Various Fiction

by Robert Sheckley

  “That’s a good audience for a circus, Commander,” Blake said.

  “I would advise against it. There’s a possibility the Gerin will move this way.”

  “Sure. And there’s a possibility they’ll show up in a hundred other places, or even vanish right up their own tail pipes. It’s no concern of mine. This planet’s played out. We’re moving on to Rhea.”

  “And if the Gerin come?”

  Blake shrugged. “We’re from Pelops, and we’re noncombatants. None of us are original Earth stock.”

  “Do you think the Gerin give a damn where you were born? You look like humans and they’ll treat you as such.”

  “What I’ve heard,” Blake said, “is that some humanoid worlds have gone over to them and they haven’t suffered for it.”

  “You wouldn’t do that!” Darfur said. “You still owe something to the human race.”

  “Because they gave birth to me? Extend that back. I also owe the entire line of primates, who were the forebears of all of us. And the rodents and reptiles before that. And so on, to lichen and algae and finally to constituent chemicals.”

  “You can make anything sound absurd,” Darfur said.

  “The fact is, no matter which planet you were born on, you’re still humanoid and you owe something to the rest of the race.”

  “You think so?” Blake said. “Let me tell you, the human race as represented on our homeworld hasn’t been so nice to us. Do you know about the Pelopian doctrine of True Breeding?”

  Darfur nodded.

  “We’re the culls.”

  Darfur knew about Pelops. It was a case study in repression frequently lectured on in Military College. Many of the humanoid-occupied worlds had small populations, kept under distressingly rigid dictatorial control by the self-elected authorities. This was especially true on the planet Pelops, where the clique known as the Lords of Force ruled and had ruled since the founding of the civilization. It wasn’t only political control the Lords were after. They were obsessed with racial purity. Their doctrine was called True Breeding. With the help of their scientists they had drawn up a Code of Protocol. It dealt with both physical appearance and mental attitude. The first test, the most important test for a young Pelopian, came on the day he would be checked by the Psychometrics Board. They would test his deviation from the idealized Pelopian norm. The Lords had stringent ideas about what humanity should be like. Any unusual skills or talents were forbidden. Anything resembling psychic talent was absolutely proscribed.

  The Lords, taking a lesson from Earth history, didn’t want to breed geniuses. We’re a down-to-earth people, they said. Everybody is doing well here. We are not going to rock the boat. Those who did not pass were subject to outshipment. They were given a short period of time in which to settle up their affairs and make their goodbyes, and then they were shipped off-planet. Any who exceeded the period of grace were subject to immediate seizure and incarceration. After a trial whose outcome was a foregone conclusion, the Outcaste would either be summarily executed as a criminal against the social order or marooned on one of the little planetoids at the edge of the Pelopian system. Here he would have to live on a planetoid never designed to support human life. These were prison worlds. It was an open prison: you could leave and go elsewhere, if you could find some place that would have you, and would be willing to pay your way there. There were few planets which gave them that opportunity. Life was tough for everyone; each world was still trying to make things work for its own population, and none had time left over to take in strays. And, too, each of these worlds had its suspicions about people who didn’t fit into its own social matrix. Life on the Outcaste worlds tended to be short, brutish, and painful.

  Many governments of human-occupied planets did not approve of the Pelopian methods. In a multiracial universe, these doctrines of racial purity were sinister, unethical, and certain to lead in time to fatal inbreeding. The Lords didn’t care what people of the other worlds thought. And because of the great struggle against the Gerin, the Pelopian fleet was badly needed. So dire was the plight of the League of Free Planets that the usually liberal League government refused to get involved and refused to take in Outcastes for fear of offending the Pelopians.

  “All of us here in this circus,” Blake said, “human and alien alike, are mutants as well as Outcastes. That compounds our untouchability. Humanoids dislike people with mutant abilities. Even minor mind-reading skills freak them out. They think all our people are reading their minds, learning their shoddy little secrets. It’s untrue, but it’s one of the lies they spread about us. We’ve been kicked off quite a few earth-settled worlds. We’re not allowed on Airies, or on Earth itself. Did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Darfur said.

