Collected Short Fiction, page 117
“But I thought some kid from the School had a monop—”
“Don’t worry about that. Strictly legal, I tell you. I came by the formula honestly—believe me.”
“I’ll grant it,” the captain said. “But reluctantly. Go ahead with the rest of the business.”
“The way I see it, we’ll make this Grome cheaper than the Gelusar plant is turning it out, and we’ll sell it to the small farmers. That way, the big schemes of the Earthmen will bounce right back on them, and we’ll keep the Elders from becoming too powerful. I think we can even drive the Gelusar manufacturer out of business if we can get a few men who’ll keep our methods secret.”
The captain looked highly skeptical. “I’ve got men on my ship I’d trust anywhere,” he said. “But how do you propose to do it? And what makes you think you got the right formula, anyway? And how can you produce more of it than the Gelusar people can?
“I understand it took several of the Council Elders to put up enough money to build this one little plant. How can we build more than that? I don’t have that kind of money, Norvis. Nor do you.”
Norvis stilled the captain’s rising flood of objections by raising his hand. “I’ll prove to you that I know the formula by making some for you. We’ll try it on some peych and see.
“As for building a producing plant, I’ve got a new idea there. A different way of doing things.”
“How?” The captain seemed a little more interested now. His hard, keen eyes were wide-open.
“The trouble is that the Gelusar plant is producing the stuff by making it in big lots, which ties up all their equipment for weeks at a time. They use what’s called a batch process to turn it out. Now, if you can get the men on the ship to chip in with us—we’ll promise each one his proper shares—we can build the right kind of plant, one that’ll produce the stuff in a steady stream.” Del peFenn leaned forward. “I don’t quite see—”
Norvis pulled out a sheaf of paper covered with sketches in a large, scrawling hand. “See here: we make the process continuous instead of whipping up batches. Instead of making one big glob at a time, we’ll start the process at this end and feed in the various ingredients at different points along the line. Then we—”
When he was through explaining, Norvis looked at the captain. “Well, what do you say?”
Del peFenn scowled. “To be honest, I didn’t understand a thing you were talking about. But it sounds as though you know what you’re doing.” He paused, while Norvis anxiously watched him chew the idea over in his mind. Finally he said, “What you want is a sort of regular contract. You supply the brains, and I supply the money. Fifty-fifty.”
Norvis nodded.
“I’m sorry,” the captain said. “I just can’t risk—”
Norvis stopped him. “Now, wait a minute. You’re the one who’s taking the risk; I’ll grant that. So I tell you what you do; you take control, too.”
“What’s that?”
“You see to the buying of equipment and everything. I’ll just tell you what I want and how much I’ll need. For my part of it, you can pay me a salary—whatever you think I’m worth. I trust you.”
The captain chewed that over, too. Hesitating, he said, “Well-l-l . . . I don’t know. It sounds good, but . . . well, how much would it take?”
Norvis named a figure that ran into the thousands of hundredweights.
Captain Del winced and shook his head. “I don’t know. Let me think about it a while.”
It took Norvis better than a week to talk the sea officer into investing his money, but during that time he bought some small flasks and a few other things and ran off a batch of Grome right under the captain’s nose. The process worked just as he had theoretically constructed it, back at Bel-rogas.
There was only a drop or two, but it was enough. Norvis bought two potted seedling peych plants and needled the stuff into the taproot of one.
“One thing we’ll have to warn our customers about,” Norvis warned, “is using too much of the hormone. They’ll probably all overdose at first, but if they do, they’ll not only waste it but probably ruin the plants.”
“You’ve got this stuff figured pretty well,” Del peFenn said. “I knew you were sharp, but I didn’t think you were as good as that.”
“Hold it,” Norvis said. “Let’s wait and see how sharp I am. We’ll know soon enough.”
When, within the space of a few days, the treated plant was noticeably different from its twin, Captain Del peFenn decided it was time to invest his money in the project.
