Horn: Green Read online

  His wife favored him with a look that would have melted down any other man but it only inspired him to grin foolishly. "And now I'll show you the spinach seeds," he announced brightly.

  With the industry of a mole in a forest fire he rummaged through the packages in the hold until he found the package he wanted and he opened the cover. "This is it," he said with pride. "The new top line for IFC—Super Tenderleaf."

  Cora Pincer looked into the case and seemed to be disappointed. The tiny little blue capsules, in contrast to their ambitious trade name, were neither super-looking nor tender. "They look like poppy seeds," she commented.

  Pincer gurgled in satisfaction as though he had been responsible for this similarity. "That figures," he said. "The only way to tell this apart from actual poppy seeds is by qualitative analysis." He snapped the lid back on and shoved the case into place again. He gave his wife a fatherly pat on the shoulder. "Now we come to the transition calculations, Cora. The little ship's computer will handle that for us. All I have to do is program the data that the officer of the Neptune transmitted to me."

  His wife appeared to be hesitant. "I've heard that there are painful effects connected with a transition," she said.

  Pincer made a deprecating gesture with his hands, which in his case was reminiscent of a giraffe lopping fruit from a treetop. "That's your so-called dematerialization reaction. It's only 27 light-years to the Vega System. Although we'll make that in a single hyperjump you'll hardly feel it. The less the distance between transition points, the less the pain sensation." He shoved a punched card into the ship's positronic computer and waited. 'We've almost reached the speed of light," he explained.

  He watched the racing parity lights of the data registers and then suddenly the output strip was in his hands. He finally got up and went over to the flight console. "It would be best for you to lie down now," he told Cora. "It will soon be over with."

  His fingers fluttered across the color-coded keyboard of the transition autopilot. Since he was color-blind, instead of memorizing the color codes he had learned the key positions by heart. In some excitement he fumbled about among the corresponding control keys. Then he pressed the green button.

  The shock of dematerialization was so tremendous that John Edgar Pincer knew, before he lost consciousness, that they would never come out in the Vega System.

  • • •

  Pincer felt as if somebody bad spot-welded an iron plate to his forehead and was now landing hammer blows on it with murderous precision. When he opened his eyes a blur of colors swam before him. His vision finally cleared to reveal the keyboard of the transition autopilot's panel.

  "I thought you were never going to come to," said Cora Pincer as she leaned over him. "What's the matter with you?"

  Pincer looked at her dejectedly. "You mean you recovered consciousness before I did?" he asked plaintively.

  His wife nodded. She helped him get to his feet. He dragged his feet painfully over to the viewscreens and the tracking console and turned them on.

  "I knew all the time you could do it!" exclaimed Cora proudly. "You made the transition in a single stroke!"

  Pincer rubbed his forehead and staggered back to the flight console. "You might say that, maybe..." He showed her the button key he had depressed before the jump. "What color is that?" he asked in a low tone of voice.

  "Green," said Cora in puzzlement. "Why do you ask?"

  Pincer collapsed with a groan back into the pilot's seat. He had never presented a very athletic appearance but now he really looked bedraggled. Cora began to suspect that something had gone wrong. She was an intelligent and courageous young woman and she believed her husband to have similar qualities although thus far he had not displayed them.

  "The green button," wailed Pincer, "is for making a wild hyperjump over a great distance in case of emergencies! It generates much greater transition energy. I mistook it for the red key. You know—my color blindness. Of course I checked the location of the keys but I simply goofed in all the excitement. That's how it

  happened."

  "What does it mean?" Cora inquired calmly.

  He grasped her hands. "It means that we're somewhere else in the galaxy—but

  not in the area of the Vega System."

  "So we can just fly back," said his wife.

  Pincer shook his head. "That won't be possible. If we don't succeed in figuring out our present position there won't be any way back for us. Each additional transition would be another jump into the unknown and could lead us farther away from the Earth."

