Initial commit of ebook 77357 filesHEADmain

1 files changed, 501 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/77357-0.txt b/77357-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f2dcf9a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/77357-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,501 @@
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77357 ***
+
+
+
+
+                                Testing
+
+                         by Jacques Jean Ferrat
+
+
+  The patriarch had the strength and courage of a young man. But only
+  the wisdom of the very old could prevent a terrible war.
+
+  _The ebullient author of_ NIGHTMARE TOWER _and_ WHEN THE WHITE RAIN
+  CAME _has done it again--achieved a near-miracle of reporting in the
+  wondrous bright purlieus of tomorrow. We’ve often wondered whether
+  Jacques Jean Ferrat actually travels into the future to observe its
+  liveliest attributes or simply peers through one of those remarkable
+  “peepholes in Time” which open up occasionally. Whatever his
+  technique, the results are delightful_.
+
+
+A terrestrial journalist once described the plight of a space pilot on
+a solo interstellar trip as being similar to that of a flea on one of
+the great stone dogs of Planet VI, Betelgeuse. All that vast expanse to
+plunder and no way of getting at it.
+
+To Echelon Leader Hannibal Pryor, the simile was apt. It was aggravated
+by the fact that he was an unwilling flea. If his chief and sponsor,
+Star Marshal Stefan Lopez, had not backed the losing side in the last
+Sirius IX plebescite, Pryor would have been piloting the immense
+star-battleship _Erebus_, from which the planet-buster was to be
+dropped. Instead, he had been assigned this miserable chore of checking
+Rigel IV, the planet scheduled for blasting.
+
+It was a job that should have gone to a mere ensign, not a veteran
+echelon leader with three comets on his breast. There was nothing to
+do. His survey route had been plotted in advance by the calculators
+that crammed the deck below and precision instruments did all the
+checking. If Rigel IV were habitable or inhabited, it would not have
+been selected for the test.
+
+The flying laboratory in which he sat would circle it twice, then
+return under automatic control to the dot in space, 3,000,000
+kilometers away, five o’clock vector, where ships of half the
+inhabited planets were gathering to watch the test.
+
+Wellington Smith, the new chief star marshal, had his own pet pilot for
+the big job. Hannibal Pryor, as one of Lopez’ top men, was out of the
+big picture.
+
+Flying the preliminary milk run! It made acid flow in his veins. And
+he was getting fat from punching out weird gastronomic combinations
+on the food-board. There was nothing to do but eat--and swill up the
+non-intoxicating drinks available through the dispenser.
+
+The way things stood, Pryor knew he’d be lucky if he made wing chief in
+ten years Earth-time. Once you were out of the big picture, it took a
+miracle to pull you back into focus.
+
+Idly, Pryor lowered his long dark-skinned body into the observer’s
+bucket, and watched the small golden dot that was Rigel IV swiftly
+enlarge itself on the screen. It took on a bluish tinge and acquired
+the fuzzy halo that denoted an atmosphere.
+
+The scientists, prodded by the political leaders of Sirius Sector, had
+selected for the sake of thoroughness a planet known to be habitable,
+though uninhabited, at least by human beings. The planet-buster had
+already been tested on the airless satellites of one of the dark stars.
+
+Without much interest, Pryor watched Rigel IV fill the screen,
+gradually become convex. He had landed on far too many worlds to
+be frightened by the effect of its falling upon him as he neared
+it. Half-subconsciously, he noted that the star-brakes were working
+perfectly.
+
+He felt the faint jar as the atmosphere engines took over from the
+star-drive. The little lights on the panel flared and flickered in
+proper sequence as the flying laboratory began its first circuit of a
+world that was soon to be blasted to stardust.
+
+Later, he realized that he must have dozed off. At any rate, he missed
+the flicker of green light at the left of the panel and it took the
+rasping electronic voice that unexpectedly called, “Pilot control,
+pilot control, pilot control,” to awaken him.
+
+He muttered, “_Diamede!_” in sheer disbelief, as he pushed the button
+that turned off the voice and took over the controls. It couldn’t
+possibly have happened and yet--the instruments were never wrong.
+
+Rigel IV was inhabited--by humans!
+
+As he brought the ship in along an ever-slowing parabola, Pryor pulled
+the outspeaker over in front of his mouth and said, “Lab Able calling
+_Erebus_, Lab Able calling _Erebus_. Locator shows humanity on Rigel
+Four, locator shows humanity on Rigel Four. Over.”
+
+He held course and watched the seconds tick by on the call chronometer.
