by John Kippax
She spoke in a low voice. 'I know what I want, always, and I know, always, how to get it. If some damn fool who can't think through a problem gets in the way, then that's just too bad, Admiral.'
She turned and walked away. Carter saw that there was nothing he could do. Fane was well paid by Elsa Niebohr... in fact, everyone who really counted was well paid; he,
World Admiral Junius Farragut Carter, SC, was about on the level with the kitchen hands and the garbage squad. Anger welling within him, he walked to the main passenger elevator, and was swept up to the surface, inside one of the domes. He went to his quarters, opened a new bottle of Scotch, and imbibed a quarter of it in the space of fifteen minutes. He sat the while, swearing to himself, and wondering, with increasing anxiety, if he had not outlived his usefulness.
Watched over by the faithful Uschl, Koninburger was preparing for bed. On this particular evening he had elected to go earlier, to sit in bed and listen to part of Die Walkure in comfort, the libretto in his hands. He had meant to listen to Acts One and Two, but at the end of Act One, he closed the libretto.
'Switch it off, my dear Hans.'
'Of course.' Uschl hastened to obey.
'Did you know that today was a great day in the history of the project?'
'How should I know, Herr Professor? My concern is medicine. If you come to bed like a sensible man, because you feel a little more tired than usual, then it is a good day for me.'
'For us.' Anderson Fane walked in. 'Well, considering where we are, I must say you look the picture of contentment. Professor. Are you content?'
Koninburger took ten seconds before he spoke. 'No. Firstly, because we are coming only to the end of the theoretical stage. The computers can do no more, for they, alas, poor restricted machines, can only do what man tells them. I have dictated my fortieth cassette, this one being on the mathematical structure of the whole universe, and of how I think that information may be used. Secondly...'
Fane was gentle, solicitous. 'Yes?'
'Sometimes, in the middle of a working day, I have a strange feeling. I feel rejected.'
'Come now,' Fane said, 'you, rejected? Why not reject the moon and stars as well, for the same reason?' With his eyes on Koninburger, he took out a small gold fob watch and, as though idly, began to swing it to and fro.
Fane carried on quietly. 'You, rejected? Never. It is something from your deep past, when you were a little boy in a fishing competition and you had a new rod and you so wanted to win that you cried when you didn't win. That's what it is, just that, arising in a new guise. A man of solid achievement like yourself is loved and respected; you know that here down below ground you can carry on your work as never before in all your life. Tell me that you are admired and respected, Professor.'
Koninburger spoke drowsily. 'I am admired and respected.'
'Tell me that you know you are the very hub of the enterprise.'
'I am the very hub of this enterprise.'
'And tell me that you are working deep in Earth's protecting depths, where you can come to no harm.'
'I am working deep in Earth's protecting..
'Deep in Earth's protecting depths—'
'Deep in Earth's protecting depths, where no harm can come to me.'
Fane came close to examine Koninburger's face. 'And in the morning, you will begin to plan the practical stages, with all your helpers, with all those people who know you and honour you...'
Koninburger was asleep.
Uschl asked a question by the expression on his face.
Fane said: 'Had to be done.'
'But I thought he was completely... I mean, I thought that what you had done on Earth, and all the - the er - boostings were all right?'
Anderson Fane looked serious. 'Hans, you are a very good man and a very good doctor. Any ordinary man, with any ordinary complaint, could trust himself to you absolutely.
There in that bed lies a very extraordinary patient. I told Miss Niebohr that I could only do my best. Did it never occur to you that I, too, was dealing with imponderables?'
For a moment he put a hand on Uschl's shoulder; he patted it, and left.
Chapter 11
I heard an old spaceman from Planet Sol Three,
Who said: 'All this bullshit is no good to me,
'Don't give me that stuff about "always leading",
'Help with my mate here, shattered and bleeding.
'He needs no praises, no medals on chest,
'Let's get him to sick bay, and they'll do the rest.
