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BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY E. C. TUBB
Enemy of the State: Fantastic Mystery Stories
Galactic Destiny: A Classic Science Fiction Tale
The Ming Vase and Other Science Fiction Stories
Mirror of the Night and Other Weird Tales
Sands of Destiny: A Novel of the French Foreign Legion
Star Haven: A Science Fiction Tale
Tomorrow: Science Fiction Mystery Tales
The Wager: Science Fiction Mystery Tales
The Wonderful Day: Science Fiction Stories
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 1959 by E. C. Tubb
Copyright © 2012 by Lisa John
Originally published in Science Fiction Adventures No. 10, October 1959
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
For Michael
CHAPTER ONE
It was time for Completing the Log, the last Task of the arbitrary day. Jak reached for the thick volume, inscribed the date and time, then paused, stylo in hand, his eyes on First Mate Sar where she sat before the tell-tales.
“All well, Sar?”
“All well, Captain.”
He nodded, wrote the hieroglyphic which meant ‘Ship functioning at optimum level, morale high, nothing to report’, drew a thick line beneath the entry, closed the book, replaced it on its rack, and leaned back with a sense of completion.
It was always the same at the end of a day. Another segment of time and distance had been safely covered, a challenge met and conquered, and the smooth routine of the ship could commence another cycle. He glanced at his watch; it lacked a few minutes to the time of Captain’s Walk of Inspection. He decided not to waste them.
“Sar!”
“Captain?”
She turned from the tell-tales, the tiny lights throwing her strong-boned face into high relief. With her cropped hair and utilitarian uniform of sober grey, she could have been his brother. People had often fallen into that error, wondering, perhaps, why the youngest should have held the higher command.
“Sister,” he said deliberately. “You are troubled. Why?”
“I have no trouble, Jak.” Now that he had set the pattern, formality could be dropped. He smiled at her and shook his head.
“I said that you were troubled, not that you had trouble. Don’t argue like People.”
“No, Jak.”
“Is it Ric?”
“Ric is a good boy,” she said quickly, too quickly. “There is nothing wrong with him.”
She spoke in Ship-Talk, a language in which much could be said in a word, and because of this he sensed more than she told.
“He is a good boy,” he agreed. “But he is young.”
“Not too young to know the duties of the Folk.”
“True.”
Jak studied her for a moment, wondering whether to press the point, then decided against it. Ric was Sar’s only child, and it was natural for her to defend him. But there was trouble there, Jak could sense it. It would do no harm to keep an eye on the boy. It was a pity that he had no father.
He glanced at his watch again; time was getting short. He rose, straightened his uniform, then glanced expectantly towards the door at the sound of a knock. He frowned as the panel remained shut. The frown deepened as the knock was repeated. Folk would have knocked and entered. People would have knocked and waited, but People were not allowed in this part of the ship. Jak shouted a summons.
“Enter!”
First Engineer Lor entered the control room. He was followed by one of the People. Jak looked at the man, mentally hunting for his name and profession. Smith the Cleric from Earth. He stared at Lor.
“Trouble?”
“No, Captain.” The First Engineer was obviously ill at ease. “It is this man, sir. He has made a request that he be allowed to look over the ship.”
“I see.” It was an unusual request, and Jak could understand Lor’s attitude. People just didn’t want to examine the vessels in which they were passengers and, even if they did, Folk had no inclination to cater to their wishes. Not that it was against the ritual, not forbidden, that is, but it simply wasn’t done.
“I thought it best that he see you, sir.” Lor was apologetic
“Insistent?”
“Yes, sir. Very.”
Jak nodded. Only once before had he permitted a man of the People to see over his vessel. That had been a Sociologist, an old man who had later written a paper on the mores and customs of the Folk. He had sent Jak a copy, which he hadn’t bothered to read. But the Sociologist had had a reason. This man?
“Why do you want to see over the ship?” Jak dropped into Interspacial; few People could understand Talk.
“I am interested, sir.”
“I am the Captain,” said Jak. “Interested? Only that?”
“Yes, Captain. I realize that I am asking a great favour, but I hope that you will be able to see your way clear to grant it.”
“Curiosity,” snorted Lor in Talk. “Can you beat it?”
Jak didn’t answer. He stared at Smith and was intrigued by what he saw.
Smith was an old, small wisp of a man. He wore peculiar clothing of black, and affected a band of white around his throat. He was, so his papers proclaimed, a Cleric, but just what that was Jak had no idea. He was a quiet man and utterly nondescript but for his eyes. He had wide eyes, eyes which were alive with seeing and not just looking. The rest of him was nothing, a mere shadow, but his eyes were like two sponges absorbing everything they saw.
“Please, Captain.” His voice held a note of pleading. Jak made his decision.
“You may accompany me,” he said. “Walk not less and not more than two feet at my side. Touch nothing.”
“Yes, Captain.” Smith was pathetically grateful.
He had never seen anything quite like it before. He had seen a part of the ship, of course—the cabins, the lounge, the dining room—but the inner workings