+Eleven, twelve, thirteen ... thirty-five, thirty-six ... A burst of
+gibberish emerged from the inspeaker until he tuned the unscrambler
+and heard, “I hear you, Lab Able. Check for inhabitants and arrange
+immediate evacuation, check for inhabitants and arrange immediate
+evacuation. Report when assignment complete, report when assignment
+complete. Time is of the essence, time is of the essence. Over and out,
+over and out.”
+
+Pryor wrestled with temptation. If he put another message through,
+unscrambled, stating the situation, Interstellar Control monitors
+would inevitably pick it up. Interstellar Control was death on any
+interference with inhabited planets. Interstellar Control was already
+on record as being against the planet-buster test on a usable world.
+And not even the new chief star marshal was strong enough to buck IC.
+
+Pryor smiled and hummed a little Antarean tune as he slowed Lab Able to
+hovering speed. If he handled the situation adroitly, he should be able
+to get Marshal Lopez out of the doghouse--and, quite as important, one
+Echelon Leader Hannibal Pryor back in the big picture.
+
+According to the instruments, the humans on Rigel IV lived in a
+single small settlement in the south temperate zone of the planet,
+surprisingly close to the forbidding antarctic ice-cap.
+
+Pryor cut in distance-detail vision and blinked unbelievingly at a
+cluster of thatched roofs about a strangely familiar structure with
+a tall white pointed spire. The fields about the settlement, where
+they did not show cultivation, bore an odd pale purple hue. Beyond the
+village lay a long, narrow, twisting body of pale blue water.
+
+Pryor spotted a level spot that looked suitable for landing, clear of
+the tilled fields. His mocha colored fingers played the panel-buttons
+like the fingers of an organist ringing in stops, as he prepared Lab
+Able for its descent.
+
+Emerging from his ship, Pryor discovered that the pale purple fields
+were actually covered with a sort of low, tough shrubbery. It covered
+the sparsely-treed hills beyond the lake and seemed to fade into the
+deep misty blue of the afternoon sky.
+
+Although he had never seen a landscape like it, in all his roving over
+scores of planets, Pryor found it pleasant. A strong, cool wind whipped
+his weatherproof coverall against the backs of his legs. After the
+artificial atmosphere of Lab Able, the fresh air stung his nostrils
+pleasantly. And the smell of the pale purple shrubbery was sweet.
+
+He scrambled over a low barrier of uncut gray stone that marked the
+boundary of the field in which he had landed and found himself on
+a narrow road of ochre-hued dirt. He trudged along it, toward the
+village, and around a dipping bend met two men riding in a surface
+car of fantastically ancient vintage. If Pryor had not seen similar
+vehicles in his histofilm course at the academy, he would scarcely have
+known what it was. It actually ran on wheels with plastic rims.
+
+It pulled to a halt alongside him and the red-bearded patriarch sitting
+next to the young man at the controls, leapt spryly out and said in odd
+thick accents, “Welcome to Leith on Nevis, sir.”
+
+The older man had to repeat the greeting before Pryor found words.
+There was so much that was astonishing about him. First, his clothing.
+It consisted of stout shoes of what looked like real leather, long
+woven socks in brilliant diamond checks, a brief black jacket and a
+sort of skirt woven in a complex pattern of blue-and-green checks and
+kept from flaring in the wind by a heavy pouch of some sort of fur.
+
+A sort of blanket that matched the skirt was slung over his left
+shoulder and an odd-looking flat black bonnet, turned up on one side by
+an elaborate metal clip, had a headband of the same bright material.
+
+Second, his beard. For centuries, all male human children were given
+facial depilation shortly after birth, and as a result, the old man’s
+luxurious red growth looked both alarming and unsanitary. Third, his
+skin. It was like that of the young man engaged in turning the vehicle
+awkwardly about, a pale reddish pink that made Pryor conscious of his
+own dark normality.
+
+When he had recovered from his surprise at encountering such a strange
+specimen, Pryor returned his greeting and asked to be taken to the
+chief or leader of the community.
+
+The younger man, who had pulled up alongside again but facing the other
+way, said, “You’re speaking to the Dominie now, sir.” His accent was as
+alien and thick as that of the man with the beard. And his costume was
+similar save for minor details.
+
+On the way to the village, they had to halt while a flock of _baaa_ing
+gray sheep, tended by a husky-looking youngster and a long-haired
+black-and-white dog, crossed the dirt road. Pryor, who had never seen
+anything like them before, asked what they were, what they were for.
+
+The older man smiled and said, “Their wool supplies us with the
+clothing we wear. Their hides provide us with light leather. Their
+flesh provides us with meat for the table.”
