The 13th Science Fiction MEGAPACK®: 26 Great SF Stories!

by Lake, Jay

  “We have presents for you,” the young Sirian said, smiling down at him.

  Captain Torkel forced his eyes away from the girl. He saw that older women and children were standing beside him, smiling, their arms filled with strange containers.

  “Wine for the Star People,” said a white-haired woman. She seized a golden flagon and filled golden cups held by children.

  “Food for the Star People,” said another.

  More smiling women and children appeared carrying greenish, transparent bowls filled with slices of a yellow, porous substance.

  Taaleeb chuckled at Captain Torkel’s hesitancy. “It is good food,” he said. “Everything is good. There is no end to food and no end to wine. There is plenty for all.”

  Lieutenant Washington and Fox and Kelly squatted beside Captain Torkel, accepting the strange bowls and the golden flagons.

  Fox whispered, “Captain, shall we let Kelly test the food first? It could be poisonous.”

  “Let Kelly test it first,” murmured Captain Torkel, hating himself again.

  Fox stuffed a slice of the yellow food into Kelly’s mouth. The fire-haired man gulped and blinked and grinned like a summer sunrise.

  “Heaven,” he mumbled.

  Suddenly Captain Torkel froze. “Wait. Can’t you see what these people are trying to do? They can read our minds. They know that we’ll probably bring millions and millions of people to their planet, that we’ll probably overrun their civilization. They don’t want us to go back to Earth. They want us to stay here. They’re just pretending—”

  He stopped as he saw the bronzed form of Taaleeb towering above him.

  “You are wrong,” said the Sirian, and it seemed that his smile faded ever so slightly, and a muscle in his cheek twitched almost imperceptibly. “Your thoughts are not good. We will welcome the people of your star—those who survive the long journey. We will be sorry to see you leave so soon. You leave in one day, yes? Then we will try to make your visit pleasant. Now, you must eat and drink. Be gay, my good friends.”

  Captain Torkel grunted. Reluctantly, he tasted the yellow food. It was delicious as a golden-brown fried chicken on Earth. His mood lightened.

  He saw that it wouldn’t be necessary to test the wine on Kelly. Lieutenant Washington had already emptied his flagon. It was now being refilled.

  “Wine, Captain,” said the smiling Sirian. “You must try our wine.”

  * * * *

  Captain Torkel cautiously raised the shining flagon to his lips. He sipped. It was more than wine. It was a sparkling, bubbling nectar of the gods. His throat and stomach glowed under its stimulating warmth. An almost miraculous sense of peace and well-being flooded through his body. It was as if he had become a god.

  “More?” asked Taaleeb.

  “Well—just a little.”

  Captain Torkel drank again. To Lieutenant Washington, he said, “I guess I was wrong. The Sirians are fine people. They really do like us.”

  The lieutenant drained his golden flagon. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Me, too,” said Fox, pouring more of the sparkling liquid into Kelly’s mouth. “I’d like to stay here always.”

  “Heaven,” gurgled Kelly.

  “You like the wine?” asked the smiling Sirian.

  “Yes!”

  “You relish our food?”

  “Of course!”

  “You are pleased with the daughters of our village?”

  Captain Torkel shook with desire. “Quite pleased. They are beautiful.”

  “Each of you would like one of our daughters to stay with you during your visit here?”

  Captain Torkel gulped. There was a movement among the women as of wind stirring through tall grass. The tall, lissome bodies stepped closer to the Earthmen.

  “I, er—”

  “I think we would,” said Fox, nodding eagerly.

  “Then each of you may pick a companion,” said Taaleeb. “Perhaps you would like to select two for your friends who did not come to our village.”

  Captain Torkel rose, swallowing hard. He bowed shakily to the girl nearest him. “Would you—”

  The girl smiled and stepped to his side.

  Lieutenant Washington wiped perspiration from his bald head. He pointed. “I’ll take you,” he said thickly. “And you two for Garcia and Van Gundy.”

  “Garcia and Van Gundy may not want companions,” said Captain Torkel.

