BY
R. M. McKENNA
With
more courage than prudence, the ensign followed
his
star to the final (and delectably feminine) test
of
a young officer's honor.... A tender, ironic and
funny
story, by a new name you'll be seeing again.
From
Worlds of Science Fiction, October 1958.
Subspace
cruising never bored Ensign Stephen Welnicki. The ship's computer rotated
skew-quadro fields, inscrutably altering by threes the twenty-seven positional
variables—leaving the watch officer idle. Thoughts were to be had for the
thinking.
Thoughts
came unbidden to watch officer Welnicki. What if the never-found alien
intelligence, feared so absurdly in official policy, was subspatial? Weird
things, eating mathematics, fighting with music. They'd attack ... Captain
Kravitz and the others nerve-frozen somehow ... command of Galactic Patrol Ship
Carlyle devolving upon Ensign Welnicki ... triumph ... muster at Prime
Reference ... medal of honor....
His
pale blue eyes gleamed and his short blond hair bristled even more at the
thought. His quartermaster broke in.
"That
emigrant ship is a minute late calling in, sir. Shall I buzz it?"
"No.
We are senior. I will reprimand her at five after."
That
ship in synchro with Carlyle was S.S. Rubberjack, carrying twelve hundred
colonists and equipment to found a settlement on a yet nameless planet of
Kappa-9 Carinae. From some democratic planet in Vela sector, to be settled
athwart an autocratic trend coming down from Columba. Ensign Welnicki, aged
twenty-four, was already helping make galactic history.
G.P.S.
Carlyle would stand by until the settlement was viable. Adventure ... a flyer
forced down among nameless mountains ... hardships ... mineral deposits ...
tremendous cliffs and chasms ... forever after, on the maps, the Welnicki
Mountains....
"Five
past, sir."
"Very
well."
Ensign
Welnicki brought his slight form erect and strode across to the subspace voder,
hardening his lips. Forestalling him, the light blinked on and the neutral
machine-voice said, "... Carlyle. S.S. Rubberjack calling G.P.S.
Carlyle...."
The
ensign pressed his transmitter bar and snapped, "Carlyle here. Go ahead,
Rubberjack."
Too
bad there was no visual transmission in subspace, to carry his hawklike stare
to that sloppy merchant officer. Too bad his crisp voice would be wasted in the
neutrality of Rubberjack's voder.
"This
is Wendrew Fishdollar, President of the Republic of Fishdollar Five," the
voder said. "Our forces now control S.S. Rubberjack. We wish to negotiate
a standard treaty with the Galactic Patrol."
Welnicki's
long, thin nose twitched in dismay. "What ... where is Fishdollar Five?"
he gasped. Are they human? his thoughts ran.
"Our
present seat of government is in S.S. Rubberjack's tender," the neutral
voice replied. "We have seceded from the main body of settlers. We wish to
arrange for settlement on a different planet."
"Oh!
Oh. Mutinous settlers?"
Welnicki's
eyes narrowed. He smiled grimly. He glanced down at his blue and gold tunic and
punched on the photo-recorder. Best have a record for the historians.
"Fishdollar,
this is mutiny in subspace. In the name of the Galactic Patrol, I command you
to surrender yourself and your accomplices to Captain Glover at once!"
"I
am chief of state of a sovereign nation and I will not be spoken to like
that," the voder said. "If necessary, we will cast loose the tender
and enter space to find our own planet. We are holding the tender crew at their
stations, even as I speak."
"I
forbid it absolutely!" the ensign barked. "If you inspace at random,
you will likely be far beyond the sphere of permitted exploration. You may
betray humanity to an unknown enemy. Moreover, you will all be pirates and
slavers. President Fishdollar, consider what you do!"
"National
survival is at stake. My first loyalty is to my nation."
Ensign
Welnicki arched his neck. "I warn you, President Fishdollar," he said
vibrantly, "if you take those Rubberjack crewmen into space, I will follow
and free them if I must pursue you to the uttermost ends of the galaxy!"
"We
will defend our sovereignty to our last drop of blood," the voder replied
pleasantly. "We had hoped for Patrol cooperation, but we are prepared to
carry on in the teeth of Patrol hostility. Our determination, Captain Kravitz,
is unshakable. Goodbye, sir!"
The
light blinked off. That parting speech must have been sonorous and magnificent
in old Fishdollar's natural voice, the ensign thought. Then an echo of it
nagged at him and he jumped.
"Oh
my," he said, and punched the captain's emergency signal.
Captain
Kravitz played back the photo-record and cocked a grizzled eyebrow at Welnicki.
He sounded the general alarm and snapped orders: ready Scout Vessel Two and
boarding party. Sleepy men manned battle stations. Captain Glover came on the
voder to report his tender gone and trouble with lost-mass aberration. He was
almost inaudible at full gain. "Prepare to regress," Captain Kravitz
ordered.
"Proceed
to destination and wait in orbit for me," he shouted into the voder.
"I will regress and send a party after your tender. Give me the break
coordinates."
Whispered
data passed until Kravitz said abruptly, "That's enough, captain. I want a
short regress. Good luck."
Welnicki
thought about regression. The nine canonical threes vary independently in
subspace; when a ship inspaces between the initial and terminal points set up
in her computer, she may be anywhere. To find the Fishdollars, Carlyle would
have to regress to the tender's breakaway point without changing computer
settings. It is a mode of living backwards, and indescribably unpleasant.
"Stand
by to regress!"
Howls
of dismay arose. Ensign Welnicki stood at attention and raised his chin.
________________________________________
Pale
with nausea, Ensign Welnicki faced Captain Kravitz after Carlyle inspaced. The
tall, graying captain looked shaken also, but his eyes burned. His voice was
ironically gentle.
