The Continent Makers and Other Tales of the Viagens (23 page)

As Ivor was not in when Gordon Graham got home, Gordon went to bed forthwith. When Ivor did come in a little later, Gordon pretended to be already asleep to forestall questions.

Next morning, as usual, he had to get up at the same time as Ivor. The latter, however, seemed to sense nothing unusual. He slapped Gordon on the back, saying: “Boy, you sure hit it off with the little squid! Don’t go falling for her the way you did with that last dame I introduced you to. She’s not really human, you know. So there wouldn’t be any—ah—issue to your union, if I may put it delicately. Not that you couldn’t have fun trying . . .”

While Ivor rattled on, Gordon Graham smiled a sickly smile and went out to take the tube to work. He found himself counting the hours until Sklar had promised to call on him. If anybody would know what to do, Sklar would. But did he dare tell even Sklar? Wouldn’t he consider it his duty to pounce on the gang, undeterred by such considerations as the life of an e.t. tourist? Or—was he even a real World Federation constable? In his present mood Gordon Graham felt suspicious of everybody from his brother down.

As the spring term was over, his main work at Columbia was correcting the last batch of papers. He rushed through this chore and took the subway back to Englewood without spending his usual hour in the library.

Back home, he tried to bury himself in a recent report by the South African Geological Survey on bathymagnetic fields in the substratum all the time listening with one ear for the buzzer. At last it sounded.

He quickly admitted his caller, expecting Sklar, to whom he had finally decided to pour out his tale of woe. Instead it turned out to be a young-looking Krishnan in Earthly costume, with antennae and green hair, as tall as Graham and wider in the shoulders. A fine figure of a man, in fact.

“Are you Gordon Graham?” said the visitor, in better English than Sklar used.

“Yes. What—”

“Then what have you done with Jeru-Bhetiru?” The young man pushed into the Graham apartment in a menacing manner.

“Nothing,” said Gordon Graham. “Who are you and what are you after, anyway?”

The Krishnan put fists on hips. “I am Varnipaz bad-Savarun, chief lawyer—I think you would say Attorney General—to Prince Ferrian bad-Arjanaq of Sotaspé, an island on the planet Krishna. Jeru-Bhetiru is my—ah—fiancée, I think you say.”

“Gluk,” said Graham as he digested this news. This must be the boyfriend Ivor had mentioned. If Ivor had come right out and said “fiancé” he might have been better prepared . . .

Varnipaz continued: “She was staying at the Cosmo Hotel in New York with the other members of the guided tour she is on, and last night she went out with you. Now, do not misunderstand me. I do not mind that she goes out with you; it is not as if she and I were in love or anything foolish like that. But when I called her hotel this morning she had not come back, and your brother, who takes these tourists around the sights of New York, did not know what had become of her. Now will you talk?”

“I’d be glad if I could,” said Graham. “But I don’t know where she is now either.”

“What happened?”
said the newcomer, his voice rising to a shout.

“I can’t tell you that yet. If—uh—you’ll wait a while—”

“You mean wait while you think up some plausible-sounding lie! Mr. Graham, either you tell me all you know right now, or . . .”

“Or what?” said Graham, taking off his glasses.

“You shall see. Will you tell?”

“N-no, I w-w—”

Graham ducked as Varnipaz’s fist hurtled towards him. Graham got back a stiff left before Varnipaz could avoid it, rocking the extra-terrestrial back. Then Graham prepared to move in with a killing right. If he could just line Varnipaz up . . .

Instead of trying to avoid or block the blow, Varnipaz stepped into it before it had gotten well started, and grappled.

Crash! They carried away a picture hanging on the wall, and fell to the ground, trying to use elbows and knees while keeping their grip on each other. Graham got a fist loose long enough to give Varnipaz a couple where his kidneys out to be—if Krishnans had kidneys, and had them in the same place as human beings, which was unlikely.

Varnipaz retaliated by fastening his fingers around Graham’s left thumb and twisting until Graham tore it loose. They broke for an instant and scrambled up. Graham knocked Varnipaz backwards with a quick one-two, bringing the floor lamp down in ruin; then stepped forward for a knock-out punch. As he did so, however, Varnipaz, staggering a little, threw himself into another clinch and skillfully tripped Graham. Down they went again, thrashing and kicking. Over went a chair. They got up, still struggling.