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Eyes shining, Fox selected a tall, lean-faced girl. Then he pulled Kelly forward. “Kelly, pick yourself out a companion.”

  Kelly belched.

  “Pick out one of the girls, you idiot. Which one do you want?”

  Kelly stared glassily at the waiting, watching figures.

  “All.”

  “No, Kelly, you can’t have them all. Just one. Pick out one. No, I’ll pick one out for you.” Fox nodded at one of the girls. She laughed and came to Kelly.

  Captain Torkel downed the rest of his wine. “Now we’ll return to the rocket with our companions.”

  Taaleeb cocked his head, widening his omnipresent smile. “But your companions must wash and scent themselves and select the proper clothing. They must make themselves ready. You will return here tonight as the sun falls into the forest.”

  “Oh,” said Captain Torkel, slumping. Then he shrugged. “We’ll see you tonight then.”

  His gaze turned to Fox. His mouth tightened.

  “Fox,” he said sternly.

  “Hummm?”

  “Put it back.”

  Fox’s brows lifted innocently.

  “Put back the cup. Take it out of your pocket.”

  Pouting like a disappointed child, Fox placed the stolen cup on the ground.

  “The bowl, too.”

  Fox’s lips formed a silent curse. He put down the bowl that he’d hidden under his armpit.

  Taaleeb stepped forward. “No, this must not be. Your friend must keep the cup and the bowl. Keep, please.” He placed the objects in Fox’s hands. “There are our gifts to our friends.” His eyes twinkled slyly.

  “I say just one more thing,” he went on, his suggestive gaze wandering over the faces of the Earthmen. “It is such a pity that you think of leaving us. If you would stay with us always, you would be not only as friends to us, but also as gods. You would, if you wished, have a different companion every night. Your stomachs would have all the wine and food they could hold. We would build you a most big and most pretty house. Your friend—” he nodded at Fox—”your friend could take whatever his fingers desired. Your other friend—your thoughts call him Garcia—could break whatever he wanted. Your other friend, whose name I see as Van Gundy, would never have to be afraid again. Will you tell these promises to your Garcia and your Van Gundy?”

  “We’ll tell them,” said Fox, quickly.

  V

  They waved good-by and started down the forest trail.

  They began to sing the first song that popped into their heads:

  Glory, glory, Hallelujah,

  Glory, glory, Hallelujah,

  Glory, glory, Hallelujah,

  His truth is marching on.

  The glowing effect of the wine remained with them. Many times they paused to nibble at the forest fruit and to throw themselves onto the soft cushions of fern.

  “It’s a wonderful planet,” declared Captain Torkel.

  “Best in the universe,” said Fox.

  “All,” mumbled Kelly.

  “And it’s a long way home,” said Lieutenant Washington suggestively, with a hiccough.

  “A long, long way,” commented Fox.

  The lieutenant grumbled, “What did the people of Earth ever do for us?”<
br />
  “Not a darned thing,” said Fox. “Besides, I bet the sun has already exploded. That’s what I bet.”

  “That Sirian sounded like he meant what he said, didn’t he?”

  “Sure he meant it. We’d be like gods.”

  “Captain,” said Lieutenant Washington. “There’s no use arguing any more. I’m going to stay here. To hell with Homo Sapiens!”

  “To hell with Homo Sapiens!” repeated Fox.

  The wine was still like hypnotic laughter in Captain Torkel’s skull. “I—I don’t know. It’d be nice to stay—”

  They came to an object lying in the soft green grass, not far from the rocket.

  “Hey, here’s Van Gundy!” yelled Fox. “Van Gundy drank too much wine. Van Gundy’s drunk!” He laughed and coughed and swallowed and then held his stomach and laughed again.

  Lieutenant Washington began to sing:

  What shall we do with a drunken spaceman,

  What shall we do with—

  “Shut up,” said Captain Torkel, frowning. “Van Gundy wasn’t with us. He didn’t drink any wine.”

  They stood over Van Gundy. The singing stopped and the laughter stopped, and time, too, seemed to stop.

