Collected Short Fiction, page 470
“No!”
“That’s what the report says. I don’t believe it either—dammit, I don’t want to believe it. But according to the captain, Lidman’s been taking stuff from the medical stores, harmless stuff by our reckoning but viciously narcotic to the aliens. And I’ve checked back through Lidman’s requisition sheets of the last few years, and damned if he hasn’t been requesting particularly heavy supplies of medical goods.”
Garth moistened his lips nervously. The idea of a company man doing a thing like that was almost unbelievable to him. He was aware of the gulf between Earthman and alien, a gulf that should never be bridged by any kind of criminal action.
KINGSLEY went on, “So this is where you enter the picture, Garth. You’re being shipped out to Danneroi on the next pickup vessel.”
“As Lidman’s replacement?”
“Ah—no. As his assistant.”
“Assistant, sir?”
“That’s right. We can’t fire Lidman on mere suspicion; we need proof. So we’re sending you out as an observer, to keep an eye on Lidman and report back to us. Lidman has been notified that his planet has been upgraded from a one-nun to a two-man post, and that an assistant will be on the way soon.”
“And what if I find he’s actually guilty of giving drugs to the natives?”
“You’ll notify us, and we’ll remove him from his post. You’ll replace him as our Danneroi man. It’ll involve a substantial salary raise, you understand.”
“And I’ll pet an assistant?”
“Ah—no. You’ll be on your own out there, just as Lidman is now.”
“But I thought you said the the planet was being upgraded to two-man status,” Garth protested mildly.
Kingsley shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s simply the excuse we’re giving Lidman for sending you to him. The planet isn’t quite in the two-man class yet. It won’t be for another five or ten years, perhaps.”
“So if Lidman’s guilty I’ll be out there on my own all that time,” Garth said thoughtfully.
Kingsley looked suspicious. “Do you object to taking on a one-man assignment, Mr. Garth?”
“No—not at all,” Garth said hastily. “Not really, that is. It’s simply that—coming from Lorphar, a ten-man planet—I hadn’t considered the possibility that my next assignment would be—”
“I see. I wish this company had enough money to make every world of the galaxy a ten-man station. It can’t be done, though.”
“Of course.” A new thought occurred to Garth. “What happens to me if Lidman isn’t guilty?”
“If you think he’s fit to continue operations.” Kingsley said, “he’ll be left on duty and you’ll be transferred elsewhere. With a bonus and a promotion, let me add.”
Garth nodded. He did not question the company’s plans for him. The loneliness of a one-man station was not quite what he had hoped to gain, but others had done such jobs before him, and if the company asked it of him he would comply. And though he didn’t care to serve as a company spy, still, drugging the natives was a despicable act that deserved punishment.
Dave Garth was an honorable man. He was loyal to his company and to the greater case of Terran civilization, besides, running a one-man station would be a challenge to him. Perhaps in the course of time he could build Danneroi up into a commercial center of two-man or even three-man status—with himself as top man, of course. It was a distinct possibility. Although Lidman had been out there thirty years, and in all that time he had failed to increase Danneroi’s status beyond one-man rank.
Garth stood up. “When do I leave, sir?”
CHAPTER II
GARTH left Earth four days later, aboard the merchant cargoman China Coast, a ten-tube subwarp ship bound for the Sorgal System, but stopping off first for the quarterly pickup on Danneroi.
The network of interstellar trade relations was fantastically complex. Presiding over the whole enterprise was the monstrous computer at Buenos Aires, which filled three cubic miles of Argentinan soil with its rows of cryotronic elements, and which plotted the course of star-to-star trade like a giant spider brooding over its web. Earth was the core of the trade system. It sent scouts to each planet to determine what, if anything, that planet had that another world might use. Then trading posts were set up, pickup ships routed, trade relations established.