  “It’s true. So I say, let the humanoids go their way. Good luck and all that, but I think we’ll just sit this one out.”

  “If the Gerin let you,” Darfur said.

  “Hey, we’ve dealt with a lot of aliens in our time. No trouble. Once they see we’re truly neutral, they’ll leave us alone.”

  Commander Darfur had to be content with that. He left the ship and returned to his headquarters building. Everything was in readiness. Everybody had been expecting orders to come through at any moment to take them off this dreary little world of Alicia. They were ready to go.

  The formalities were brief. Within, twelve hours, the cruiser Cochise upwarped.

  Not long after that, the converted cruiser P.T. Barnum, having run out of suckers and spectators, rang down the final curtain. The circus people were well schooled in quick exits. Sometimes they were necessary when things didn’t go right on the world they were entertaining. No problem this time, but they got off quickly anyhow.

  When Commander Darfur came out of FTL space to Point Bravo, he found a scene of confusion at fleet headquarters. Ships had been recalled from many points along the vast volume of space guarded by Point Bravo. So many had come at the same time that it posed a traffic-control problem for the local fleet headquarters of Admiral Clark Van Dyne, commanding MacDonald’s 4th Flotilla.

  Darfur had to remain in space for three standard days. From his ship’s observation post he could see the waiting ships keeping station in long rows, their winking lights like stars across the panoply of space. At last, orders came through. Darfur had the navigator set the parking orbit and ordered the crew to stand easy. There would be nothing for them to do until Darfur had made his call upon the admiral and was given further orders.

  It took three Earth-standard twenty-four-hour days before Van Dyne’s calendar was clear. Then Darfur was summoned. Dressed in his best whites, hat under his arm, he took his launch to the admiral’s dreadnought and was piped aboard.

  Van Dyne was a busy man. Short, narrow in the shoulders, potbellied, he didn’t look as if he could be the famous Van Dyne of Temple Pass fame, the man who had taken his ships through the narrow straits between the crowded planets of Temple Pass, to break through the Gerin gauntlet and live to fight another day. He was known as one of MacDonald’s best fighting admirals, and most men considered it an honor and privilege to serve under him.

  So had Darfur. Until his interview with the admiral. “What do you mean, you let the Circus Ship go on to Rhea?” Van Dyne demanded. His eyebrows knotted. His eyes were glittering gray slits. Darfur felt his stomach knot.

  “Why, sir, I didn’t like to let them proceed. But I have no authority to order around civilians.”

  “Is that a fact?” Van Dyne said, sarcasm dripping from his heavy-edged voice. “Do the articles of the Universal Emergency Declaration mean so little to you, then?”

  Darfur had to admit that he didn’t know the articles.

  He tried to add that he had been in space, keeping station, when the Declaration was made. But Van Dyne refused to let him off the hook.

  “You should have had a copy of them with you anyhow. Any man with a gram of sense knew they were sure to be adopted sooner or later. ‘ ,

&nbs
p; “I . . . I heard it was a close vote in the council, sir,” Darfur said. “People said it could have gone either way.”

  Van Dyne glared at him until Darfur could feel his cheeks going crimson. The commander was embarrassed and furious, and he knew that he’d better watch what he said or he’d be in even worse trouble than this.

  “What should I have done, sir?” he asked, biting out the words. “When they refused to accompany me, I mean.”

  Van Dyne shook his head at the naïveté of this young commander. “Darfur, you should have brought them back at gunpoint if necessary. For three reasons. First, we are not allowing people of Earth stock to get away from us so easily. Second, losing a civilian Circus Ship, of all things, to the enemy is the worst possible propaganda on the home front. And third, why put a perfectly sound ship into the hands of the enemy?”

  “I understand, sir,” Darfur said. “I did not know my orders allowed me such latitude. It will not happen again.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Van Dyne said. “Get back there, Commander, and bring that damned ship in. I don’t care how. Bring it back or don’t come back yourself.”

