Complete Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks) Read online

“And essences of perfume!” said Toll. “Everyone brought one bottle of their own, so that’s eight thousand three hundred and twenty-three bottles of perfume essences—all different!”

  “Perfume!” said the captain.

  “Fine, fine—but you really shouldn’t.”

  “And the rest of it,” Toll concluded happily, “is the green Lepti liquor you like so much, and the Wintenberry jellies!” She frowned. “I forget just how many jugs and jars,” she admitted, “but there were a lot. It’s all loaded now. And do you think you’ll be able to sell all that?” she smiled.

  “I certainly can!” the captain said stoutly. “It’s wonderful stuff, and there’s nothing like it in the Empire.”

  Which was very true. They wouldn’t have considered miffelfurs for lining on Karres. But if he’d been alone he would have felt like he wanted to burst into tears.

  The witches couldn’t have picked more completely unsalable items if they’d tried! Furs, cosmetics, food and liquor—he’d be shot on sight if he got caught trying to run that kind of merchandise into the Empire. For the same reason that they couldn’t use it on Nikkeldepain—they were that scared of contamination by goods that came from uncleared worlds!

  He breakfasted alone next morning. Toll had left a note beside his plate, which explained in a large, not too legible script that she had to run off and catch the Leewit; and that if he was gone before she got back she was wishing him good-by and good luck.

  He smeared two more buns with Wintenberry jelly, drank a large mug of cone-seed coffee, finished every scrap of the omelet of swan hawk eggs and then, in a state of pleasant repletion, toyed around with his slice of roasted Bollem liver.

  Boy, what food! He must have put on fifteen pounds since he landed on Karres.

  He wondered how Toll kept that sleek figure.

  Regretfully, he pushed himself away from the table, pocketed her jaote for a souvenir, and went out on the porch. There a tear-stained Maleen hurled herself into his arms.

  “Oh, captain!” she sobbed. “You’re leaving—”

  “Now, now!” the captain murmured, touched and surprised by the lovely child’s grief. He patted her shoulders soothingly. “I’ll be back,” he said rashly.

  “Oh, yes, do come back!” cried Maleen. She hesitated and added: “I become marriageable two years from now. Karres time—”

  “Well, well,” said the captain, dazed. “Well, now—”

  He set off down the path a few minutes later, with a strange melody tinkling in his head. Around the first curve, it changed abruptly to a shrill keening which seemed to originate from a spot some two hundred feet before him. Around the next curve, he entered a small, rocky clearing full of pale, misty, early-morning sunlight and what looked like a slow-motion fountain of gleaming rainbow globes. These turned out to be clusters of large, vari-hued soap bubbles which floated up steadily from a wooden tub full of hot water, soap, and the Leewit. Toll was bent over the tub; and the Leewit was objecting to a morning bath, with only that minimum of interruptions required to keep her lungs pumped full of a fresh supply of air.

  As the captain paused beside the little family group, her red, wrathful face came up over the rim of the tub and looked at him.

  “Well, Ugly,” she squealed, in a renewed outburst of rage, “who you staring at?” Then a sudden determination came into her eyes. She pursed her lips.

  Toll up-ended her promptly and smacked the Leewit’s bottom.

  “She was going to make some sort of a whistle at you,” she explained hurriedly. “Perhaps you’d better get out of range while I can keep her head under. And good luck, captain!”

  Karres seemed even more deserted than usual this morning. Of course, it was quite early. Great banks of fog lay here and there among the huge dark trees and the small bright houses. A breeze sighed sadly far overhead. Faint, mournful bird-cries came from still higher up—it could have been swan hawks reproaching him for the omelet.

  Somewhere in the distance, somebody tootled on a wood-instrument, very gently.

  He had gone halfway up the path to the landing field, when something buzzed past him like an enormous wasp and went CLUNK! into the bole of a tree just before him.

  It was a long, thin, wicked-looking arrow. On its shaft was a white card; and on the card was printed in red letters:

  STOP, MAN OF NIKKELDEPAIN!

