The Star Diaries (12 page)

“There’ll be such trouble…” he groaned. “Please! Don’t make me tell, my—forgive me! Mister Tichy!—I—I’m only a secretary, grade 6, on the payroll…”

“Come now. And the Computer? And the robots?”

“Mister Tichy, have mercy! I’ll tell you the whole truth! Our chief—he organized it. Funds were allocated—to expand operations, to increase—ah—increase efficiency … research and development, determining the fitness of our people, but the main thing was the allocations…”

“You mean this was faked? All of it?!”

“I don’t know! I swear I don’t! From the time I got here—nothing’s changed, you mustn’t think that I’m in charge here, God forbid!—my job is only to maintain these personal files. The question was whether … whether our people would break down in the face of the enemy, in a critical situation—or whether they were ready, you see, to fight to the death.”

“And why has no one returned to Earth?”

“Because, well, because they all turned traitor, Mister Tichy … as yet not a single one has been willing to lay down his life for the cause of Gookum—phoo, for
our
cause, I meant to say, it’s out of habit that I use that word, please try to understand, eleven years sitting here, and in just one more I’m up for retirement, a pension, I have a wife and child, Mister Tichy, so for the love of—”

“Silence!!” I said angrily. “You want a pension, dog, I’ll give you a pension!!”

I raised the cleaver. The clerk’s eyes bulged; he began to grovel at my feet.

I ordered him to stand. Making certain that the safe had a small, grated opening for ventilation, I locked him up inside.

“And not a peep out of you! And if there’s any knocking or thumping, villain, it’ll be the flesh-shredder!!”

The rest was simple. That night was not among the most pleasant I had ever spent, for there were papers to look through—reports, statements, affidavits, records, dossiers, each inhabitant of the planet had his own portfolio. Using all the most confidential documents, I made myself a bed on the desk, there being no place to sleep. In the morning I switched on the microphone and, as the Computer, gave the order for the entire populace to assemble in front of the palace. Everyone was to bring with him a pair of pliers and a screwdriver. When they had all lined up like giant chessmen made of iron, I ordered them to unscrew each other’s heads—on behalf of the capacitance of Saint Electrix. At eleven o’clock the first human heads began to show, and there was tumult and confusion, cries of “Treason! Treason!”—which, a few minutes later, when the last iron bowl had clattered to the pavement, merged into a single roar of joy. I then appeared in my own identity and suggested that under my direction they all get down to work—for I wished to put together, out of the raw materials and supplies at hand, a great ship. It turned out, however, that in the palace cellars there were already a number of cosmic ships, and with full tanks, ready to go. Before takeoff I let Argusson out of the safe, but didn’t take him on board, nor would I permit anyone else to. I told him that I intended to inform his chief of everything, and also to let the latter know—in no less detail—exactly what I thought of him.

Thus concluded one of the most unusual of my adventures and voyages. Notwithstanding all the hardship and pain it had occasioned me, I was glad of the outcome, since it restored my faith, shaken by corrupt cosmic officeholders, in the natural decency of electronic brains. Yes, it’s comforting to know, when you think about it, that only man can be a bastard.

I
n no voyage did I ever run such hair-raising risks as in the journey to Amauropia, a planet of the constellation Cyclops. What I underwent there I owe entirely to Professor Tarantoga. That learned astrozoologist is not only a great explorer; in his spare time, as you probably know, he invents. Among other things, he invented a fluid for the removal of unpleasant memories, paper currency with horizontal eights to serve as bills of infinite denomination, three methods of staining fog in colors pleasing to the eye, as well as a special powder which one can sprinkle on clouds and then press them into suitable molds, whereby they acquire permanent, solid shapes. His also was an apparatus for tapping the energy, so often wasted, of little children, who as everyone knows cannot sit still for a minute.

That device consists of a system of cranks, pulleys and levers situated in various places about the dwelling and which the children push, pull and move in the course of their play, unaware that they are thereby pumping water, washing clothes, peeling potatoes, generating electricity, etc. It was out of concern for our youngest citizens, whom parents on occasion do leave in the house alone, that the Professor also devised lighters that will not light. These now are mass-produced on Earth.