And so the raw thorium mined on Danneroi was shipped on to the Sorgal System, to be purified and worked into tiny power-sources, and other Terran ships would carry the power-sources to still other worlds which lacked natural radioactives themselves.
The Danneroi inhabitants would be paid for their thorium in goods from some other world; the Sorgal craftsmen extracted their profit too.
But in each transaction the real beneficiary was Earth, which took a minute fraction of the price as its share. That minute fraction, multiplied by the thousands of worlds of the universe, made the whole vast operation worthwhile; it turned Earth into the wealthiest world in the galaxy, growing wealthier with each passing instant.
But the essence of such an operation was impeccable honesty. Men like Dave Garth were needed for the job, men who had a code of honor and lived by it. There was no room in the Interstellar Merchant Service for the likes of an Anton Lidman.
The journey to Danneroi lasted ten days, by subwarp drive. The China Coast ducked into the blank void that was the subuniverse, threaded a Riemannian geodesic through the distorted and inconceivably alien dimensions of that subuniverse, and emerged in the “real” universe several thousand light-years away.
The mathematics of interstellar travel had taken four generations of solid work: even the giant computers had nearly given the job up as impossible.
Still, it had been worked out at last—and since Earth was the only world that had ever been able to solve the intricacies of subuniverse travel, Earth held a monopoly on interstellar commerce.
It was more than a monopoly, thought Garth. It was a sacred trust. That was why men like Anton Lidman had to be rooted out.
The China Coast carried a cargo of items desired by the Danneroians: revolving mirrors, sewing kits, cosmetics, and the like. There was no use paying the aliens for their thorium in money, for they had no use for money. But gadgetry? That was something else altogether. They were a technologically undeveloped race, and valued such things highly.
That was the principle on which Interstellar Merchant Service worked. Value for money; but the value was strictly subjective. A pound of solid gold was utterly useless to a Danneroian; a revolving mirror had real value.
And so to pay for their thorium with gold was absurd, but they would dig their hearts out for mirrors. No one was being cheated in such an arrangement.
THE China Coast touched down at the base clearing on Danneroi in mid-afternoon on April 25, 2412, Galactic Standard Calendar. In his thirty years, Lidman had obviously worked steadily on improving the landing facilities at his trading post. A broad concrete landing area three thousand feet square had been cleared away in the heart of the jungle; Eidman broadcast a landing-signal and the China Coast made a perfect touchdown, square in the middle of the area.
A gong sounded within the ship, letting Garth know the landing had been successful. He was the only passenger, though there were eight crewmen, three to handle the complicated sub warp space transitions and the other five as cargo handlers.
He snapped off the nullgrav shield that had protected him during the period of deceleration and made his way out of the ship.
Although he had been in the Merchant Service five years, he had never failed to experience that tingling moment of anticipation just before he stepped out onto the soil of a new world, under an alien sun.
Danneroi was a Plus Point Two world; that meant that its similarity to Earth was rated at 1.2. Any planet with a rating between .5 and 2.5 was considered Earthtype; beyond that, special skills were necessary for survival, and Garth was not eligible for work on such worlds yet. He stepped from the ship.
Two natives were ready to help him as he made his way down the short catwalk from the exit hatch. Although Garth had studied up on the world, he stared closely at the aliens, feeling as always the impact of realizing once again that the universe was full of strange life-forms, many of them potentially able to reach Earth’s own level of civilization one day.
The Danneroians were humanoid beings. They stood shoulder-high to Garth’s six-foot height. Their bodies were slim and symmetrical, their limbs tapering, their fingers slightly webbed. Danneroi was a watery world, and these beings looked like good swimmers, streamlined for speed. They had no hair anywhere on their bluish-purple bodies, and they wore only loincloths.
There was a vaguely oriental slant to their eyes, caused by a fold of flesh that probably protected them under water.
In a soft throaty voice the alien to his left said, “You are Boss Garth?”