  “Yes, sir!” Darfur stood to full attention and saluted.

  Despite the admiral’s harsh tone, he knew he was being given a second chance. He could still wipe this error off his record.

  When the admiral returned his salute, Darfur turned to leave.

  “I haven’t dismissed you, yet,” Van Dyne snapped.

  “Sorry, sir. I just thought that it would be best for me to get at this as quickly as possible. Given the situation with the Gerin, sir. So I wanted to put my crew on standby for immediate takeoff.”

  “You’re right about the need for speed,” Van Dyne said. “But you won’t need your cruiser for that. Temporarily I’m putting command of Cochise into the hands of your second officer. You can go by fighter. That way, if you flub it this time, we won’t lose a major ship of the line.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Dismissed.” The admiral turned back to his papers.

  When Darfur reached the door, Van Dyne looked up.

  “Oh, and by the way.”

  “Sir?” Darfur stopped.

  “Good luck, sailor.”

  “Thank you, sir!” And Darfur was running as soon as he was outside the admiral’s door. There was a lot to be done and he wanted to be underway in an hour.

  The planet Rhea was a farming world populated by a lizard-evolved species who called themselves the Ingoteen. The tall, mild-mannered lizard farmers and fishermen had little in the way of hard cash. Nor did the Ingoteen have any background for understanding the Earth-based skits, the plays and dancing, the singing and miming, that were a part of the performance.

  As Blake had learned before, it didn’t matter. Entertainment on these isolated worlds was difficult to come by. Anyone, human or lizard, would drop what he was doing in order to watch a show and hear some music, even if the show was incomprehensible and the music jarring.

  So it was here. There had been no trouble getting landing privileges. The Ingoteen Director of Landings had been effusive where he welcomed the troupe.

  “Delighted to have you,” he radioed back to Blake. “Do you want a parking orbit?”

  “I’d like to bring the ship down,” Blake said. “That way we have all our stuff with us. There’s no mess and no fuss for anyone else. We’re so self-contained we even have our own stages and auditorium.”

  He didn’t mention that it was nice to have your own ship when dealing with a world whose psychology was unknown to you. It gave Blake and his people a controlled place from which to operate. He didn’t have to tell the Director of Landings any of that. The fellow probably understood it anyway.

  The ship came down slowly, majestically. A huge group of Ingoteen gathered to watch and cheer. It was the biggest event on the planet since a comet had almost clipped them ten years ago.

  Blake set up in the designated place, negotiated the amount of the profits the local government would siphon off, and set up his ticket booth.

  Inside the ship, the circus people went about their well-remembered tasks of preparing for the performance.

  Blake was relaxing in his office with a bottle of genuine Sargassian vodka when there was a tap on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Commander Darfur, in his dress whites, came through. “This is a not very pleasant surprise,” Blake said. “I told you to get lost. The circus folk will go where they please.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Darfur said. “I am under orders to bring you and your ship back to the fleet at Point Bravo.”

  “You can’t back up that order,” Blake said. “Not even with your cruiser.”

  “I didn’t bring the cruiser,” Darfur said. He took a small handgun out of his pocket. “Just me. And this.”

  Blake stared at the’ weapon, incredulous, then burst into loud laughter. “You’re threatening me, you pup? I’m going to take that thing out of your hand and make you eat it.”

  He advanced on Darfur, moving quickly for so large a man. Abruptly he recoiled and was slammed back hard against the wall.

  “I have it set for pressor beam,” Darfur said. “There are lethal settings, but I don’t think they’ll be necessary. If you won’t do as I request, I’ll leave the gun on presslock, keep you against the wall, and con this ship back to Point Bravo myself.”

  Blake struggled but couldn’t free himself from the grip of the beam.

  “I’m sorry I have to do this,” Darfur said. “But it’s for your own good. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to be around here when the Gerin get here.”