  The captain stopped and looked around slowly and cautiously. There was no one in sight. What did it mean?

  He had a sudden feeling as if all of Karres were rising up silently in one stupendous, cool, foggy trap about him. His skin began to crawl. What was going to happen?

  “Ha-ha!” said Goth, suddenly visible on a rock twelve feet to his left and eight feet above him. “You did stop!”

  The captain let his breath out slowly.

  “What else did you think I’d do?” he inquired. He felt a little faint.

  She slid down from the rock like a lizard and stood before him. “Wanted to say good-by!” she told him.

  Thin and brown, in jacket, breeches, boots, and cap of gray-green rock-lichen color, Goth looked very much in her element. The brown eyes looked up at him steadily; the mouth smiled faintly; but there was no real expression on her face at all. There was a quiverful of those enormous arrows slung over her shoulder, and some arrow-shooting gadget—not a bow—in her left hand.

  She followed his glance.

  “Bollem hunting up the mountain,” she explained. “The wild ones. They’re better meat—”

  The captain reflected a moment. That’s right, he recalled; they kept the tame Bollem herds mostly for milk, butter, and cheese. He’d learned a lot of important things about Karres, all right!

  “Well,” he said, “good-by, Goth!”

  They shook hands gravely. Goth was the real Witch of Karres, he decided—more so than her sisters, more so even than Toll. But he hadn’t actually learned a single thing about any of them.

  Peculiar people!

  He walked on, rather glumly.

  “Captain!” Goth called after him. He turned.

  “Better watch those take-offs,” Goth called, “or you’ll kill yourself yet!”

  The captain cussed softly all the way up to the Venture.

  And the take-off was terrible! A few swan hawks were watching but, he hoped, no one else.

  V.

  There wasn’t the remotest possibility, of course, of resuming direct trade in the Empire with the cargo they’d loaded for him. But the more he thought about it now, the less likely it seemed that Councilor Onswud was going to let a genuine fortune slip through his hands on a mere technicality of embargoes. Nikkeldepain knew all the tricks of interstellar merchandising; and the councilor himself was undoubtedly the slickest unskinned miffel in the Republic.

  More hopefully, the captain began to wonder whether some sort of trade might not be made to develop eventually between Karres and Nikkeldepain, Now and then, he also thought of Maleen growing marriageable two years hence, Karres time. A handful of witch-notes went tinkling through his head whenever that idle reflection occurred.

  The calendric chronometer informed him he’d spent three weeks there. He couldn’t remember how their year compared with the standard one.

  He found he was getting remarkably restless on this homeward run; and it struck him for the first time that space travel could also be nothing much, more than a large hollow period of boredom. He made a few attempts to resume his sessions of small-talk with Illyla, via her picture; but the picture remained aloof.

  The ship seemed unnaturally quiet now—that was the trouble! The captain’s cabin, particularly, and the hall leading past it had become as dismal as a tomb.

  But at long last, Nikkeldepain II swam up on the screen ahead. The captain put the Venture 7333 on orbit, and broadcast the ship’s identification number. Half an hour later, Landing Control called him. He repeated the identification number, and added the ship’s name, his name, owner’s name, place of origin and nat
ure of cargo.

  The cargo had to be described in detail.

  “Assume Landing Orbit 21,203 on your instruments,” Landing Control instructed him. “A customs ship will come out to inspect.”

  He went on the assigned orbit and gazed moodily from the vision ports at the flat continents and oceans of Nikkeldepain II as they drifted by below. A sense of equally flat depression overcame him unexpectedly. He shook it oil and remembered Illyla.

  Three hours later, a ship ran up next to him; and he shut off the orbital drive. The communicator began buzzing. He switched it on.

  “Vision, please!” said an official-sounding voice. The captain frowned, located the vision-stud of the communicator screen and pushed it down. Four faces appeared in vague outline on the screen, looking at him.

  “Illyla!” the captain said.

  “At least,” young Councilor Rapport said unpleasantly, “he’s brought back the ship, Father Onswud!”