+
+Pryor nodded, wishing he hadn’t asked. The idea of eating the flesh of
+living creatures--or recently living creatures--appalled him. He had an
+idea he wasn’t going to enjoy his dinner.
+
+The village, with its stone houses and thatched roofs reminded Pryor of
+a village in a fairy tale vidarfilm. He noted with growing amazement
+that all the inhabitants seemed to be fair of hair and skin, all wore
+the gay skirts and bonnets, regardless of sex. He was asked to alight
+in front of the largest house, one close by the stone church with its
+white wooden spire.
+
+The Dominie led him into a room of wholly unexpected comfort and
+applied flame to a pile of cut logs in a wide stone fireplace.
+
+This done, he produced two earthenware mugs and a stone bottle
+and said, “I doubt not but that your mission to Leith on Nevis is
+important. It is only fitting we indulge in a drop before we come to
+such matters.”
+
+The Dominie drained his mug without changing expression, but the
+innocent looking amber liquid made Pryor gasp. It seemed to burn his
+gullet and, seconds later, start a warming fire in his veins. When he
+could talk, he gasped, “What was that, Dominie?”
+
+“That,” said the older man, smiling through his beard, “is uisquebaugh,
+the water of life, known to the less ancient as whiskey.”
+
+“I’ve heard of it,” Pryor managed. He wondered if he weren’t dreaming
+the whole business, and shook himself mentally in an effort to awaken
+in the prosaic surroundings of Lab Able. But nothing changed.
+
+“I’m afraid,” he said, “I’ve brought you a problem, Dominie.” He
+wondered what the word meant. “I’ve got orders from headquarters,
+Sirius Sector to have this planet evacuated at once.”
+
+Courteously, the older man refilled Pryor’s mug, then poured more
+liquid fire into his own. He said, “And what is the alternative?”
+
+“There is no alternative,” Pryor replied bluntly. “In a matter of
+thirty-six hours, Earth-time, this little world is going to be blown to
+smithereens.”
+
+“I’ll say one thing for you, young man,” said the Dominie. “You don’t
+believe in beating about the bush.” He drained his mug once more, and
+added over its rim, “Is the universe at war?”
+
+“Not at present, I’m happy to say,” said Pryor.
+
+“Then I fear your errand is wasted,” said the other. “If there is no
+war, then we shall not evacuate. Even if there were, I should hesitate
+to uproot my people. They would have to leave so much of what they have
+wrought and love behind them.”
+
+“I assure you,” said Pryor, wondering just how stupid the patriarch
+was, “that you will receive ample compensation.”
+
+“Can you then arrange ample compensation for human hearts?” the old man
+asked.
+
+Pryor braced himself and drained his mug. To his surprise, the whiskey
+or whatever it was, went down smoothly. He said, “I’m afraid you don’t
+understand the situation, sir. This planet, Rigel Four, is the subject
+for testing of the deadliest new bomb ever made. The experiment is
+already under way. You and your people must evacuate. Of course, if our
+plotters had known of your existence--”
+
+“They’d have selected another world to blow up,” the Dominie finished
+for him. “I fear they’ll have to make the change anyway. Our title to
+this planet is quite clear and above-board. Allow me to show you.”
+
+He rose, crossed to a lovingly carved and polished cabinet, and
+withdrew not a vidiroll but some actual ancient documents, handed them
+to Pryor.
+
+Pryor looked at them with growing excitement. It was a planet charter,
+beyond question, granted some two centuries before by Interplanetary
+Control, the predecessor of Interstellar Control. It stated that Arnold
+MacRae, Ian Stephenson and Alexandra Hamilton had purchased, in goods,
+cash and services, the full rights to Rigel IV, hereafter to be known
+as Nevis. It added that the rights were to run in perpetuity, save only
+in the case of interstellar war and then only during the existence of a
+state of war.
+
+Somebody had slipped when Marshal Wellington Smith selected Rigel IV
+for his planet-busting test. Pryor suspected the listing of this world
+under Nevis, among the titled planets, rather than as Rigel IV among
+the untitled, plus the antiquity of the deal and the small size and
+isolation of the settlement, had caused the error.
+
+He stood up, noting that the floor seemed to slant where it had been
+level when he entered. He said, “There’s been a serious error, I fear.
+Can you have me driven to my ship at once? I must report it while there
+is still time.”
+
+“Certainly, young man,” said the Dominie, rising.
