Back in the early 40's, I remember a bull-session that some of us had
with John W. Campbell, where he stated definitively that there could
never be any such thing as a science-fiction detective story in the
traditional "murder mystery" sense. His reason for this proclamation
was that since almost anything can happen in a science-fiction
story--the villain can pull any sort of dingus or super-phenomenon out
of his hat--the reader would never have a fair chance to solve the
mystery.
I didn't quite believe it, yet I couldn't think of any counter-argument
to throw at John at the time. But, as Holmes would have said, it was
all so absurdly simple! Of course there can be science-fiction murder
mysteries, offering the reader as good a chance to solve the crime
as he has in any ordinary murder-mystery where the author is playing
fair. And you can have science-fiction wonders and dinguses and
super-scientific phenomenon, too: you just make it clear that _nothing
essential to the solution of the crime_ is wrapped up in super-science,
or intricate phenomenon and extrapolation that only a scientific wizard
could be expected to unravel. The motives, methods, and clues must all
lie within the range of what is clearly presented to the reader. I hope
_Puzzle Planet_ will convince you that the murder mystery does have a
place in science fiction.
_Robert A. W. Lowndes_
I
It could almost be an unfamiliar part of Earth, Dr. Roy Auckland was
thinking as he looked out of the picture window on the right wall of
the prefab headquarters unit. In fact, many parts of Earth presented
far more alien and other-wordly appearance than what first met the eye
here on Carolus. A blue sky with white clouds--but not quite the blue
of Earth; green ground-covering that could pass for close-mown grass
until you saw that this was more of a hairy type of moss; flowers which
suggested terrestrial flowers, but weren't quite right--were those
pansies or violets? No, not quite either; and they had center dots
more suggestive of black-eyed Susans. Then Ekem-ve came into view,
with another native Carolinian, and Auckland stopped thinking of the
resemblances of this Earth-type planet to his own world.
"Mister Five-by-Five," he murmured.
"Won't do, Roy," said Shirley Mason without interrupting the rhythm
of her typing. "You're describing a fat Earthman, and no Earthman
ever lived who was as agile and quick on his feet as any of the Vaec.
Sometimes I think their bones must be made of rubber."
"Of course," he agreed. "And some men have large eyes, but no man's
pupils expand and contract as much, in response to feelings as well as
light. No human beings have eight fingers; and while some of us may
look cherubic, all these Carolinians look that way."
He marvelled at the way she could carry on a conversation without
either faltering at the keyboard or turning out less than flawless
copy. "And no Earthman, however bald, sports a single hair in the exact
center of his skull."
"Don't know whether you'd really call it a hair, Shirl. It's more like
a tentacle--sometimes it looks short and thick, sometimes long and
thin, sometimes curled, sometimes straight, sometimes wriggling around
their heads."
"It shows how they feel even more than their eyes," she said.
"And the final touch," he added, "is that you can tell males from
females on Earth, especially when the custom is to wear no clothes
above the waist. I wonder how they can tell themselves, when two
strangers meet."
"Scent. They all smell just sort of pleasant to us, but there's
aromatic differences between the sexes, and any Vaec can tell within
smelling distance."
Auckland sighed and wondered again why Dr. Howard James had asked him
to join this expedition some months after work had started here on
Carolus. If a communications expert had been needed enough for James
to come back to Earth (with the supply ship which covered both the
expedition and the colony on Laud--the only other habitable planet in
this system) there were other men better qualified. Roy Auckland could
see that without self-deprecation; he was good, but not the very best
in the field.
"You can handle relations with the Vaec, get to know them better than
we can," James had said. "And you solved the Sparks case. I need a man
who is also something of a detective." He wouldn't explain why and
only talked about the report he was making. And in the few days he
had been here, Auckland had discovered undercurrents in the relations
of expedition members which might or might not be disturbing--but he
couldn't yet see where they were leading.
"Is the Ambassador around?" Shirley asked as she took a sheet out of
the typewriter and arose to walk over to the filing cabinet. Auckland
turned to look at her, and his blood pressure arose at the expanse of
tanned skin visible.
"Ekem-ve's outside, talking to a colleague." He smiled. "Are you going
Vaec, Shirl?"
She smiled and glanced down at the short slit skirt she was wearing;
except for girth, a good replica of the costume all the Carolinians
sported. "Not quite." She grinned and added, "I know you'd like me to
discard the halter, but have you thought of the effect on the Vaec?
"I'm sure they're already curious about the function of these bumps up
front, but they might find them unaesthetic," she added. "They consider
the differences between Earthly males and females strange enough, as it
is, since they're egg-layers."
Auckland chuckled. "Bumps, is it? Understatement of the decade. But you
know, I think the Vaec are far more curious about the contrast between
tanned and untanned epidermis. I've seen Ekem-ve look curiously at Dr.
Glamis when we're inside, no doubt wondering why he's so pale while
the rest of us are the color of walnuts--particularly when he saw how
quickly I tanned out in this sun. More ultraviolet must get through
this atmosphere."
She nodded. "Ken would be a bright red in no time at all, if he went
out without protective clothing, except at night. Used to sunburn
terribly on Earth, he told me, and was allergic to all the lotions."