Three months later, the first substantial yield from the new process came through from the factory. Norvis and Del were confronted with the stuff early one morning, when Drosh peDrang Hebylla, the tall, thin young man who was the foreman of the hormone factory, came dashing up the end of the dock and hailed the nearby Balthar.
“Here it is!” he cried enthusiastically, after the dinghy had conveyed him from shore to ship. He leaped out and held forth a small wooden box.
Norvis took it, lifted the lid, sniffed, and replaced the lid. “Ugh,” he said. “It’s not going to be its lovely odor that’ll be the selling point, I’m afraid.”
“You should come out and spend some time at the factory,” Drosh peDrang said. “If you think this sample has a bad smell, you ought to hover around the end of our feed line for a while.”
“That’s all right,” Del peFenn boomed. “There must be something in the Scripture some place about being able to put up with nasty smells for the sake of turning an honest few weights.”
Norvis thought for a moment. “No,” he said. “I can’t think of any.”
“Nor can I,” said Drosh peDrang. “Nevertheless,” the captain maintained, “there must be something in there. There’s something in that wonderful book to cover everything!”
“I wonder how the Elders are planning to hide their red faces when we get our stuff out to the common people,” Norvis said.
“They’re not going to like it much,” replied Del. “But I think we’ve stepped on their toes so hard it’s going to hurt a long time.” He turned to Drosh peDrang. “You’ll have the stuff ready to ship soon, won’t you?”
“They’re baling it now,” the foreman told him.
“Good. The Balthar’s pulling out for Lidacor tomorrow, and we might as well start distributing it at once. The people up there are so hungry they’ll hail us as saviors.”
“Fine,” said Norvis. “Lidacor’s a good place to begin. Besides, it’ll be pleasant to get away from the eternal fish-odor here in Vashcor, anyway. I like Lidacor.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Captain Del said. “You’re not going with us, Norvis.”
“How so?” Norvis asked, puzzled.
“You’re heading in the other direction, taking a cargo of the stuff to Molcor and Sundacor—and Tammulcor as well, I guess. You’ll be aboard the Krand.”
“The Krand? That’s Captain Prannt peDrel Kovnish’s ship, isn’t it?” Norvis asked.
“It was,” Del corrected. “It’s now Captain Norvis peKrin Dmorno’s.
I entered your name in the Roll of Captains this morning. It’s my new ship. I’ve decided to expand operations, now that there’s the prospect of good business ahead. I’m now a two-ship man, and I couldn’t think of a better captain for my new one than you, Norvis.”
“I’m very grateful,” Norvis said sincerely. He was tempted to add some blessing of the Great Light, but decided against it; it wouldn’t be of much use in thanking Del, who didn’t seem to set much store by the Scripture.
“You’re sailing west tomorrow,” Del told him. “We’ll pull anchor at the same time. We ought to return rich men.”
They did. The hungry farmers of Sugon swarmed all over the Balthar as soon as word traveled that a ship had arrived bearing the same wonderful mystery that had resulted in such marvelous production on the Elders’ farms.
Del peFenn found people bidding frantically for the cargo, and one rich landowner offered to purchase the whole shipment for use on his farms. But Del remembered the careful plan of Norvis peKrin, which was to distribute the hormone as widely as possible, and he resolutely held the price down and rationed out the quantity. He returned to Vashcor with an empty hold and a full purse.
As for Norvis, his first experience as the captain of his own ship was an equally successful one.
He guided the Krand flawlessly around the coast, heading in a westerly direction toward the southwestern port of Sundacor, and at each of the three stops along the way he disbursed a third of his cargo.
Del peFenn had been back in Vashcor for several days when the Krand returned. As soon as his ship was docked and anchored, Norvis made his way to the Balthar, but was told that the captain was at the hormone factory, located at the nearby town of Elvisen.
A swift deest ride took Norvis there. It was a tall and fairly imposing building, and he allowed himself the luxury of a sensation of pride at the sight of it.
