“Oh, I see.”
“Not that I wouldn’t like to have you along,” said Tom, hastily. “But I need you to help in another direction. It’s a good thing there’s two of us, because we can’t each be both places at once.”
“We could trade places.”
“Not very well. I’ve got what data we’ve been given on Bulbur psychology and that indicates it may be nervous about talking openly to more than one human at a time. Also, I’ll need help.”
“What for,” asked Lucy, “if it’s a one-person job?”
“Do you think you can get that Spandul out of the way while I have a talk with the Bulbur? I can gas the Naffing. It can’t talk and report what’s been done to it. But the Spandul could, if I gassed him.”
“Well,” said Lucy, biting her lower lip, “I don’t know. It isn’t as if the Spandul was a man, or something. Haven’t you any suggestions?”
“The Spandul has to be polite to you—especially if you can get him out where people can see him. You’ll think of something.”
“I hope,” said Lucy.
“Sure you will. Let’s go.” Tom started to lead the way off the dance floor and suddenly noticed that she was limping. “Ohmigosh, I didn’t realize I’d stepped on you that hard!”
“It’s all right,” said Lucy, bravely. “Maybe I can use it as an excuse to make him stay with me.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” said Tom. They were off the dance floor now and he lowered his voice. “I’ll tell him I want him to take care of you while I go for a doctor to make your foot more comfortable. Then when I leave you with him, you get him away from the entrance there any way you can.”
He broke off suddenly. A fanfare of something like trumpets had just silenced all the talk in the room. The crowd was splitting apart down the middle, leaving the center of the floor clear. Luckily, Tom and Lucy were already on the side of the room they had wished to reach.
“I wonder what’s happening?” said Lucy. “I wish we had Rex with us.”
“Rex!” said Tom. “What good would it do to have him along?”
“He could keep us in touch with each other.”
“How? Just because we picked up enough telepathic sense from that Oprinkian to understand Rex doesn’t mean he’d be any use to us now. What I wish is that we’d been able to go one step further and understand people’s thoughts. Even each other’s thoughts. That’s what we need now.”
“If Rex was with you and trouble came,” Lucy said, “he’d start broadcasting excited thoughts, and then I’d know you were in trouble.”
“But what good would that do?” said Tom. “You couldn’t do anything about it, probably. No, believe me, Rex would be just what we needed to bollix things up. Besides, I’m happy to have a rest from those inane canine thoughts of his. ‘Nice Tom! Good Lucy! Play frisbee?’—all day long.”
Tom broke off suddenly. The trumpets had sounded again—a wild, violent shout of metal throats. Now, bounding down through the open lane in the middle, they could see an Alien fully eight feet tall, approaching and bellowing greetings to people in the crowd.
“It’s him,” said Tom. “The Jaktal. Ambassador, Bu Hjark. Just look at him!”
Chapter 8
Bu Hjark was a huge lizardlike Alien with a heavy powerful tail. Elbows out, large hands half-clenched, he danced down the open space like a boxer warming up for a bout in the ring. Brilliant ribbons and medals covered his silver tunic and shorts. Into a gem-studded belt was fastened a heavy, curved-bladed sword.
“Ho! Ho! Welcome! Welcome all!” he roared. “Great pleasure to have you all here! Great pleasure. Greetings, Brakt Kul Djok, evening, Mr. Vice-President! Great evening, isn’t it? Find yourselves seats, respected Beings, and let me show you how thejaktal entertain.”
“What does he need a sword for,” asked Lucy in a low voice in Tom’s ear, “with those teeth and nails?”
“And that tail,” said Tom. “The sword may be just part of his costume, however. Wait until the entertainment starts. Then we can slip off while everybody’s watching him.”
Naffings were hastily producing small gilded chairs. Apparently, however, there were only enough of these for the chief dignitaries—a couple of dozen, perhaps. The rest of the crowd was left standing behind those fortunate enough to be seated, Tom and Lucy well to the rear of the standees.
“Positions, everybody!” shouted Bu Hjark back the way he had come, and added something in Jaktal. A crowd of apelike beings in full metal armor trotted in and formed a protective wall in front of the audience. Laughing hugely, Bu Hjark took off his sword belt and sword and tossed them to one of these.