  Actually their situation was even more hopeless than this. If there were no stars in the vicinity by which Pincer could orient himself, any navigational attempt would be useless. The space-jet's hyperjump had been practically at random; it could have brought them to any point inside an imaginary sphere which in this case had the Earth at its center. Naturally there were limitations of distance for a hypertransition but that was only a small consolation.

  "What... what should we do now?" asked Cora. She strove to keep her voice level. "We can't just sit around here and wait until... until..."

  Pincer knew only too well what she meant. His masculine pride awakened in him. His lanky figure rose up with an awkward movement that was anything but inspiring. "Cora, please bring me the star catalogs. I'll see if I can identify the nearest star. It may be registered and we can orient ourselves by it."

  John Edgar Pincer worked for three hours. He took stellar triangulations, range and analysis measurements and carried out numerous calculations. Then he compared the resulting data with information contained in the catalog. The nearest star was two light-years away—a white dwarf. In the catalog it was listed under the euphonious-sounding name of Alazee. Pincer read further and learned that it possessed two planets. Number two was an oxygen world and was inhabited.

  This was called Alazee's planet. For John Pincer the name was not nearly as important as the italicized sentence written beneath it: Considered to be one of the most frequented Springer bases.

  Pincer snapped the catalog shut with such a bang that it startled his wife. She looked at him frankly.

  "Well, did you find out where we are?"

  "Yes I did," he said grimly. "We've landed in a hornets' nest."

  Pincer knew about the treacherous methods of the Galactic Traders. He knew they were remorseless in their attacks on every Terran ship that dared to venture into any regions they claimed for themselves. The Springers wouldn't bother to ask if the presence here of the Error might be due to a mistake. Before asking questions they would open fire first.

  "We have to get out of here, Cora," he told his wife.

  As fast as he could he worked out a new program with the ship's positronicon while his young bride watched him silently. However, all his haste was in vain.

  The hornets had already swarmed forth from their nest.

  • • •

  The first shockwave struck the Error with a violent impact. The small disc-shaped vessel was severely shaken. Pincer was knocked out of his seat and hurled straight across the room. He heard Cora's terrified outcry. The space-jet trembled and gyrated. Pincer crawled back across the deck to the pilot's seat. He managed to turn on the viewscreens. Laboriously he pulled himself back into the flight seat. The proximity detector was shrieking an alarm signal. Somewhere close outside was an alien ship. With a trembling hand he adjusted the viewscreens to pick up the area indicated by the tracking instruments.

  What he saw almost curdled the blood in his veins.

  A tremendously long, cylindrical spaceship was silhouetted against the blackness of the void by virtue of a glowing aura that seemed to emerge from it. Pincer presumed that the shimmering light was a defense screen. He laughed weakly. How could he possibly be a threat to this Behemoth? He realized that his own defensive precautions were futile. Nevertheless his defense screen served to slightly lessen the severity of the second shockwave. Pincer sat hunched helplessly in his seat, not daring to
turn around and look at his wife.

  "Turn on your seefone, you idiot!" came a rumbling voice from the loudspeaker.

  Pincer fastened his horrified gaze on the radio panel. Apparently the Springers had decided to talk to him before turning the Error into a nuclear cloud of gas.

  "What are they going to do to us, Johnny?" asked Cora anxiously.

  Pincer's throat was so dry that he couldn't utter anything comprehensible. He turned on the phone, knowing that it would make him visible to those on board the Springer ship. Also the Error's videoscreen brightened gradually. A large, coarse face with an impressive big beard appeared on the seefone panel. Pincer practically wilted at the sight of the man. He had already heard much about the Springer patriarchs but the appearance of this Galactic Trader was far more formidable than he had imagined.

  "Where is Shaugnessy?" asked the stranger in thunderous tones.

  Pincer made a weak attempt to smile but all he could manage was a lip quiver. He had never heard anything about a so-called Shaugnessy and couldn't imagine why the Springer should be asking him in particular about such a person.

