Collected Short Fiction, page 33
“I’m very sorry to hear of your loss,” Roi ventured.
“She was happy to die in the gravitational field of Earth,” Jeremiah said. The Llanishai extended his tentacles lazily and stretched them. Roi stared at the myriad tentacle-branches, the complex network of muscle that made the Llanishai the best surgeons of the universe.
“Yes,” Magdalena said. “She was a great student of the culture of ancient Earth, and some of her deep interest has been transmitted to my husband and myself. He and I have chosen our names from ancient Earth legends, in honor of the planet from which our friends spring.”
This is going to be tough, Roi thought gloomily. These people love Earth—and they will probably be kicked out.
“Sit down,” he said out loud. “Make yourselves comfortable. It’s a long time since any Llanishai visitors came this way.”
“No,” Jeremiah said. “We prefer to stand. Anyway, we must leave soon—there are so few of us, and so many of your people we must help. We would like to hold the burial tomorrow, if possible.”
“Oh, yes, the burial—” Roi began weakly.
“My mother was very happy that she died near Earth,” Jeremiah said. “In view of her strong interest in the planet and its history, it’s very appropriate that she’ll be buried here.”
“Yes, yes—of course,” Roi said. He rubbed a wrinkled hand over his chin. “There’s just one problem we have to deal with, though.”
“What’s that?” Jeremiah asked suspiciously.
Roi groped for some way to tell the aliens that people had special feelings about Earth and didn’t want any Llanishai buried there, but before he could find any handle for beginning the visiphone buzzer sounded.
Grateful for the lucky interruption, Roi snapped it on. It was Ennray again.
“Just received word from the monitor station,” he said. “President Horke’s party is in orbit around Earth, and will be landing shortly.”
Somehow Roi bundled the aliens back out to their ship and assigned a robot to take them on a round-the-planet tour of Earth, telling them to return the next day. They were puzzled at the sudden dismissal, but they were much too polite to protest.
President Horke and his family seemed to show up the moment the Llanishai were gone. Roi saw them coming across the field, but he was unsure of protocol; unable to decide whether he should wait for the President to reach the cabin or go out to meet him, he opaqued his windows and decided to let the President take him by surprise.
“Four people to see you,” the door said.
“Let them in.”
The door admitted the President and his party. They were dressed in green—Sirian mourning colors, Roi recalled, drawing on his knowledge of the differing customs of the Galaxy. In his vast experience he had buried Sirians, Cygnians, Capellans—name the star and he had planted some of its sons. No humanoid with Earth’s red blood in his veins would turn down the chance to return to the source of all mankind for burial.
The President stood there, simply radiating strength. Like all colonists of the heavy fourth planet of Sirius, he was well over seven feet tall and proportionately broad. Next to him stood his wife, an amazon of similar proportions, and to their right and left stood their children—Kathlin Horke, a beautiful girl of eighteen or so who towered head and shoulders over Roi, and ten-year-old Irwn Horke, already big and muscular. They needed no introduction—the President’s family was the best-known in the universe.
“Greetings, Roi,” President Horke said, in his famed booming bass voice. “I had hoped not to see you so soon under these circumstances.” Roi donned his favorite look of sympathy.
“I understand your family has suffered a loss, President Horke.”
“Yes. My wife’s father left us last week,” the President said gravely. “Of course, he specified burial on Earth.”
“Of course,” Roi agreed. The conversation drifted on disjointedly for a while.
Roi thought, after he had carefully steered the thread of talk away from the President’s own sorrows.
“I called your office for some information, President Horke, but you had already left for Earth.”
The deep eyes which hid the cares of the Galaxy lowered with interest. “What, Roi? What did you want to ask me?”
Roi licked his lips. “There’s a family of Llanishai visiting Earth now. Four of them.”
“I see,” said the President. “Go on.”
“Well, sir—they started out as five—but one of them died during the trip.”
