Fantastic Stories Presents the Fantastic Universe Super Pack #2. William Logan
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show. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the diaphragm on the outer sphincter lock expanded, and a curious, peaked face peered through.
“Vargas Miss Helten?” said the Theradin in a sibilant whisper.
“That’s my name,” I replied instantly. I pulled upward, and added, quite unnecessarily, “You are Haalvordhen, of course.”
“Such is my identification,” confirmed the alien, and the long, lean, oddly—muscled body squirmed through after the peaked head. “It is kind, Vargas Miss, to share accommodation under this necessity.”
“It’s kind of you,” I said vigorously. “We’ve all got to get home before this war breaks out!”
“That war may be prevented, I have all hope,” the nonhuman said. He spoke comprehensibly in Galactic Standard, but expressionlessly, for the vocal chords of the Theradins are located in an auxiliary pair of inner lips, and their voices seem reedy and lacking in resonance to human ears.
“Yet know you, Vargas Miss, they would have hurled me from this ship to make room for an Empire citizen, had you not been heart—kind to share.”
“Good heavens!” I exclaimed, shocked, “I didn’t know that!” I stared at him, disbelieving. The captain couldn’t have legally done such a thing—or even seriously have entertained the thought. Had he been trying to intimidate the Theradin into giving up his reserved place?
“I—I was meaning to thank you,” I said, to cover my confusion.
“Let us thank we—other, then, and be in accord,” the reedy voice mouthed. I looked the nonhuman over, unable to hide completely my curiosity. In form the Theradin was vaguely humanoid—but only vaguely—for, the squat arms terminated in mittened “hands” and the long sharp face was elfin, and perpetually grimacing.
The Theradin have no facial muscles to speak of, and no change of expression or of vocal inflection is possible to them. Of course, being telepathic, such subtleties of visible or auditory expression would be superfluous on the face of it.
I felt—as yet—none of the revulsion which the mere presence of the Theradin was supposed to inspire. It was not much different from being in the presence of a large humanoid animal. There was nothing inherently fearful about the alien. Yet he was a telepath—and of a nonhuman breed my species had feared for a thousand years. Could he read my mind?
“Yes,” said the Theradin from across the cabin. “You must forgive me. I try to put up barrier, but it is hard. You broadcast your thought so strong it is impossible to shut it out.” The alien paused. “Try not to be embarrass. It bother me too.”
Before I could think of anything to say to that a crew member in black leather thrust his head, unannounced, through the sphincter, and said with an air of authority, “In skyhooks, please.” He moved confidently into the cabin. “Miss Vargas, can I help you strap down?” he asked.
“Thanks, but I can manage,” I told him.
Hastily I clambered into the skyhook, buckling the inner straps, and fastening the suction tubes of the complicated Garensen apparatus across my chest and stomach. The nonhuman was awkwardly drawing his hands from their protective mittens and struggling with the Garensens.
Unhappily the Theradin have a double thumb, and handling the small—size Terran equipment is an almost impossibly delicate task. It is made more difficult by the fact that the flesh of their “hands” is mostly thin mucous membrane which tears easily on contact with leather and raw metal.
“Give Haalvordhen a hand,” I urged the crewman. “I’ve done—this dozens of times!” I might as well have saved my breath. The crewman came and assured himself that my straps and tubes and cushions were meticulously tightened. He took what seemed to me a long time, and used his hands somewhat excessively, I lay under the heavy Garensen equipment, too inwardly furious to even give him the satisfaction of protest.
It was far too long before he finally straightened and moved toward Haalvordhen’s skyhook. He gave the alien’s outer straps only a perfunctory tug or two, and then turned his head to grin at me with a totally uncalled—for—familiarity.
“Blastoff in ninety seconds,” he said, and wriggled himself rapidly out through the hook. Haalvordhen exploded in a flood of Samarran which I could not follow. The vehemence of his voice, however, was better than a dictionary. For some strange reason I found myself sharing his fury. The unfairness of the whole procedure was shameful. The Theradin had paid passage money, and deserved in any case the prescribed minimum of decent attention.
I said forthrightly, “Never mind the fool, Haalvordhen. Are you strapped down all right?”
“I don’t know,” he replied despairingly. “The equipment is unfamiliar—”
“Look—” I hesitated, but in common decency I had to make the gesture. “If I examine carefully my own Garensens, can you read my mind and see how they should be adjusted?”
He mouthed, “I’ll try,” and immediately I fixed my gaze steadily on the apparatus. After a moment, I felt a curious sensation. It was something like the faint, sickening feeling of being touched and pushed about, against my will, by a distasteful stranger. I tried to control the surge of almost physical revulsion. No wonder that humans kept as far as possible from the telepathic races. . .
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