"Given
the chance, I might have persuaded Fishdollar to take another Carina planet,
avoided all this ... four thousand parsecs beyond the frontier of exploration
... dangerous security breach ... you command the search party, Ensign Welnicki
... field-search each system in turn, buoy each as you leave ... I know I can
count on you for the last full measure of devotion, Ensign Welnicki...."
Welnicki
opened his eyes wide.
"I
shall not fail you, sir," he said as firmly as he could.
The
captain stroked his clipped gray mustache with two fingers. "I expect you
to pursue the Fishdollars to the uttermost ends of the galaxy, Ensign
Welnicki," he said solemnly.
________________________________________
G.P.S.
Carlyle had ghosted back into subspace. Welnicki in blue and gold faced his
subordinates across a green table in the tiny wardroom of Scout Vessel Two.
They wore gray coveralls. Sergeant Chong, dark, stocky, impassive. Chief
Quartermaster Rutledge, plump, florid, voluble. Chief Drive Tech Kihara, small,
dark, reserved. The ensign cleared his throat.
"This
is a council of war, gentlemen. Here is our situation...."
Five
Sol-type stars lay within the tender's range. They would visit and field-search
each system in turn, regain control of the tender and its crew when found, then
wait for Carlyle. Under the treaty they were agents of the settlers' parent
system, Sigma-3 Velorum, and bound by its constitution.
"So,
gentlemen, it is really intersystemic war. Now the enemy population is about
fifty—Captain Glover's estimate, he hadn't time to muster the settlers before
we regressed. We have twenty marines and nine spacers. We are outnumbered and
must attack prepared positions, but courage and imagination—"
"Won't
some settlers be women?" Chong broke in gruffly. "We may not be so
overmatched. How are they armed?"
"Body
weapons only, sergeant. Nothing heavy. We mustn't hurt women, of course."
Chong
coughed and subsided.
"One
thing more. Our inspace separation from Carlyle is great enough so that, under
article fourteen of Patrol Regulations, our scout is an independent ship. I now
declare this ship in full commission."
He
took glasses and a bottle of Earth whisky from a bag at his feet and poured
drinks all around.
"Stand,
gentlemen," he bade them. "To our ship and her christening:
gentlemen, I give you G.P.S. Fishdollar's Bane."
The
men choked a little on the fiery liquor. Ensign Welnicki wiped moisture from
his eyes and looked on them with kindly gravity.
"Hereafter
you may address me as Captain Welnicki," he said. "And now stand by
to outspace."
________________________________________
Arrowing
through the fourth system like a hundred-foot rapier probing enemy vitals,
G.P.S. Fishdollar's Bane finally sniffed out the tender's ID pattern on an
inner planet.
"Pinpoint
the enemy and orbit his horizon. Compute physical data and report,"
Captain Welnicki ordered Rutledge.
Next
ship-day he briefed his subordinates. A single continent lay athwart the
planet's equator, with major volcanic activity in its galactic north. The enemy
base was on the southwest coast. Gravity was point nine, the day twenty-six
standard hours, and the season spring in the southern hemisphere. They would
achieve surprise by landing in the north and staging the landing party south in
the atmospheric flyer. What did they think?
"It's
a laugh, the way we outgun them Fishdollars, Mr.—I mean Captain Welnicki,"
Chong growled. "Why not take—this ship—right over 'em and call on 'em to
surrender?"
"They'd
defy us, sergeant. They're ready to die to the last man—oh, you should have
heard old Wendrew Fishdollar's parting speech! And remember, they have
hostages."
"Oughta
be some way we could use the ship's armament."
"You're
a tough fighter, sergeant, but you lack creative imagination. No, my decision
stands. Have your marines roll field packs."
________________________________________
Spiralling
in, Captain Welnicki thought the continent spectacular. Volcanoes and fissure
flows welled forth seas of molten rock. Seas of rain slashed into them and
roared skyward again as atmospheres of steam. The shrewdest enemy would never
expect attack from this quarter.
G.P.S.
Fishdollar's Bane grounded at dusk in a wooded region of low hills. The air was
sulfurous but good, the sky a smoking glory. Occasionally the ground trembled.
Singing birds in the strap-leaf foliage and furry ground rats were curious and
unafraid. Captain Welnicki walked apart and listened to the shouts of his
marines getting groundworthy.
Kihara
and the spacers were assembling the flyer. The marines were playing grabtail,
except two armed sentries. Keen fighting men all, spoiling for a fight or a
footrace. The captain winced when he heard one refer to his ship as G.P.S.
Fishbait. But then, enlisted men were that way, hiding their nobler sentiments
under such rough endearments. Underneath, however, hearts of oak....
Early
in the flaming dawn Kihara flew the marines south. He returned in midafternoon
from the four-thousand-mile round trip. Then Captain Welnicki and the spacers
flew south with equipment to complete the camp. There seemed to be no large
animal life, so he left the ship closed but unguarded.
Chong's
position lay behind a hill fifty miles north of the enemy. Great strap-leaf
trees concealed tents and sentries. The captain, wearing the gray working
uniform for the first time, called a council of war in his command tent.
Eve
of battle, gentlemen. Stout hearts, now. Chong, Crespi and Swenson would be
landed in darkness to scout for the attack. They would plant a guide beacon and
hide until the full party joined them the next night. Tomorrow the flyer would
move reserve rations and the heavy blaster ammo down from the ship.
Sgt.
Chong, in accordance with Patrol Regulations, would direct the actual fighting.
He, Captain Welnicki, would resume command when the diplomatic phase opened,
that is, when President Fishdollar offered to surrender. Questions?
No
questions. When Kihara returned from dropping Chong, he came again to the dark
command tent and brushed past the orderly.
"Captain,
wake up. The ship's guide beam don't register on the flyer's screen. Noticed it
coming back just now. Something's wrong."
"Do
you suppose the Fishdollars—" Captain Welnicki came full awake. Never
betray doubt to a subordinate ... the lonely leader....