'If he's too far gone, let him be cut apart,
'The medics can use him - lungs, brain and heart.
'Preach me no honour and duty to Corps,
'Your honour's a lie, and your duty a whore.
'Don't talk to me sweetly of progress and need,
'Our progress is nil, when the master is greed.
'I'm only one rat in the human race,
'Just give me my discharge, and no more space.'
IVAN KAVANIN, Honoured Poet of Earth
From 'Songs of Doubt and Disillusion'
Language is highly fricative, sibilant, and there are at least six different tones for each syllable within a word. Thus a basic word frame of three syllables can have many meanings.
e.g. KEOTA basic can be -
no tone i.e.
KEOTA - 'person, thing'
flat
KEOTA - 'help, deliverance, succour, aid?
—
KEOTA- 'bad, of no value, inimical'
BUT - if the above are stresses upon syllables, meaning is also changed by syllable tone. If ' is high tone one, " is high tone two, ~ is middle tone one, x is middle tone two, ' is low tone one, : is low tone two, then it will be seen that the 'word? is vague of meaning until correctly stressed and toned. Examples:
KE'OTA... 'Of not full use, inefficient, of no worth'
KEO"TA. .. 'Pleasurable, happy, giving delight, satisfying'
Sheets and sheets of it came from Creighton and his charge. He touched the recorded trolley, imitating the speech. 'TUNESEN.' He pushed it backwards and forwards and said the word again. The alien's necessarily goggled eyes depersonalized the face, but certainly it was watching Creighton. 'TUNESEN.' He muttered to himself. 'Carrier of goods, wagon, trolley.' He ran back the tape, switched it to a higher speed, and let the tape spin through the heads. The alien and the smaller oscillograph heard the word. The alien lifted one skinny finger of its right hand. Creighton muttered. 'That's another one right. Now, let's try some verbs. Do speech. He gives. We give, you give, they give. Here goes.' He put the recorder at 9.5 centimetres/sec, and set it turning. 'PAEE-KRR-TICT, TA-EE-KRR-TICT, TO-EE- KRR-TICT, NA-EE-KRR-TICTA, SA-EE-KRR-TICTA, SO-EE- KRR-TICTA.' He wound back the tape, set it going at twice the speed, and watched the alien. The creature wagged a single forefinger in the upright position, as before.
Hours later - he kept no account of time - Maseba came in to remind him that Bruce wanted to see the work being done. Thinking grimly to himself that Czibulka had gone
to bed, and that was where he, Creighton, was entitled to be- as well, the ETL medic was not in a gracious mood.
Maseba said: 'Doctor, the Captain is ready.'
Creighton said coldly: 'Well, I am not. If that is made plain to the Captain, that I conduct this interview under unsolved difficulties on my part, and under duress from the presence of non-understanding minds, then I will do what I can.'
'You might learn something,' Maseba said.
'About the Captain? I can't be bothered.'
'I meant that you might learn something about the alien which you didn't know before.'
'I'll believe that when it happens.'
Bruce arrived, and greeted both Maseba and Creighton with impartial curtness. He sat down. 'Doctor, I understand that you have not nearly completed your researches.'
'There is enough material in this creature's mind to occupy me for at least another six months. I have only just begun in terms of true
scientific value.'
'I need to ask some questions.'
'I cannot guarantee any answers.'
'Don't fence with me.'
'I am not fencing. I am the final arbiter of what can be asked, and what can't.'
Bruce's face had hard lines made harder where the dim light caught. 'I'll take the alien's refusal. Doctor, not yours.'
'I will not be pressured—'
'You're not being pressured, mister. You're being asked.'
'Commander Bruce, this alien now knows enough of your speech to understand somewhat.'
Bruce, typically, went into the attack. 'Where is your home planet?' Creighton, tight-lipped, operated the recorder.
'By a red sun.'
