Various Fiction

by Robert Sheckley

  “But we’ll do a little work on their ship before sending it back, eh?”

  Heliotrope and scarlet make a strong combination. Not all Gerin approve of it. But in their military, a tentacle showing those colors is saying, “That’s just beautiful.” That is what Juu’quath displayed now.

  “First, however, let’s find where the pilot of the League fighter has hidden himself.”

  “Do you think he could be among the circus people, sir?”

  “He’s probably gone out of town and is hiding in the hills. But if he’s among the circus people, we’ll soon find out. Send their head man to me.”

  The call went out: Blake waited in the commandant’s office.

  “No, you’ve got it all wrong,” Silvestre Smoothfoot told Darfur. The old Clownmaster had been instructing Darfur for the past hour, and the fellow didn’t show the slightest aptitude. Not even for Form 4 clowning, one of the most direct and easy to learn.

  “Try for a sadder expression of the features,” Smoothfoot said. “You look merely angry, not forlorn.”

  “I am angry,” Darfur said, standing there in a white satin suit with red polka dots, with big flappy shoes three times as long as his real feet, with an orange fright wig, and suspenders that were supposed to let down so that he could drop his trousers with comic effect, but that refused to budge off the commander’s square shoulders.

  “Turn the corners of the mouth down!” Smoothfoot said. “But look comically miserable, not as if you wanted to kill me!”

  They were in the little dressing room off Stage One.

  They and all the rest had been told that they had one hour in which to mount a performance. Blake came in to check Darfur’s progress.

  “1 don’t think the Gerin figure you’re hiding out among us,” Blake said. “I told them that I’d known every man here for the better part of ten years and that you’re all skilled performers. So I’m for the high jump if they catch onto you. They’ll do for you, too, not that that will be too great a satisfaction to me.”

  “But I don’t know how to be a clown!” Darfur said.

  “Haven’t you something else I can do?”

  “Like what? Trapeze artist? Elephant dancer? Juggler? Musician? Tumbler? Acrobat? What are you suited for?”

  “Fighting the enemy with a ship,” Darfur said.

  “Circuses don’t use fighters. Either be a clown or die.”

  “I’ll be a clown,” Darfur said. But it was proving difficult.

  “Now, try that fall again!” Smoothfoot shouted. Darfur fell.

  “Too graceful!” Smoothfoot shouted. “Do it clumsily. Haven’t you any sense at all?”

  Darfur was trying, but he was finding it almost supernaturally difficult. He was a man in conflict. Of course he was frightened for his life. But that wasn’t his only concern. He was oppressed now by a sense of failure. It was bad enough being overtaken unawares by the Gerin and having to disguise himself as a clown. If he lived through this, the story would come out and he’d be the laughingstock of the officer’s mess. That was bad enough. But having to pretend to be a clown, at this moment of supreme disaster in his life—that was asking too much. The thought occurred to him that it might be better to die with dignity than to live on the basis of silly antics.

  One of the circus dancers stuck her head in the doorway. “Come, time for practice is over. They have commanded the performance to begin. ‘ ,

  “But he’s not ready yet!” Smoothfoot said in despair.

  “You’re not going to make anything of him in another ten minutes, no, nor ten days, either!”

  “This fool is going to be the death of us all,” Blake said. “What an idiot I was to put myself into jeopardy for an officer of the League of Free Planets! I’ll never make that mistake again!”

  No one pointed out that he would be unable to. They all looked at Darfur, standing tall and proud.

  Then Smoothfoot came forward. Perhaps he understood something of what the officer was feeling.

  The old Clownmaster said to him, “Darfur, please, for me, act the fool.”

  Darfur stared at him. His features contorted. Smoothfoot giggled. Then Blake took it up, then the others.

  Darfur said, “I can’t do it!”

  Smoothfoot said, “You’re doing it!”

  “They want us now!” the dancer said.