"Locate
it visually tomorrow, then," he said calmly. "Take Rutledge to help.
But you can't miss that big T-shaped lake."
"Oh,
I guess we'll find it, if—"
"Of
course you will. Turn in now, Kihara. Get some rest."
The
captain did not sleep. He paced uneasily next day until the flyer returned,
then almost forgot himself and ran to meet it.
"Gone
forever," Rutledge said excitedly. "One of them fissure flows,
must've been ... miles of boiling rock right where we was ... updrafts like to
tore us apart and fried us too ... now what, captain?"
Captain
Welnicki stood very erect and lifted his chin.
________________________________________
Darkness
under the two small moons. Captain Welnicki stood apart and thought. Nothing
but hand weapons and pack rations for two days. A fanatic enemy sitting with
enormous reserves in a prepared position. So ... attack, of course ... always
the audacity ... out of this nettle danger I pluck this flower....
Kihara
landed the party, minus the useless blasters, by Chong's beacon. Chong,
sulfurous in disgust, drew his corporals aside to improvise a new plan. Captain
Welnicki hovered near, saying nothing. He heard Chong tell Swenson to use the
spacers for support fire.
"Soon's
it's light enough I'll pass the word," Chong finished. "Scatter
now."
"Come
on, you spacers," Corporal Swenson growled.
He
moved off, followed by the spacers. After a moment Captain Welnicki trailed
along.
The
enemy base lay on high ground across a small stream. One large unfinished
building of slagged earth stood near the tender. The land was uneven and
wooded. The roar of the sea came faintly through night air as Swenson briefed
his spacers.
"Sleep
if you can," he ended. "I'll watch."
"I
want to scout in closer, corporal," the captain said.
"Not
past the stream, if you please, captain. We spotted infra-pickups over there.
That's why Chong wants daylight and cover fire."
Minutes
after he crossed the stream the captain's throat communicator prickled. It was
Chong.
"Swenson
tells me you're prowling, captain. Don't tell me where you are cause I'm scared
to know. But freeze there. That's a military order in the field."
"Aye
aye, sergeant," the captain said glumly.
He
slept fitfully on the hard ground. Long time until dawn like thunder ...
Corporal Swenson stunned, command of the spacers devolving upon Captain
Welnicki ... ask no quarter, give none ... red dawn streaks now, an omen ...
LISTEN: footsteps in the brush!
Over
his flame pistol Captain Welnicki saw a tall man appear. He wore a merchant
spacer's leather jumper and carried a small shovel. At the captain's terse
command he dropped the shovel and faced the leveled pistol, hands at shoulder
height.
"Quiet
now! Who are you?" Welnicki whispered.
Eyes
squinted above the loose mouth. "I'm Jonas Cobb, that was third officer in
Rubberjack. Are you a Patroler?"
"Captain
Stephen Welnicki, commanding G.P.S. Fishdollar's Bane. I have come to liberate
you."
"Well
now, cap'n, that's right good of you. I'd be pleased to help." The hands
dropped.
"You
can, Cobb. I can use help. I've lost my ship, you see. I have only twenty-eight
men with nothing but body weapons and two days' rations. I must win on my first
assault."
"Here's
an idea, cap'n. Them Fishdollars are still sleeping aboard. Suppose I sneak
back, close the bunkroom collision doors and pull the fuses? I'll jam the hull
doors too, so the guards can't close 'em."
"Good
man, Cobb! Would you dare try?"
"I
would, cap'n. Suppose they closed up the tender on you? All the chow's still
aboard, and you can't eat native protein here without it's bio-fielded. Them
Fishdollars could just sit and guzzle while you poor Patrolers all starved, and
then who'd liberate us? Handguns won't noways touch that plating."
Chong
came on the communicator. "Military order, captain. Stay put and keep your
head down. We attack in one minute."
"No!
Oh no, sergeant," the captain protested. "I've taken a Rubberjack
prisoner ... he'll jam the hull doors for us—"
"Don't
trust him nor you neither. The both of you stay put. Here goes—"
"No,
Sergeant Chong! I relieve you of command. Article thirty-seven, Patrol
Regulations. Stand fast, now!"
He
smiled apologetically. "My field commander is impatient. But hurry, Cobb.
My marines are straining at the leash."
Cobb
moved off hastily. Moments later came a subdued clamor of voices, scurrying
feet, grating noises. Captain Welnicki peeped through the screening shrubbery
just in time to see the ramp pull in and the ponderous cargo doors swing shut.
He
called Chong: "Enemy alerted ... fortunes of war ... stiff upper lip ...
resume command, Sgt. Chong."
Chong
exploded. "Situation militarily hopeless ... stop playacting and surrender
... your baby, captain, and look to its napkin."
Captain
Welnicki stood stiffly erect and raised his chin.
________________________________________
That
darkest hour ... inexorable hunger on this star-lost planet ... guile now ...
keen intelligence of the spaceways.... Captain Welnicki called his subordinates
to a council of war.
They
had one idea—to surrender. "Somebody, you, captain, go bang on that
personnel port," Rutledge urged.
"Never!
Death before dishonor!"
"Hey!
They're sending out a flag," Chong said.
The
tender's personnel valves were ajar and between them a white cloth dangled.
"I'll
go in and parley," Captain Welnicki said crisply. "Deploy and cover
me, sergeant. If they try to overpower me, blast us all down."
Sgt.
Chong snorted nervously. The captain walked toward the ship ... lonely, gallant
... ashes of defeat ... guile now.... The ramp poked out and a lanky figure,
bearing the flag, descended. It was Cobb.
"Cobb!
What happened? Did they—"
"General
Cobb to you, cap'n. General of the Army of Fishdollar Five. I come out to take
your surrender."
The
captain stared.
