Prostho Plus (6 page)

"It is my profession, Doctor. As I said, I am a diplomat—a free-lance diplomat, if you will. I always master the dialect before attempting to deal with an alien. The muck-a-muck was considerate enough to loan me a transcoder coded to Gleep/Earth—"

So that was where his machine had gone! "You went to all this trouble just to talk directly to me?" This was impressive.

"No trouble at all, Doctor, I assure you. My species, being less aggressive than most and of poor digital co-ordination," here he held up webbed fingers, "survived by talking rapidly. Thus we became natural diplomats, and language is our pleasure. But you seem nervous, Doctor. Am I abusing your vernacular?"

Dillingham was embarrassed. "No, you speak like a native. But there are a number of different life forms on my planet, Earth, and by an odd coincidence you—" He broke off, unwilling to say it.

"I resemble one of your animals? Please do not be reticent, Doctor. I must confess that your own appearance corresponds to a certain mammalian strain on my own world, mortifying as it may be to say so."

"Well, I
am
a mammal—"

"Really?" The creature drew his reptilian head close. "Do you give live birth to your young? Do you suckle them? Hair on your body? You have a"—here he paused delicately—"a fixed body temperature?"

Dillingham was taken aback by the implied appraisal. "Some of these traits are, shall we say, implemented by the female of my species. But yes—these are typical qualities."

The dinosaur shook his head. "Strange. I did not realize that intelligence was possible in a true mammal. But in a galaxy the size of ours—"

"Then you actually are a—reptile? You lay eggs, are cold-blooded, have undifferentiated teeth?"

"Of course—with the same reservations you mentioned for yourself. I, being male, do not personally lay eggs, and actually my blood is not cold. It merely matches the temperature of my body, which in turn matches my surroundings, which you will agree is the sensible system. No offence."

Dillingham smiled. "Then I don't suppose it is any insult to you if I mention that you resemble one of the most notable reptiles in the history of my planet. It's extinct now, but we call it the duck-billed dinosaur. I can't remember the technical name."

"Ah. Probably Trachodon. I surmised as much when I interpolated missing portions of your transcoder's vocabulary."

"You were able to discover terms I don't even know myself?" Dillingham asked, a little uneasy.

"By no means. If your language were rational, this would be possible, naturally, but this is hardly the case. The technical names for your dinosaurs—Stegosaurus, Ornithomimus, Brontosaurus—these were all in the memory-storage of your transcoder. You must have provided them at some time."

"But I don't remember any such thing! I may have run across the words in some college text, years ago, but—"

"Interesting. Are you subject to the trance-state? Perhaps you provided more information than you realized."

Trance state! Dillingham began to wonder just how much the Enens, his first galactic "hosts", had learned about him. If they had managed to drug or hypnotize him—

"Suddenly it occurs to me I've been a trifle naďve," he told the trachodon. Then, oddly, he found himself pouring out all his complaints to this unusual but sympathetic acquaintance. "...and then I was put to work instructing classes in metallic restoratives, as though being abducted from Earth wasn't bad enough. The novelty wore off in a hurry. Then the Enens sold me to Gleep, and for the past three weeks I've been wallowing in the unbrushed mouth of the leviathan, shovelling sludge out of trenchlike cavities and pouring in solid gold because the muck-a-muck won't allow me to experiment with anything cheaper. I have to live in this adapted lung-compartment. Oh, the Gleep monarch treats me well enough—but I can't get used to the idea of never going outside, even if there is no land here to walk on. As for actually living inside a three hundred foot long sea creature, like a parasite... I can't even flush the water-closet without remembering that my refuse is being drained right back into the bloodstream of—"

"This is understandable," the trachodon said. "It occurs to me that you are not well situated here."

"That occurred to
me
three weeks ago! But how do I get away? Every time I try to say something—"

"I see no problem. To a Gleep, there is no higher privilege than serving Gleepdom. When you express dissatisfaction with your lot, the muck-a-muck must assume that the transcoder has broken down. Indeed, speaking as an objective third party, I must say that your attitude is atypical."

"You mean there are creatures who would actually
enjoy
scraping decomposition off twelve foot cusps, ten hours a day? Who don't mind isolation?"

