Read Ebook: A short history of the printing press and of the improvements in printing machinery from the time of Gutenberg up to the present day by Hoe Robert

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Ebook has 156 lines and 4834 words, and 4 pages

Transcriber's Note:

Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Dialect spellings, contractions and discrepancies have been retained.

UNSPECIALIST

BY MURRAY F. YACO

Banner ripped open his orders, read them, stared in disbelief for a quick moment, then cursed wildly while reaching for the telephone.

"Hello, Gastonia? Yes, I got 'em. What kinda way to waste our time you lunkheads think ... oh, it's you, colonel!"

Banner dropped the receiver and let it dangle. He sank into the only soft chair in the apartment and watched hypnotically as the phone's receiver limply coiled and uncoiled at the end of the wire.

Somebody knocked on, then opened the door. "Hi, pretty boy, you got our orders?"

"Come on in and hear about it," Banner said. He got up from the chair, ran his hands compulsively through his recently short-cropped red hair, hung up the phone and shoved the orders into his co-pilot's hands.

Harcraft read them over three times, then sank into the chair just vacated by Banner. Finally--while Banner poured them both a drink--he managed to blurt, "Potato fertilizer and tractor fuel--Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!"

"Oh, yes, yes, yes," Banner said bitterly. "We are heroes of the spaceways; yes, indeed. We train for ten years. Acquire great skill in the art of the patrol. We dedicate ourselves to the protection of the Federation. We ready ourselves for war. We gird our young, strong loins, we--"

"You're getting hysterical," said Harcraft, who poured himself another drink, began pacing the floor and took up where Banner had left off. "We've never even been lost on patrol. And now they do this. It's unbelievable! Potato fertilizer and tractor fuel. We're supposed to travel thirty-six light-years, pick up one thousand sleds of the stuff, deliver it to some God-forsaken farm planet another thirty years out, and return to base. You know what they'll do then?" He turned to Banner, pointed his finger accusingly and repeated, "You know what they'll do then?"

"How would I know," said Banner, glumly staring into his drink.

"Well, I can tell you what they'll do. Yes, sir, I can tell you." Harcraft's pudgy face and oversize brown eyes seemed to melt into each other, giving him the appearance of an angry, if not very bright, chimpanzee.

"O.K., what'll they do?" Banner said.

"They'll give us medals. That's what they'll do. For safe delivery of one million tons of tractor fuel, you two fine specimens of manhood are hereby presented with the Order of the Oil. And for your courageous service in delivering two million tons of potato fertilizer, you are also awarded the shield of--"

"Never mind," Banner said. "It could be worse. They could've saddled us with a Bean Brain. Come on. Let's go to some bar and get sober. We're leaving for freight duty at 1700."

The Bean Brain met them at the air lock. "Name is Arnold. Here's my orders." Banner stared at Harcraft, Harcraft stared at Arnold.

"Get inside," said Banner.

The Bean Brain smiled, "Er ... could you sort of lead the way? I've never been inside a ship before. If you got some kind of can, it would save a mess. I'll probably vomit a while."

They stopped calling him Bean Brain three days later. He was still sick, miserably spacesick, and neither Banner nor Harcraft had the heart to keep needling him. On the fourth day he managed to get up and around. They ate their first meal together that day. "Let's get something straight right off the bat," Banner said. "Neither Harcraft nor I got anything against you 'cept prejudice. That right, Harcraft?"

"Right," Harcraft said.

"In short," continued Banner, between puffs on a cigarette, "all we know is what we've heard."

"And that's not good," said Harcraft.

"Item two," said Banner, taking his eyes off the ceiling and pointing a finger at Arnold. "I have, or had, two good friends--both patrol captains--who had the honor of taxiing Bean Brains around the universe. One never came back. The other, Captain Slatkin, came back and got a big medal for reasons he'll never talk about."

"And Slatkin liked to brag," said Harcraft, knowingly.