'Be more precise.' Bruce's gaze was fixed upon the neo- human face.
'It is not permitted.' 'By whom is it not permitted?'
'By our law. Obedience to the law is vital. There are many red suns; I may not direct you. I would die.'
'Is death important to you?'
'It depends upon the status.'
"What is your status?'
'Low. I am not important.'
'But you were in charge of the ship which our crew boarded.'
There are many ships.' It was eerie to see the lips moving, and yet there was only an occasional squeak that Bruce and Maseba could hear directly. 'I am not important.'
'Is it your opinion that Dr Creighton has discovered much about you?'
'He knows about my body. He works well.'
Creighton said: 'I sent you the report on the main physical differences, Captain. No red and white corpuscles, perfect hormone balance, omniphilactic injections, the blood made by the spleen, it and the liver being larger than ours.'
'Yes. I read it.' Bruce asked: 'What is your weaponry?'
Creighton had trouble with the translation. He asked, in reality: 'For what reason do you kill, and with what do you kill?'
'We use the beam.'
"What is the beam?'
'It is of many kinds.'
'Do you have one?'
'No.'
'How large is the apparatus?'
'It depends upon what has to be destroyed.'
'A being, one person?'
'A hand beam.'
To destroy a planet?'
'A great beam.'
'Such as is carried in your large ships?'
The largest beam can be carried by our smallest ships.'
"What is the nature of this beam?' 'It is not permitted to tell.'
Bruce said: 'Suppose we lean on the swine a little?'
Creighton's face tightened. 'The alien is what it is, just as we are what we are. Earth moralities are for Earth people.'
'Ask it,' Bruce said, 'what it has learned about us.'
Creighton thought this curious. Still, there was interest in seeing what the creature would say. He put the question. 'What I have learned,' the alien said, 'is that there is no reason to change our present attitude to other beings that we meet in space.'
Bruce and Maseba exchanged glances.
Creighton said: 'This is something new. It has never before said anything about other races.'
Bruce tried again. 'What powers does its race possess which are not shared by ourselves, apart from this self-fertilization routine?'
The alien's answer was quick. 'Our powers of rational thinking are great; yours are clogged with considerations which do not touch us.'
Bruce asked Creighton: 'Have you done much work on this, creature's brain, synapses and so on?'
'I have encephalograms which show that the alien's system contains more natural electricity than ours.'
'And you have done nothing more in this direction? Have you, for example, tried to use the keyboard there for the alien to work out any mathematics?'
'Only of a rudimentary nature.'
'Ask if it has a good knowledge of mathematics, physics and so on.'
'I do not think—'
'I do think, Doctor. Ask.'
All they got from the alien was the reiteration that it was a lowly creature.
'Ask it if it understands the system of transportation by the use of subspace. Does it regard this as a simple matter?' Creighton, again feeling uneasy, put the question. Oh, yes, the alien could manage to understand that.
'Will it work with us on such a thing?'
Creighton got a swift 'no'. Bruce said: 'Ask it how it would like to be in a brightly lit room without its goggles on. Would that persuade the brute to tell us—'
'No!' Creighton was angered 'No, I will not ask that!'
'Ask it,' Bruce said.
'This is - would be a prostitution of science!'
'Call it that if you want. Tell this creature that if it does not cooperate with us, then we shall apply a little arm- twisting as encouragement.'
Creighton spoke to the alien, which placed the tips of the fingers of each hand on its collarbone, and its lips moved. Creighton could hardly disguise the triumph in his voice. 'The alien says that if this is attempted, then like all its race it can will itself to death before we can get any information out of it. It says that it makes the gesture of resignation, and that it would like to know if we want it dead or alive.'
Bruce got up slowly, looking at the alien. Then he left. Maseba followed.
Creighton spoke to his charge. 'Ba, do you know me for a—' and he realized that the language had no word for "friend". 'Do you know me for a worthy person?'
'Yes, Creighton.'