"Certainly, assuming they were capable of handling the work. Absolute comfort, absolute security, limited responsibility—it can be a very tempting proposition."

Hope blossomed. "Could—could you arrange to have one of these creatures replace me here?"

"I could certainly inaugurate the proceedings, if that is what you really desire. But I must warn you: once you leave Gleep, it will be almost impossible for you to return. Few are granted a second chance."

"The first chance has been quite sufficient. Tell the muck-a-muck there are lots of Enens who are trained for the work, or who can instruct other creatures in the principles. Tell him—well, you're the diplomat. You know what to say."

"Of course. But where do you wish to go ?"

"Home!"

"Your native planet is some distance away. I rather doubt that you possess the frump or the stiggle to finance the journey at this time, particularly since you would first have to purchase your own contract and attain independent status."

Dillingham thought about it. While he hardly approved of the manner he had become "property", he knew that galactic law recognized the validity of that status. Earth was not considered to be a civilized planet, and therefore had few rights. The theory was that a savage admitted to galactic culture owed a certain amount in return for the education he picked up just by associating with higher species. He had a long way to go before becoming his own man again. "I'll go anywhere, so long as it's above water and in the open."

"I could arrange transportation quite readily to Electrolus, where I happen to have my next assignment—"

"Does it have solid land and natural sunshine?"

"Yes, but—"

"Done!"

Two hours later Trach showed him aboard a ship anchored on the surface. It hardly seemed possible that he had obtained his release so readily, yet here he was, out of the belly of the whale. Trach was certainly efficient!

"This isn't an Enen ship," Dillingham observed. "Too small. Where's the crew?"

"There is no crew," Trach said, closing the hatch.

Dillingham realized abruptly that he was alone with a dinosaur—really alone. "But you said—"

Trach walked by, his breath smelling of midsummer hay. "I'm going to Electrolus, and there is room for you aboard my ship, so I simplified the procedure by purchasing your contract myself. Wasn't that what you wanted?"

Dillingham was hardly sure. The trachadon stood twelve feet tall without stretching and had an alarmingly powerful construction. The ridiculous jacket and bow-tie could not conceal the impervious hide beneath, or the rippling reptilian musculature. When he spoke, the jaws parted to reveal a ferocious array of teeth... but not far enough to enable Dillingham to determine whether they were the implements of a herbivore or a carnivore.

"Take-off may be a trifle uncomfortable," Trach said. "Would you like me to strap you in?"

The spare couch had enormous metallic bands for up to six limbs. The fastenings were far too heavy for Dillingham to manipulate himself; they were shackles that would hold him helpless, once clamped. "I—I'll try my luck without the straps," he said.

"Fine. I never bother with them myself. Sometimes I get hungry in mid-manoeuvre, and they become inconvenient."

Sometimes he got hungry... Dillingham wondered just what rights a contract granted the owner. Were the duckbills carnivorous? He couldn't remember. He gripped his bag of tools tightly, wishing he had something more sturdy than a slender dental sealer. But of course Trach was friendly. He was a reputable diplomat. He said.

Trach braced his tail against the floor and manipulated controls. Suddenly there was a jolt that threw Dillingham to the floor. "Just a little finicky when she's warming up," the dinosaur remarked, "One of these missions I'm going to lease a modern ship. This one is apt to spring a leak in space any time now."

Dillingham sat down abruptly on the couch and gripped a strap. Leak in space! Another jolt, and the ship was moving. Trach activated a screen, and the grey waves of the Gleep ocean appeared, rushing past at an astonishing rate. Then they were airborne, and the waves gave way to dank clouds.

It became warm. "Do you have any temperature control for this ship?" Dillingham inquired sweating. "I think the speed is heating the—I mean, the atmospheric friction—"

"Oh, there is some variation. We're reaching for escape velocity, after all. On this planet, in your terms, that's about twenty thousand knots. Nothing to worry about."

Dillingham winced as the metal flooring became hot. "Well, I'm a fixed-temperature creature," he reminded the dinosaur apologetically.

"Is this uncomfortable for you? I had forgotten." Trach obligingly turned on a frigid blast of air. "Good thing that device is operative now. Sometimes it gets stuck on HOT."

