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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 *** |