INTERVENTION (7 page)

As we fled onto the front porch we heard the clink of glassware.

"Now he can get stinko in peace," Don hissed bitterly. "Rotten old drunk. Never expect him to understand. He talks about
us
being a disgrace—"

We sat together on the bottom step, putting aside our enmity. It was quite dark. The other kids were dodging around under the streetlights. We had no wish to join them.

I said, "Plenty of people flunk. He didn't have to drag Papa and Maman into it ... or God."

"God!" Don made the word a curse. "When you come right down to it, the whole darn mess is his fault."

Horrified at the sacrilege, I could only gape at him.

He was whispering, but his mental voice seemed to shout inside my skull. "God made us, didn't he? Okay—our parents made our bodies, but didn't
he
make our souls? Isn't that what the nuns say? And what's a soul anyhow, Rogi? A mind!"

"Yes, but—"

"God made these weird minds of ours, so it's his fault we have all this trouble. How can we help it?"

"Gee, I don't know," I began doubtfully.

He grabbed me by the shoulders. The voices of the kids mingled with crickets and traffic noises and the sound of a television program that One' Louie had turned on inside.

"Didn't you ever stop to think about it, dummy?" Don asked me. "Why are we like this? Why aren't there any other people in the world like us? When God made us, what in hell did he think he was doing?"

"What kind of a dumb question is that? That's the dumbest thing you ever said! It's probably some kind of sin, even. You better shut your stupid trap, Donnie!"

He started to laugh, then, a smothered squeaky sound loaded with an awful triumph, and he mind-screamed at me:

He did it it's not our fault we didn't ask for this he can't blame us nobody can hell with all of them hell! hell! hell!...

I closed my mind to him, slamming the barrier into place as though I were locking the door of a cellar that threatened to spew out black nightmares; and then he began to snivel and beg me to open up to him again, but I got up from the steps and went back into the house, into the kitchen where Tante Lorraine was baking something and the lights were bright, and I sat at the table and pretended to do my homework.

OBSERVATION VESSEL
SPON-SU-BREVON [POL
41-11000]

10
NOVEMBER
1957

T
HE POLTROYAN COMMANDER'S
ruby eyes lost their twinkle and his urbane smile faded to a grimace of incredulity. "Surely you jest, Dispensator Ma'elfoo! Personnel from my ship?"

The Krondaku's mind displayed a replay of the incident, complete with close-ups of the miscreant Simbiari scouts taken flagrante delicto. "As you see, Commander Vorpimin-Limopilakadafin."

"Call me Vorpi. Do you mind telling me what you were doing in the vicinity of the satellite anyhow?"

"My spouse, Taka'edoo Rok, and I were doing an unscheduled survey in order to include details of its fascinatingly crude design in a report we have prepared. Our transport module was totally screened, as is the invariable custom of the Krondak Xenocultural Bureau when visiting pre-emergent solar systems. The scout craft with the Simbiari was also screened heavily, but this presented no particular obstacle to Grand Master farsensors such as Taka'edoo and myself. We considered replacing the stolen property. However, the scouts had meddled with the biomonitoring equipment, and there was a chance that the satellite might have transmitted some anomalous signal to the Earthside control station. And so we contented ourselves with taking the scouts in charge, together with their booty, and bringing them to you."

"Love's Oath," groaned Commander Vorpi. "Our tour's nearly over, and we had an almost perfect disciplinary record—up to now."

"My condolences." The Krondaku politely refrained from stating the obvious: When vessels of his own methodical race were in charge of planetary Mind observations, nothing
ever
went wrong.

"I must request that you testify at the disciplinary hearing," Vorpi said. "And perhaps you have suggestions for redress."

"Our time is limited, Commander Vorpi. We are due back on Dranra-Two in the Thirty-Second Sector for a conference on primitive orbital biohabitats, derelict and functional. We postponed presentation of our paper and sped here at maximum displacement factor when we learned that Sol-Three had just entered this phase of astronautic achievement. (Most of our investigations have involved the orbiters of extinct civilizations.) However, it will not be convenient to prolong our stay..."

"Oh, I'll call the silly buggers on the carpet right now." Vorpi sent out a thought on the imperative mode: GupGup Zuzl! Have Enforcer Amichass bring in those two scouts on report. And don't forget the contraband. I'll need you to log the hearing. Snapsnapsnap!