  "Didn't anybody ever tell you, you should send the password when you come here?" asked the Trader indignantly. "If you're handling Shaugnessy's stuff then act as if you had some brains. What's all this dumb put-on about?"

  Pincer stared at the screen in flabbergasted amazement. He couldn't make any sense out of the Springer's double-talk. However it was obvious that the Error had been mistaken for some other ship. Pincer decided to go along with the act because it seemed to offer the only possibility of living a little longer.

  "I'm sorry," he said cautiously. "Shaugnessy's laid up. They sent me in his place. You shook me up a bit, so I forgot the password."

  The Springer surveyed him contemptuously. "At least do you have the stuff with you?" he asked.

  "Yes," Pincer lied valiantly. "It's here on board."

  What did the man mean by "the stuff"? It was useless to try to figure it out at present. Meanwhile the Springer had discovered Cora who had appeared next to Pincer and had her hand on his shoulder.

  "Who's that woman?" the man asked gruffly.

  Pincer shrank into his seat as far as possible. The conversation was in Intercosmo. The son of the IFC president knew that his wife was conversant with the language. "A new addition," he explained. "She's to be broken in on the job." He hoped he hadn't said the wrong thing.

  "Women," growled the Springer scornfully. "Aplied shouldn't fool with them—they can only cause trouble."

  "You let us worry about that!" said Cora impertinently.

  Pincer glanced at her imploringly but the Springer burst into a roar of laughter which shook his bearded face.

  "At any rate you seem to have more spunk than that rickety bag of bones in the pilot seat." He nodded to her appreciatively and then turned his attention to Pincer again. "What's your name?"

  Now came the critical part. "John Edgar Pincer," was the bold reply. "Who are you?"

  "Valmonze," replied the Springer.

  Involuntarily, Pincer sighed with relief. His name had not caused the patriarch to be suspicious. Now it was vitally important to find out as quickly as possible who it was they were mistaking him for. The slightest mistake might cause Valmonze to have his gunners destroy the Error.

  "We've talked enough," said Valmonze. "We'll take you over now."

  "Very well," agreed Pincer although he could not imagine what was meant by "taking over".

  Valmonze looked as if he were about to jump through the viewscreen. "What do you mean, 'very well'!" he shouted in a sudden flash of anger. "Will you shut off that ridiculous shock screen of yours so that our tractor beams can pull you into the lock?"

  Even as the viewscreen was darkening, Pincer carried out the order. There was no possibility of putting up a resistance. "In a few minutes we'll be on board the Springer ship," he told his wife. "They'll check through our cargo and they'll find out we don't have anything with us except the Super Tenderleaf."

  "Which will hardly make them overjoyed," surmised Cora. "What do you think they'll do to us, Johnny?"

  Pincer placed a finger on her lips. Why should he let his wife share his fears unnecessarily? He knew that after they found only the Super Tenderleaf the least he and Cora could expect from the Springers was to be simply thrown out of the airlock—of course without their spacesuits.

  Pincer thought ironically that he had finally gotten what he had always longed for: an adventure in the Cosmos. It was for this that he had tried so hard to join the Solar Fleet. But they had rejected him.

  So it was that when the Error was brought on board the Springer ship, Val 1, he was still what he had always been: John Edgar Pincer—greenhorn.

  3/ A VERY SEEDY DEAL

  A soft jolt indicated that the space-jet had come to rest. Pincer wiped sweat from his brow. The fact that the 35-meter hull of the Error had been simply taken in through a lock hatch gave him some idea of the monstrous size of the Springer ship. Apparently they were in some cargo hold of the Val 1 that had been converted into a hangar.

  "It would be best if I opened the exit lock," said Pincer.