One day the Professor showed me his latest invention. At first it seemed to me that I was looking at a small iron stove, and Tarantoga confessed that that in fact had served him as the point of departure.

“This is, my dear Ijon, the translation into reality of man’s age-old dream,” he announced, “and namely, a dilator or—if you prefer—a retarder of time. It makes possible the unlimited prolongation of life. One minute inside should last roughly two months, if my calculations are correct. Would you care to try it?…”

Always interested in technological novelties, I willingly climbed into the contraption. No sooner had I squatted down than the Professor slammed shut the little door. My nose tickled; the force with which the stove had been closed lifted the still remaining bits of soot into the air, so that, breathing in, I sneezed. At that precise moment the Professor turned on the current. Due to the retardation of the passage of time, my sneeze lasted five days and five nights, and when Tarantoga again opened the little door he found me nearly unconscious with exhaustion. At first he was astonished and concerned, but learning what had happened, smiled good-humoredly and said:

“But in actual fact merely four seconds went by on my watch. Well now, Ijon, what say you of this invention?”

“To tell the truth, well, I think it needs perfecting—though the thing is certainly significant,” I said, when I was able to catch my breath.

The worthy Professor was a bit chagrined at this, but then magnanimously made me a present of the device, explaining that it could serve equally well to accelerate the passage of time. Feeling somewhat fatigued, I put off for the moment a test of this additional possibility, thanked him warmly and carried the machine home with me. To tell the truth, I wasn’t all that certain about what to do with it, so I put it in the attic of my rocketshop, where it sat for more than half a year.

In the course of writing the eighth volume of his celebrated
Astrozoology,
the Professor became acquainted in some detail with information concerning beings that lived on Amauropia. It occurred to him that these would provide an excellent opportunity to try out the dilator (as well as the accelerator) of time.

This plan, when I learned of it, excited my interest to such a degree, that in less than three weeks I had loaded my rocket with provisions and fuel, and, placing on board some unfamiliar maps of that region of the Galaxy—as well as the apparatus—I blasted off without further delay. My haste might also be explained by the fact that the journey to Amauropia takes about thirty years. Of what exactly I did in that time I had better write elsewhere. I will only mention here one of the more singular events, which was when I encountered, in the vicinity of the galactic core (an area, I might add, that is dustier than most you can find in this universe), a tribe of interstellar vagabonds known as the Gypsonians.

These unfortunates haven’t a planet to call their own. To put it politely, they are creatures endowed with great imagination, for practically each one of them told me something different about the origin of the tribe. Later I heard it said that they had simply frittered away their home planet, that is, an inordinate greed had driven them to engage in strip mining and the exportation of various minerals. In these enterprises they tunneled and excavated the interior of their planet, depleting it completely, till finally all that remained was one colossal pit, which one day crumbled beneath their feet. True, there are others who maintain that the Gypsonians, embarking long ago on a drunken spree, had simply lost their way and couldn’t get back. Apparently no one knows how it really happened, but in either case the appearance of those cosmic vagabonds is never welcome, for whenever, advancing through space, they stop at any planet, before you know it something’s missing; there might be a little less air, or a river suddenly gone dry, or the islands refusing to add up right.

Once, on Ardenuria, they supposedly absconded with an entire continent, which luckily was not in use, being ice-covered. They hire themselves out for the cleaning and adjusting of moons, but few entrust to them these important responsibilities. Their young throw stones at comets, take rides on decaying meteors—in a word, one has no end of trouble with them. I concluded that such a mode of existence was quite intolerable and so, briefly interrupting my journey, set to work—and with considerable success, for I was able to obtain a secondhand moon in perfectly good condition. It was fixed up and, thanks to my contacts, promoted to the status of a planet.

Of course there wasn’t any air, but I took up a collection; the neighboring residents all pitched in, and you should have seen the joy with which the good Gypsonians entered their very own planet! They simply could not thank me enough. Bidding them a fond farewell, I continued on my way. To Amauropia there remained less than six quintillion miles; after covering this last stretch of road and finding the right planet (and they’re as thick as flies), I began to descend to its surface.