“That’s right.” Garth was a little startled to find the aliens speaking English, though on second thought he considered that in his thirty years on Danneroi Lidman had probably taught many of them the language.
“Boss Lidman is waiting for you down there,” the other alien said. “We will take you to him.”
Garth nodded and looked around. The sun, high overhead, was veiled by murky gray clouds, but the air was hot nonetheless. The section of Danneroi chosen for the trading post was tropical in climate.
Other parts, according to the survey report Garth had been given, ranged all the way up to better than 200 degrees in temperature, and the lakes bubbled and steamed. Here the average temperature was more manageable: a steady muggy 85-100.
Garth was used to hot worlds. His second assignment, Dwylliar, had had a mean temperature of 110. But that had been dry heat, desert heat. He wondered how he was going to like the humidity here.
Lidman seemed to have done a good job of building up the station. There was a large prefab at the edge of the landing field that was undoubtedly the trading post itself: next to it were three smaller blockhouses that looked as if they had been built by local labor.
The jungle had been trimmed back, and Garth saw wide roads extending radially our from the trading post area into the jungle.
Whatever sins Lidman might have fallen into lately, he had certainly done a competent job of setting up the trading outpost. Garth immediately felt less bitter toward the man. He respected competence.
And his enthusiasm for the Merchant Service was fired anew by what he saw here. It was, after all, a creative job: to carve from raw jungle a landing area, to build roads, teach the natives, establish trade relations, win their confidence and their trust. Lidman seemed to have done an excellent job. If only he hadn’t spoiled it by breaking regulations—
GARTH’S reflections were interrupted. A short, stocky man was coming toward him from the trading post building a few hundred yards away.
Garth studied him closely. He was a man in his late sixties, perhaps even early seventies, but he looked rugged and capable. He wore only shorts and a tropical helmet, and his body was still muscular, lean, tanned. Only when you looked at his face could you see the inroads of age. His hair, cropped close to his head, had whitened—even his eyebrows. His face was deeply lined, his thin lips drawn downward in a probably perpetual scowl. And his eyes—they were almost depressing in their sadness, Garth thought. They were deep, sharp, brooding eyes. The eyes of a man who has lived a long time, and who has worked hard.
The eyes, thought Garth, of a man who has done wrong and who knows it.
Extending his hand, Garth said, “You must be Anton Lidman.”
Lidman ignored the hand. In a harsh, almost ra-ping voice he said, “Of course I am. Who the hell are you, youngster?”
Garth had to struggle to keep his voice calm, he said. “My name is Dave Garth. Didn’t the company tell you I was coming?”
“Let’s see your credentials.”
Silently Garth took his papers out and passed them over to the older man. He was surprised by the gruffness of his welcome, but as he thought it over he realized it was only to be expected. Thirty years of solitude, thirty years alone on this hothouse planet. might do things to anybody’s temper.
Lidman flipped rapidly through the papers and handed them back. He had hardly looked at them: it was obvious that he simply was demonstrating his irritability by demanding them.
Lidman stepped back and sized Garth up. “So you’re my new assistant, eh? How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“I was thirty-five when they sent me out here. That was back in ’81. You weren’t even alive in ’81, were you? Maybe your parents weren’t even married then. And all that time while you were being born and growing up and joining the company, I’ve been out here on Danneroi.” Lidman’s wiry face contorted bitterly. “Hell with all that. What’s your previous experience?”
“Five years in outworld service,” Garth said. “Nuril, Dwylliar, Cosgrove, and Lorphar. I was Routing Assistant for a year and a half on Lorphar before I was assigned here.”
Lidman grunted. “Okay, Garth. You’re officially welcomed to Danneroi. Damned if I know why the central office thinks this planet needs a two-man station, but as long as you’re here I’ll find some work for you. Can you swim?”
“Fairly well.”
“You’ll get plenty of practice here. The natives are great ones for swimming.” Lidman abruptly started to walk away. “You go amuse yourself for a while. I have to supervise the cargo transfer.”