  “Release me at once,” Blake said, “or I’ll kill you when you turn this beam off.”

  Darfur ignored him and turned to the control panel.

  He was just sitting down to type in his first instructions when he felt something sharp press against his back. He turned. Silvestre Smoothfoot, the Clownmaster, had slipped into the room and was holding something against him. It felt very much like a needle beamer.

  “You can’t go pushing your weight around here like that,” Silvestre said. “Turn off your beam.”

  “I’m only trying to save your lives.”

  “I know you mean well,” Smoothfoot said. “But you can’t do it this way.”

  “I’m going to take this ship out of here,” Darfur said. “If you do, l ‘Il have to shoot,” Smoothfoot said.

  “I don’t think you’ll kill me,” Darfur said. “Too bad there isn’t a better way to do this.” Ignoring the needle beam, he examined the flight control panel. Some of it was a little unfamiliar to him, but Darfur had taken extra instruction in different panel setups, as well as armament arrays both humanoid and Gerin. He thought he could figure it out without much difficulty.

  He started to set controls. Smoothfoot bit his lip and his hand tensed on the needle beam.

  “Give it to him,” Blake said.

  It is hard to say what Smooth foot would have done then if he had not been interrupted by a man in a red-and-white clown suit bursting into the room. He had the transparent features and watery eyes of one type of human mutation.

  “They’re here!” he said. “The Gerin! They’re here!”

  Darfur turned off his pressor beam. Blake stepped away from the wall and quickly flicked on the ship’s screens. They showed Gerin soldiery racing through the ship’s open hatches, moving quickly despite their bulky armor, weapons at the ready, moving in their familiar three-point formation, a warrior ahead, two squire slaves behind. The circus people had been taken completely by surprise.

  “They’ll be here any moment,” Blake said. He opened a closet, rummaged in it, and found some gaily-colored clothing. He threw an armload to Darfur.

  “Here, get into these.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “From what I’ve heard,” Blake said, “the Gerin kill human warriors on sight. You’re not a bad guy. Got guts, anyhow. Join the circus and save your li
fe.”

  Darfur didn’t have to be asked twice.

  Usq-Usq-Tweed, senior officer in charge of Gerin forces, settled back in the portable tub his aides had brought for him. When he had the final word that the inhabitants of Rhea were offering no resistance and that the circus people were secure, he knew that his coup had succeeded and he could take a well-deserved soak. His comrades faced outward as Usq-Usq-Tweed, minus his armor, lowered his eight-limbed body into the tub. His body glowed with a heavenly blue color of satisfaction. This Rhea could be a valuable little world. But what was even more interesting was the Earth-manufactured ship which contained the circus.

  The Gerin had no circuses, but they were familiar with the notion of entertainment. This often took the form of combats with them, but there were also musical contests featuring the resk, an instrument like an enormous pan pipe, with a bellows that could be manipulated by one tentacle. Usq-Usq-Tweed had read of circuses in the concise histories of Earth that were required reading for Gerin of the commanding class, and especially for those with a political leaning. You couldn’t hope to get ahead in the chain of command unless you knew something about the enemy whose planets you expected to take over.

  Usq-Usq-Tweed was familiar with Interlingua, the tongue in which the Circus Ship’s log was kept. He used that knowledge now as he read over the log of the Barnum.

  The last entry was of great interest.

  “We have been requested by the League of Free Planets authorities to return to Point Bravo and the protection of the fleet. We have refused. We are neutrals, so we have no reason to run.”

  “And so,” Usq-Usq-Tweed said aloud, “they refused to return. They thought they could deal with us. As neutrals.”

  Juu’quath, one of his squires, indicated by the lilac flushing of his foremost tentacles that he understood that his captain was proposing a fine irony.

  “We Gerin are not entirely merciless,” Usq-Usq-Tweed said. “We will send these poor fellows back where they came from. And we won’t harm a hair of their heads. “

  Juu’quath flushed purple, waiting for the punch line. “No, we won’t harm them,” Usq-Usq-Tweed said.