  He opened the hatch and went with Cora through the airlock. Once outside they saw that the Error was located in an extensive, well-lighted hold that could have easily accommodated three more space-jets. Everywhere they could see stacks of trading goods. There were several Springers in evidence but they paid no attention to Pincer and his wife. Pincer had heard about the stringent autocratic rule among the Springer clans. Only the patriarch himself could take care of decisive matters. Without his specific order no member of his clan would dare to approach the Error.

  Then Patriarch Valmonze appeared. There were several younger Springers with him who were probably his sons. Valmonze's mighty figure was very impressive. Pincer came to a stop and waited. Cora was standing so close behind him that he could hear her breathing.

  Valmonze was wearing a flowing, expensive-looking cloak and on his feet were pliant sandals fastened by straps. Around his neck he wore the heavy chain necklace that designated him as the eldest of the clan. He stopped directly in front of Pincer and clapped him on the shoulder in a hearty gesture of friendliness but Pincer thought for a moment that his spine had been cracked.

  "Welcome on board the Val 1," said Valmonze. There was a cunning gleam in his eyes. "Here's to a good piece of business, Terran!"

  Pincer was terrified when he thought of his incapability of doing any kind of "business" at the moment. Maybe there was some way of delaying an inspection of the Error. He reached out his hand to Valmonze. "To good business," he repeated.

  Valmonze took Pincer's hand and nearly crushed it while he grinned like a demon. "Show me your freight," he demanded.

  At which moment Cora mixed into the conversation. "What for?" she asked. "Everything is in order. It's ready for unloading."

  Valmonze looked at her unappreciatively. "Didn't Aplied tell you that we're to take everything to Alazee's planet? There you're to take new cargo on board and deliver it to Patriarch Zomake on your way back to Earth."

  Pincer waved a hand unconcernedly. "Sure, we know that," he said with a mock show of confidence. "Aplied explained everything in detail. My... my cohort only meant that you could avoid the unnecessary work of checking over everything. It's all in order—you can depend on that."

  Valmonze regarded Cora speculatively as he rubbed his beard. "Nobody doubts the genuineness of your cargo, dear lady," he smiled. "Aplied has never deceived us; it would be senseless to do so. But—" He made an inviting gesture toward the open hatch of the Error. "The eyes of a trader take pleasure in beholding the things that he is going to do business with."

  Pincer was close to telling him that if he insisted on having a look his dark Springer eyes were going to be unpleasantly surprised by the sight of spinach seeds. However, all he could do was to swallow dryly and follow the patriarch into the Error.

  As Valmonze marched heav
ily into the space-jet his sons followed closely behind him in silence but with their eyes and ears open. Pincer wished very much that he could have whispered a few words to Cora, telling her how sorry he was to have gotten her into this situation, but now the chance for that was gone. Valmonze soon stood in the center of the ship with his sons forming a half-circle around him—each one of them a veritable bear of a man. Just this sight alone could have caused a fluttering in the knees of other men besides Pincer.

  "Bring me a sample," ordered the patriarch expectantly.

  Somewhat like a somnambulist, Pincer groped his way instinctively to the place where the Super Tenderleaf was stored. He suddenly felt empty inside as though gutted out by fire. As soon as he handed a package of spinach seeds to the patriarch he would pronounce his own death sentence. But what else was there left to do?

  With trembling hands he pulled out one of the seed cartons and went back to the control room. There stood Valmonze, waiting with his arms folded across his chest. Pincer couldn't speak. He saw Cora in the pilot seat, her face fearfully pale.

  Without a word he held the package out to the Springer.

  "It's your privilege to open it," said Valmonze politely.

  Pincer reminded himself of a man who lay under the guillotine and was being forced to release the drop-knife with his own hand. He opened the carton and placed it on the deck at Valmonze's sandaled feet. His eyes seemed ready to pop out of his head as he stared breathlessly, watching the patriarch stoop down and scoop up a handful of Super Tenderleaf.

  Then suddenly the Springer was laughing thunderously as he let the seeds run through his fingers. "More valuable than gold!" he bellowed out. "A profitable business and political power, all in one!"