Dispensator Ma'elfoo glanced about the commander's directorium. "A handsomely appointed chamber," he remarked politely. "The artifacts are from Earth?" One tentacle palpated the multicolored animal-fiber carpet while another lifted an Orrefors crystal vase from Vorpi's monitoring desk.

"Souvenirs." Vorpi waved a violet-tinted hand. "The drapery textiles from the serictery secretions of certain insect larvae; the rug painstakingly knotted by hand-laborers in a desert region; the paintings by Matisse and Kandinsky, rescued from a Parisian fence; the settee by Sears Roebuck; the liquor-dispensing cabinet by Harrods. May I offer you some refreshment, by the way?"

"I would esteem some Bowmore Scotch," the Krondaku said. "My deep-sight perceives a bottle hidden away."

Vorpi chuckled as he left his desk to do the honors. "Distinctive treatment of alcohol, the Scotches. I predict a wide market for them in the Milieu—provided the Intervention does take place. Mixer?"

"Just a splash of liquid petrolatum." The two entities toasted one another. After savoring his drink, Ma'elfoo exhaled gustily. "Yes, it is as I remembered. Ten orbits ago I visited Sol-Three to participate in a comparative study of aircraft evolution. We went on a survey to the British Isles and I acquired a taste for this beverage, among others. Earth technology has developed apace; but one can be grateful that the distilleries cling to tradition."

The connoisseurs enjoyed a momentary mental rapport. "Have you ever sampled the genuine rareties?" Vorpi asked softly. "Bunnahabhain? Bruichladdich? Lagavulin? Caol Ila?"

The fearsome Krondaku uttered a whimper of ecstasy. "You're not joshing me, you fire-eyed little pipsqueak?
Caol Ila!
"

Vorpi lifted his shoulders, let a tiny smile crease his lips.

The door of the directorium slid open. The Gi GupGup Zuzl, secretary of the mission, stalked in, followed by two very young Simbiari scouts and an enforcer of the same race. Vorpi went back to his desk and sat down. The Gi declaimed:

"Commander, the prisoners taken by Grand Masters Ma'elfoo and Taka'edoo Rok herewith submit to disciplinary inquiry. Defendant names: Scout Misstiliss Abaram and Scout Bali Ala Chamirish. Charges: On this Galactic Day La-Prime 1-344-207, the defendants, on a routine inspection of the Second Earth Orbital Vehicle, did mischievously interfere with said orbiter in contravention of divers Milieu statutes and regulations, removing its subsapient passenger with intent to smuggle said creature on board the Spon-su-Brevon."

The male and the female scouts stood at attention with screened minds and dry, impassive faces. Bali Ala had a harder time of it than her comrade because the small animal in her arms was squirming wildly and resisting her attempts at coercion. The Simbiari enforcer scowled and added his coercive quotient, but the beast only struggled harder, gave a sharp yap, and jumped free. It made a dash for the still-open door and would have escaped if Ma'elfoo had not zapped its brainstem very gently, paralyzing it in its tracks.

Enforcer Amichass, mortified and glistening with green sweat, retrieved the creature and set it like a stuffed toy beside the two crewmen on report. "I'm sorry about that, Commander. A recalcitrant species that resists—"

"Never mind," Vorpi sighed. "Get on with it. What do you two have to say for yourselves? Of all the sophomoric idiocies—pinching the damn Russian dog!"

"Her name is Laika," Misstiliss said.

Bali Ala said, "The power-source of the vehicle's environmental system was almost exhausted. The animal was about to perish from oxygen lack. We—we shorted out the biomonitoring equipment and took Laika after making certain that Soviet ground control would have no indication of any anomaly."

Misstiliss added, "The orbit of the satellite is very eccentric and decaying rapidly. Sputnik II will burn up on re-entry, obliterating any trace of our interference. Laika has endured nearly a week in orbit, and we thought she might provide us with valuable research data—"

"Half-masticated lumpukit!" swore the Poltroyan commander. "You wanted to take the thing back with you as a souvenir! As a pet!"

A green droplet hung from Misstiliss's nose. He fixed his gaze on a point where the wall behind Commander Vorpi met the ceiling. "You are correct, of course, sir. We admit our guilt fully, repent of the infraction, and stand ready to accept discipline at the Commander's pleasure."

