The Complete Short Stories: The 1950s. Brian Aldiss

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘It never composes its own shape, almost always copies something it has seen. Look, you notice it is doing me now …’

      Mrs. Miller let out a loud shriek.

      ‘When has it seen you naked?’ she asked.

      ‘Madam, I assure you I’m not – ’

      ‘Never mind how good the likeness is,’ Dusty said sternly. ‘I did not bring my wife here to be insulted by that obscene creature or anyone else! I suggest we leave this instant.’

      ‘Very well then,’ snapped the Director angrily, ‘although I am in no way responsible for that thing’s behaviour.’

      ‘Do let’s get out,’ Daisy said, her face still crimson. ‘Take my arm, Marmaduke.’

      ‘You go on, dear, with the Director. I won’t be a minute – I just want to read this information panel again.’

      He prodded her surreptitiously in the ribs to make sure he was obeyed. As soon as they were out of sight, he tried the inner door. It was merely a portion of the arena wall, indistinguishable from within, but easily movable from without by the turn of a wheel.

      ‘We’ll soon see whether it wasn’t a pack of nonsense he was telling us,’ Dusty muttered to himself. He never liked to believe anything until he had personally tested its veracity. The next moment he was inside the dome.

      The naked Director withered and shrunk into Pogsmith’s natural shape. It turned and faced Dusty inquisitively, snorting quietly.

      ‘All right, old boy, there, there now, just want to have a proper look at you,’ Dusty said soothingly, making a coaxing noise and extending one hand. For a moment he was alarmed at his temerity. Was the thing carnivorous or not? He halted. They surveyed each other from five yards’ range.

      ‘The lighting isn’t very good in here,’ Dusty said apologetically. ‘Let’s see some of these stunts from close range.’

      As if it understood – how efficient was that dead field round the brain? – the pig, with astonishing speed, grew a ginger beard and arms. It became Pogsmith. One eye glared at Dusty.

      ‘This is a devil of a predicament,’ it said. With animal savagery, it flung itself at Dusty, catching him a knock-out blow on the jaw, and bolted for the open door.

      Feebly, he opened his eyes. An angry face glared down into his; it was the Director.

      ‘Ah, Miller, conscious at last! Well, your visit to us is over. There’s an auto-rocket here standing by to take you and your wife straight back to Earth.’

      ‘Pogsmith?’ groaned Dusty.

      ‘You may very well ask! The unhappy creature must have been almost crazed by boredom from its confinement. It is now hiding among the zoo buildings, having so far eluded all our efforts to recapture it. You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Your infernal curiosity is going to cost us a pretty penny, I can tell you! You’re a mischief-maker, sir, that’s what – a mischief-maker!’

      ‘You won’t find Pogsmith by raving at me,’ Dusty retorted irritably, brushing dust out of his clothes.

      ‘Can’t you see the poor man’s had enough, Director?’ Daisy asked, turning nevertheless to the poor man in question to whisper fiercely: ‘A brilliant performance you’ve made of yourself, Marmaduke. Just you wait …’

      Dusty rubbed an aching jaw and followed dejectedly along a metal ramp which led to a two-man shuttle. It was a small Mercury–Earth ship that would travel auto all the way: in five minutes he could be away from the scene of his foolishness – and there would be no eavesdroppers on whatever lecture was coming.

      The Director followed them to the open hatch. There he caught Dusty’s arm.

      ‘No ill feelings,’ he said.

      Miller shook the Director’s hand and his own head dazedly and passed into the ship. With a quiet click, the door closed behind him. He staggered through the airlock and sank on to an acceleration couch.

      Daisy had hardly begun to unload her vocabulary before the growl of blast take-off drowned all other sounds. They hurled upwards, and in two breath-taking minutes stars and darkness showed outside and the bright crescent of Mercury floated below.

      ‘Now …’ said Daisy. ‘Never in all my life – ’ She stopped, her mouth hung open, her eyes fixed glassily on a point behind Dusty’s head. He turned.

      The door of a small luggage store had opened. A figure as like the Director’s as an egg is like an egg stood there glaring at them.

      ‘How – ’ said Dusty.

      ‘He’s tricked us,’ said the Director. ‘He bound and gagged me … I’ve only just struggled free … He’s – ooooh!’

      He staggered back as Dusty attacked him. His foot slipped and he fell against the wall.

      ‘Quick, Daisy, quick!’ Dusty bellowed. ‘Help me get him in the airlock. It’s Pogsmith!’

      She stood there wringing her hands helplessly. ‘How do you know this is Pogsmith?’ she asked.

      ‘Of course it is,’ snapped Dusty, glad to be again master of the situation. ‘Isn’t it obvious he’d try and escape like this? I’m not being fooled twice. Now lend a hand, will you?’

      Still struggling and protesting, the Director was propelled into the airlock and shut in. Mopping his brow, Dusty pressed the manual switch that opened the outer door. There was a hiss of expiring air – and expiring Director.

      At the Galactic Zoo the incident was soon forgotten. The Director quickly recovered his old prestige. But he was never the same man again – he had a tendency, in private, to grow red whiskers and one triumphant eye.

       Conviction

      The four Supreme Ultralords stood apart from the crowd, waiting, speaking to nobody. Yet Mordregon, son of Great Mordregon; Arntibis Isis of Sirius III, the Proctor Superior from the Tenth Sector; Deln Phi J. Bunswacki, Ruler of the Margins; and Ped2 of the Dominion of the Sack watched, as did the countless other members of the Diet of the Ultralords of the Home Galaxy, the entrance into their council chamber of the alien, David Stevens of Earth.

      Stevens hesitated on the threshold of the hall. The hesitation was part-natural, part-feigned; he had come here primed to play a part and knowing a pause for awe might be expected of him; but he had not calculated on the real awe which filled him. He had come to stand trial, for himself, for Earth, he had come prepared – as far as a man may prepare for the unpredictable. Yet, as the dolly ushered him into the hall, he knew crushingly that the task was to be more terrible than any he had visualised.

      The cream of the Galaxy took in his hesitation.

      He started to walk towards the dais upon which Mordregon and his colleagues waited. The effort of forcing his legs to go into action set a dew of perspiration on his forehead.

      ‘God help me!’ he whispered. But these were the gods of СКАЧАТЬ