"President
Fishdollar says tell you we'll treat you real good if the marines'll help with
the settlement. If so be you've a mind to, the foreign minister will work out a
Patrol treaty."
The
hangdog features gloated in mean triumph. Degrading ... proud wings drooping
... unless ... yes ... restructure the gestalit....
"I
come not in war but in peace, general. Commanding a Patrol vessel empowers me
to act as Patrol ambassador. My men will aid you, in accordance with standard
Patrol policy. Tell President Fishdollar I will make my official entry shortly
after noon."
"I'll
do that, cap'n. Say, you're a slippery one too, ain't you?" the general
asked admiringly.
He
turned away. Ambassador Welnicki rejoined his aides in stately dignity.
Rutledge was secretary, Kihara chauffeur and Chong commander of the honor
guard, he told them. Then he ordered a retreat to the flyer.
In
the flyer he donned his blue and gold uniform. He had meant to wear it when he
took President Fishdollar's surrender. Oh well, he had not disgraced that
ancient, mystic bird-and-anchor symbol ... diplomatic triumphs, now....
________________________________________
Kihara
landed the flyer before the large single building. No one was about. Eight
marines got out and lined up. Ambassador Welnicki watched while a pretty young
woman came out of the building and looked doubtfully at the flyer.
She
was small, dark haired and wore a high-girded chlamys of clinging white cloth.
Squinting, he saw above her left breast an emblem worked in red. It was an outlined
fish with the ancient, mystic dollar symbol inscribed. She approached the
marines hesitantly.
"Here
now, young woman, those men are on duty," the ambassador warned. "You
mustn't molest them. Please inform the foreign minister—"
She
smiled. "I am the foreign minister," she said, bobbing a curtsy.
"Lindrew Fishdollar, at your service, Mr. Ambassador, and welcome to
Fishdollar Five. The president is waiting in the state reception hall."
"Thank
you, Madame Minister." He stepped down with dignity, saluting, and
followed her into the building. She danced ahead with vivacity unbecoming a
foreign minister.
The
hall was large, with bare slag walls and rough wooden furniture. Coming to meet
him was another pretty young woman in another white chlamys that molded itself
to her walking. He stopped short.
She
was smiling ... milk white skin and jet black hair ... thick eyebrows, black
eyes ... small, sweetly curvesome ... holding out a hand....
"Oh
my God!" he said shakily. "You! You are Wendrew Fishdollar!"
"Wendy
to my friends, Captain Wennocky, and I hope you will be one. We do so want a
Patrol treaty. Won't you sit down?"
The
ambassador sat down, head whirling.
"How
many of your officers of state are women, may I ask, Madame President?"
"All
of us," she said brightly. "Our charter population, fifty-two in all,
is entirely feminine. Since our founding we have naturalized eleven men."
"Well,
Madame President ... you must realize ... most unusual...."
"I
understand, Captain Wennocky. Perhaps you're tired. Quarters are ready for you
upstairs and the minister of the interior will show you to them if you wish.
General Cobb will berth your men in the tender."
"My
name is Welnicki," the ambassador said, rising. "Captain Stephen
Wel-nicki."
"Oh,
forgive me, Captain Welnicki. General Cobb—but there, poor man, you're tired
and I won't keep you. Will you and your aides attend an informal dinner tonight
with my cabinet officers?"
"Yes
... delighted...."
The
minister of the interior skipped along apologizing prettily for the crude
furniture. She was Wandrew Fishdollar, call her Wanda, and she would see him
again at dinner. His bedroom was also the Fishdollar National Library.
The
ambassador called a council of state. His aides were equally overcome. Who'da
thought it? ... all women, all named Fishdollar ... cute as crystals, too ...
always liked them Sigma Velorum planets ... hey, Chong, you old goat?...
________________________________________
Dinner
... elfin faces with white skin and black eyes ... short, kilted skirts, sleeveless
blouses ... Cindrew, Rondrew, Sandrew, Dundrew ... minister of this, minister
of that ... the ambassador was still dazed.
His
aides did well. Kihara talked slaggers and nuclear furnaces to the minister of
public works—Cindy, was she? Rutledge, expansive, held a group bright eyed and
breathless with his account of the volcanic north. Chong was saying, "No
offense, General Cobb, but in a fight the marines...." Defense Minister
Bondrew listened admiringly.
The
ambassador felt better. Born diplomats, these men. That came of roaming the
starways ... a cosmoplanetary polish ... charm no provincial could
resist—"What did you say, Madame President? My mind wandered."
"Let's
take our teacups into the next room where it's quiet. I want to tell you the
story of the Fishdollars."
"Of
course." The ambassador rose with courtly, cosmoplanetary grace.
She
sat beside him on the single cloth draped bench, and smoothed her short red
skirt.
"In
the second century After Space, Stephen—may I call you Stephen?" she
began. He nodded indulgently.
The
eighty-fourth planet colonized from Earth, she told him, was Fishdollar One, so
named for Andrew Fishdollar, who founded the settlement and brought along many
kinsmen. The settlement prospered but the planet had a strong Rho effect. Did
he understand?
"Yes,
Madame President. An excess of female over male births until a certain
population density is reached."
"It
may take centuries. It's terrible. Stevie, I've actually heard the Patrol
sometimes sends ships...." She blushed prettily and looked down at the
teacup on her rounded knee.
"Yes.
Yes, Wendrew. There is a special clause—oh, most delicately worded—in the
standard Patrol treaty with Rho effect planets. Spacers call them good liberty
planets." He felt warm, tugged at his tight collar and kept his gaze on
the president's teacup.
She
took up her story. Genetic strains varied in susceptibility to the Rho effect,
of course he knew, and it was terribly severe on Fishdollars. The clan became
immensely wealthy through pioneer land holdings, but the name was dying out.