  An ivory-handled knife was buried hilt-deep in Van Gundy’s throat.

  * * * *

  They carried the dead man to the shadow beneath the starboard side of the Star Queen. Each was a capped jug of solemn silence.

  Captain Torkel withdrew the knife. “Van Gundy’s,” he muttered. “Van Gundy was killed with his own knife.”

  He knelt and wiped his blood-smeared hands on the grass. Then he saw Garcia squatting on the deck in the rocket’s open airlock. A fan-nosed flame pistol dangled from the engineer’s loose hand.

  Captain Torkel walked up to him.

  “Give me the pistol, Garcia.”

  Garcia didn’t answer. His eyes were black pin-points in his hard, tight-lipped face. He raised the gun, leveled the barrel at the captain’s chest.

  “Give me the pistol. That’s an order.”

  Garcia’s face was a dark cloud of hatred and savagery.

  “Garcia! I’m your captain! Give me the gun!”

  The animal savagery faded from Garcia’s face. He lowered the pistol and extended it by the barrel.

  Captain Torkel moved forward and seized it. Then he puffed out his cheeks, blew breath from them, wiped sweat from his forehead.

  Fox shouted, “The ports, Captain! Look at ’em! Look at the ports!”

  The heavy, transparalite portholes of the Star Queen were ruthlessly pitted and chipped. Little pools of broken, shiny plastic lay on the grass beneath them. It was as if each port had been struck a hundred times with an axe.

  Captain Torkel and Lieutenant Washington and Fox closed in on Garcia while Kelly stood smiling into the planet’s sun.

  “Did you do it, Garcia?” asked the captain. “Did you kill Van Gundy?”

  Garcia still squatted on his haunches, dazed and staring. “I don’t know.”

  “Did you try to smash the ports? Did Van Gundy try to stop you? Is that why you killed him?”

  Garcia shook his head, bewildered.

  “Why did you get the pistol?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you and Van Gundy fight?”

  No answer.

  “Don’t you remember anything?”

  “I remember—” The engineer stopped, trembling.

  “Yes, what do you remember?”

  “I—I remember we decided not to go to the village, me and Van Gundy. We started back to the rocket. Then—then I remember you saying for me to give you the gun.”

  Fox said, “He’s crazy, almost like Kelly. Whatever happened has made him almost crazy.”

  “Try to remember, Garcia. We got to know what happened.”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Retrograde amnesia,” said Lieutenant Washington.

  Captain Torkel finally voiced the thought that had taunted him ever since the discovery of Van Gundy. “Garcia, were the Sirians here? Did they kill Van Gundy?”

  Garcia began to cry.…

  * * * *

  They buried Van Gundy in the rich moist soil beneath the sea-blue sky and the blood-red sun. They made a cross from the gnarled limbs of forest trees and draped it with blue and yellow meadow flowers. In its center they hung his harmonica and his jetman’s medallion with its silver-starred reproduction of the Big Dipper.

  Captain Torkel spoke into the silence, and over the cool meadow flowed the words, “... Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.…”

  They put away the shovel. They gave Garcia a sedative and tucked him into his bunk. They sat Kelly down in the grass and handed him a red flower to play with.

  Then Captain Torkel and Lieutenant Washington and Fox stood gazing into each other’s eyes.

  “Say what you’re thinking, Captain,” said Lieutenant Washington.

  Captain Torkel sighed. “All right. It adds up. The Sirians can read our minds. They know we want to bring our race here. They’ll do most anything to stop us. They attacked the rocket, tried to break the ports. Garcia and Van Gundy tried to stop them. Van Gundy got killed, and Garcia scared them away with the pistol.”

  Lieutenant Washington squinted dubiously at the captain. “I can’t believe that. Why would they be so nice to us in the village?”

  “To keep us there as long as possible. To keep us away from the rocket.”

  “They could have killed us in the village.”

  “Maybe they really don’t want to kill us—unless they have to. Maybe they’d rather persuade us not to return to Earth.”