  Even though for them it was an entirely alien performance, the Gerin enjoyed themselves very much. A circus is a universal thing. The Gerin were smart enough to see that the circus people were poking fun at themselves. They were making fun of humanoids. That was enough to put the Gerin in good spirits. They slapped their tentacles on the seats in front of them and made loud honking sounds with their beaked mouths.

  They were especially fond of one tall young humanoid clown in red and white polka dots. The fellow never could seem to get his balance. Wherever he moved, some other clown was there to knock him down. He was really laughable, that skinny, silly-looking Earthman. The Gerins weren’t connoisseurs of this sort of thing, but it was apparent to them, and especially to their commander, that the tall fellow was the chief performer of the troupe.

  The Gerin put work parties onto the Barnum the next day. The seats that had been set up in the bays were torn out. Heavy equipment was brought in. Torpedo tubes for the plasma torpedoes were mounted fore and aft. Gatling laser guns were sweated into position, set up on their special platforms. FTL coils were brought in to supplement those that were already aboard. Day and night there was a hammering and a hiss of escaping gases as welding went on, replacing the shielding, fortifying the most vulnerable points on the hull.

  There were a few regrettable incidents when circus people got too close to the Gerin working at the installations and were pushed back. Several circus people were killed, toppled off catwalks or smashed against steel doors, because the Gerin weren’t shy about using their strength. The rest of the circus people soon learned to stay out of the way.

  In the quarters he had selected for himself, Usq-Usq-Tweed set in motion the final portion of his plan. By fast fighter courier he had established contact with the Gerin fleet in his sector. His scheme was weighed in high councils while the final work was being done aboard the Barnum. Finally, it was agreed to try it. This was a signal honor for Usq-Usq-Tweed, because he was only from an auxiliary branch of a noble family. By the complicated status rules of the Gerin, this would give him a chance to take his place among the high councilors of the race.

  Usq-Usq-Tweed was aware of this, but it was not his primary motive. What interested him most of all was this opportunity to smash one of the great fighting fleets of the League of Free Planets. If he could get Admiral Van Dyne’s force out of the way, a path lay open to the humanoid-colonized Inner Worlds. Success in this could mark the beginning of a decline in the League of Free Planets’ power, mark the moment when the League’s defeat was irreversible, and signal the beginning of Gerin hegemony throughout known space.

  It was a daring chance, and risky. But it could not be overlooked. The military expected this ship to come in to the safety of Point Bravo. But they did not expect it to be armed and filled with fighting Gerins.

  Usq-Usq-Tweed thought, We’ll be within their lines when we cut loose. They won’t be really able to fire on us because of the chance of hitting their own ships. We should be able to hold out for quite awhile, meanwhile occupying all their attention and all their forces. If, at that time, an entire Gerin battle group were to downwarp into the zone and take up the battle—we could roll up the Point Bravo position! And that would secure this entire sector of space for us.

  His mind flashed on the possibilities. If he could tie up the Point Bravo fleet long enough for the Gerin battle group to come through, this battle could be won, and its victory would mark the beginning of mankind’s end.

  By God! This attack has to be made! The entire war can be won right here!

  Darfur, having thought of the same scheme, was thinking the same thoughts, i
n the small cabin he had taken for himself. For him it was torture of the most exquisite sort to clown through his performances, all of the time aware that the octopoidal creatures in the audience were about to nail the lid down on humanity’s coffin.

  He sat alone in his cabin and thought. And finally a plan came to him. He went over it in his mind . . . Yes, he thought it might work. But first there was something he had to find out.

  The circus impresario, Jon Blake, was in deep sleep, yet so hyperalert were his senses that he caught the faint sound of a footstep on the deep pile of the carpeting. He came awake in an instant and grabbed for the pistol he kept under his pillow. Before he could come up with it, a long form had launched itself from the darkness, pinning the hand that seized the gun. Blake struggled, and he was a man of very great strength, but it was in vain against the whipcord-and-steel power of the being who held him fast.