“That’s too bad. Llanishai are valuable friends of humanoidkind. I don’t like losing any of them,” the President said, deeply sympathetic.
“Very true, sir,” Roi said quietly. “They’d like to bury their mother on Earth.”
The President’s eyes widened, and suddenly the sympathy vanished. “What? I hope you didn’t allow it! It’s sacrilege, Roi.”
“I did nothing, sir. I tried to get in touch with you to find out what you think about it.”
“Out of the question. Absolutely impossible. It can’t be allowed,” the President said firmly. “What would the voters think? Uh—Earth is the—uh—most sacred shrine of humanoidkind, the source from which all of us spring. And here it’s to be defiled by alien—?”
I was afraid of this, Roi thought.
He licked his lips and said, “I don’t agree with you, sir.” The President stared in open-mouthed surprise. “I think we should, bury them here,” Roi continued, astonished at his own outspokenness. “Earth isn’t reserved for humanoids, sir. The Llanishai have been of great assistance to our race. Without their surgeons, many of us—perhaps you yourself, sir—might not be alive today. Surely we can let them—”
“I have never known a day’s illness,” President Horke interrupted coldly. “If they bury an alien here, it will be an insult to every humanoid in the Galaxy. I cannot permit it.”
“Very well, sir,” Roi muttered, feeling a growing sense of anxiety. He’d heard the President’s opinion—but now the Llanishai were coming back in a few hours, and he’d have to tell them. It wasn’t going to be pleasant to face the little creatures.
The explaining process was long, slow, and painful.
“That’s the way it is, Jeremiah,” Roi concluded. “President Horke feels that it would be—ah—desecration to allow a non-humanoid body to rest in Earth soil.”
“I do not understand,” the little Llanishai said, curling and uncurling his tentacles. “Mother wanted to be buried here so badly. Please—let me speak to the President. I will make him understand.”
“No, Jeremiah,” Roi said patiently. “He represents twenty billion humanoid voters, and there are only a few million of you Llanishai. He can’t afford to insult all those humanoids just for the sake of—of an alien.”
“But it is no insult,” Jeremiah protested. He picked up his smallest son and playfully twined his tentacles together with the boy’s. “We are citizens, just as any humanoids. We have the same rights—or do we? Oh, I wish we were many and you few,” Jeremiah said, suddenly despairing.
“Bury on Mars, Jeremiah. There’ll only be trouble for all of us if you insist on burying her here.” Roi clamped his lips together and paced up and down the cabin, wishing the whole thing had never happened.
“No, Roi,” Jeremiah said with determination. “For centuries the Llanishai have worked side by side with humanoids. We have devoted our whole medical skill to keeping humanoids from death. Certainly we’ve earned the right to share the Galaxy’s funeral planet,” he argued. “We’re people, just as the humanoids are.”
Roi got up and walked to the window, and looked out at the two fresh graves the robots had dug. It was as great a conflict as he had ever experienced—but it was over in a moment. He saw where his duty lay.
Turning, he smacked the palm of his hand with his fist.
“Jeremiah, you’re right. There’s no reason in the universe why you people should not be free to bury your dead on Earth. We’ll have to force Horke to see that he’s wrong.”
“No—not force,” Jeremiah said mildly. “The Llanishai do not believe in compulsion. Let us go to him and talk peacefully, and point out how he is wrong.”
Roi shook his head. “I know these people, Jeremiah. That method won’t ever work. I’ll think of something.” Trembling with indignation, he turned away, trying to produce a plan.
“One man to see you,” the door said.
“Let him in.”
It was President Horke. The big man looked weary and sad.
Roi didn’t give him a chance to say anything. “Is your decision final?” he asked. “About those Llanishai, sir?”
The President ignored the question. “Where are they?”
“The Llanishai?”
“Yes. Where are they?”
“In their ship. They’re waiting to bury—”
“Get them quickly,” President Horke snapped. “Irwn is seriously ill. I need a doctor.”
