Space Opera Part 9

Dame Isabel opened her mouth, shut it again - for once at a loss for words. Finally she said, "My ethical doctrine, Roger, is based upon the principles of responsibility and self-respect, for those who are capable of exemplifying these principles. One more matter, since we are approaching Skylark. For all my 'benevolence' as you term it, I am still a realist, and I plan to enjoin everyone aboard to the utmost discretion. Under no circ.u.mstances will we fraternize with the prisoners, invite them aboard the s.h.i.+p, offer them liquor or use anything other than the most impersonal courtesy."

"I never intended otherwise," said Roger with dignity.

"The Skylark authorities will probably issue similar regulations," said Bernard Bickel. "Skylark is not precisely a fortress or a row of dungeons, and the prisoners have a certain degree of freedom; we don't want them running off with the s.h.i.+p."

"Definitely not," said Dame Isabel. "But I am sure that if we use the most basic elementary caution, all will go well."

Skylark looked large in the sky; from an orbit thirty thousand miles above the planet, the Phoebus radioed down for landing clearance. A patrol boat eased alongside; four officials came aboard, inspected the s.h.i.+p, conferred for several hours with Dame Isabel and Captain Gondar. "You must realize," said the Senior Inspector, a thin gray-haired man with drooping mustaches and darting black eyes, "that Skylark bears no resemblance to the usual prison. The convicts are allowed the freedom of almost ten square miles, the full extent of the Table."

"How do you enforce discipline?" asked Dame Isabel. "It would seem that fourteen thousand desperate men, if they felt so inclined, could easily overwhelm a comparative handful of administrative personnel."

"We have our methods, never fear. I a.s.sure you they are effective. We use a great deal of electronic surveillance, and our little electric hornets are never trifled with. No, we worry more about boredom than disorder. Life here is absolutely placid."

"I should think our visit would do a great deal to raise morale," said Dame Isabel. "The prisoners must be absolutely starved for music."

The Senior Inspector chuckled. "We are not such barbarians as all that; we have several good orchestras of our own. Our population, after all, is derived from all walks of life. We have convict carpenters, plumbers, farmers and musicians. Our architects are convicts, our hospital is staffed by convicts, our chemists and agronomists are convicts. We comprise a self-contained community - a criminal civilization, one might put it. Still, we are grateful for an occasional breath of fresh air, something to distract us from our troubles, and this you have been kind enough to offer."

"Not at all," said Dame Isabel. "We are pleased to be of service. Now as to program, I propose Turandot, Der Rosenkavalier, Cosi Fan Tutte - a generally cheerful and amusing group. Turandot is a trifle macabre, but in such an extravagant fas.h.i.+on that no one could possibly be adversely influenced."

The Senior Inspector a.s.sured her that there need be no worries on this account. "A number of very macabre folk live among us; we are not likely to be shocked by a few theatrical extravagances."

"Excellent. Now precisely what restrictions or regulations do you wish to impose upon us?"

"Very few, really. No weapons, drugs or liquor for the prisoners, naturally. Guards will control access to the s.h.i.+p, and we'll want all your personnel aboard s.h.i.+p before dark. The prisoners are generally well-behaved, but there are erratic and undisciplined persons among us, it goes without saying. For instance, it would be highly unadvisable for any attractive young woman to wander off by herself: she might find far more hospitality than she bargained for."

Dame Isabel said stiffly, "I will post a set of specific warnings, although I doubt if anyone aboard would be so foolish."

"One last matter: We will require an exact manifest of all your personnel, so that if you land with say, a hundred and one persons, we can be a.s.sured that exactly a hundred and one persons depart."

Captain Gondar provided the necessary list; the officials departed; the Phoebus swerved down to a landing.

Skylark, barely seven thousand miles in diameter, was the smallest planet yet visited by the Phoebus. From the vantage of the orbit the surface seemed smooth and h.o.m.ogeneous, mossy green in color, with a barely perceptible darkening at the poles. The green proved to be a pulsing and purulent swamp, with the penal colony on an enormous volcanic plug rearing two thousand feet into the relatively cool upper air. On the plateau the original ecology had been modified and now Earth-type vegetation dominated.

At first sight the colony seemed a rather pleasant little community; indeed the only structure with an inst.i.tutional look - a four-story block of concrete with impenetrex windows - was that occupied by the Governor and his staff.