When it was time to throw on the brakes, I discovered to my horror that they didn’t work and I was falling towards the planet like a stone. Sticking my head out the hatch, I noticed that the brakes were completely gone. With indignation I thought of the ungrateful Gypsonians, however there wasn’t time to reflect on this, for I was already plunging through the atmosphere and the rocket had begun to glow a ruby-red. Another minute and I would be burnt alive.

Fortunately at the last moment I remembered the time dilator; turning it on, I made the passage of time so slow, that my fall to the planet lasted three weeks. Having extricated myself in this way from a difficult situation, I looked around to get my bearings.

The rocket had settled in a spacious clearing surrounded by pale-blue forest. Above the trees with their broom-shaped branches hovered emerald creatures, spinning with great velocity. At the sight of me a herd of animals scurried off into the purple bushes; these bore a striking resemblance to man, except that their skin was shiny and sapphire blue. I already knew one or two things about them from Tarantoga and, pulling out my astronautical handbook, acquired a few additional facts.

The planet was inhabited by a race of anthropoidal beings—so went the text—called Microcephalids, who stood at an extremely low level of development. Attempts to communicate with them were fruitless. The handbook certainly seemed to be telling the truth. The Microcephalids walked on all fours, hunkering here, crouching there, removing the lice from themselves with great skill, and when I drew near they batted their emerald eyes at me and jabbered in a totally disconnected manner. Besides a lack of intelligence they were characterized by a good-natured and peaceful disposition.

For two days I investigated the blue forest and the extensive plains that surrounded it, then went back to my rocket and turned in for the night. I was already in bed when I remembered the accelerator, and decided to set it going for a couple of hours, to see if by the following day it would produce any effect. So I hauled it—not without difficulty—out of the rocket, placed it near the trees, switched on the time acceleration and, returning to bed, slept the sleep of the just.

I was awakened by a violent pulling and tugging. Opening my eyes, I saw the faces of Microcephalids bending over me; already standing on two feet, they were conversing noisily and with the greatest interest moving my arms, and when I tried to resist, they nearly wrenched them from their sockets. The biggest Microcephalid, a lilac giant, forced open my mouth and, sticking his fingers in, counted my teeth.

Struggling helplessly, I was carried out into the clearing and tied to the tail of the rocket. From this position I watched the Microcephalids taking whatever they could from the rocket; the larger objects that would not fit through the opening of the hatch they first broke into pieces with stones. Suddenly a hail of stones rained down upon the rocket and on the Microcephalids busy at work around it; one stone landed on my head. Tightly bound, I was unable to look in the direction from which the stones were flying. I only heard the sounds of battle. The Microcephalids who had tied me up finally took to flight. Others came running, released me from my bonds, and with signs of great respect bore me on their shoulders into the forest.

The procession stopped at the foot of a spreading tree. From its branches hung, fastened with lianas, a kind of aerial hut with a tiny window. Through this window I was deposited inside, at which point the crowd assembled below fell to its knees, wailing and chanting. Long lines of Microcephalids made offerings to me of fruit and flowers. In the days that followed I became the object of a popular cult, in which high priests divined the future from the expression of my face; whenever it seemed unfavorable to them they fumigated me with incense, so that I nearly suffocated. Fortunately during the rendering of these burnt offerings the priest would swing the shrine in which I sat, and this enabled me from time to time to catch a breath of air.

On the fourth day my worshippers were attacked by a band of club-wielding Microcephalids, led by the giant who had counted my teeth. Passing from hand to hand in the course of the battle, I became—alternately—the recipient of veneration and indignities. The conflict concluded with the victory of the attackers, under the command of the giant whose name was Flying Worm. I participated in his triumphant return to the camp, lashed to the top of a high pole held by his relatives. This became a tradition and thereafter I served as a kind of banner, obliged to accompany them on all their military campaigns. It was burdensome, but carried with it certain privileges.