"Clem said it was the standard rate for a first book."
Jackson shook his head. "Just because we don't have interstellar
ships and are confined to our own solar system, they treat us as
though we were ignorant savages. They're cheating you high, wide, and
handsome."
"Maybe," said McLeod. "But if they really wanted to cheat me, they
could just pirate the book. There wouldn't be a thing I could do about
it."
"Yeah. But to keep up their facade of high ethics, they toss us a sop.
And we have to take whatever they hand out. You _will_ take it, of
course." It was more of an order than a question.
"I told him I'd think it over," McLeod said.
Jackson stood up. "Professor McLeod, the human race needs every
Galactic credit it can lay its hands on. It's your duty to accept the
offer, no matter how lousy it is. We have no choice in the matter. And
a Galactic credit is worth ten dollars American, four pounds U.K., or
forty rubles Soviet. If you sell a hundred thousand copies of your
book, you can get yourself a meal in a fairly good restaurant and
Earth will have one more Galactic credit stashed away. If you don't
sell that many, you aren't out anything."
"I suppose not," McLeod said slowly. He knew that the Government could
force him to take the offer. Under the Planetary Security Act, the
Government had broad powers--very broad.
"Well, that isn't my business right now," Jackson said. "I just wanted
to find out what this was all about. You'll hear from us, Professor
McLeod."
"I don't doubt it," said McLeod.
The six men filed out the door.
* * * * *
Alone, McLeod stared at the wall and thought.
Earth needed every Galactic credit it could get; that was certain. The
trouble came in getting them.
Earth had absolutely nothing that the Galactics wanted. Well, not
absolutely, maybe, but so near as made no difference. Certainly there
was no basis for trade. As far as the Galactics were concerned, Earth
was a little backwater planet that was of no importance. Nothing
manufactured on the planet was of any use to Galactics. Nothing grown
on Earth was of any commercial importance. They had sampled the
animals and plants for scientific purposes, but there was no real
commercial value in them. The Government had added a few credits to
its meager collection when the animals had been taken, but the amount
was small.
McLeod thought about the natives of New Guinea and decided that on the
Galactic scale Earth was about in the same position. Except that there
had at least been gold in New Guinea. The Galactics didn't have any
interest in Earth's minerals; the elements were much more easily
available in the asteroid belts that nearly every planetary system
seemed to have.
The Galactics were by no means interested in bringing civilization to
the barbarians of Earth, either. They had no missionaries to bring new
religion, no do-gooders to "elevate the cultural level of the
natives." They had no free handouts for anyone. If Earthmen wanted
anything from them, the terms were cash on the barrelhead. Earth's
credit rating in the Galactic equivalent of Dun & Bradstreet was
triple-Z-zero.
[Illustration]
A Galactic ship had, so to speak, stumbled over Earth fifteen years
before. Like the English explorers of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth
Centuries, the Galactics seemed to feel that it was necessary to
install one of their own people on a new-found planet, but they were
not in the least interested in colonization nor in taking over Earth's
government. The Galactic Resident was not in any sense a Royal
Governor, and could hardly even be called an ambassador. He and his
staff--a small one, kept more for company than for any necessary
work--lived quietly by themselves in a house they'd built in Hawaii.
Nobody knew what they did, and it didn't seem wise to ask.
The first Galactic Resident had been shot and killed by some religious
nut. Less than twenty-four hours later, the Galactic Space Navy--if
that was the proper term--had come to claim the body. There were no
recriminations, no reprisals. They came, "more in sorrow than in
anger," to get the body. They came in a spaceship that was easily
visible to the naked eye long before it hit the atmosphere--a sphere
three kilometers in diameter. The missiles with thermonuclear warheads
that were sent up to intercept the ship were detonated long before
they touched the ship, and neither Galactics nor Earthmen ever
mentioned them again. It had been the most frightening display of
power ever seen on Earth, and the Galactics hadn't even threatened
anyone. They just came to get a body.
Needless to say, there was little danger that they would ever have to
repeat the performance.
The national governments of Earth had organized themselves hurriedly
into the Terrestrial Union. Shaky at first, it had gained stability
and power with the years. The first thing the Union Government had
wanted to do was send an ambassador to the Galactic Government. The
Galactic Resident had politely explained that their concept of
government was different from ours, that ambassadors had no place in
that concept, and, anyway, there was no capital to send one to.
However, if Earth wanted to send an observer of some kind....
Earth did.
Fine. A statement of passenger fares was forthcoming; naturally, there
were no regular passenger ships stopping at Earth and there would not
be in the foreseeable future, but doubtless arrangements could be made
to charter a vessel. It would be expensive, but....
If a New Guinea savage wants to take passage aboard a Qantas airliner,
what is the fare in cowrie shells?
As far as McLeod knew, his book was the first thing ever produced on
Earth that the Galactics were even remotely interested in. He had a
higher opinion of the ethics of the Galactics than Jackson did, but a
thousandth of a per cent seemed like pretty small royalties. And he
couldn't for the life of him see why his book would interest a
Galactic. Clem had explained that it gave Galactics a chance to see
what they looked like through the eyes of an Earthman, but that seemed
rather weak to McLeod.
Nevertheless, he knew he would take Clem's offer.
* * * * *
Eight months later, a shipload of Galactic tourists arrived. For a
while, it looked as though Earth's credit problem might be solved.
Tourism has always been a fine method for getting money from other
countries--especially if one's own country is properly picturesque.