Male Fishdollars were recruited from Earth and the other planets until the name
was extinct elsewhere, but it was no use. Sex control was no good—bad psychic
effects in the resultant males. Finally, in the fourth century, the Fishdollars
settled a new planet, seeking a reduced Rho effect.
"But
Wendy, why not adopt boys, change names and so on?"
"Against
the laws, Stevie. People with low-Rho names believed the effect worked through
the name and not the gene pattern. Silly superstition of course, but they had
the votes."
It
was the same story on Planets Fishdollar Two and Three. Fishdollar wealth grew
and Fishdollar males dwindled in inverse ratio. On Fishdollar Four, in the
Sigma-3 Velorum system, they vanished altogether. A few hundred women still
bore the name.
"It's
pitiful, Stevie, when a name dies after thousands of years," she said
softly. She put down her teacup and smoothed nervously at her brief skirt.
"I
can imagine. Ten generations of Welnickis have served the Patrol."
"We
tried hard to keep the name alive," she went on, vainly tugging the
pleated skirt lower on the smooth white legs. "Stevie, some of us here are
haploid and some are illegitimate."
Her
head drooped. Wordless, he watched her hands. She raised a rosy face to him
impulsively.
"You
mustn't think I'm one," she said rapidly. "My father was the last
Andrew Fishdollar, the last man. He died two years ago."
The
younger Fishdollars, she continued, planned one last effort to settle a new
planet, to be named Fishdollar Five. They recruited a group meeting Patrol
standards and got sponsorship. It cost them a great deal of money. Their
constitution and legal codes were those of the parent system, with minor
changes correcting the unfair laws against high-Rho names.
"And
then—oh Stevie, those superstitious, ungrateful, low-Rho settlers! While we
were still in subspace they began amending the laws and the constitution. They
even changed our planet's name to Rewbobbin, the ugliest, lowest-Rho name among
them!"
"Rewbobbin!"
He shuddered.
"We
were just frantic, Stevie. We wanted to scratch their eyes out and we wanted to
die. Then we thought about seceding. We learned that Rubberjack's tender was
preloaded to care for an advance party of two hundred. We talked to General
Cobb—you know the rest."
"Yes,
Wendy. How imaginative ... a random inspacing into unexplored vastness....
Wendy, I salute your courage!"
"We
weren't really so brave. The tender was a last resort, to force Captain Kravitz
to settle us on another Carina planet. But when he reacted so violently—oh,
Stevie, you should have heard the language he used to me—we knew we must go. We
really had no choice, now did we?"
The
ambassador coughed and licked his lips. "No, I suppose not, Wendy. Captain
Kravitz is unimaginative ... aging...."
"Stevie,
did we do wrong? Do you think we did?"
"No,
Wendy. Not you, whoever else may have. You were magnificent. I will use all my
influence to see that your settlement lives."
"I'm
so happy, Stevie. I feel safe now. Tomorrow Linda can work out a treaty with
you. Shall we join the others?"
The
smooth white legs stood up.
________________________________________
The
ambassador could not sleep. His own copy of Patrol Regulations was lost, but
providentially he found a copy in the Fishdollar National Library beside his
bed. He thumbed it.
He
was, indeed, still captain and therefore ambassador while his crew was intact.
But that other article ... here it was:
"In
exceptional circumstances involving galactic security the commander of a ship
or squadron may assume plenipotentiary status and execute finally rather than
provisionally binding agreements ... as soon thereafter as practicable he shall
report to Prime Reference for plenary court martial."
So.
If he dared.... He remembered old Borthwick's lectures in Patrol Jurisprudence
at the academy. Only two men, both squadron commanders, had ever used that
article. One had been shot, one cashiered.... The ambassador slept.
________________________________________
Over
coffee next morning the foreign minister produced copies of the Patrol treaty
with Sigma-3 Velorum, with appropriate name changes, and proposed they sign
them.
"These
won't do, Madame Minister," he protested.
"Why
not, Stephen? We have almost the same constitution."
"Your
planet, Lindrew. Almost four thousand parsecs beyond the sphere of settlement.
Do you know why we have a frontier?"
"Oh,
Patrol policy ... no, why?"
"Other
intelligent beings may be settling the galaxy just like we are. We're afraid to
meet them too soon."
"Why?"
"Maybe
hostile. Lindrew, just because the Patrol prevents inter-planetary wars, it's
the only deep space fighting force humanity has. But with no wars, and support
of the Patrol voluntary, it isn't very big. Not big enough for galactic
war."
"Will
it ever be?"
"We
hope so. We add a new ship for each new planet. We increase as the cube of the
radius and our frontier only as the square, as long as we enforce the sphere of
settlement concept."
"The
Patrol enforces it?"
"Yes,
by denying sponsorship and protection to non-treaty settlements. We can't
actually use force against a sovereign planet, except blockade under certain
conditions."
"Do
settlements ever defy you?"
"Not
for long. They give up and we move them to a settled planet that wants them,
wiping out all traces of their stay."
"Oh.
Stephen, do you approve of that policy?"
"No,
Lindrew, I never have. It's—it's unimaginative. But they'll tear their beards
at Prime Reference about your planet."
"But
you'll help us, won't you Stephen? How must we change the standard
treaty?"
"This
is an outpost planet and the aliens, if they exist, will surely find it first.
We'll need a Class I base. You must in time support extra-planetary
defenses."
"You
make the changes, Stephen. Whatever you say. Then we'll sign."
He
shuffled his feet. "I'm afraid I can only initial it, Madame Minister.
Prime Reference must ratify. I will urge most strongly—"
"Oh
Stephen," she interrupted, pretty face stricken, "might we lose our
treaty after all?"
"There's
a chance, I can't deny it."
"Oh
dear! I haven't the heart to tell Wendy."
"I
need to think," the ambassador said. He excused himself unhappily.