“What’s wrong, sir?”
“I don’t know. He’s unconscious, barely breathing. Probably some virus that he picked up on Earth. Send a Llanishai right over to my ship—it’s an emergency.”
Roi looked long and hard at the President, and a germ of an idea sprouted in his mind. It was unethical, of course, but the situation didn’t call for ethics. He wondered—
“Yes, sir,” he said at last. “I’ll speak to the Llanishai right now and have one come over to treat your son.”
“Thanks, Roi. We’re very worried.”
The President left and headed back to his ship. Roi wandered up and down in his cabin, ignoring the chair which pursued him and tried to make him sit down. He balanced everything very carefully in his mind—the Llanishai asking for permission to bury on Earth, the President refusing pompously in the name of humanoid-kind. It wasn’t right. The Llanishai had as much right to bury on Earth as the most humanoid of humanoids.
Roi looked out the big window at the long rows of grave markers, and at the two empty graves, newly dug. They’ll be filled soon enough, he thought happily.
As quickly as his legs would take him Roi headed for the President’s ship. The anxious face of the President’s wife peered out to see who was outside.
“Come in,” she said, lowering the ladder.
President Horke appeared from somewhere within the ship. His face was grave.
“They won’t come,” Roi said flatly.
“What? That violates their medical code!”
“I told them that. They refuse to come unless you let them bury their dead one here.”
“But that’ll destroy Earth’s value as a shrine!” the President sputtered. “Once you open it for one alien body, they’ll all want to be buried here!”
“Precisely,” Roi said, beginning to enjoy the President’s discomfort. “Jeremiah wants to set a precedent for his people. And this is the only way he knows of doing it.”
“But what would the Galaxy say if they heard—”
The President’s wife then turned to him. “Let them bury here, Edmun.” Her voice was almost as deep as her husband’s. “What difference does it make? The Llanishai are almost like people, anyway. And if they won’t help Irwn unless you do—”
“It’s blackmail!” the President roared. “Those little beasts are blackmailing me!”
“But, Edmun—”
“It isn’t for myself I’m against them. I like the Llanishai. But if the voters found out—some of them are so stuffy about Llanishai equality. And blackmail—the beasts!”
“Those little beasts can save your son’s life,” Roi said gently.
“All right, all right,” Horke said angrily. “Tell them they can bury their corpse on Earth. But—”
Whatever else the President said went unheard. Roi turned and headed off across the field to the Llanishai ship, humming gently to himself.
A little later, Jeremiah went quickly and politely to the President’s ship, flexing and unflexing his tentacles. The President’s wife led him into her son’s cabin and stood behind the little Llanishai.
“I prefer to work alone, Mrs. Horke,” he said in a soft voice. She looked at him nervously, and left.
He came out a few minutes later. The boy was walking happily behind him.
“A simple case,” he said casually. “Very simple, President Horke. Really nothing to worry about. I merely had to enter the left lung to eliminate some congestion. And we Llanishai are constructed so well for operations of that sort.” Jeremiah held out his tentacles and indicated the hairlike branches at the ends.
“It was only luck that there were Llanishai on the planet when this happened,” Roi said. “There’s no telling what might have happened if we only had just the six caretakers here.”
“We’re very grateful to you,” Mrs. Horke said to Jeremiah.
Jeremiah looked up at her face, hanging in the air three feet above his own. “There is no need for gratitude, Mrs. Horke. This is the function of the Llanishai—this is why we live. To serve the universe. I could no more have denied my medical skill from your son than could I have cut olf a tentacle.”
“Liar! Then why did you blackmail us?” said President Horke fiercely.
“Pardon me,” Jeremiah said meekly. “I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”
“I said blackmail!”
Roi paled. This was what he dreaded—now the whole thing was going to explode in his face!
“Would you mind explaining, President Horke?” the little surgeon said, putting his tentacles on his hip-sockets in very humanoid fashion.