He entered, and a busy-looking workman directed him up the stairs and around a corridor, where he opened a door and found Captain Del in conference with Foreman Drosh peDrang.
He sniffed as he entered. “Yes,” he said. “This place does have a vile smell.”
The two men, startled, looked around. “Norvis!”
“Hoy, Del!”
Hurriedly, they spilled out to each other the story of the success of their respective voyages.
“It’s going well, is it?” Norvis said. “Good, good. We’ll teach the Elders they can’t corner a valuable commodity like Grome.” He turned to Drosh peDrang.
“How are the local sales going?”
“We’ve established a center here in Elvisen,” he said. “The farmers have been coming from all over Pelvash to buy the stuff. The money’s been coming in faster than we can get it to the bank.”
“Hm-m-m. We don’t want to get too rich out of this thing,” Norvis said slyly. “Next thing we know the Elders will be coming to us looking for a loan.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Del asked.
“Looks bad in the public eye,” explained Norvis. “The people are pretty much sold on the Elders, and we don’t want to appear to be showing them up too badly. Remember what happened to that prophet fellow in Gelusar.”
“The one they stoned? Well, they were right to stone him, I think,” Del said. “What was he saying, after all? Wasn’t it that the Grome should be abolished altogether?” Norvis nodded uneasily. He was sure Del was unaware that he was that very prophet, but he wanted to make sure Del never found out. Norvis peRahn Brajjyd was better off where he was.
“Well,” the captain said, “no wonder they stoned him. He was a false prophet to say the Grome should be abolished. That’s an evil and stupid way of solving the problem. Give it to everyone! That’s what he should have said.”
“It didn’t occur to him,” Norvis said. “The poor devil! He didn’t have enough brains to see the right way to handle the stuff, and that’s why they stoned him.”
“I don’t know why you’re so sympathetic,” Del peFenn boomed. “After all, doesn’t it say in the Scripture that a false prophet shall be stoned? Doesn’t it? I think I’m right, this time.”
“You are,” Norvis said. “Seventh Section, as I recall.”
Del was impressed. “You’re quite the scholar, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I’ve done a little reading,” Norvis told him casually. To change the subject, he got up and walked to the window. The factory was located on a hill in North Elvisen, and there was a nice view of the rolling farmland of the province of Pelvash. He stood there a long time, staring out. The fields were bright with blossoms of the peych plants. It was easy to see that the hormone was in active use among the local farmers.
“They’ve got their fields all treated,” he said.
“Yes,” Drosh peDrang said. “Sales have been tremendous—just tremendous.”
Norvis smiled. “It’s going to surprise the Elders when that harvest starts coming up all over Nidor, isn’t it? They’re not going to like it at all.”
“I think we’ve finally broken their stranglehold,” Del said. “And we’ve given those Earthmen something to think about, too.”
“I’ll say.” Norvis looked out at the spreading gray-green plains, the fertile hills with the tributaries of the Vash River wandering lazily among them. On every hill and every valley, the golden blossoms of the peych shone, bright harbingers of the future.
It occurred to Norvis as he stood there that a couple of men had engaged in blunt rebellion against the Elders and the Earthmen and succeeded. For the first time, possibly, in the history of the planet, a man, an ordinary man, had taken the course of action into his own hands. And the Great Light still smiled upon him.
“Wait till those beans start coming up,” Del peFenn said. “It’s going to be a wonderful harvest.”
“Yes,” Norvis echoed. “A wonderful harvest.” His ringing voice sounded a note of triumph.
FROM: Duncan H. MacLeod, Observer, Sugon Province.
TO: Gordon P. Smith, Anthropological Division, Bel-rogas School.
I’m with you most of the way, Gordon. Brother! What this crop is going to do to Nidorian culture! But tell me—what does that have to do with young Norvis peRahn? Stuck out here in these accursed hills, I sometimes lose sight of the big picture. (That reminds me—tell Jones I want to get back to Bel-rogas soon; I’m tired of hiding here in Sugon.)