  “Take it easy,” Blake grunted as the gun was wrenched from his hand, almost breaking a finger caught in the trigger guard.

  The man released him and turned on the light. Blake had known, by the absence of the characteristic smell, that it was not a Gerin who had attacked him. He was not surprised to find Darfur, in dark clothing now rather than his clown suit, standing over him with the gun.

  “You pick a hell of a time for an assassination,” Blake said.

  “I don’t care if I kill you or not,” Darfur said. “What I must know is the location of the grand cable junction box. You have the ship’s plans in here somewhere.”

  “May I sit up?” Blake said. When Darfur released him he sat up, touching his bruised throat with delicacy. “You want the main junction box? The power splice? Planning to blow us up?”

  “That’s it,” Darfur said. “I don’t know what deviltry the Gerin are up to, but they’re not going to get a chance to do it.”

  “I know what the Gerin are planning,” Blake said. “How do you know that?” Darfur asked. “You’re pretty friendly with the commander, aren’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t say he was close to anyone,” Blake said.

  “But he did have to tell me the destination, since I will be running this ship. Under his orders, of course. “

  “And what is the destination?”

  “Point Bravo.”

  “Are they crazy?” Darfur asked. “They’re going to fly into the midst of the Earth forces? Even with armament aboard this ship, they wouldn’t last half an hour once the deception was discovered.”

  “Half an hour might be long enough,” Blake said.

  “Long enough for what?”

  “To tie up the League forces and spread confusion until the rest of the Gerin advance fleet shows up.”

  Darfur sucked in his breath, then let it out slowly. “You think they’ll commit an entire battle group to this?”

  “Usq-Usq-Tweed didn’t tell me so in so many words, but the implication was clear.”

  “It could work, too,” Darfur said. “Damn! If only we could tell Point Bravo. My scout ship—”

  “No longer on-planet,” Blake said. “They took it to join the rest of their fleet.”

  “No way to send a message,” Darfur said. “Even if we had control of the radio, which we don’t. Well then, there’s no alternative. I have to blow up this ship.”

  Blake shook his head. “The thought occurred to me, too. But I’ve had my people check. The area of the main junction box is under continuous guard, as are the other key points.”

  “We’ll have to try to suicide attack,” Darfur said.

  Then he looked at Blake. The man was grinning.

  “But I forgot. You’re on the other side.”

  Blake shook his head, “I said I was neutral. But that was before they started killing my performers. Now I find myself definitely biased against them.”

  “That’s nice,” Darfur said bitterly. “A little late to do any good, however. I suppose the only thing we can do is try to take over the ship before they can get it aloft. They’ll probably kill us all, but at least we can delay them and take some of them with us.”

  Blake shook his head. “I’m annoyed at the Gerin, that’s for sure. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready for suicide. It would serve no purpose, anyhow. I have a better idea.”

  Darfur had an angry retort on his lips, then he smothered if. It would do no good being petulant. He had to work with Blake, much as he detested the man. But he would have to keep an eye on him, because once a turncoat turns, you can never tell what he’ll do next.

  “What’s your plan?” he asked.

  “We must wait,” Blake said, “until the ship is underway, until we are in Earth’s sphere of influence.”

  “That makes no sense at all! They’ll have a guard aboard. They’ll be watching us, and watching extra-hard when we get near Point Bravo. Your people won’t stand a chance. If we delay until that time, we’ll all be killed without effecting anything.”

  Blake sat back in his command chair, found a small cigar, lit it. He smiled, a smile that Darfur found most exasperating.

  “I can see that you don’t know much about circus people,” he said. “Especially circus people like us.”

  “What’s there to know?”

  “Have you ever wondered about why we’re outcastes on all the humanoid worlds?”

  “Probably because you smell bad.”

  Blake laughed. “Your humor is most infantile. I’ll tell you later. You’d better get back to your quarters before the guard notices you’re gone. And one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Get back into your clown suit. We don’t want anyone suspecting you’re not the ridiculous fellow we all know you to be.”