Elsewhere were four neat villages, a manufacturing facility, various commissaries, offices and depots, entirely manned by the convicts. Their comings and goings seemed their own; they carried themselves without overt furtiveness, though never could they be mistaken for free men. The distinction was hard to define - possibly because the quality, blended of melancholy, obsequiousness, withdrawal, smouldering bitterness, a lack of spontaneity, manifested itself differently in each case.

Another, even more subtle characteristic might have gone unnoticed, except for the fact that all convicts wore the prison uniform: gray trousers and blue jackets. Dame Isabel, inspecting the crowd who had come to stare at the Phoebus, was the first to put this quality into words. "Strange," she told Bernard Bickel, "I had somehow expected a less personable group of men: repellent brutes and thugs, obvious morons, and the like. But not one of these men would attract a second glance at the most fas.h.i.+onable function. In fact, there is a curious uniformity to their appearance."

Bernard Bickel acknowledged the validity of the observation, but was at a loss for an explanation. "The fact that they all wear prison issue may emphasize the similarity," was his best guess.

During a second consultation with the Senior Inspector Dame Isabel raised the point again. "Is it my imagination, and no more, or is it a fact that the convicts seem to resemble one another?"

The Senior Inspector, himself a rather handsome man of medium physique with fine regular features, was somewhat surprised. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes, though it's an elusive resemblance. I notice all complexions here and all somatic types; still in some manner ..." She paused, searching for the exact words to express the half-intuitive conviction.

The inspector suddenly chuckled. "I think I can explain. What you observe is negative rather than positive, a lack rather than a presence, which is much more difficult to define."

"This may well be true. What puzzles me is that I observe no 'criminal types', though I will not defend the scientific validity of the term."

"Exactly. And this is a matter of which we are strongly conscious. We do not want 'criminal types' here at Skylark."

"But how in the world do you avoid them? At a penal colony for the utterly unregenerate, I would think 'criminal types' would abound!"

"We get our share," admitted the inspector. "But they are not with us long."

"You mean - they are done away with?"

"Oh no. Nothing like that. Our feeling is that 'criminal type - criminal act' is a relations.h.i.+p which works in both directions: that is to say, many persons, especially the highly suggestible, are compelled to act out the symbologic implications of their physiognomies. A man with a prognathous chin as he examines himself in a mirror will say, Ah, I have a strong aggressive chin! He will tend to impose this judgment upon his course of action. A person with small narrow red-rimmed eyes will be conscious of his 's.h.i.+fty furtive expression'; he likewise will tend to act out this role. By doing so, of course, he reinforces the popular suppositions which initially created the symbology. Here on Skylark we are sensitive to these relations.h.i.+ps, if for no other reason than self-interest. When we receive an individual with beady eyes, receding chin, loose-lipped mouth, an idiotic or malign expression, we process him in what we call our 'Reconstruction Laboratories', and remove his most demoralizing flaws. I suppose that our staff - all convict, by the way - tends to standardize upon certain optimum patterns; so that you not only notice a lack of weak chins, s.h.i.+fty eyes and lecherous mouths, but a higher-than-normal proportion of straight noses, n.o.ble foreheads, stalwart jaws and benevolent gazes."

"Yes!" declared Dame Isabel. "This is precisely the situation. And the personalities undergo similar changes?"

"In most cases, though we are by no means a colony of idealistic philanthropists." He spoke the last with a jocular twitch of the lips.

"As a matter of fact," said Dame Isabel, "I have been wondering how so small an administrative staff controls such a large number of desperate men. The settlement must be p.r.o.ne to factions and cliques and - what is the term? - kangaroo courts. Not to mention sheer insubordination and riots."

The inspector acknowledged the pertinence of Dame Isabel's remarks. "All these might be troublesome without strict discipline. We control certain privileges, and of course we have one or two little tricks. One of our unique inst.i.tutions is what we call a 'supervisory militia', composed of responsible prisoners. They act as the arm of a judicial office, also staffed by prisoners. The verdicts are naturally reviewed by the governor, but he seldom interferes, even in the rare sentences of 'transportation'."

"'Transportation'?" inquired Dame Isabel. "To where?"

"To the other side of the planet, the final stage of the journey by parachute."

"Into the jungle? But that must be equivalent to death."

The inspector gave a wry grimace. "We do not know for sure; none of the transported men have ever been seen again."

Dame Isabel shuddered. "I suppose that even a society of convicts must protect itself."