Arnold stood up slowly. He was a small man, but as he looked up at the ship's pilot and co-pilot, he gave both the impression of height and strength. "I'll tell you something, too," he said, speaking slowly as if in pain. "I don't know why Bean Brains are assigned to ships like this either. I've never been told. I took the job because I didn't like what I was doing before. I've never had any real training, and this seemed like a chance to do something that sounded like fun.

"Like I said, I've never been told anything. They tested me for a lot of things, then gave me my orders and told me to come along. And if you're wondering, I flunked the ESP tests, so there's nothing there. You want to consider me dead weight? O.K., your privilege. Leave me alone if you want to, I'll do the same. Be friendly, I'll be friendly. Ask me to help. I'll do my best."

Then he got up and went back to his bunk.

Working in the ship's control room, sometimes together, sometimes spelling each other, Banner and Harcraft speculated bitterly and endlessly about their passenger. Theories to explain his presence--most of them propounded by Harcraft--were created, torn apart, modified, exploded, in giant sequences of effort which left both men finally exhausted and tired of the whole business.

On the second day of the seventh week out, their ennui vanished. A ship was picked up by the spec-spanner, and at their delight at the break in routine, they summoned Arnold up to the cabin.

"Take a good look," said Banner, "it's an Ankorbadian ship. Probably the first and last you'll ever see." Arnold watched as Banner's finger tracked a slowly moving point of light across a recessed ceiling screen.

"Yes, sir," said Harcraft, "you are looking at the representatives of mankind's only sibling. The noble Ankorbades." Then he recited in a singsong voice:

"A simple race the Ankorbades They wear no clothes and live in caves But out in space they do in minutes What our ships do at speeds infinite."

"Cultural paranoia," added Harcraft.

"Huh?"

"I mean just what I said. You and a million others recite that ditty, or variations of it every day of the week. It all adds up to the fact that the world is full of small-egged animals who for ten years have done nothing but just scream that we're about to be attacked by the savage Ankorbades."

"Yes, indeed," said Banner, yawning, "ever since you took that micro-course in culturology you have insights into the situation denied to the rest of the race."

"Anyway," Harcraft said, making a small adjustment on the screen, "you and countless other atavisms are reacting in a very predictable way. Since you can't reconcile the naked Ankorbades and their superior technology, and since they are alien to point of showing no interest whatsoever in our elaborate art, institutions, rituals--"

"And since," piped up Arnold, startling both men, "the human unconscious can't help but equate nakedness with savagery, we have armed our mighty planet to the teeth, convinced that Armageddon is around the corner."

"Well," said the surprised Harcraft.

"Where'd you pick that up," asked Banner.

"From Captain Slatkin," said Arnold, smiling. "I met him when I was indoctrinated. He took the same micro-course in culturology. 'Course, he only believed that stuff when he was scared."

"Oh, you don't say," said Banner. "Tell us, my little friend, are you too, convinced that Armageddon is around the corner? Not that I really think you're capable of having an opinion."

"I got plenty of opinions, all right," said Arnold quietly, staring at his shoes. "Opinion number one is this: We're not really at war yet, but within the past two years, fifty-six patrol ships have disappeared in the vicinity of our friendly neighbor."

"That's not an opinion," Banner said. "And disappeared can mean a lot of things."

"Opinion number two," continued Arnold, scratching himself under an arm. "About the only diplomatic relations we got with them animals is when they write a note complaining about some Patrol ship getting too close to some piece of dirt in their system."

"Speaking of that, you'll have to excuse me for a moment," Harcraft said.

"Stop clowning," snapped Banner. "Listen to him. Here's your chance to get some insight into the nature of the thorn in your side. Go on, Bean Brain. Any more opinions?"

"Yeah. If you're such a wise guy, tell me why you're here right now. Why?" Arnold's mouth screwed itself into a knowing, bitter smile. "When both of you were children you heard the story about the Big Fleet. So you made it into the Patrol, spent the rest of your life training, looking, thinking that some day--"

Harcraft broke in, "That tale about an Ankorbadian fleet build-up has been discredited a full thousand times. When they pried that crazy scout out of his ship, he was an hour away from the crematorium. You try spending forty-six days in space without food or water sometime! You'll see hidden arsenals of alien ships till hell won't have it."

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