  Darfur went back to his quarters. He didn’t trust Blake, but he had little choice in the matter.

  One thing was sure. When this was over, whatever way it went, he was going to settle up with the circus manager.

  At last they were no more than a few hours from Point Bravo and contact with the League of Free Planets fleet. Usq-Usq-Tweed ordered Blake to his quarters. “Now, my friend, you are going to do a favor for both of us. You have probably already gathered that we are going to attack and destroy the fleet at Point Bravo.”

  Blake saw that a lot of new equipment had been installed. There was a bulky weapons-management system, with separate subsystems ready to display damage reports. The torpedo control center also occupied a prominent position.

  “We’re getting a signal from Bravo,” Usq-Usq-Tweed said. “I want you to talk to them, tell them you’re bringing the Barnum in as directed.”

  “All right,” Blake said. He reached for the microphone.

  “One thing first,” Usq-Usq-Tweed said, a tentacle restraining Blake’s hand. “You will do this correctly, Mr. Blake, and convincingly, or you will not live until the end of the transmission. And after we kill you, we’ll snuff out all your people.”

  “That is not according to the protocols of interstellar warfare,” Blake said. “You have no right to demand this of me, and no right to threaten. I have already shown you our papers. We are neutrals, noncombatants—”

  “I have noted that,” Usq-Usq-Tweed said. “I must tell you that in a struggle of this magnitude, there can be no neutrals. Either you are for us or against us.”

  Sensing the animosity in the Gerin commander’s voice, his two squires came around either side of him, weapons ready, tentacles glowing an angry red. Blake shrank away from them.

  “All right,” Blake said. “What will you do to us if I do cooperate?”

  “Then you are an ally,” Usq-Usq-Tweed said. “An unwilling ally, but an ally nonetheless. If this goes as expected, I will recommend that you and your people be taken to the planet known to us as Gu’haorin, and to you as Gregor’s World. There you will receive reindoctrination. When we think we can rely on you, you will be assigned to other duties. There can be fine rewards working for us, Blake. But death is certain if you go against us. Do you understand?”

  “
Of course,” Blake said. Grimly he reached for the annunciator, pressed it on. “Blake to Fleet Navigation Control, Point Bravo.”

  “We’ve been waiting for you,” a voice replied. “You took your own sweet time about getting here.”

  “Had to give our last performance on Rhea,” Blake said. “Can’t disappoint the paying customers, you understand.”

  “Don’t you know there’s a war on?”

  “’I think I heard something about it,” Blake said, glancing at the huge alien standing beside him, holding a jagged-edged dagger—the sacred khalifi—poised at the back of his neck.

  “You spot the Gerin or hear anything about them on Rhea?” the voice asked.

  “Nothing at all,” Blake said.

  “We’ve got a lot of traffic just now,” the voice said. “Can you hold station for a while?”

  Usq-Usq-Tweed turned purple-red and waved a tentacle in an emphatic negative.

  “Can’t do that,” Blake said. “We have several casualties aboard who need immediate attention. One of the trapeze setups collapsed.”

  “Just a minute.” There was a short wait. Then the voice was back. “All right, I’m giving you an emergency clearance. You can come in right now.” He gave a direction and bearing that would take them to the supply and hospital depots. Blake thanked him and signed off.

  “You did well,” Usq-Usq-Tweed said. “That was resourceful of you, to think up that emergency.”

  “You made it pretty clear that you wanted us to be taken in immediately.”..

  “That is correct. Timing is everything. The main Gerin battlefleet in this sector is already in FTL space. They will be ready to downwarp and go into action against the League ships”—he glanced at a watch, incongruously strapped at the midpoint of one of his tentacles—“in just half an hour. By then we will be within range and already fighting. It will complete our surprise.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Blake said.

  “I shall note your excellent attitude in my report to headquarters. Now you may return to your people. You will all take your accustomed positions for in-flight routine, and stand ready to assist my men if need be.”