"Such events are extremely rare; actually there is less 'crime' here than might be found in a similar community on Earth."

Dame Isabel shook her head in wonder. "I would expect people in such grim circ.u.mstances to be completely indifferent to life or death."

The inspector smiled gently. "By no means. In a quiet way I enjoy my life; I would neither wish to be transported, nor forfeit my status."

Dame Isabel blinked. "You - you are a convict? Surely not?"

"Indeed I am," declared the inspector. "I murdered my grandmother with an axe, and since it was my second precisely identical offense -"

"'Second'?" asked Roger, who had wandered up a few moments previously. "'Precisely identical'? How could that be?"

"Everyone has two grandmothers," the inspector told him politely. "But this is all water under the bridge, and some of us - not many, but a few - make a new life for ourselves. Some of us - again not many - are transported. The rest are simply - convicts."

"All this is highly illuminating," said Dame Isabel. With a meaningful glance for Roger she added, "It is also a strong argument against idleness and libertinism, and for a career of hard and useful work."

On the second day after arrival Turandot was performed before a packed house. Der Rosenkavalier and Cosi Fan Tutte met with equal success, to such effect that the gloom and listlessness which had threatened to demoralize the company vanished completely.

The Governor entertained the company at a buffet dinner, and his expressions of grat.i.tude touched Dame Isabel to such an extent that she promised another three performances and asked the Governor to name his special favorites. Declaring himself partial to Verdi, he suggested Rigoletto, La Traviata and Il Trovatore. Dame Isabel wondered whether the unrelieved tragedy, no matter how unreal, might not depress the convicts. The Governor dispelled her apprehensions. "By no means; do the blighters good to realize that someone beside themselves has troubles." He was a large stout man with a bluff manner which obviously concealed a real talent for administration.

Immediately after the Governor's dinner the Skylark Symphonic Orchestra presented a short concert in honor of the Phoebus, and Sir Henry Rixon delivered a speech celebrating the universality of music. On the day following Rigoletto was performed, then La Traviata, then Il Trovatore, and at every performance uniformed guards were needed to prevent overcrowding in the theater. Other precautions were rigidly enforced: the s.h.i.+p's entry-port was guarded and every night members of the crew in the company of administration personnel made a careful inspection of every cubic inch of the s.h.i.+p.

After Il Trovatore, musicians and singers alike were exhausted. The audience clamored for more, and Dame Isabel, stepping before the footlights made a short speech regretting the necessity for departure. "We have many other worlds to visit, many other folk before whom to perform. But be a.s.sured that we have enjoyed playing before you, and your applause has definitely been most heartening. If we ever make another similar tour of the stars, be a.s.sured that without fail we shall call by Skylark!"

After the performance the guards gave the s.h.i.+p an even more careful scrutiny than usual. On the morrow, before departure, there would be another search and the final formalities.

The guards had departed the s.h.i.+p, to keep vigilant watch by the entry-port, which was sealed from within and without. Roger walked uneasily here and there: from the bridge, through the crew's mess-hall, back to the saloon where Madoc Roswyn sat playing cribbage with Logan de Appling, and it was an indication of Roger's perplexity that he hardly noticed. At last he made up his mind. Going to Dame Isabel's cabin, he knocked on the door.

"Yes? Who is it?"

"It's I. Roger."

The door opened; Dame Isabel looked out. "What is the matter?"

"Can I come in for a moment? There's something I've got to tell you."

"I'm extremely tired, Roger. Certainly tomorrow should be early enough for whatever is troubling you."

"I'm not so sure. There's something very strange going on."

"Strange? What manner of strangeness?"

Roger looked up and down the corridor. All other doors were closed, but nevertheless he lowered his voice. "You heard the orchestra tonight?"

"Yes, naturally."

"Did you notice anything - well, different?"

"I did not."

"Well, I did. It's something rather trivial I suppose, but the more I think of it the stranger it seems."

"If you inform me as to what you noticed, I might be in a position to judge."

"Have you ever watched Calvin Martineau the first oboeist?"

"With no great attention."

"He's always good for a laugh. Before he plays he shoots his cuffs, puffs out his cheeks, and makes a peculiar face."

"Mr. Martineau," said Dame Isabel, "is an excellent musician. The oboe, in case you are unaware of the fact, is a difficult instrument."