Auckland's eyes ran over the black lines with orange shadings in spots
that covered Shirley's skirt. "Did Ekem-ve help you with the designs?"
She opened a file and brushed back blonde hair from her face. "No, I
just tried to reproduce some of the effects I've seen on Vaec clothes.
Ekem-ve brought me some dye, but I must have muffed the process
somehow. Or perhaps it's only good on Vaec fabrics. There's a riddle
for you to solve, Roy. We've never seen any trace of industry on their
part, yet they have fine cloth, their own dyes, and a very good variety
of colored inks which don't run."
"They also have artifacts, but no sign of anyone making them, I'm told.
About all anyone sees them do is fish, play Earth-type games which they
adapt to suit their pleasure, play practical jokes on each other, and
gather food.... What color are you using?"
"The light blue.... But they _can_ work, Roy. I've seen them out at the
diggings; they're as industrious and efficient as beavers."
Auckland smiled faintly. Just simple observation could give you the
reputation of being a detective at times. "Haven't you noticed, Shirl?
The blue tints wash out under fluorescent light. Which reminds me, we
don't need them on now. I've been up since dawn." He reached over to
the wall and switched the lights off. "There. Now you can see your pale
blue background. Goes very nicely with your eyes."
She didn't answer and he sensed that she was both pleased and disturbed
at flattery. "What's going on outside?" she asked, looking through the
window. "Are Ekem-ve and Hcent playing jokes on each other?"
Auckland swung his chair around sidewise to check. The Vaec could
be distinguished from each other easily, if you took the trouble to
look. Hcent's face was narrower than Ekem-ve's, and though a roly-poly
when seen alone, she was slimmer than the Vaec's liaison agent to the
Earthmen.
Hcent was handing Ekem-ve one of the small, decorated boxes that
Auckland had seen another Carolinian carrying a day or so before.
Hcent's hair was short and thick now, while Ekem-ve's was long, thin,
and looping and unlooping slowly. Now Hcent's hair followed suit.
"No. If Ekem-ve were about to play a joke, he wouldn't give himself
away like that. Hcent must have told him a pun, or something else
funny. What's the _ve_ stand for, Shirl?" I should have found this out
days ago, he thought.
"Sort of title," she said. "It approximates our idea of _ambassador_
and _chief_ at the same time. He's as close to a status of authority in
the clans as they ever get."
Hcent had turned and was about to stroll away. Now Ekem-ve dipped a
hand into the pouch that all Vaec wore at their belts, just before he
gave Hcent the traditional slap of farewell. When his hand left the
other Vaec's shoulder, there was a sticker attached to Hcent.
"What does it say--_Kick me_?"
Auckland shrugged and thought of the stickers that had been attached to
him when he was a boy. It was hard to realize that practical jokes were
a way of life among the Vaec and that Hcent would feel no resentment on
discovering what had been done--although Hcent would try and score with
Ekem-ve, if this jest left him behind. No, left _her_ behind. Hcent was
female. "More likely something insulting," he said. "The Vaec don't
seem to go for directly violent horseplay. They prefer more subtle
jokes."
Shirley frowned, and he realized that she had been looking more sober
than usual this morning. "They're like children," she said slowly.
"Only they aren't. I can't make them out, Roy. Their sense of humor
seems to be virtually at the moronic level; practical jokes and puns.
They 'assist' us in return for toys and games. Even Ekem-ve, who seems
to have a lot of natural dignity, was immediately fascinated when he
saw a pad of gummed labels. For mirth, as he calls it."
"They love poker," Auckland agreed, "and especially all the variations
with wild cards. They like games with boards and equipment and
complicated methods of scoring, although one of their favorites is a
childish variation of whist called 'Red Mustache,' in which everything
is twisted around. You have to lose to win, and you have to knock on
the table before you make any kind of play at all. Most of the game
consists of the players yelling 'Red Mustache' when they call penalties
on someone who has forgotten to knock--real bedlam.
"Yet," he went on, "they're highly intelligent. Really on a par with
us, I'd say."
"Long-lived, too," she agreed. "Ekem-ve and a couple of others we see
around submitted to the language-transfer apparatus when Leitfred first
discovered Carolus, and that was over thirty years ago. But now all
the Vaec know our language, even if their manner of expression sounds
like a cross between broken English and the pseudo-Confucian manner
you found in the old fiction that Leitfred was so fond of. I wonder
just how much more they picked up from the transfer apparatus than the
language itself.
"Perhaps it was just a joke," she murmured as she replaced a folder in
the files. "Perhaps someone didn't realize...."
"Didn't realize what, Shirl?"
She turned around and faced him. "I shouldn't tell you, Roy, but really
I think you ought to know. Phrecle just brought back Doc James' thermos
container with a note. Doc thinks that someone is trying to poison him.
Phrecle smelled _dodlig_ right through the container and told Doc that
the soup would made him sick."
"Sick! Just one drop of _dodlig_ juice to a gallon would kill any man."
Auckland bit his lip. "And you think one of the Vaec did it for a joke,
Shirl?" He shook his head. "No, that's out of character. They don't go
in for that sort of humor. If someone put _dodlig_ in the soup, that
person wasn't joking!"