  Fox grumbled, “You say maybe they don’t like to kill. Then why would they kill Van Gundy?”

  “Van Gundy was killed with his own knife. That looks like self-defense.”

  Lieutenant Washington cleared his throat. “There’s just one thing wrong with your ideas. You say the Sirians are trying to bribe us into staying here, trying to win us over by kindness. Now you say they tried to smash the ports. If the Sirians are hostile in any way, they wouldn’t combine those two conflicting methods.”

  Captain Torkel was silent for a moment. “The Sirians are an alien race. Leadership seems to be an unknown concept to them, even though Taaleeb unconsciously assumed a kind of leadership this afternoon. The point is that the race isn’t used to carrying out unified plans of procedure. Taaleeb might have used his method in the village, and another group might have hit upon the plan of destroying the rocket.”

  Lieutenant Washington shook his head. “You’re wrong, Captain. The Sirians are good, innocent, child-like. Here’s what happened: Garcia liked to break things. He went wild and started to break the ports. Van Gundy tried to stop him and got himself killed. The shock gave Garcia amnesia.”

  Fox tugged at his beard. “I bet you’re right, Lieutenant, I bet that’s it.” Eagerness rose in his tone. “How about tonight? Are we still going to see our companions?”

  Captain Torkel spat. “You’d go to the village with Van Gundy’s grave-dirt still on your hands?”

  “We’ve been in a grave for six years. Is there any difference?”

  Captain Torkel ignored the question. “We can’t forget the people of Earth!” he said suddenly. “We’ve got to start home now. Can’t you see what the Sirians are trying to do? They’ll get us to stay here tonight, then—”

  Lieutenant Washington snapped, “I told you I made up my mind, Captain. You want to give us six—no, twelve more years of darkness and loneliness and frustration. We won’t take it. We’d be as mad as Kelly.”

  “Right!” Fox slapped his fist into his open palm. “We’ve got no other choice. We got to stay here
!”

  Captain Torkel’s mouth became a hard, gray line. He stepped back, spread his legs apart, withdrew his flame-pistol. “Get in the rocket!” he burst. “That’s an order!”

  Lieutenant Washington laughed contemptuously.

  The captain repeated, “Get in the rocket! I’m your captain. So help me, I’ll—”

  “You’ll do nothing,” spat the rock-faced lieutenant. “Can you astrogate a rocket, Captain? Can you find your way back to Earth alone? Can you keep those engines going without Garcia or dodge those meteors without Fox? Go ahead and kill us. You might as well kill yourself, too. How about it, Fox?”

  “Right,” said Fox.

  “And you, Kelly?”

  “All,” murmured Kelly.

  “This is mutiny!” screamed Captain Torkel. “You can’t—”

  “We already have. Now get the hell away from here, Captain.”

  Despair fell upon Captain Torkel. His head sagged. The flame-pistol slipped from his fingers.…

  VI

  The sun settled behind the forest horizon, its pale pink rays filtering through the branches of trees and angling onto the cool meadow. The glare was reflected by the silver rocket and by the cross above Van Gundy’s grave and by the small harmonica and the jetman’s medallion.

  Captain Torkel stood alone before the grave. Laughter drifted faintly from within the rocket. It was a lonely sound to Captain Torkel. You’re really alone now, he thought. Apart from Earth, and now apart from the men. You and Van Gundy.

  To hell with it, he thought bitterly. Why not join the men? Why not bathe and shave and smell of lotion and put on a clean white dress uniform? Why not forget about an insignificant planet fifty trillion miles away?

  He pivoted toward the rocket, toward the laughter and the happy, getting-ready sounds. Then a small gust of wind sent Van Gundy’s medallion tinkling against the grave-cross.

  He paused. Through his mind passed a swirling vision of the people of Earth: the silent children too frightened to play in the sunlight, the white-faced women scanning the callous sky, the grim-lipped priests chanting ceaseless prayers. Two billion souls wrapped in a shroud of fear, counting off the swift seconds that carried them closer and closer to oblivion.