Okay, I can live with that. I know what to do, and I can do it whether you’re here or not. But I don’t want you interfering. I believe there’s an ample supply of comic books in the ship’s video library. They should keep you occupied while I get on with this job.

  Brodsky stared at her. He was starting to get angry. And then the absurdity of the whole thing got to him, and he had to smile. Here was this woman volunteering to do this job he hadn’t even wanted in the first place. What was he complaining about?

  “You go right ahead and do your thing, sis,” he told her. “When my advice isn’t wanted, I have no desire to volunteer it. But if you ever think I can be of assistance, feel free to
call on me.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Brodsky,” Anna said. “Your attitude is entirely appropriate for the situation.”

  “Well, it’s a relief for me to know that,” Brodsky said and went back to the galley. Just his luck. A long trip in space, alien explorations, the whole bit, and here he was, stuck with a woman who went by the rule book and seemed to have a chip on her shoulder. It would be interesting to see how long that would last.

  After setting a course, Lieutenant Muckerjee came back and cooked lunch. Chicken curry. A little spicy, but nice for a change. Brodsky wasn’t to know that this was what he was going to get for dinner every day until the end of the trip.

  At the end of nine days shiptime, Anna brought them out of FTL drive. She had a promising planet lined up. It might even be Khasara, one of the important worlds of the First Empire.

  V.

  Antonin Huue, known as Leo, was a watcher on the upper summits of Mount Forgetful, highest peak in Khasara’s southern hemisphere.

  The watchers were elected by public lottery every year. It was their task to stay on Khasara’s highest mountains, where the air was thin and telepathic telemetry was unimpeded. They were supposed to keep an eye and an ear turned toward space, and to give warning when an alien spaceship approached Khasara.

  It had been a very long time since the last alien ship had come. Things were quiet on the alien front nowadays. But there had to be watchers anyhow because you could never tell about aliens: they always came back, and they were unpredictable and dangerous. It would never do to let them sneak onto the planet without advance warning.

  The year’s solitary duty gave Leo a chance to practice his three-pointed concentration, control his body heat by yogic means, and convert sunlight into sustenance. There wasn’t much practical need for that sort of thing, but Leo liked doing it anyway.