“Gloks,” explained Tom in answer to Lucy’s inquiring gaze, nodding at the apelike beings in armor. “A little brighter than the Naffings, not so bright as the Spanduls. Sort of low grade human-level intelligence. But extremely strong for their size.”
“First,” Bu Hjark was crying, “let in the Bashdash!”
There was a moment’s pause, then a gasp from the far end of the room, drowned out by a sudden bestial bellow. Something in the general shape of a rhinoceros, but not so large, charged down the aisle full tilt at Bu Hjark; who met it with flailing hands and tail and a deep-chested shout. Amid roarings and snarlings, they rolled on the floor together.
“Repulsive!” said Lucy. “I refuse to look.” She turned her head away.
“It’s all right, it’s all over,” said Tom, a few moments later. “He wrung its neck. See, some Gloks are carrying it off.”
“Now, for the armed Wlackins!” shouted Bu Hjark. A moment later a herd of five small, centaurlike creatures, clutching sharpened metal stakes, galloped down upon Bu Hjark, who joined battle with them briefly.
“Everybody’s watching,” whispered Tom. “Let’s get going.”
“Yes, let’s,” said Lucy with a shudder. They threaded their way through the back of the staring crowd to the shadowy corner which led back to the room where they had discovered the Bulbur.
“Limp a little more!” muttered Tom. He guided her toward the lighted doorway. “Hey! Spandul!”
The Spandul they had seen earlier emerged from the room. Its eyes burned suspiciously upon them.
“What isss the masser?” it hissed. “Guessstsss will be more comfortable in main hall.”
“My mate has hurt herself. I insist you give me a hand here,” said Tom. “I need help.”
“Help?”
“I must get a doctor. Right now!” said Tom. “You understand? Find her a chair. Look after her while I find a doctor!”
“Doctor?” hissed the Spandul. It glanced back into the room behind it, and then out again at Tom and Lucy.
“A chair…” moaned Lucy, clinging to Tom.
“What’re you waiting for?” snapped Tom. “Is this the way you do things for guests here at the Embassy? I’ll speak to the Ambassador himself about this!”
“Yesss, yesss, I help,” said the Spandul, gliding forward. It took hold of Lucy’s other arm. “Chair, Lady. Thisss way.”
“Good. Stay with her!” said Tom. “I’ll go after a doctor.” He turned and headed back toward the main room. Once he had joined the crowd there, however, he looked back, turned around and carefully made his way back to the room in which he had relinquished Lucy to the Spandul. The room was empty. He went into the further room where they had seen the Bulbur, taking what appeared to be a broad-tipped magic marker pen from his pocket as he approached the doorway.
Holding it, he peered inside. The Naffing, curled up in a corner, reared up at the sight of him.
He pointed the pen at it and pressed the clip. There was an almost inaudible pop. The Naffing wavered a minute and then sank down to lie still on the floor.
“What is it?” fluted the jelly on the table, paling to near transparency. “Have you come to end me before my time?”
“No,” said Tom. “I and all other Humans are your friends.” Tom glanced behind him and saw the entrance and the room beyond sti
ll deserted. The crowd was out of sight, but he could hear the sounds of a combat still going on. He moved in to stand before the Bulbur. “I want to talk to you.”
“Take my worthless life, then,” keened the jelly. “I have nothing worth talking about.”
“Yes, you have,” said Tom. “You can tell me about yourself.”
“Myself?” a little color began to flow back into the Bulbur. “Ah, I see. It is not me. It is the high role I’ve been chosen to play here that makes me an object of interest to you.”
“Oh? Oh yes, that of course,” said Tom. “Let me hear you describe it in your own words.”
The Bulbur turned pink. “I am not worthy,” it murmured.
“Tell me anyhow,” said Tom.
The Bulbur turned flame-colored. “I am …” it began, and its voice almost failed it, “the … most important item . . .” At that point its voice failed completely.
“Go on,” said Tom, drawing very close to it indeed.