Dillingham nodded, shivering, though the metal fastenings were still too hot to touch. He wondered how many other minor inconveniences this ship would produce. This was certainly a contrast to the precision equipment of the Enens.

The ship shuddered and bucked, catapulting him across the burning floor. "That breaks us out of the atmosphere," Trach said nonchalantly. "Better stay on the couch, though. Sometimes it—"

The dinosaur turned as he spoke, spied Dillingham far removed from the couch, and leaped for him. The enormous webbed hands caught him before he could scramble to safety. "Got you!" Trach grunted with satisfaction.

Dillingham opened his mouth to scream, knowing it to be a thoroughly useless and effeminate gesture but unable to think of anything better. There
had
been foul pla—

The ship seemed to turn inside out. There was a sickening wrench of... something that threatened to deposit his stomach inside his braincase. Then Dillingham found himself seated on Trach's soft underbelly, both of them jammed into a corner.

Trach snapped around, snake-like, and set him on his feet. "I meant to warn you, Doctor. The shift into overdrive is sometimes a little sticky. I'm used to it, but you could have been hurt. Are you all right?"

"Yes," Dillingham replied, unsettled.

"From here on it will be perfectly smooth," Trach said. "Once this tub makes it through the shift, she's safe—until the shift back. That won't be for a couple of days, your time. We can relax."

Dillingham decided to take him at his word. "Thank you for all your trouble."

Trach touched a button on a complicated machine. "You over-rate the service I performed," he said modestly. "Ordinarily I would be offered a fair commission for straightening out the Gleep problem. But I accepted your contract in lieu of that, and it's worth—"

"A ton of frumpstiggle."

"Which is several times my normal fee. That is a credit my account sorely needs. If I had failed to give satisfaction—"

The machine spewed out a mass of green material resembling fresh cabbage leaves.

"So you weren't just being nice, helping me out?"

"Doctor, it is my business to be nice, and to get paid for it. Too often I'm never given the opportunity. We'll find some attractive disposition for your contract, maybe a semi-private practice on Electrolus similar to the one you had on Earth, and both of us will gain. May I offer you something to eat?"

"That's—food?" Dillingham eyed the armful of leaves.

"Greenchomp, in your idiom. It's the only sustenance my species can tolerate. But the synthesizer can be adjusted for other things—usually. What would you prefer?"

Dillingham contemplated the machine. "I'm not hungry at the moment," he said. "What did you mean about never being given the opportunity to be nice? If you're a diplomat—"

"Free-lance. That means I'm my own boss, but if I don't produce, I starve. I go from mission to mission, and I was doing well enough until recently. But now—well, if I don't make good on Electrolus, I'll be awkwardly near insolvency. I'll have to scratch to provision my ship for the next hop, and that means—"

"Don't tell me. Let me guess. That means you'll have to auction off my contract to the highest bidder."

"Something like that. And I'm afraid they don't offer as much for compatible locations. There's always a fierce demand for doctors and dentists in the radium mines of Ra, because—"

"My curiosity just radiated away. Let's agree that your problem is my problem, and see if we can't solve it."

"If only we could. But it baffles me."

"You seemed to handle the Gleep affair readily enough. I'm no judge, of course, but if you know your job and work at it, I can't see why you should have any difficulties." It was amazing how quickly they had got on intimate terms. The confirmation of Trach's leafy diet and the image of deadly radium mines might have contributed something, however.

"I agree. But somehow I haven't made the grade recently, except on Gleep."

Tell me about it," Dillingham said. "Believe me, I am exceedingly interested."

Trach flexed his tail restlessly. "Consider my last assignment. The planet of Bolt engaged me to set up formal relations with the world of Gulp and arrange for a cultural exchange. I mastered the difficult language of Gulp—it's a glottal dialect—and trained myself to be adept at every nuance of planetary etiquette before setting one webbed foot there. I rehearsed my ritual compliments industriously. I'm sure everything was correct—yet I never got to meet the representatives with whom I had to deal. Despite my numerous hints, then: monarch did not see fit to provide me with the necessary appointments, and finally my lease expired with nothing accomplished. I had to forfeit the commission." His tail slapped the deck in frustration. "How can I be diplomatic when I'm not permitted to talk with my clients?"