________________________________________
Days
passed and the settlement grew. The ambassador put away his blue and gold and
worked with his hands. The native strap-leaf vegetation flowered riotously
through long, warm days, and so did Earth plants in the test plots. The shapely
Fishdollars became golden-tan and more charming than ever.
The
Patrolers worked like fiends erecting buildings and plants, striving to outdo
the merchant spacers. The girls helped where they could and bubbled admiringly
at the prodigies of labor. The minister of public works told Chong privately
that one marine equalled two merchant spacers. The latter, as if unaware of
their lesser worth, worked like fiends too.
Kihara
and his two petty officers were the engineers. Corporal Crespi, with a gang of
marines and Fishdollars, milled fragrant lumber from native hardwoods. Houses
went up and were filled with furniture rough-styled by General Cobb. The
ambassador worked on the power plant, the materials converter, and then the air
conditioning. The men became hard, deeply bronzed, strongly alive as the native
trees.
With
his aides, the ambassador worked out treaty revisions.
"PR
will never ratify," Rutledge said.
"Look.
Maybe the aliens don't exist," the ambassador argued. "If they do
exist, they may respect boundaries. Then Fishdollar Five stakes a huge claim
for humanity. If it's war, we make our fight around an outpost planet, far from
settled regions."
"We
ain't Prime Reference," Chong growled. "Who you trying to
convince?"
________________________________________
Fishdollar
Five ratified the treaty. Ambassador Welnicki looked unhappily at his initials
and told the foreign minister, "I'm sorry, Linda."
"We
understand, Stephen. We know you're doing all you dare for us."
________________________________________
Resting
one day from pipefitting, the ambassador asked Kihara, "You know math,
chief. Isn't it true this damned, sacred 'sphere of settlement' really takes in
the whole galaxy in subspace?"
"Yes,
in a way."
"It's
fossilized, Einsteinian thinking. Damn the admirals!"
"The
admirals think Einstein is God. You better think the admirals are God,"
Kihara warned.
The
ambassador thought. The outpost planet ... last, loneliest, loveliest,
exquisite, apart ... one man with imagination ... serve humanity and be damned
for it now, canonized later....
________________________________________
One
afternoon he walked with Wendy to their favorite spot on a headland above the
sea. She climbed before him up the steep, narrow way, and the sea wind
fluttered her skirt. The outpost planet ... democracy ... daughter planets
teeming with pretty girls like Wendy and stalwart young men like ... really
imaginative galactic ecology....
Sunset
neared and half the sky, as usual, flamed gorgeously. The sea sent back the
color and beat hypnotically against the cliff base. Wendy stood on tiptoe, arms
raised, skirt wind-molded, sweetly rounded form outlined against the sky.
"Stevie,
Stevie," she whispered, "isn't our planet beautiful? I would rather
die than leave it. I feel ... fulfilled, somehow."
"Wendy,
I haven't told you, but—"
She
came to him in quick concern, her hand on his arm. Then it came out of him in a
rush.
"Regulations
permit me to assume plenipotentiary status. If I do and then sign that treaty,
it will bind the Patrol absolutely. Wendy, I'm going to do it!"
"Can
you really, Stephen? Won't they find a way...." Her face was grave.
"I
can, for sure. I'll undergo court martial after. But the treaty will stand. The
pledged word of the Galactic Patrol is sacred. Only the Patrol binds humanity into
any kind of unity, and its very existence depends upon planetary trust in
Patrol good faith."
"It's
so much power for one man."
"Not
every man is made a Patrol captain. Believe me, Wendy, your planet will live.
And I'm glad."
Then
she was in his arms and they were kissing, and Captain-Ambassador Welnicki trod
on air back to the settlement feeling that the game was worth the candle if
they took his head for it. He signed with a flourish, Stephen Welnicki,
Captain, GP, subscribed Ambassador Plenipotentiary. Then he called his aides
into council and assumed the status formally, just for the record.
________________________________________
Days
passed, shorter and warmer, fruits forming on the native plants. Basic
installations were complete. Exploring and mapping teams brought in mineral and
biotic specimens for testing. It was midsummer of the four-hundred-two-day
year. President Fishdollar brought up a delicate subject with the ambassador
plenipotentiary.
Four
of her citizens were, well, you know, and they wanted to marry four of his
marines. Could he authorize it?
"Of
course, Wendy. Enlisted men may marry on any treaty planet."
He
spoke to Chong.
"I
told 'em hell no," the sergeant said. "Us marines depend on higher
authority to protect us from that. You're gonna back me up, ain't you,
captain?"
"No
I'm not! What's so terrible about marriage?"
"Ask
Corporal Hodges that, captain. He's married and the Fishdollars know it."
________________________________________
Chief
Justice Sandrew married the four couples in a mass ceremony. President
Fishdollar wept and the ambassador plenipotentiary comforted her.
She
was distrait and melancholy in the days that followed, and the ambassador
plenipotentiary was himself obscurely troubled. Eight more couples married.
Then one evening they were again on the headland in a flaming sunset and she
began crying softly. She didn't know why, unless it was because the sunset was
so beautiful.
So
he held her and they talked in low voices until, as the sun's red disk touched
the sea rim, he had to tell her that no Galactic Patrol officer could marry
until he reached the rank of commander.
"But
you're a captain already, Stevie."
"Only
in a special, temporary way—"
"But
your heroism, finding us, losing your ship—surely they'll make it
permanent."
"Wendy,
they'll want my head for all that. I ... I've tried to think that way myself,
but I can't. I do believe, in the far future the name Welnicki will be honored
by what I have done, but now—when Captain Kravitz comes—I have no right—"
"Every
man has a right to happiness, Stevie. What if you married anyway?"
"Cashiered,
automatically. Ten generations of Welnickis have given their lives to the
Patrol with not one dishonorable action—"
"Stevie,
you make me furious! How can marriage be dishonorable? We'll keep it secret and
you can command the base here until you make commander. It's all so simple,
really."