“I cannot. The emotion involved is too strong.” The Bulbur had deepened its red color until it was almost black. Its voice seemed strangled and unnatural. Tom cast an uneasy glance to the doorway.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s talk about things you can talk about for a moment. Tell me about yourself—aside from what you’re supposed to do here.”
“But I am nothing,” said the Bulbur, all its colors paling relievedly. “I am a mere blob. A shameful blob.”
“Shameful?” said Tom.
“Oh, yes,” said the Bulbur, earnestly. “A shameful quiver of emotions. A useless creature, possessing only a voice and the power of putting forth weak pseudo-pods to get about. A pusillanimous peace-worshiper in a universe at war.”
“Peace?” Tom stiffened. “Did you say peace-worshiper?”
“Oh, yes. Yes,” fluted the Bulbur. “It is the main cause of my shame. Ah, if only the worlds of the universe were oriented to my desires!” Its voice sank, and took on a note of sad reasonableness, not untouched with humor. “But obviously,” it went on, “if it had been meant to be that way, all life-forms would be cast in the shape of Bulburs and this, manifestly, is not the case. I am allowing myself to take a bulburmorphic point of view.”
“Look,” said Tom, glancing out through the doorway. Seeing the way was still clear, he went on, “I’m afraid I don’t understand you. What do you mean by peace-worshiper?”
“if you will permit me,” said the Bulbur humbly, “I might sing you a little melody?”
“Well, if it’ll help,” said Tom. “Go ahead.”
The Bulbur turned a pale, happy pink. A thread of melody began to pour forth from it. Up until now, Tom had been too concerned to figure out how a three-layer aspic, even one of large size, could manage to talk and sing. Now, however, looking closer, he perceived—palely moving and pulsating within the body of the Bulbur—an almost transparent heart, lungs and other parts, including a vertical tube that might well be some sort of windpipe, leading to a small opening in the very top surface of the Bulbur. He was also suddenly aware of a row of pale, almost transparent eyes, ringing the upper tier like decorations on a wedding cake. But almost as soon as he had seen this he began to forget all about it.
The wordless melody he was listening to began to pass beyond mere sound; began to pass beyond mere music. It moved completely inside him and became a heart-twisting voice speaking of peace, beyond any other voice that could possibly speak in opposition. He felt himself swept away, completely disarmed by what he was hearing. It was only with a sudden, convulsive effort that he broke loose from the emotional hold of that voice upon him.
“Wait! Hold it!” he gasped. “I understand.”
The Bulbur broke off suddenly, once more, with that sound that was very much like a sob. “Excuse me,” it whispered. “It’s shameful, I know; but I get carried away.”
“Well, so did I,” said Tom, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. “That’s a mighty powerful vocal apparatus you have there. And I don’t see why you think it’s shameful, at all. I mean—there may be more to like about you than just that, of course. But I don’t see why you think you have to be ashamed of feeling the way you do.”
“Because,” said the Bulbur, going a sad, translucent blue, “it is my mark—the mark of my difference from all the rest of you. I cannot stand to force my opinion on anyone else. I have no virtues. It is quite right that I should suffer.”
“Suffer?”
“Ah, indeed—suffer. Oh,” said the Bulbur, pinkening again, “it’s a great honor, I know. I should be rejoicing. But I’m a failure at rejoicing, too.” And now it did sob, quite distinctly.
“Wait a minute,” said Tom. “You seem to have things all twisted up. What gives you the idea nobody but you prefers peace to fighting?”
The Bulbur turned completely transparent. “You mean— you don’t mean—others … possibly you … find peace to be a pleasant and desirable thing?”
“Of course, we do,” said Tom.
“Oh—you poor creatures,” breathed the Bulbur. “How you must suffer.”
“Suffer? Certainly not!” said Tom. “We like it peaceful. We keep it peaceful by talking.”
“You keep it peaceful?”
“Well—most of the time,” said Tom, feeling a touch of guilt.
“But how do you live with such Beings as the Jaktals, the Spanduls, the Gloks, and the Naffings?”
“We—well, we stop them when they get unpeaceful,” said Tom. “By force, if necessary.”