  “Illyla!” said the captain.

  Councilor Onswud said nothing. Neither did Illyla. They both seemed to be staring at him, but the screen wasn’t good enough to permit the study of expression in detail.

  The fourth face, an unfamiliar one above a uniform collar, was the one with the official-sounding voice.

  “You are instructed to open the forward lock, Captain Pausert,” it said, “for an official investigation.”

  It wasn’t till he was releasing the outer lock to the control room that the captain realized it wasn’t Customs who had sent a boat out to him, but the police of the Republic.

  However, he hesitated for only a moment. Then the outer lock gaped wide.

  He tried to explain. They wouldn’t listen. They had come on board in contamination-proof repulsor suits, all four of them; and they discussed the captain as if he weren’t there. Illyla looked pale and angry and beautiful, and avoided looking at him.

  However, he didn’t want to speak to her before the others anyway.

  They strolled back to the storage and gave the Karres cargo a casual glance.

  “Damaged his lifeboat, too!” Councilor Rapport remarked.

  They brushed past him down the narrow hallway and went back to the control room. The policeman asked to see the log and commercial records. The captain produced them.

  The three men studied them briefly. Illyla gazed stonily out at Nikkeldepain II.

  “Not too carefully kept!” the policeman pointed out.

  “Surprising he bothered to keep them at all!” said Councilor Rapport.

  “But it’s all clear enough!” said Councilor Onswud.

  They straightened up then and faced him in a line. Councilor Onswud folded his arms and projected his craggy chin. Councilor Rapport stood at ease, smiling faintly. The policeman became officially rigid.

  Illyla remained off to one side, looking at the three.

  “Captain Pausert,” the policeman said, “the following charges—substantiated in part by this preliminary investigation—are made against you—”

  “Charges?” said the captain.

  “Silence, please!” rumbled Councilor Onswud.

  “First: material theft of a quarter-million value of maels of jewels and jeweled items from a citizen of the Imperial Planet of Porlumma—”

  “They were returned!” the captain protested.

  “Restitution, particularly when inspired hy fear of retribution, does not affect the validity of the original charge,” Councilor Rapport quoted, gazing at the ceiling.

  “Second,” continued the policeman. “Purchase of human slaves, permitted under Imperial law but prohibited by penalty of ten years to lifetime penal servitude by the laws of the Republic of Nikkeldepain—”

  “I was just taking them back where they belonged!” said the captain.

  “We shall get to that point presently,” the policeman replied. “Third, material theft of sundry items in the value of one hundred and eighty thousand maels from a ship of the Imperial Planet of Lepper, accompanied by threats of violence to the ship’s personnel—”

  “I might add in explanation of the significance of this particular charge,” added Councilor Rapport, looking at the floor, “that the Regency of Sirius, containing Lepper, is allied to the Republic of Nikkeldepain by commercial and military treaties of considerable value. The Regency has taken the trouble to point out that such hostile conduct by a citizen of the Republic against citizens of the Regency is likely to have an adverse effect on the duration of the treaties. The charge thereby becomes compounded by the additional charge of a treasonable act against the Republic—”

  He glanced at the captain. “I believe we can forestall the accused’s plea that these pdfered goods also were restored. They were, in the face of superior force!”

  “Fourth,” the policeman went on patiently, “depraved and licentious conduct while acting as commercial agent, to the detriment of your employer’s business and reputation—”

  “WHAT?” choked the captain, “—involving three of the notorious Witches of the Prohibited Planet of Karres—”

  “Just like his great-uncle Threbus!” nodded Councilor Onswud gloomily. “It’s in the blood, I always say!”

  “—and a justifiable suspicion of a prolonged stay on said Prohibited Planet of Karres—”

  “I never heard of that place before this trip!” shouted the captain.

  “Why don’t you read your Instructions and Regulations then?” shouted Councilor Rapport. “It’s all there!”

  “Silence, please!” shouted Councilor Onswud.