"I
need to think," he said sadly. She laid her dark head on his shoulder and
cried.
He
thought: make her happy ... secret ... impassioned speech before the admirals
... galaxy to fill ... creative imagination confirms me now, gentlemen, time
will vindicate me ... so tearfully anxious ... in for a copper, in for a solar
... make her happy....
"Wendy,"
he said in a low, halting voice, "let's do get married."
"Oh
yes, Stevie! Yes, yes, yes!" She melted into his arms.
The
crimson sun dropped below the sea rim and the sky faded to somber red. They
walked back hand in hand, the president chattering gaily, the ambassador
plenipotentiary oppressed under the cumulative enormity of his command
decisions.
The
wedding was beautiful. The bride wore her chlamys of state and the groom stood
very erect in blue and gold. Chief Justice Sandrew wept but managed to get the
words out clearly enough through tears and sniffs. All the Fishdollars wept.
Even hard, unsentimental Sgt. Chong snorted nervously.
Married
life was wonderful. The president melted with affection and the ambassador
plenipotentiary loved it. Never had diplomatic relations between the Patrol and
any planetary government been so cordial.
Even
the weather reflected it. The days, cold and rainy as winter came on, turned
clear and warm again. The native trees were deciduous and their long
strap-leaves became a blaze of color carrying the dawn glory through softly
bright days, carpeting the ground with sunset. Thinking and worry were
fantastically unnecessary.
Then
one beautiful morning after an intimate breakfast, the ambassador plenipotentiary
learned that maybe, just maybe now, darling, he was going to be a father. A few
tearful moments later an excited quartermaster called him to his door. G.P.S.
Carlyle was in orbit and would ground next day. Captain Kravitz instructed
Ensign Welnicki to report aboard as soon as grounding was secured.
________________________________________
All
along her six-hundred-foot length, ground shores probed out to equalize
tensions as G.P.S. Carlyle eased her lift. The shriek died with the slowing
generators, and the starboard personnel port swung open. Beyond the zone
markers Ensign Welnicki looked into his wife's face, then marched toward the
ship. He wore his blue and gold.
Carlyle's
passageways seemed more cramped than he remembered. He felt foolish in his
dress uniform, exchanging greetings with coverall-clad shipmates. He ducked
past the saluting orderly into the captain's office almost with relief.
Captain
Kravitz, behind his gray desk, had never looked more austerely forbidding. As
the ensign made his report, the grizzled eyebrows raised, then two fingers
stroked the gray mustache. When the ensign reported his binding signature of
the treaty, the captain raised his hand.
"Very
well, Ensign Welnicki. Remain in your room incommunicado until further notice."
Ensign
Welnicki stood very erect and raised his chin. Then he walked directly to his
stateroom in the bow, ignoring greetings from former shipmates. He clanged the
door shut, and never before had the tiny room seemed so microscopic.
________________________________________
A
long week's pacing, three steps each way. Thoughts ... defense at Prime
Reference ... first the grave statement of facts, for the record and for unborn
historians ... for some future Welnicki burning to vindicate his triple-great
grandfather ... then the exhortation to courage and imagination, powerfully
restrained emotion almost breaking through ... deep, ringing sincerity ... then
the gray courtyard and the firing squad ... I die without resentment ... my
short life justified, its meaning found in action....
Thoughts
about his planet ... his planet?... Wendy, the child ... a boy, of course, the
Welnickis were quite low-Rho ... never to see his son ... knowing that in the
gray courtyard.... He wanted to cry.
________________________________________
Ensign
Sotero, armed and brassarded, came to conduct him to the captain on the eighth
day.
"Damn
orders, Steve," Sotero said, standing in the door. "We know most of
the story and we're all for you. Your wife and the skipper have been going round
and round for days, beating each other over the head with that treaty, Patrol
Regulations and the constitution of Sigma-3 Velorum. Somebody heard him say
she's the smartest space lawyer this side of Earth. Don't let him stampede you,
Steve!"
"Thanks,
Juan, I won't." Ensign Welnicki's own voice sounded strange to him after
the silence.
The
captain was disconcertingly un-fierce. He looked tired and sad behind the gray
desk.
"Sit
down, Stephen," he said dully. "Let's talk about this mess we're
in."
Ensign
Welnicki sat down gingerly, his back stiff.
"My
head falls too, of course," the captain went on. "You're too little a
goat. They may even chop down Sector Admiral Carruthers."
He
sighed and looked at the overhead. The ensign opened his mouth.
"I
see my error now," the captain forestalled him. "You are not mature
enough for command. But I was ensign under your grandfather Welnicki in the old
Ashburton before you were born. I thought I sensed in you the same intangible
that made him great. Well, spilt milk, Stephen. What can we do?"
Ensign
Welnicki suggested unsteadily that the Fishdollars might consent to removal to
an approved planet.
"First
offer I made, Stephen. They voted it down unanimously. Bluster was no good,
pleading no good. With that treaty they've got us cold and they know it."
Ensign
Welnicki wished he were dead but did not see how that would help. After a long
silence the captain spoke again.
"I
have one last hope, Stephen. Something you've overlooked. I got it from
Rutledge."
The
ensign looked his question.
"You
didn't formally assume plenipotentiary status until after you signed, so
technically your signature is not binding. Now if it was a forced subterfuge to
counter logistic pressure, your ship being lost and all, we can repudiate the treaty
without breaching faith. Only you can really know."
Ensign
Welnicki breathed deeply "The Fishdollars with no treaty, how they can
survive, I don't know, captain...."
"We'll
leave message capsules. When they call for help we'll dump 'em on Rewbobbin."
"I
... I don't know, captain."
"We
can fix everything else, save your career."
"No,
sir. The treaty stands."