Everything seems to be working out fine. After all these years of work, we’ve finally succeeded in setting up the forces that will smash the Nidorian cultural matrix.
(That’s the current phrase you Anthropology boys have been throwing around, isn’t it?) We’ve ruined Nidor completely, though they don’t know it yet. I suppose the Genetics Corps has something immediate in mind, but I can’t quite follow it from here. The government, the religion, and the entire cultural system have been—or will be—completely demolished. But are the Genetics boys sure that young Brajjyd is the key man?
As far as this Province is concerned, they haven’t felt the full impact of what we’ve done yet; the crops aren’t much better than last season because the hormone hasn’t been imported in too big a quantity as yet. With only one seaport, there hasn’t been much chance for really good distribution; your tame fire-breather, Del peFenn, was through here with a shipload, but that’s been it. Will this affect the situation as a whole? I hope not; the whole Nidor Project succeeds or fails at this point. (Unless, of course, Jones and his planners out there in the hills have reversed themselves—which is unlikely, but not inconceivable. I sometimes suspect that I’m being suckered out, as well as the Nidorians.)
I’d hate to think we’d miscalculated, though; the entire future of humanity is at stake on this insignificant little planet. I suppose I sound too dramatic, as usual, but I’m puzzled.
Hoping you are the same,
MacLeod
FROM: Gordon P. Smith, Anthropological Division, Bel-rogas School.
TO: Duncan H. MacLeod, Observer, Sugon Province.
Stop worrying. Genetics assures me that Norvis peRahn Brajjyd is the man. I’ve checked the whole thing through thoroughly with Jones, and the old man’s given blanket approval of everything. According to Genetics, our entire eugenics program revolving around Bel-rogas has been definitely successful. We’ve bred, for once, a new type of Nidorian—even if he doesn’t know it himself.
As for the future of the human race, no cause for worry there either. If a galaxy-wide culture such as ours can’t succeed in blasting one little, insignificant medieval planet, and wrecking its culture to suit our tastes, we ought to give up.
Does that sound forceful enough?
Smith
FROM: Duncan H. MacLeod, Observer, Sugon Province.
TO: Gordon Smith, Anthropological Division, Bel-rogas School.
Sorry I didn’t reply earlier, but things are starting to happen now that the crop is ripening. I’ll give you the full report tomorrow, by full telefox.
Jones sent elaborate comments direct from the Mountains of the Morning hideout, and between his letter and yours I’m well aware of the whole situation.
Agreed: we ought to be able to smash this culture to order. I think we’ve done it—though, as you say, the poor folk won’t be able to see why, not for a while, at least. Jones put it to me this way: “The problem,” he said, “is not to smash the culture—but to see that it gets put back together the right way.”
I hope for everyone’s sake that Norvis peRahn knows what the right way is, because when that crop comes up all over things will start to crack. Norvis is the only factor in doubt. The only thing I can predict for sure is—boy, how they’re going to hate us when they find out! It’ll be a generation before they’ve seen what we’ve done—and six more before they can see why!
Cordially,
MacLeod.
THE END
Secret of the Green Invaders
Centuries of alien conquest had made Earth a slave planet, and only a pitiful handful of men dared dream of rebellion. But they had a weapon they didn’t even know about!
IT’S AN OPEN secret that “Robert Randall” is actually two people. Robert Silverberg and Randall Garrett, each a top-ranking writer in his own right, collaborate to turn out the stories that appear under this byline. With each man giving his best, the resulting stories are entirely different from what either could do alone, and polished to a sparkling perfection!
CHAPTER I
11 May 3035
“THIS whole situation is very amusing,” Terrag Broz said. The Terran Administrator peered across his desk at his chief assistant without showing a trace of the amusement he claimed to feel. “But I think Orvid Kemron has been allowed to go far enough. Bring him here,” he snapped.
“At once,” said the other, rising to leave.
“It took them a long time to get this far, Gornik,” the Administrator said. He permitted himself a twisted smile.