"So say I also," Bali Ala murmured. "But we really didn't do any harm."

"Won't you youngsters ever learn?" Vorpi was out of his chair and pacing in front of the pair and the dog, waving his glass of Scotch by way of punctuation. "We realize that these long surveillance tours of exotic worlds can be tedious—especially to youths who, like yourselves, belong to a race imperfectly attuned to Unity. But think of the importance of our work! Think of the Milieu's noble scheme for planet Earth and our hope that its unique Mind may eventually enrich the Galaxy!"

The Krondaku addressed Commander Vorpi on his intimate mode:
At least that's what the Lylmik keep telling us.

"Young people," Vorpi went on, "remember your history. Think of the poor planet Yanalon, Friin-Six, that was hurled back to barbarism on the very threshold of coadunation merely because a careless botanist on a Milieu survey vessel contravened regulations and picked a single piece of fruit and spat out the pips..."

She was a Poltioyan, as I recall,
said Ma'elfoo.

"The work we do, coaxing these primitive worlds toward metapsychic operancy and coadunation with our Milieu, is excruciatingly delicate. It can be jeopardized by a single thoughtless action, even one that seems harmless. This is why every infraction of the Guidance Statutes for Overt Intervention must be considered a most serious matter. One doesn't meddle frivolously with the destiny of a sapient race."

And tell that to the Lylmik as well!
Ma'elfoo suggested.

His peroration at an end, Vorpi resumed his seat and said, "Now you may respond."

"We would not deliberately contravene any scheme of the Concilium," Bali Ala said stiffly, "even in the case of a patently unworthy world such as Earth, which has been showered with far more Milieu assistance than it deserves. But... the Earthlings will never know that we saved the little dog, and it has a very appealing personality. Far more appealing than that of the average human, when it comes to that! We farspoke Laika on all three of our inspection tours of the satellite, and I admit that we both became bonded to her."

The Gi smiled and whiffled its cryptomammaries. "It really
is
adorable."

Misstiliss said, "When we saw that the planetside controllers meant to let Laika die, we were outraged—and we acted. I'm sorry we violated the Guidance Statutes, but not sorry we saved the little dog."

Commander Vorpi tapped the side of the empty Scotch glass with the talon of his little finger. "A grave matter. Yet, as you said, it would seem no harm was done."

"I haven't yet logged the hearing," GupGup Zuzl insinuated slyly. "And we have enjoyed a perfect duty tour up until now..."

Vorpi fixed the Krondak scientist with a meaningful gaze. "However, the violation was witnessed and reported by two citizens of unimpeachable status."

Did you say Caol lla, my dear Vorpi?

I only have two bottles.

One for me and one for Toka'edoo Rok.

"What is your disposition of this case, Commander?" the Gi secretary inquired formally.

"I don't find any infraction of Milieu statutes," Vorpi replied, "but these crewmen are clearly derelict in not having filed a report on their last inspection of the satellite Sputnik II. Let a reprimand be entered in their files, and they are sentenced to six days each on waste-water-recycling system maintenance. The animal can keep them company. Dismissed."

The Krondaku canceled his coercive grip on the dog, which came to its senses as Misstiliss scooped it up. It lapped at the Simb's glistening green face.

"Likes the way we taste," the scout said sheepishly. He and Bali Ala saluted and hurried away, taking Laika with them.

FROM THE MEMOIRS OF ROGATIEN REMILLARD

B
ELATEDLY, AT THE
age of twelve, I discovered that I liked to read. It was early in 1958 and every American kid was passionately interested in the new "race for space." Our older cousins bought science-fiction magazines and left them lying around, and I picked them up and immediately became addicted. They were much more exciting than comic books. But it was not the tales of space travel that fascinated me so much as the stories that dealt with extrasensory perception.

ESP! For the first time I was able to put a name to the powers that made Don and me aliens in our own country. I got all worked up over the discovery and made Don read some of the stories, too; but his reaction was cynical. What did that stuff have to do with us? It was fiction.
Somebody had made it up.

I ventured beyond the magazines, to the Berlin Public Library. When I looked up ESP and related topics in the encyclopedias, my heart sank. One and all, the reference books acknowledged that "certain persons" believed in the existence of mental faculties such as telepathy, clairvoyance, and psychokinesis. One and all, the books declared that there was no valid scientific evidence whatsoever for such belief.