Tell me more about the conquests of your race.'
Ba told him. If the creature were capable of enthusiasm, then this is where it showed. The alien blocked all ways to any assessment of the whereabouts of the home planet, but apart from that, it was comparatively forthcoming.
'And what about Sol Three, my home planet? You have observed us?'
'Many times.'
'What do you think of us?'
'Opinion is much divided.'
'How?'
'I cannot say. But it may be necessary for us to participate in the life of your planet.'
'Yes?' Now they were near something which Creighton
had hardly admitted to himself; before this moment. He asked: 'If such is your people's intention, then you will need someone who has intelligence enough to understand you, someone whom you could trust in mediation, and so on?'
'We should need such a person.'
'Like me?' Creighton held his breath.
'Like you. You would be suitable.'
Creighton had heard no sound, but he was suddenly and instantly awake. Moving his head the smallest necessary fraction, he saw that the alien, instead of studying the book of Earth language at which he had been most assiduous, was crouched at the bench where the typewriter-math keyboard was. It had its hands clasped to its forehead, and the machine was not in its usual position close to the wall. Quietly Creighton raised on one elbow, but the alien heard at once, and turned round.
Creighton got out of bed. 'Ba, what are you doing?'
The alien looked above Creighton, which was how it usually avoided eye-to-eye confrontations.
'Show me what you were holding to your head.'
Ba extended its hands.
'The leads from the machine? What good are they?' Creighton felt that he could guess the answer.
'I learn.'
'I know what you learn, Ba.'
'I had thought you would. These leads connect with the ship's computer.'
'And they connect with all the other information in the main computer. You can read electronically stored material?' Despite himself, Creighton quivered with excitement.
'Yes. When I have a good connection. Are you still worthy person to me?'
Creighton pushed home his advantage. He thought of that roughneck Bruce, and he spoke as emphatically as was
possible with the complicated tonalities of the language. 'Yes, I am still a worthy person to you, Ba. You need me, I think. Do you want to take over this ship?'
'Not now. I want to learn for when we come to the planet Balomain Four, which we call Babadan.'
Then we can act together, Ba?'
'Yes, we will act so.'
Creighton thought how lucky he had been, to have chosen this particular time to resume sleeping in the same room as the alien. He was still deep in the semantic jungle of the other's speech. The work was endless. He realized that, from the time Helen Lindstrom had recovered by the alien's help, he had not re-established their liaison because he had been too busy.
He left the alien's room and went into the sick bay office to scan duty lists. He saw that she was on duty.
Lindstrom was on the bridge, sitting in the command chair, the repeater board to one side, the duty squad below her, at their stations. She felt well again, but there was something present in her mind and body now which was not there before her dangerous escapade. She could think as well, her reflexes were as quick as ever, she had the same firm grasp upon all aspects of Corps work, but she was not as she used to be. Resilience of spirit was not as strong as once it was. It occurred to her that she needed her man, and James Creighton was working, like one obsessed, on the alien and everything concerning it. She understood that; she admired him for his devotion to duty, but she figured it might be good for both of them if they got together again, and soon.
They should be in orbit round Balomain Four in forty hours. She hoped for the best from Koninburger, and she wanted veiy much to see Junius Carter, because she had enjoyed working with him when Blue Mountain Project occupied their lives. She thought that all the math would be finished by now. Fascinating... but for the fact that Elsa Niebohr was there. Niebohr represented to Helen Lindstrom nothing but a concentration of evil and ruthless power. Niebohr was not a loser, not in any way, and Lindstrom did not doubt that that applied to Project Elkan also. She looked at her own present state, tried to be objective, and failed. But perhaps most of her depression came from one simple fact: yesterday was her birthday: she was twenty- nine.
She was jerked from her thoughts by an announcement which coincided with a flashing purple light. 'Deceleration for Balomain Four begins in fifteen minutes.'
That was CPO Ashnagabi.