"You
signed falsely and you know it."
"I
can say—I hereby do say that I signed second copies afterward. The treaty
stands, sir!"
Ensign
Welnicki stood up, suddenly feeling good.
Captain
Kravitz stood up too, face tautly impersonal.
"All
right," he said, shuffling papers on his desk. "I want to lift out as
soon as possible." He pulled out a paper and looked coldly at the ensign.
"As
you may or may not know, your marriage makes you a citizen of Fishdollar
Five," he went on. "As you may or may not know, your precious treaty
forbids removal of a citizen to another planet without governmental consent. I
doubt the admirals at Prime Reference would choose to come all the way out here
just to court-martial one small ensign. But as you certainly know, your
marriage means the automatic revocation of your commission. You will save me
trouble and delay by signing this resignation."
He
shoved the paper across the desk. Ensign Welnicki looked at it stupidly. His
inner song was muted.
"Sgt.
Chong will stay to command the temporary base force," the captain was
saying. "Within a year you may expect a Patrol construction fleet to open
your communications and start work on the base. Your pay accounts can be
settled then. There! Sign it!"
Ensign
Welnicki bent and signed. The captain looked at the paper and handed it back.
"Use
your right name," he said.
Ensign
Welnicki looked blank.
"Stephen
Fishdollar!" the captain roared.
The
ensign looked blanker still.
"Ensign
Fishdollar, some day you really must read through the legal codes of your
adopted planet," the captain said mock-earnestly. "One of the changes
made by the Fishdollars in the Sigma-3 Velorum codes was to make marriage and
descent matrilineal. That way their name escapes Rho-death."
Ensign
Fishdollar sagged. His inner song faded to a whisper.
"Very,
very clever of the Fishdollars," the captain said musingly. "To link
their name with the X-chromosome rather than with the Y. So it becomes as
low-Rho as it was high before. Very clever indeed.
"Ensign
Fishdollar, you utter lamb, did you honestly not know that?" he finished
with roar.
Ensign
Fishdollar swung his head dumbly.
"You
know, Ensign Fishdollar, that the Patrol regards as null any marriage with a
citizen of a non-treaty planet," the captain said softly.
The
savage self-biting of his autonomic nervous system almost made him grimace as
he bent wordlessly to the paper and signed "Stephen Fishdollar." The
inner song was dead.
"You
may go home now, Mr. Fishdollar," the captain said. "I will send your
personal effects, less uniforms, ashore before I lift out."
Mr.
Fishdollar turned away. Captain Kravitz came around the desk and laid an arm
across his shoulders.
"Sit
down again, Stephen," he said soberly. "I had to play it out to the
end, but I don't want you leaving on that note, lad."
They
sat down, on the same side of the desk.
"Stephen,"
the captain said gently, "all youngsters worth their salt chafe at the
policy of restricted settlement and exploration. I did and I still do, but I
never had the courage to act directly."
He
paused and closed his eyes, then continued.
"Graybeards
in conclave never make the important decisions for our species. They are always
afraid. The decisions well up from the four-dimensional life-continuum that is
our species, and the graybeards accept, with what grace they can muster."
He tilted back his head, eyes still closed.
"The
decisions always come through crooked, unmapped channels, through poets and
prophets and dreamers, to enter the consciousness of man. Dreamers drove man to
be free when he feared freedom. A few centuries later they drove him into
space, shrinking and trembling. Now this. Dreamers, giving vent to that will of
our species which no graybeard can gainsay."
The
captain opened his eyes and looked again at his companion.
"There
is an old saying, Stephen: 'Beware of the dreamer who dreams concretely.'
Perhaps the Patrol version should be 'Never put a dreamer in the way of
dreaming concretely.' I will never know for certain how much I have really had
to do with this. I will be in grave trouble before it ends. But I know, as you
have just learned, that dreams can be merciless."
Mr.
Fishdollar smiled weakly. Captain Kravitz stood up and so did Mr. Fishdollar.
The captain held out his hand.
"Goodbye,
Stephen," he said. "Good luck, lad, and I'm proud of you."
They
shook hands and Mr. Fishdollar turned to the door. He rather thought that, just
as he turned, the captain snapped him a salute.
________________________________________
Mr.
Fishdollar stumbled toward the settlement. People passed and he did not see
them. He was not thinking. Someone ran squealing. Then Wendy was running toward
him, crying.
"Stevie,
Stevie, I'm so glad!" she sobbed against his shoulder. "They tried to
browbeat us into taking another planet, but we remembered and fought for your
dream of an outpost planet. We've won, haven't we won, Stevie?"
"Yes,
Wendy, we've won," Mr. Fishdollar said slowly.
She
pressed closer and he hugged her convulsively.
"Let's
celebrate tonight," she cried. "A Thanksgiving—"
"All
right, but let me go now, sweetheart. I need to think." He hugged her
convulsively again and released himself.
Alone
on the headland, he looked out over the sea for a long time. He took off his
blue and gold tunic, folded it neatly, and thrust it deep into a crevice of the
rock. The day was gray-chilly and he shivered in his undershirt.
Evening
drew on, red-gray over the water. He stood very erect with his chin up. He
heard the signal gun and then the roar as Carlyle lifted out, and his chin rose
higher. Finally thoughts began coming through the hurt. Thoughts were still to
be had for the thinking.
President-consort
Fishdollar walked through ghostly, tentative snowflakes toward the settlement
on the lonely outpost planet ... standing like a great rock in the way of the
aliens ... or in the way of the sickly pale cast of conscious thinking ...
aliens both, to the unsearchable mind of the species ... aliens, then, war or
negotiation ... President Fishdollar down with nervous strain ... the First
Gentleman in de facto control ... triumph ... reception at Prime Reference ...
medal of honor....
With
a spring in his step and warmth inside him, Stephen Fishdollar came home.