“But force? Isn’t that coercion?” said the Bulbur, turning pink, chartreuse and mauve in that order. “Isn’t that fighting fire with fire?”
“Why not?” said Tom. “You should try it.”
The Bulbur went slowly, completely transparent again. “Oh, I couldn’t!” it said at last.
“Certainly. That singing of yours is a strong argument. I’d think you could use it.”
“Oh, no,” said the Bulbur. “What if I was successful? That would make me a dominator of the Jaktals—and the Spanduls.”
“To say nothing,” said Tom, “of the Gloks, Naffings and so forth.” He stopped suddenly, wondering what had just alarmed him. Then he noticed that the sound of battle from the main hall had suddenly ceased. “Why shouldn’t you have things peaceful if you want them that way?”
“Why, it’s not natural,” said the Bulbur. “Look into the matter logically, if Beings had been intended to live in peace—”
“Goodbye!” interrupted Tom, sprinting out the door.
He had just heard the sudden chatter of voices and the sound of chairs being pushed back, people moving about, and other indications of general movement beyond the shadowy entrance and the further room. He made it once more to the fringes of the crowd in the main hall, just as the onlookers parted for a platoon of Gloks marching toward the room he had just left.
Tom slipped aside; and thrust his way through the crowd to the edge of a further open area in the center of the floor. A table had been set up there; and a Naffing, operating a sort of vacuum cleaner, was busy cleaning up a few last spots of pale blood.
Bu Hjark, wearing a few neat bandages, his sword replaced, was standing by the table directing the Naffing. Tom gained a ringside position; and all but bumped into Lucy, limping around the ring in the opposite direction.
“That Spandul finally insisted on going to get a doctor, himself,” she said. “I came to warn you to get out of the Bulbur’s room as fast as you could. But here you are. What happened?”
Before Tom could answer, there was another fanfare of trumpets. The crowd opened almost alongside them; and the platoon of Gloks, now bearing the Bulbur on its silver stand, marched out to the table. They set the stand and Bulbur up in the middle of it. Bu Hjark raised his hand for silence and barked at the Naffing with the vacuum cleaner, which scurried hastily off.
“Respected Beings!” boomed Bu Hjark. “I now bring you the climax to the evening’s entertainment and the commencement of the banquet itself
. I have no doubt, respected Beings, that you have on occasion tasted rare and fine dishes. However, tonight I mean to provide you not merely with the best-tasting food you have ever encountered —a food which all Beings who have yet tried it consider to be better than any other they have ever absorbed. In addition, I offer it to you with a certain preliminary, which is unique to the food itself and will also be more memorable to you than anything else you have encountered. After that, I shall, with my own hand, prepare and serve the dish to you.”
He drew his sword and stepped a little aside from the table. “And now,” he said to the Bulbur, “commence!”
“R-respected Beings,” the Bulbur began with a slight quaver. It turned remarkably transparent then washed back to blue again. “—It is a great honor,” it went on in a somewhat stronger voice, “a great honor I assure you, to be the appetizer to your banquet tonight. We Bulburs are a worthless lot, fit only for pleasing the worthy palates of our betters. It is our one pride and pleasure, to know that you find us good to—” The Bulbur swallowed audibly and then took up his speech a little more rapidly as Bu Hjark scowled at it. “—eat. I cannot express the intense enjoyment—” it said rapidly, “—that it gives me to be here tonight, awaiting my supreme fulfillment as appetizer to you all. To ensure your unalloyed enjoyment of me, therefore, I will now,” it said, speeding up even more under Bu Hjark’s steely, lizardlike eye, “sing you a mouth-watering song to increase your appreciation of my truly unique flavor.”
It broke off and visibly took a deep breath, turned pale, but came steadily back to a solid blue color.
“Tom!” Lucy clutched Tom’s elbow with fingers that dug in. “It can’t mean we’re going to eat it? There’s got to be something in that special briefing you got through the Oprinkians to stop something like this!”
“There isn’t,” said Tom.
“Well, something’s got to be done!”
“What?” asked Tom, as a small beginning thread of golden melody began to emerge, growing in volume as it continued from the mouth of the Bulbur.
The Magnificent Wilf Page 8