“Yeow!” yelped Graham as Varnipaz sank his teeth into his forearm. “I’ll fix you!” and snapped a knee towards the Krishnan’s crotch. Varnipaz, however, saw it coming and twisted his body so that the knee bounced off his hip. Graham realized that while he might be the better boxer, his antagonist had the edge in wrestling. Thinking the smelling antennae might be sensitive, he groped towards them . . .

“Okay, break it up!” said a voice from the doorway.

Both fighters looked around to see Sklar standing there with his hat on the side of his head, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, and one hand making a significant bulge in his blouse pocket.

“We might as well,” said Graham. “He’s got us covered.”

They disengaged themselves, each watching the other carefully against a treacherous blow. Varnipaz had the makings of a fine black eye, while Graham had toothmarks on his arm and a cut on one hand from broken glass. He began picking up the debris.

“Looks like a tomato has been through here,” said Sklar. “What’s this all about?”

Both Graham and Varnipaz launched into an explanation at once. After a few minutes Sklar held up a hand. “I get the idea so far,” he said. “Mr. Graham, maybe you better tell us what
did
happen last night.”

“With him here?” said Graham. “I think it has to do with—uh—you know—that trouble we had in the station.”

“That’s all right. I know about Varnipaz, and I think we can trust him.”

“Perhaps you know me,” said Varnipaz, “but I do not know you. Will you explain yourself, please?”

Sklar brought out his wallet and showed his credentials to the Krishnan, saying: “Go on pliz, Mr. Graham.”

Graham had stepped into the kitchenette for a paper bag, and he was now squatting and picking up pieces of glass. As he worked he told the whole story of the visit to the meeting of the Churchillian Society omitting only the fact that he had fallen in love with Jeru-Bhetiru, and that he suspected her of returning the sentiment. Despite Varnipaz’s curious remark earlier about not being in love with his affianced, Graham thought it a little tactless to mention his own feelings in front of him.

Graham finished: “. . . and now maybe you can tell
me
what’s happening. Here I am, the most p-p-peaceable sort of guy you could find, who hasn’t been in a brawl since he was a kid. And now I’ve been in three fights in the last twenty-four hours; and I’ve been involved in kidnapping, assault, and goodness knows what else. What the hell goes on?”

Sklar put another cigarette in his mouth, drew quickly on it to light it, and said: “This gank, as you call them, is up to somethink; just what, I am supposed to find out. It has some connection with the Gamanovia Project, as you know yourself, and there are rumors that it is really run by extra-terrestrial interests. What sort of e.t.s I don’t know either. Can you offer any suggestions, Prince?”

Varnipaz waved a deprecating hand. “I do not use the title here on Earth, where you are nearly all republicans. Besides it makes people confuse me with my cousin Ferrian, the Prince Regent. As for your question, I do not know either. Not counting the other Mr. Graham’s tourists, there are only about twenty Krishnans on Earth, and I know most of them personally. You people screen us very carefully to make sure nobody tries to break your technological blockade. But I do not know why any should be especially interested in Gamanovia; we have no oceans to fish continents out of.”

Graham said: “Wouldn’t the fact that Lundquist used an—uh—Osirian electric gun indicate that there was an Osirian in it?”

“Might,” said Sklar. “Earthmen seldom use the shock- gun because it ain’t practical in cities. When you shoot it you burn out the electric wiring for mitters around. But that still don’t give a risen. Osirians haven’t got oceans either, have they?”

“Not as I remember. It’s a dry planet.”

“Well then, who’d want to interfere with the Gamanovia Project?”

“Could it be somebody thinks this increased land area would increase our military potential so as to violate the arms limitation treaty?”

Sklar shook his head. “Fetched pretty far, if you don’t mind me saying so. How about that island where you got all that control equipment, that will be in the middle of the continent? Who owns it?”

“Ascension? A Spaniard named Teófilo March who raises turtles.”

“How’d this guy get the island? He must have folding money.”

“When the World Federation took over the strategic islands and waterways like Gibraltar and the Panama Canal they got Ascension. Then a few years ago they sold some of these pieces of real estate at auction, and Señor March bought this one. Now we’ve got a contract to buy it back before the continent rises. Since he’s doing all right on the deal I don’t see why he should object.”

“What Government has sovereignty of Ascension?”

“None,” said Graham.

