This done, perspiring, dirt-coated crews lugged out their forward armaments, remounted them pointing outward in the spaces between the vessels’ splayed tails. Rear armaments still aboard already were directed upward and outward. Armaments plus tubes now provided a formidable field of fire completely surrounding the double encampment. It was the Huldian master plan conceived by Huldian master planners. In other more alien estimation, it was the old covered-wagon technique, so incredibly ancient that it had been forgotten by all but most earnest students of the past. But none of the invaders knew that.
Around the perimeter they stacked the small, fast, well-armed scouts of which there were two per ship. Noses outward, tails inward, in readiness for quick take-off, they were paired just beyond the parent vessels, below the propulsion tubes, and out of line of the remounted batteries. There was a lot of moving around to get the scouts positioned at precisely the same distances apart and making precisely the same angles. The whole arrangement had that geometrical exactness beloved of the military mind.
Pacing the narrow catwalk running along the top surface of his flagship, Commander Cruin observed his toiling crews with satisfaction. Organization, discipline, energy, unquestioning obedience—those were the prime essentials of efficiency. On such had Huld grown great. On such would Huld grow greater.
Reaching the tail-end, he leaned on the stop-rail, gazed down upon the concentric rings of wide, stubby venturis. His own crew were checking the angles of their two scouts already positioned. Four guards, heavily armed, came marching through the ash with Jusik in the lead. They had six prisoners.
Seeing him, Jusik bawled: “Halt!” Guard and guarded stopped with a thud of boots and a rise of dust. Looking up, Jusik saluted.
“Six specimens, sir.”
Cruin eyed them indifferently. Half a dozen middle-aged men in drab, sloppily fitting clothes. He would not have given a snap of the fingers for six thousand of them.
The biggest of the captives, the one second from the left, had red hair and was sucking something that gave off smoke. His shoulders were wider than Cruin’s own though he didn’t look half the weight. Idly, the commander wondered whether the fellow had green eyes; he couldn’t tell that from where he was standing.
Calmly surveying Cruin, this prisoner took the smoke-thing from his mouth and said, tonelessly: “By hokey, a brasshat!” Then he shoved the thing back between his lips and dribbled blue vapor.
The others looked doubtful, as if either they did not comprehend or found it past belief.
“Jeepers, no!” said the one on the right, a gaunt individual with thin, saturnine features.
“I’m telling you,” assured Redhead in the same flat voice.
“Shall I take them to the tutors, sir?” asked Jusik.
“Yes.” Unleaning from the rail, Cruin carefully adjusted his white gloves. “Don’t bother me with them again until they are certified as competent to talk.” Answering the other’s salute, he paraded back along the catwalk.
“See?” said Redhead, picking up his feet in time with the guard. He seemed to take an obscure pleasure in keeping in step with the guard. Winking at the nearest prisoner, he let a curl of aromatic smoke trickle from the side of his mouth.
Tutors Fane and Parth sought an interview the following evening. Jusik ushered them in, and Cruin looked up irritably from the report he was writing.
“Well?”
Fane said: “Sir, these prisoners suggest that we share their homes for a while and teach them to converse there.”
“How did they suggest that?”
“Mostly by signs,” explained Fane.
“And what made you think that so nonsensical a plan had sufficient merit to make it worthy of my attention?”
“There are aspects about which you should be consulted,” Fane continued stubbornly. “The manual of procedure and discipline declares that such matters must be placed before the commanding officer whose decision is final.”
“Quite right, quite right.” He regarded Fane with a little more favor. “What are these matters?”
“Time is important to us, and the quicker these prisoners learn our language the better it will be. Here, their minds are occupied by their predicament. They think too much of their friends and families. In their own homes it would be different, and they could learn at great speed.”
“A weak pretext,” scoffed Cruin.
“That is not all. By nature they are naive and friendly. I feel that we have little to fear from them. Had they been hostile they would have attacked by now.”
“Not necessarily. It is wise to be cautious. The manual of defense emphasizes that fact repeatedly. These creatures may wish first to gain the measure of us before they try to deal with us.”
Fane was prompt to snatch the opportunity. “Your point, sir, is also my final one. Here, they are six pairs of eyes and six pairs of ears in the middle of us, and their absence is likely to give cause for alarm in their home town. Were they there, complacency would replace that alarm—and we would be the eyes and ears!”
“Well put,” commented Jusik, momentarily forgetting himself.
“Be silent!” Cruin glared at him. “I do not recall any ruling in the manual pertaining to such a suggestion as this. Let me check up.” Grabbing his books, he sought through them. He took a long time about it, gave up, and said: “The only pertinent rule appears to be that in circumstances not specified in the manual the decision is wholly mine, to be made in light of said circumstances providing that they do not conflict with the rulings of any other manual which may be applicable to the situation, and providing that my decision does not effectively countermand that or those of any senior ranking officer whose authority extends to the same area.” He took a deep breath.
“Yes, sir,” said Fane.
“Quite, sir,” said Parth.
Cruin frowned heavily. “How far away are these prisoners’ homes?”