“Roi told us all about it, so don’t play innocent. How you wouldn’t operate on Irwn unless we gave you permission to bury your mother on Earth.”
The Llanishai recoiled as if struck. “I don’t believe this. Why, what you’re saying is—is untrue! To accuse a Llanishai of violating his code for personal advantage is unbelievable.”
Roi felt sweat pouring down his body. “Just a minute, Jeremiah,” he said hesitantly. “I’ll explain.”
“There is no need to explain,” Jeremiah snapped. “I must leave now. My wife and I have decided to bury my mother elsewhere. We fear her body might become contaminated, lying in this planet’s unworthy soil!”
With great dignity the Llanishai turned and marched out. He had made up his mind.
The President and Roi followed Jeremiah across the field, Roi practically dragging the big man along.
“I can explain everything,” he said desperately to the outraged Horke. “All I wanted to do was make you realize that the voters aren’t the highest law. You know deep down that those Llanishai deserve equality in all things. For hundreds of years they’ve been faithful friends to humanoidkind, and now you’re refusing to recognize them as beings worth as much as you are. I don’t know,” Roi said. “Maybe I’ve gotten out of touch with humanoidkind, living on this abandoned stellar boneyard. But it seems to me that the President of the Galaxy would realize things like this.”
They reached the Llanishai ship. President Horke remained stonily silent.
“I’m sorry I had to use force to make you give permission, sir, but you never would have listened if I hadn’t taken things into my own hands. If you only hadn’t given the show away, everything would be all right. Suppose the Llanishai did refuse to treat your son? He might be dead now.”
“I know,” Horke grunted. “Let’s go in.”
“Jeremiah!” Roi called. “We want to talk to you.”
“Go away,” came a gruff voice from the interior of the ship. “We’re packing.”
“No, come out!”
Jeremiah appeared. The Llanishai was agitated, and his tentacles moved back and forth frantically.
“Go ahead,” Roi urged. “Tell him you were wrong. Be noble.”
It was obviously hard for Horke, but Roi could see that the big man sensed the unfairness of the situation at last. “In the name of humanoidkind,” the President said after some hesitation, “I wish to apologize. Henceforth there shall be no distinction between humanoid and Llanishai,” he proclaimed pompously. “I’ll see to it when I get back to the Capital.”
“Go away. We’re leaving for Mars so I can bury my mother.”
Roi chewed at his lips. Now he had a new problem—he had to win back Jeremiah’s respect.
“Your mother should be buried on Earth,” the President said. “As a symbol of unity for all time to come.”
“Just a minute ago I was a liar and a blackmailer,” the puzzled Llanishai said.
“That was my doing,” said Roi. “I lied—in a good cause.
I was the one who made up the story that you wouldn’t come unless your request was granted.”
“But that was not right!” the Llanishai said.
“That’s something you have to learn,” Roi said. “Sometimes you have to do things that are not right, in order to achieve a higher end.”
“Just as I learned something too,” the President said.
“You’ll probably see to it that this whole affair is covered up so it doesn’t cost you votes,” Jeremiah said glumly.
“No, Jeremiah,” said the President. “I’ve learned.”
“We’ve all learned,” Roi said. He wiped his forehead; it had been a rough ten minutes.
“I’ve learned—not to trust anybody,” said Jeremiah.
“You’ll probably get votes out of this some way.”
“Trust us,” said Roi. He looked at Horke, who was sweating also.
Jeremiah’s eyes traveled slowly from one face to the other. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll trust you. Our peoples shall be friends.”
He placed one finely-muscled tentacle in Roi’s hand, and one in Horke’s. “We have all misunderstood.”
“But now misunderstandings are over,” Horke said. “The voters will have to learn too.”
“May we bury your mother?” Roi asked.
“It will make me very happy,” said Jeremiah, smiling.
Roi gave the signal, and the robots entered the ship to prepare for the burial.