“You can’t do that! If none of the national governments has it, it must come under W.F. jurisdiction.”

“No, that’s the funny thing. W.F. territory is limited by its constitution to certain kinds of land like the Kalahari Preserve and Antarctica. When the W.F. gave up Ascension it would normally have reverted to Great Britain, but the British refused it on grounds that it would cost more to administer this useless pile of volcanic clinkers than it was worth.”

“So this March could call himself Emperor of Ascension if he wanted to?”

“I suppose he could. But look here, instead of theorizing, now that you know about the Churchillian Society, why don’t you raid the place and run in the lot?”

“First,” said Sklar, “because we’d only catch the small fries; they are smart enough not to let their right hands know what their lefts are doink. Second, because they would probably kill Miss Jeru if they were threatened. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

“No!” exclaimed the two younger men at once.

“So, we have to do what we can. You know, Graham, that was not so smart of you to rouse them up by defyink them while they still had you and the yonk lady in their power. You should have pretended to agree—”

“I know that now,” said Graham. “It was the stupidest thing I’ve done since I was a frosh. But I’m new at bulldogging.”

“I understand. But then they ain’t supermen either, and they made mistakes too. Most battles is won by the side that mecks the fewest mistakes, you know. That gun, for instance. And tippink you off that two of their men was missink, so you connected them with the fight earlier.”

“What about Smith and Magazzo?” asked Graham.

“I hope to have a receptions committee when they arrive in Kansas City,” said Sklar. “We should be able to hold them on some charge for a few days at list. If they were arrested here in New York, the gank would find out about it.”

Varnipaz said: “This talk is all very well, but what shall we do? I cannot sit making abstract remarks on crime and punishment while your vile Earthly gang kills my fiancée. At home I should buckle on my best sword, mount my noble aya, and gallop off to the rescue. But how does one do that on Earth where all is done by pushing electric buttons?”

Sklar thought a minute and said: “Do you two both want to help me?”

“Yes,” they replied in chorus.

“Good. I nid your help too, and I know enough about you to think I can trust you. I can deputize you both right here and now. I can’t have you taken up for pay without a civil service examination and a training course, but I can give you authority to carry arms and make arrests. Can you take the time off from your regular work?”

“Yes,” they said again.

“Good. Raise your right hands and repit after me . . .”

###

“. . . and now you know what will happen to you if you break your oath to the Federation,” said Sklar. “We will go on to your orders. Varnipaz, I am thinkink of sendink you to Rio, where is the headquarters of the Gamanovia Project. Do you spick Portuguese?”

“Enough to travel on the Viagens Interplanetarias by myself, but not well. It is funny: my fiancée and I have to speak to each other in English or in Portuguese, because she does not know Sotaspeou, which is a close relative of Gozashtandou, while I do not speak her
lala rakáta-rajhogora
either. When we are married something will have to be done, I suppose. But excuse me, I am wasting your time.”

“So,” said Reinhold Sklar, “the only eternity is to send you as an
Americano do Norte.
But try not to let people get you to spick English; you have trouble with your consonants and bowels. Graham, you still got to go back to that Churchillian house this ivnink, don’t you? And since there may be Osirians in this case, we better take a little precaution. If your room is picked up, you will both come over to my place. We’ll disgust your plans on the way.”

An hour later the new deputy constables looked at one another and at their own images in Sklar’s mirror. (Sklar had a room in a cheap hotel.) Gordon Graham looked no different, despite the fact that his head had been completely shaved, and he wore next to his naked scalp a cap of thin silver disguised by a wig that fairly well matched his original hair.

Varnipaz, on the other hand, was a complete Earthman, his antennae hidden by a flap of false skin that came down low on his forehead. His wig was brown instead of his natural green, and bushy enough to hide the points of his ears.

Sklar explained: “Nobody knows how works the pseudo-hypnosis of the Osirians; whether some kind of ray or what. But it works, that is the main point, and the only protection is this kind of cap. It also gives a
little
protection against blows on the head, but don’t trust it too far in that direction. Now, you got all your orders straight? Remember, Graham, roll with the punch, as they say in fist fightink. Don’t think you can get word to me izzily, without being caught, at list until the boss thinks he has you under his pseudo-hypnotic control. And don’t try no gallant rescues except as a last resort; live that kind of think to us. Understand? Good. So lunk!”