Short Fiction

couldn’t you change that? It seems so⁠ ⁠… so harsh. And I think you may have unconsciously borrowed it from someone else. I can’t help thinking I’ve heard it before, somewhere? Don’t you think so?”
“I don’t know, dear. You may be right about that word, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? I mean, I’m not going to try to get it published, or anything.”
“I know, dear, but still⁠—”
He was looking at her desperately.
“I’m sorry, dear!” she said contritely. “Please go on. Don’t pay any attention to my stupid comments.”
“They’re not stupid⁠—”
“Please, dear. Go on.”
His fingers clamped on the edge of the notebook.

“Unnumbered we must wander,

Break, and bleed, and die.

Implacable as ocean,

Our tide must drown the sky.
“What is our expiation,

For what primeval crime,

That we must go on marching

Until the crash of time?
“What hand has shaped so cruelly?

What whim has cast such fate?

Where is, in our creation,

The botch that makes us great?”

“Oh, that’s good, darling! That’s very good. I’m proud of you, David.”
“I think it stinks,” he said evenly, “but, anyway, there are two more verses.”
“David!”
Grimly, he spat out the last eight lines.

“Why are we ever gimleted

By empire’s irony?

Is discontent the cancered price

Of Earthman’s galaxy?”

Leonora, recoiling from his cold fury, was a shaking pair of shoulders and a mass of lank hair supported by her hands on her face while she sobbed.

“Are our souls so much perverted?

Can we not relent?

Or are the stars the madman’s cost

For his inborn discontent?

“Good night, Leonora.”

VI
The light flickered on Marlowe’s interphone.
“Good morning,  Mr. Secretary.”
“Good morning, Mary. What’s up?”
“Harrison’s being deported from Dovenil, sir. There’s a civil crime charged against him. Quite a serious one.”
Marlowe’s eyebrows went up. “How much have we got on it?”
“Not too much, sir. Harrison’s report hasn’t come in yet. But the story’s on the news broadcasts now, sir. We haven’t been asked to comment yet, but Emigration has been called by several news outlets, and the Ministry for Education just called here and inquired whether it would be all right to publish a general statement of their exchange students’ careful instructions against violating local customs.”
Marlowe’s glance brooded down on the mass of papers piled in the tray of his in box. “Give me a tape of a typical broadcast,” he said at last. “Hold everything else. Present explanation to all news outlets: None now, statement forthcoming after preliminary investigation later in the day. The Ministry regrets this incident deeply, and will try to settle matters as soon and as amicably as possible, et cetera, et cetera. OK?”
“Yes, sir.”
He swung his chair around to face the screen let into a side wall, and colors began to flicker and run in the field almost immediately. They steadied and sharpened, and the broadcast tape began to roll.

Dateline: Dovenil, Sector Three, Day 183, 2417  G.S.T. Your Topical News reporter on this small planet at the Union’s rim was unable today to locate for comment any of the high officials of this alien civilization directly concerned with the order for the deportation of exchange student-observer Hubert Harrison, charged with theft and violent assault on the person of a Dovenilid citizen. Union citizen Harrison was unavailable for comment at this time, but Topical News will present his views and such other clues when more ensues.

Marlowe grunted. Journalese was getting out of hand again. That last rhyming sentence was sure to stick in the audience’s brains. It might be only another advertising gimmick, but if they started doing it with the body of the news itself, it might be well to feed Topical enough false leads to destroy what little reputation for comprehensibility they had left.
He touched his interphone switch.
“Uh⁠ ⁠… Mary, what was the hooper on that broadcast?”
“Under one percent, sir.”
Which meant that, so far, the Body Politic hadn’t reacted.
“Thank you. Is there anything else coming in?”
“Not at the moment, sir.”
“What’s⁠—” Cabbage. “What’s Dalish ud Klavan doing?”
“His residence is the Solar Hostel, sir. The management reports that he is still in his room, and has not reserved space on any form of long-distance transportation. He has not contacted us, either, and there is a strong probability that he may still be unaware of what’s happened.”
“How many calls did he make yesterday, either before or after he was here, and to whom?”
“I can get you a list in ten minutes, sir.”
“Do that, Mary.”
He switched off, sat slapping the edge of his desk with his hand, and switched on again.
“Mary, I want the GenSurvs on the Dovenil area to a depth of ten cubic lights.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And get me  Mr. Mead on the phone, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Marlowe’s lips pulled back from his teeth as he switched off. He snatched a candy bar out of his drawer, tore the film part way off, then threw it back in the drawer as his desk phone chimed.
“Here, Chris.”
“Here,  Mr. Marlowe.”
“Look, Chris⁠—has Holliday left Earth yet?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, Dave.”
“Where is he?”
“Luna, en route to Karlshaven. He was lucky enough to have me arrange for his accidentally getting a ride on a GenSurv ship that happened to be going out that way, if you follow me.” Mead grinned.
“Get him back.”
The smile blanked out. “I can’t do that,  Mr. Marlowe! He’d never be able to take it. You should have seen him when I put him on the shuttle. We doped him up with EasyRest, and even then his subconscious could feel the bulkheads around him, even in his sleep. Those shuttles are small, and they don’t have ports.”
“We can’t help that. We need him, and I’ve got to talk to him first. Personally.”
Mead bit his lip. “Yes, sir.”
“Dave.”
“Yes⁠ ⁠… Dave.”


VII
Dalish ud Klavan sat easily in his chair opposite Marlowe. He rested one digit on his notebook and waited.
“Ud Klavan,” Marlowe said amiably, “you’re undoubtedly aware by now that your opposite number on Dovenil has been charged with a civil crime and deported.”
The Dovenilid nodded. “An unfortunate incident. One that I regret personally, and which I am sure my own people would much rather not have had happen.”
“Naturally.” Marlowe smiled. “I simply wanted