“One hour’s walk.” Fane made a persuasive gesture. “If anything did happen to us—which I consider extremely unlikely—one scout could wipe out their little town before they’d time to realize what had happened. One scout, one bomb, one minute!” Dexterously, he added, “At your order, sir.”
Cruin preened himself visibly. “I see no reason why we should not take advantage of their stupidity.” His eyes asked Jusik what he thought, but that person failed to notice. “Since you two tutors have brought this plan to me, I hereby approve it, and I appoint you to carry it through.” He consulted a list which he extracted from a drawer. “Take two psychologists with you—Kalma and Hefni.”
“Very well, sir.” Impassively, Fane saluted and went out, Parth following.
Staring absently at his half-written report, Cruin fiddled with his pen for a while, glanced up at Jusik, and spat: “At what are you smiling?”
Jusik wiped it from his face, looked solemn.
“Come on. Out with it!”
“I was thinking, sir,” replied Jusik, slowly, “that three years in a ship is a very long time.”
Slamming his pen on the desk, Cruin stood up. “Has it been any longer for others than for me?”
“For you,” said Jusik, daringly but respectfully, “I think it has been longest of all.”
“Get out!” shouted Cruin.
He watched the other go, watched the self-closer push the door, waited for its last click. He shifted his gaze to the port, stared hard-eyed into the gathering dusk. His heelbells were silent as he stood unmoving and saw the invisible sun sucking its last rays from the sky.
In short time, ten figures strolled through the twilight toward the distant, tree-topped hill. Four were uniformed; six in drab, shapeless clothes. They went by conversing with many gestures, and one of them laughed. He gnawed his bottom lip as his gaze followed them until they were gone.
The price of rank.
“Step eight: Repel initial attacks in accordance with techniques detailed in manual of defense.” Cruin snorted, put up one hand, tidied hi
s orders of merit.
“There have been no attacks,” said Jusik.
“I am not unaware of the fact.” The commander glowered at him. “I’d have preferred an onslaught. We are ready for them. The sooner they match their strength against ours the sooner they’ll learn who’s boss now!” He hooked big thumbs in his silver-braided belt. “And besides, it would give the men something to do. I cannot have them everlastingly repeating their drills of procedure. We’ve been here nine days and nothing has happened.” His attention returned to the book. “Step nine: Follow defeat of initial attacks by taking aggressive action as detailed in manual of defense.” He gave another snort. “How can one follow something that has not occurred?”
“It is impossible,” Jusik ventured.
“Nothing is impossible,” Cruin contradicted, harshly. “Step ten: In the unlikely event that intelligent life displays indifference or amity, remain in protective formation while specimens are being tutored, meanwhile employing scout vessels to survey surrounding area to the limit of their flight-duration, using no more than one-fifth of the numbers available at any time.”
“That allows us eight or nine scouts on survey,” observed Jusik, thoughtfully. “What is our authorized step if they fail to return?”
“Why d’you ask that?”
“Those eight scouts I sent out on your orders forty periods ago are overdue.”
Viciously, Commander Cruin thrust away his hook. His broad, heavy face was dark red.
“Second Commander Jusik, it was your duty to report this fact to me the moment those vessels became overdue.”
“Which I have,” said Jusik, imperturbably. “They have a flight-duration of forty periods, as you know. That, sir, made them due a short time ago. They are now late.”
Cruin tramped twice across the room, medals clinking, heel-bells jangling. “The answer to nonappearance is immediately to obliterate the areas in which they are held. No half-measures. A salutary lesson.”
“Which areas, sir?”
Stopping in mid-stride, Cruin bawled: “You ought to know that. Those scouts had properly formulated route orders, didn’t they? It’s a simple matter to—”
He ceased as a shrill whine passed overhead, lowered to a dull moan in the distance, curved back on a rising note again.
“Number one.” Jusik looked at the little timemeter on the wall. “Late, but here. Maybe the others will turn up now.”
“Somebody’s going to get a sharp lesson if they don’t!”
“I’ll see what he has to report.” Saluting, Jusik hurried through the doorway.
Gazing out of his port, Cruin observed the delinquent scout belly-sliding up to the nearest formation. He chewed steadily at his bottom lip, a slow, persistent chew which showed his thoughts to be wandering around in labyrinths of their own.
Beyond the fringe of dank, dead ash were golden buttercups in the grasses, and a hum of bees, and the gentle rustle of leaves on trees. Four engine-room wranglers of ship number seventeen had found this sanctuary and sprawled flat on their backs in the shade of a big-leafed and blossom-ornamented growth. With eyes closed, their hands plucked idly at surrounding grasses while they maintained a lazy, desultory conversation through which they failed to hear the ring of Cruin’s approaching bells.
Standing before them, his complexion florid, he roared: “Get up!” Shooting to their feet, they stood stiffly shoulder to shoulder, faces expressionless, eyes level, hands at their sides.
“Your names?” He wrote them in his notebook while obediently they repeated them in precise, unemotional voices. “I’ll deal with you later,” he promised. “March!”