+
+Back in Lab Able, Pryor ran his hands over his face, which felt
+unreasonably hot. He punched in the outspeaker, called the _Erebus_ and
+explained the situation. At its conclusion, he added innocently, “Shall
+I call in Interstellar for checking and aid? Over.”
+
+He had to wait almost half an hour, Earth-time, for the reply to come
+through. In the meantime, he could picture the consternation among the
+smug brass hats on the flagship. He hummed the Antarean ditty again,
+feeling strangely relaxed and comfortable.
+
+Finally it came through. When he got it unscrambled, it was orders to
+sit tight while higher authority dealt with the situation. He signed
+off, chuckling, and went back outside to the ancient surface-car, where
+the young man and a young woman were waiting for him. He had left
+the message recorder on, resolved to return in two hours for further
+orders. If there were none, he was going to call in IC. Come what
+might, he was back in the big picture with a vengeance.
+
+When they reached the Dominie’s house, the girl said, “When you’re
+through eating, perhaps you’ll come to the kirk vestry. We’ll be having
+a small dance.”
+
+He looked at her more closely and, in spite of the rosy and unnatural
+whiteness of her skin, noted that she was comely. He resolved to visit
+the kirk vestry as soon as politeness would permit, whatever a kirk
+vestry might be.
+
+He drank more of the Dominie’s uisquebaugh before dinner and found
+himself asking, “Pardon me, sir, but would you answer one question?”
+And, at the older man’s nod, “Why are you so few?”
+
+“We are few by choice,” was the reply. “Our forefathers long ago left
+Earth for Proxima Centauri Seven, in one of the earliest migrations, to
+escape overcrowding. My people and I like room to breathe in, room to
+roam and work without restriction. When PC Seven grew too crowded, we
+pooled our resources and purchased this world. In those days, planets
+such as this were cheap enough. The Control was glad to have them
+settled. Since then, we have limited our numbers to avoid a repetition
+of what went before.”
+
+Thinking of a life spent in the crowded cities of crowded planets or
+in the cramped quarters of starships, Pryor understood. It had been in
+search of space and freedom that he had joined the service--only to
+exchange urban jamming for the prisons of strict discipline and limited
+space.
+
+“You’ve created a dream,” Pryor said.
+
+The Dominie put down his empty mug and said gravely, “Don’t think
+it’s been easy. Adapting to the most hospitable alien world is a
+backbreaking job. But we’ve never been afraid of work.”
+
+“I can see that,” said Pryor, feeling oddly useless. He wondered how he
+would fare without buttons to push, circuits to serve him.
+
+The Dominie’s wife, a tall, handsome woman with the frame of a
+percheron, appeared and announced that dinner was ready. Thanks to
+the whiskey, or perhaps to his absorption in his exotic surroundings,
+Pryor found himself actually eating meat--and actually enjoying it.
+The mutton was crisp and black on the outside, tender and pink in the
+center, and the vegetables and fruits served with it constituted a rich
+new experience.
+
+During the meal, the Dominie’s wife said, “Tell me, Mr. Pryor, if the
+universe is not at war, why do they wish to blow up our planet?”
+
+Pryor explained as best he could--and, unexpectedly, he seemed to be
+thinking and expressing himself more clearly than ever before. He told
+them about the rise of the aggressive elements in Sirius Sector, about
+the plebescite that had put Wellington Smith in power.
+
+“They’re fretting under the restrictions of IC,” he said, “and they’re
+seeking to gather sufficient strength to obtain concessions. As long as
+they remain within IC limits, they can’t be touched.”
+
+The Dominie said quietly, “It’s the same dreadful story, Mary. Too many
+people, too many unhappy people, restlessness, conspiracy, war. This
+time the whole universe will suffer.” Then, to Pryor, “But if your Star
+Marshal obliterates an inhabited IC planet, he’ll be in trouble, will
+he not?”
+
+“If he should dare do such a thing--and I feel sure he won’t,” said
+Pryor, “he’ll be as good as ruined.” For some reason he added, as an
+afterthought, “That is, if IC hears of it.”
+
+“I see,” said the patriarch, nodding thoughtfully.
+
+His wife said, “There’s a dance in the kirk vestry this evening, Mr.
+Pryor. I hope you’ll be in attendance. Naturally, you’ll honor us by
+being our guest overnight.”
+
+Pryor found the kirk vestry without trouble. It was an extension of the
+big building with the white spire and less than fifty meters from the
+Dominie’s house. He intended merely to get someone to drive him to his
+ship and get his message out. But when he heard the shrill, rhythmic
+combination of bagpipes and fiddle, something stirred deep in his
+ancestral memory and he forgot about all else.