Tourists always had money, didn't they? And they spend it freely,
didn't they?
No.
Not in this case.
Earth had nothing to sell to the tourists.
Ever hear of _baluts_? The Melanesians of the South Pacific consider
it a very fine delicacy. You take a fertilized duck egg and you bury
it in the warm earth. Six months later, when it is nice and overripe,
you dig it up again, knock the top off the shell the way you would a
soft-boiled egg, and eat it. Then you pick the pinfeathers out of your
teeth. _Baluts._
Now you know how the greatest delicacies of Earth's restaurants
affected the Galactics.
Earth was just a little _too_ picturesque. The tourists enjoyed the
sights, but they ate aboard their ship, which was evidently somewhat
like a Caribbean cruise ship. And they bought nothing. They just
looked.
And laughed.
And of course they all wanted to meet Professor John Hamish McLeod.
When the news leaked out and was thoroughly understood by Earth's
population, there was an immediate reaction.
Editorial in _Pravda_:
The stupid book written by the American J. H. McLeod has
made Earth a laughingstock throughout the galaxy. His
inability to comprehend the finer nuances of Galactic
Socialism has made all Earthmen look foolish. It is too bad
that a competent Russian zoologist was not chosen for the
trip that McLeod made; a man properly trained in the
understanding of the historical forces of dialectic
materialism would have realized that any Galactic society
must of necessity be a Communist State, and would have
interpreted it as such. The petty bourgeois mind of McLeod
has made it impossible for any Earthman to hold up his head
in the free Socialist society of the galaxy. Until this
matter is corrected....
News item Manchester _Guardian_:
Professor James H. McLeod, the American zoologist whose book
has apparently aroused a great deal of hilarity in Galactic
circles, admitted today that both Columbia University and
the American Museum of Natural History have accepted his
resignation. The recent statement by a University spokesman
that Professor McLeod had "besmirched the honor of Earthmen
everywhere" was considered at least partially responsible
for the resignations. (See editorial.)
Editorial, Manchester _Guardian_:
... It is a truism that an accepted wit has only to say,
'Pass the butter,' and everyone will laugh. Professor
McLeod, however, far from being an accepted wit, seems
rather to be in the position of a medieval Court Fool, who
was laughed _at_ rather than _with_. As a consequence, all
Earthmen have been branded as Fools....
Statement made by the American Senator from Alabama:
"He has made us all look like jackasses in the eyes of the
Galactics, and at this precarious time in human history it
is my considered opinion that such actions are treasonous to
the human race and to Earth and should be treated and
considered as such!"
Book review, _Literary Checklist_, Helvar III, Bornis Cluster:
"Interstellar Ark, an Earthman's View of the Galaxy,"
translated from the original tongue by Vonis Delf, Cr. 5.00.
This inexpensive little book is one of the most
entertainingly funny publications in current print. The
author, one John McLeod, is a member of a type 3-7B race
inhabiting a planet in the Outer Fringes.... As an example
of the unwitting humor of the book, we have only to quote
the following:
"I was shown to my quarters shortly before takeoff. Captain
Benarly had assigned me a spacious cabin which was almost
luxurious in its furnishings. The bed was one of the most
comfortable I have ever slept in."
Or the following:
"I found the members of the crew to be friendly and
co-operative, especially Nern Cronzel, the ship's
physician."
It is our prediction that this little gem will be enjoyed
for a long time to come and will be a real money-maker for
its publishers.
* * * * *
_They haven't hanged me yet_, McLeod thought. He sat in his apartment
alone and realized that it would take very little to get him hanged.
How could one book have aroused such wrath? Even as he thought it,
McLeod knew the answer to that question. It wasn't the book. No one
who had read it two and a half years before had said anything against
it.
No, it wasn't the book. It was the Galactic reaction to the book.
Already feeling inferior because of the stand-offish attitude of the
beings from the stars, the Homeric laughter of those same beings had
been too much. It would have been bad enough if that laughter had been
generated by one of the Galactics. To have had it generated by an
Earthman made it that much worse. Against an Earthman, their rage was
far from impotent.
Nobody understood _why_ the book was funny, of course. The joke was
over their heads, and that made human beings even angrier.
He remembered a quotation from a book he had read once. A member of
some tribal-taboo culture--African or South Pacific, he forgot
which--had been treated at a missionary hospital for something or
other and had described his experience.
"The white witch doctor protects himself by wearing a little round
mirror on his head which reflects back the evil spirits."
Could that savage have possibly understood what was humorous about
that remark? No. Not even if you explained to him why the doctor used
the mirror that way.
_Now what?_ McLeod thought. He was out of a job and his bank account
was running low. His credit rating had dropped to zero.
McLeod heard a key turn in the lock. The door swung open and Jackson
entered with his squad of U.B.I. men.
"Hey!" said McLeod, jumping to his feet. "What do you think this is?"
"Shut up, McLeod," Jackson growled. "Get your coat. You're wanted at
headquarters."
McLeod started to say something, then thought better of it. There was
nothing he could say. Nobody would care if the U.B.I. manhandled him.
Nobody would protest that his rights were being ignored. If McLeod got
his teeth knocked in, Jackson would probably be voted a medal.
McLeod didn't say another word. He followed orders. He got his coat
and was taken down to the big building on the East River which had
begun its career as the United Nations Building.
He was bundled up to an office and shoved into a chair.