"I imagine it must be. Tonight - I'm not sure about last night - the man playing first oboe was not Martineau."

Dame Isabel shook her head in disparagement. "Please, Roger, I am very tired indeed."

"But this is important!" cried Roger. "If the first oboeist is not Mr. Martineau - who is he?"

"Do you think Sir Henry would be unaware of this strange circ.u.mstance?"

Roger shook his head doggedly. "He looks like Mr. Martineau. But his ears aren't so big. Mr. Martineau's ears were quite noticeable -"

"And this is the basis for your alarm?"

"Oh no. I watched him play. He sat still. He didn't make any peculiar faces. He didn't shoot his cuffs. He sat rock-still instead of jerking from side to side like Martineau. Then I noticed his ears."

"Roger, this is absolute nonsense. I now am going to bed and I hope to sleep. In the morning, if Mr. Martineau's ears still trouble you, you may confide your fears to Sir Henry, and perhaps he will be able to rea.s.sure you. Meanwhile I suggest that you get a good night's rest, as we leave promptly at nine o'clock in the morning."

The door closed; Roger slowly returned to the saloon. Here he sat and wrestled with his problem. Should he go to Sir Henry? Should he confront the counterfeit oboeist on his own responsibility? What a wretched situation! And Roger shook his head in dissatisfaction. There must be a simple manner in which to resolve the matter! For ten minutes he considered, then pounded the table softly with his fist. The solution leapt into mind!

The following morning final preparations were made for departure. At half-past eight one of the guards diffidently approached Dame Isabel. "Mr. Wool has not yet returned aboard, madame."

Dame Isabel looked blankly at the man. "Where in the world did he go?"

"He left the s.h.i.+p two hours ago; he stated that he had a message from you to deliver to the Governor."

"This is a most extraordinary situation! I certainly never sent him off with such a message! What could he be thinking of? I have a good mind to leave without him!"

Bernard Bickel approached, and Dame Isabel told him of Roger's eccentric conduct. "I fear his mind is going," said Dame Isabel. "Last night he came babbling of Mr. Martineau's ears; this morning he runs off with an imaginary message for the Governor!"

Bernard Bickel shook his head in perplexity. "I suppose we had better send the guard to look for him."

Dame Isabel compressed her lips. "This is an absolutely inexcusable irresponsibility! I am seriously of a mind to leave without him. He was well aware of my wish to leave at nine precisely."

"The only explanation can be that he has become temporarily deranged," said Bernard Bickel.

"Yes," muttered Dame Isabel. "I suppose you are right." She turned to the guard. "Mr. Wool must be found. Not inconceivably - on the supposition that he is indeed deranged - he went to the Governor's apartments bearing this imaginary message. I suggest that you seek there for him first."

But now at the entry-port there was altercation. Dame Isabel and Bernard Bickel, hastening to the port, found Roger and a disheveled Calvin Martineau arguing with the guard.

"You may come aboard, Mr. Wool. This other man may not, as the s.h.i.+p's roster is complete."

"I am Calvin Martineau," said the oboe-player in a weak but insistent voice. "I demand to be permitted aboard!"

"What is going on?" demanded Dame Isabel. "Mr. Martineau, what is the meaning of this peculiar situation?"

"I have been held prisoner!" cried Martineau. "Subjected to indignities. Drugged! Threatened! If it had not been for Mr. Wool I don't know what would have happened to me!"

"I told you that other oboeist was an impostor," said Roger.

Dame Isabel drew a deep breath. "And how did you know where to find Mr. Martineau?"

"It seemed simple enough. Faces can be changed, mannerisms can be faked - but only an oboe-player could successfully pa.s.s himself off for an oboe-player. So I knew that the false Martineau played the oboe, more than likely in the symphony. I learned where the Skylark Symphony oboeist lived, I went to the address, and walked in. Mr. Martineau was tied hand and foot under the bed."

Martineau broke into new complaints. Dame Isabel held up her hand. "Bernard, please take a guard into the s.h.i.+p and give the criminal into his custody."

Five minutes later the sullen impostor was marched off the s.h.i.+p. The resemblance to the authentic Calvin Martineau was remarkable. "How in the world -" began Bernard Bickel.

The Senior Inspector, who had been summoned, shook his head sadly. "Apparently there has been sly work at the Reconstruction Laboratories; I am amazed ... And yet not too amazed. Many convicts would risk all their privileges for the chance to escape Skylark."