+
+He danced with the girl of the surface-car and she showed him the steps
+of the strange dances and his feet had magic in them. He laughed with
+the men and drank more of the whiskey and the night became a golden
+whirl of primitive excitement such as he had never known. He needed the
+help of two of the young men to get him back to the Dominie’s house,
+where he was undressed and put into a soft warm object they called a
+bed.
+
+He knew no more until the concussion of the explosion brought him
+sharply out of his drunken slumber. Although his tongue was thick with
+fur and his head rattled as if it were filled with dried pebbles, he
+woke up sober.
+
+Through the bedroom window, he saw the flickering brilliance of the
+exploded bomb mounting slowly toward the stars. He turned and, with a
+strange sickness in his stomach, scrambled into his clothing. Outside,
+he could hear the little community coming to life.
+
+He hadn’t believed they would do it. When he got out of the vehicle,
+he saw an odd little mound of molten metal where Lab Able had stood in
+silver serenity a few minutes earlier. Silently, he cursed the ruthless
+militarists who were going to blast Rigel IV to dust, and cursed his
+own irresponsibility for not sending the message that would have put a
+halt to their plans.
+
+Somebody said in the odd accent that was already becoming familiar,
+“What happened, Mr. Pryor?”
+
+Pryor thought fast though his head ached badly. He said, “I fear the
+drive fuel reached critical mass. It happens once in a hundred thousand
+times.” It hadn’t, it couldn’t, but how could he tell them they were as
+good as dead?
+
+And himself with them, of course. But he didn’t waste time thinking
+about that.
+
+When he got back to the Dominie’s house, the wife greeted him gravely.
+She wore a soft wool robe, and her hair was in odd wisps of paper, and
+he could tell by the way she looked at him that she knew.
+
+“Where can I find the Dominie?” he asked.
+
+“He’s in the basement of the kirk,” she said in her soft untroubled
+voice. “He asked me to ask you to join him there.”
+
+“Thanks, ma’am,” Pryor replied. There was nothing more to say.
+
+The light was dim in the basement. The place smelled of age and
+dampness. But there was machinery there, a vast pile of it, and the
+Dominie was fussing around it, wearing a frown.
+
+“Ho, there, Pryor,” he said. “So they blew up your ship?”
+
+“They blew her up,” said Pryor grimly. “I never thought they’d dare. If
+only I hadn’t made an idiot of myself at the dance, I’d--”
+
+The Dominie cut him off with, “It’s a bit late for regrets, young man.
+Come see if we can get this blasted communicator working.”
+
+Pryor’s heart leapt. For a moment, he thought he was gaining a
+reprieve. Then he saw the age and condition of the old set--it was at
+least a century old--and realized they’d be lucky to get a message out
+at all before the big one blew them to nothingness.
+
+“Come on, Dominie,” he said, “let’s have that wrench.”
+
+They worked through the short night and into the morning that followed.
+The Dominie’s wife brought them a strange herb brew she called tea,
+that reinvigorated them. She said, to Pryor, “Sheila and the other
+girls are very excited. They believe you’ll be staying a while now.
+You’ll be the first stranger in many years.”
+
+Pryor wiped his brow grimly and said, “Well, I’ll be here as long as
+any of them, I guess.”
+
+“Then there’s no hope?” the Dominie asked quietly over his tea.
+
+“Oh, we’ll get a message out to the IC,” said Pryor. “We’re almost
+ready to send. But it will be too late. The bomb is already on its
+way.”
+
+“Come on then,” said the Dominie, handing his tea back to his wife.
+“Let’s waste no time.”
+
+They got the message out, before the reddish sun reached the Meridian.
+And Pryor said grimly, “That makes their second mistake. They should
+have blasted the town last night, not just my ship. Their first mistake
+was in selecting this planet.” He looked about him at the placid, happy
+scene, and suppressed a heaving sob.
+
+The Dominie put a firm hand on his shoulder and said, “Perhaps it’s
+best this way. Perhaps this is why we are here, to prevent the most
+terrible war of all. After all, there aren’t many of us against those
+who would die if your marshal got his way.”
+
+Pryor said, his eyes shining with admiration, “You’re a great man,
+Dominie--and a brave one.”
+
+“Let’s just say an old one,” said the patriarch. “And now, since we
+have so little time, let’s you and I walk to the edge of the loch and
+look at the hills on the other side. It’s a lovely view.”
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+
+  This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, March 1956 (Vol. 5,
+  No. 2.). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the
+  U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
+
+  Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but
+  minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77357 ***