HE stumped away across the field, leaving Garth standing alone. Over by the ship, unloading was taking place; the ship’s cargo of trinkets and gewgaws was being carried into the nearest blockhouse. When that was done, the three-month accumulation of thorium would be loaded aboard, and the China Coast would blast off for the Sorgal System.
Garth wandered downfield to the trading-post. It was a two-story building; a couple of natives lounged out in front, dozing in the hot afternoon sun. Garth estimated the temperature at close to 100, and the humidity was in the same region.
A moist haze seemed to hang over everything on this planet. Droning blue-eyed flies the size of small birds whizzed through the muggy air. The jungle ringed the trading-post in; the sight of a spaceship out there on the landing-field was strikingly incongruous on this primitive world.
Garth glanced uneasily toward the bordering jungle. On a tropical world like this, it was expectable that unpleasant animals lurked out there. He didn’t intend to venture into that jungle any more often than his work required him to.
The unloading job took twenty minutes, loading half an hour more. It was late afternoon by the time the clear-the-field signal shrilled out and the China Coast rose upward on its rocket boosters. Garth stood on the porch of the trading outpost and watched the ship depart. Moments later he heard footsteps, and Anton Lidman appeared, followed by a few of the natives who had helped out in the unloading job.
Lidman said, “Usually the shipmen stick around for a day or two, but they were in a hurry this time. Damnably tight schedule, or something. Well, come on. Garth. I’ll show you where you’ll stay.”
As Garth reached for his luggage, Lidman quickly stepped in front of him to block the gesture. The older man said, “The natives can take care of that. Garth. They enjoy helping out that way. Don’t spoil their pleasure.”
Garth shrugged and followed Lidman up the stairs of the trading post building, with two natives following behind with his luggage. On the upper story, Lidman turned off to his left and indicated a small room with a cot and a rickety dresser in it.
“This is your place,” Lidman said.
Garth nodded He hadn’t expected luxury, not on a world that had been a one-man station for so long. Lidman handed him a spraygun and said, “This is for the bugs. Give the place a good spraying every morning when you get up, and at night when you sack out. Don’t trust the houseboy to do the job; unless you like bugs crawling around your room, take care of it yourself.”
“Right.”
“Toilet facilities are down the hall. My room is all the way down there to the right. Downstairs is strictly for business. I’ll brief you on your duties in the morning. No sense bothering now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Couple more things. You bring a hat with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Make sure you wear it all the time. The cloud blanket is pretty thick on this planet, but the sun comes through it stronger than hell anyway, and a day running around bareheaded can kill you. Second thing is, meals are on time round here. I have a native cook who’s pretty good. If you have any allergies of stuff like that, talk to her about it. Any other questions?”
Garth tightened. “Yes, sir. In case of accident—where are the medical supplies kept?”
Lidman’s eyes seemed to narrow a little, as if in suspicion. “For various reasons which may become plain to you later, I keep the medical stores under lock and key. If you need anything, come to me.”
“Suppose you’re not around?”
“I’ll be around, Mr. Garth. Don’t worry about that. Clear?”
CHAPTER III
THE next few days were busy ones for Garth. He installed himself in his little room, began the job of getting himself accustomed to the perpetually muggy climate, and hid very carefully the small subradio transmitter he had been given for filing his secret reports. His room door did not lock, so it was necessary for him to hide the transmitter with great care indeed.
Lidman, as head of the outpost, had his own transmitter, but Garth was under orders to file his reports secretly, and that meant not using the base radio. He hid the tiny device under his discarded overcoat. The second day he discovered that his room had been searched, and he wondered whether Lidman had discovered the transmitter.
He settled into the routine of life on Danneroi. At first sleeping was difficult; the planet had five moons, and at least one of them was full at all times, so bright light streamed into his room every night, making sleeping even harder than it normally would have been in such a climate.