Together, they saluted, marched off with a rhythmic pounding of boots, one-two-three-hup! His angry stare followed them until they reached the shadow of their ship. Not until then did he turn and proceed. Mounting the hill, one cautious hand continually on the cold butt of his gun, he reached the crest, gazed down into the valley he’d just left. In neat, exact positioning, the two star-formations of the ships of Huld were silent and ominous.
His hard, authoritative eyes turned to the other side of the hill. There, the landscape was pastoral. A wooded slope ran down to a little river which meandered into the hazy distance, and on its farther side was a broad patchwork of cultivated fields in which three houses were visible.
Seating himself on a large rock, Cruin loosened his gun in its holster, took a wary look around, extracted a small wad of reports from his pocket and glanced over them for the twentieth time. A faint smell of herbs and resin came to his nostrils as he read.
“I circled this landing place at low altitude and recorded it photographically, taking care to include all the machines standing thereon. Two other machines which were in the air went on their way without attempting to interfere. It then occurred to me that the signals they were making from the ground might be an invitation to land, and I decided to utilize opportunism as recommended in the manual of procedure. Therefore I landed. They conducted my scout vessel to a dispersal point off the runway and made me welcome.”
Something fluted liquidly in a nearby tree. Cruin looked up, his hand automatically seeking his holster. It was only a bird. Skipping parts of the report, he frowned over the concluding words.
“…lack of common speech made it difficult for me to refuse, and after the sixth drink during my tour of the town I was suddenly afflicted with a strange paralysis in the legs and collapsed into the arms of my companions. Believing that they had poisoned me by guile, I prepared for death… tickled my throat while making jocular remarks… I was a little sick.” Cruin rubbed his chin in puzzlement. “Not until they were satisfied about my recovery did they take me back to my vessel. They waved their hands at me as I took off. I apologize to my captain for overdue return and plead that it was because of factors beyond my control.”
The fluter came down to Cruin’s feet, piped at him plaintively. It cocked its head sidewise as it examined him with bright, beady eyes.
Shifting the sheet he’d been reading, he scanned the next one. It was neatly typewritten, and signed jointly by Parth, Fane, Kalma and Hefni.
“Do not appear fully to appreciate what has occurred… seem to view the arrival of a Huldian fleet as just another incident. They have a remarkable self-assurance which is incomprehensible inasmuch as we can find nothing to justify such an attitude. Mastery of them should be so easy that if our homing vessel does not leave soon it should be possible for it to bear tidings of conquest as well as of mere discovery.”
“Conquest,” he murmured. It had a mighty imposing sound. A word like that would send a tremendous thrill of excitement throughout the entire world of Huld.
Five before him had sent back ships telling of discovery, but none had gone so far as he, none had traveled so long and wearily, none had been rewarded with a planet so big, lush, desirable—and none had reported the subjection of their finds. One cannot conquer a rocky waste. But this—
In peculiarly accented Huldian, a voice behind him said, brightly: “Good morning!”
He came up fast, his hand sliding to his side, his face hard with authority.
She was laughing at him with her clear green eyes. “Remember me—Marva Meredith?” Her flaming hair was windblown, “You see,” she went on, in slow, awkward tones. “I know a little Huldian already. Just a few words.”
“Who taught you?” he asked, bluntly.
“Fane and Parth.”
“It is your house to which they have gone?”
“Oh, yes. Kalma and Hefni are guesting with Bill Gleeson; Fane and Parth with us. Father brought them to us. They share the welcome room.”
“Welcome room?”
“Of course.” Perching herself on his rock, she drew up her slender legs, rested her chin on her knees. He noticed that the legs, like her face, were freckled. “Of course. Everyone has a welcome room, haven’t they?”
Cruin said nothing.
“Haven’t you a welcome room in your home?”
> “Home?” His eyes strayed away from hers, sought the fluting bird. It wasn’t there. Somehow, his hand had left his holster without realizing it. He was holding his hands together, each nursing the other, clinging, finding company, soothing each other.
Her gaze was on his hands as she said, softly and hesitantly, “You have got a home… somewhere… haven’t you?”
“No.”
Lowering her legs, she stood up. “I’m so sorry.”
“You are sorry for me?” His gaze switched back to her. It held incredulity, amazement, a mite of anger. His voice was harsh. “You must be singularly stupid.”
“Am I?” she asked, humbly.
“No member of my expedition has a home,” he went on. “Every man was carefully selected. Every man passed through a screen, suffered the most exacting tests. Intelligence and technical competence were not enough; each had also to be young, healthy, without ties of any sort. They were chosen for ability to concentrate on the task in hand without indulging morale-lowering sentimentalities about people left behind.”
“I don’t understand some of your long words,” she complained. “And you are speaking far too fast.”
He repeated it more slowly and with added emphasis, finishing, “Spaceships undertaking long absence from base cannot be handicapped by homesick crews. We picked men without homes because they can leave Huld and not care a hoot. They are pioneers!”
“‘Young, healthy, without ties,’” she quoted. “That makes them strong?”
“Definitely,” he asserted.
“Men especially selected for space. Strong men.” Her lashes hid her eyes as she looked down at her narrow feet. “But now they are not in space. They are here, on firm ground.”
“What of it,” he demanded.
The Astounding Science Fiction Anthology Page 51