  “Fifth,” said the policeman quietly, “general willful and negligent actions resulting in material damage and loss to your employer to the value of eighty-two thousand maels.”

  “I’ve still got fifty-five thousand. And the stuff in the storage,” the captain said, also quietly, “is worth half a million, at least!”

  “Contraband and hence legally valueless!” the policeman said. Councilor Onswud cleared his throat.

  “It will be impounded, of course,” he said. “Should a method of resale present itself, the profits, if any, will be applied to the cancellation of your just debts. To some extent, that might reduce your sentence.” He paused. “There is another matter—”

  “The sixth charge,” the policeman said, “is the development and public demonstration of a new type of space drive, which should have been brought promptly and secretly to the attention of the Republic of Nikkeldepain!”

  They all stared at him—alertly and quite greedily.

  So that was it—the Sheewash Drive!

  “Your sentence may be greatly reduced, Pausert,” Councilor Onswud said wheedlingly, “if you decide to be reasonable now. What have you discovered?”

  “Look out, father!” Illyla said sharply.

  “Pausert,” Councilor Onswud inquired in a fading voice, “what is that in your hand?”

  “A Blythe gun,” the captain said, boiling.

  There was a frozen stillness for an instant. Then the policeman’s right hand made a convulsive movement.

  “Uh-uh!” said the captain warningly.

  Councilor Rapport started a slow step backwards.

  “Stay where you are!” said the captain.

  “Pausert!” Councilor Onswud and Illyla cried out together.

  “Shut up!” said the captain.

  There was another stillness.

  “If you’d looked,” the captain said, in an almost normal voice, “you’d have seen I’ve got the nova gun turrets out. They’re fixed on that boat of yours. The boat’s lying still and keeping its little yap shut. You do the same—”

  He pointed a finger at the policeman. “You got a repulsor suit on,” he said, “Open the inner port lock and go squirt yourself back to your boat!”

  The inner port lock groaned open. Warm air left the ship in a long, lazy wave, scattering the sheets of the Venture’s log and commercial records over the floor. The thin, cold upper atmosphere of Nikkeldepain II came eddying in.

/>   “You next, Onswud!” the captain said.

  And a moment later: “Rapport, you just turn around—”

  Young Councilor Rapport went through the port at a higher velocity than could be attributed reasonably to his repulsor units. The captain winced and rubbed his foot. But it had been worth it.

  “Pausert,” said Illyla in justifiable apprehension, “you are stark, staring mad!”

  “Not at all, my dear,” the captain said cheerfully. “You and I are now going to take off and embark on a life of crime together.”

  “But, Pausert—”

  “You’ll get used to it,” the captain assured her, “just like I did. It’s got Nikkeldepain beat every which way.”

  “Pausert,” Illyla said, whitefaced, “we told them to bring up revolt ships!”

  “We’ll blow them out through the stratosphere,” the captain said belligerently, reaching for the port-control switch. He added, “But they won’t shoot anyway while I’ve got you on board!”

  Illyla shook her head. “You just don’t understand,” she said desperately. “You can’t make me stay!”

  “Why not?” asked the captain.

  “Pausert,” said Illyla, “I am Madame Councilor Rapport.”

  “Oh!” said the captain. There was a silence. He added, crestfallen: “Since when?”

  “Five months ago, yesterday,” said Illyla.

  “Great Patham!” cried the captain, with some indignation. “I’d hardly got off Nikkeldepain then! We were engaged!”

  “Secretly . . . and I guess,” said Illyla, with a return of spirit, “that I had a right to change my mind!”

  There was another silence.

  “Guess you had, at that,” the captain agreed. “All right—the port’s still open, and your husband’s waiting in the boat. Beat it!”

  He was alone. He let the ports slam shut and banged down the oxygen release switch. The air had become a little thin.

  He cussed.

  The communicator began rattling for attention. He turned it on.

  “Pausert!” Councilor Onswud was calling in a friendly but shaking voice. “May we not depart, Pausert? Your nova guns are still fixed on this boat!”