The Long Result

by John Brunner

Genres: Science Fiction; Hard Science Fiction; Space Opera

Synopsis

When racial hatred turns to murderous menace . . . First a rocket ship loses its engines on take-off and is destroyed. On board - an important extra-terrestrial visitor. Next someone slams into the sealed vehicle used for transporting aliens around in the lethal atmosphere of Earth. Then the vital controlled environment for the Tau Cetian delegation is sabotaged. Oxygen leaks in, and the aliens are half burnt alive. Even if it means brutal murder, The Stars Are For Man League is determined to shatter the harmony between Earth and civilizations on other planets - and to keep mankind supreme among the alien life forms. Only one man can stop them - a man who unknowingly nurses a viper in his bosom . . . First published in 1965.

Release date: September 29, 2011

Publisher: Gateway

Print pages: 186

Sample

The crisis broke on a morning when I was late for work. As I crossed the entrance foyer of the Bureau of Cultural Relations
the calendar clock on the far wall was showing 0938 Zone 7 – Thursday, 30th February.


There was nothing in itself so wrong about that. In spite of the unkind cracks people circulated about the Bureau of Poor Relations, I’d always felt I was doing one of the most fruitful jobs I could have hoped to find, and I enjoyed it enough
not to steal time off, so this late arrival was a rare event. Still more to the point, I’d been doing something with which
nobody could argue – not even Tinescu, the Chief of Bureau, in one of his peppery early-morning moods.


At least… that was what I thought as I made my way up in the elevator, sublimely unaware of the mess into which I was about
to be pitchforked.


I opened the door of my office. On the door, neat Anglic script said:

ROALD VINCENT

Assistant

OUT

That last word amended itself to read IN as the secretary built into my desk recognized me. I sat down and asked what I had on hand from yesterday.


My own voice came back at me from the tapes: ‘Pass 61 Cygni 19k for final assay by Integration. Lunch at the Kingdom with
Patricia. Call Micky Torres between fourteen and sixteen regarding Epsilon Eridani 8c. The revised findings on it should be through by morning – if they aren’t, chase Tomas.’


A good plain day’s work. I was about to activate the first job, when I realized the secretary was playing blank tape and hissing
slightly. Something else was on file. Abruptly Tinescu’s voice rang out.


‘Roald, get the hell up to my office the moment you arrive!’

Blazes. Another of his morning moods. I sighed, told the secretary to go dormant again, and was about to obey the chief’s order when the door slid open, and there
was Jacky Demba looking uncharacteristically sour.


‘You got here, did you?’ he said, passing his mahogany-coloured hand through the tight crisp curls on his long head. Tinescu’s
been scouring the Bureau for you this past half-hour.’


‘I know,’ I said. ‘Just got it off my tapes. What’s it about, and why should he bother you?’

‘Called down a minute ago to say would I check that you hadn’t already come in and forgotten to signal it. I should hurry
along before he burns through the floor.’


And he was gone back to his own office before I had time to ask for further details.

So I went up to see Tinescu, blithely thinking this was one of the usual minor flaps which I sometimes suspected Tinescu of
generating in order to compensate for the lowly status the Bureau enjoyed among the other interstellar Relations organizations
and enhance his sense of self-importance. I got the first inkling I was wrong when I entered the room and heard a ringing
voice boom from the outside phone. The little picture screen was turned away from the door, of course, towards Tinescu, but
I didn’t have to see the face to know he was talking to Giuseppe Capra, the Minister for Extra-Terrestrial Affairs.


Coincidence? Or was this connected with the matter he’d been chasing me for? I devoutly hoped it was coincidence; I had no
special ambition to get involved with problems at Ministerial level.


But the conversation was just ending, and all I caught to serve me as a clue was Capra’s final furious blast – ‘You’d better
handle it right, or those Starhomers will be laughing behind their hands at us for the next generation!’


That gave me a few moments of misguided relief. My department was primarily concerned with Viridis, not with Starhome, so
I assumed that one would fall in somebody else’s lap. I was extremely wrong.


Tinescu shut off the phone and fixed me with a glare. Immediately I said, I’m sorry to be late, Chief. But there was a call
for blood donors because of the rocket crash, and they needed my group.’


Tinescu had been framing a blast at me. What I said took the fuel out of his jets. Last night’s rocket crash – one of the
trans-Pacific expresses had lost its engines on take-off — had shocked everybody, and appeals for donors and emergency nursing
staff had been on all the newscasts. In an age when human life-expectancy topped a hundred and ten, it wasn’t lightly to be
thrown away.


‘Why the hell didn’t you at least call your secretary?’ he growled finally, shaking back his mane of lank black hair. ‘It
was a miracle we got this stay of execution … Ach!’


I didn’t ask what the phrase was supposed to imply. I was used to him dramatizing every minor upset into a full-blown interstellar
crisis. I said, ‘I didn’t know I was going to be so badly delayed. But I stopped to talk to the extraterrestrial who was on
board.’


‘What?’ Tinescu jolted upright. ‘Who?’


That really astonished me. I said blankly, ‘You mean you weren’t, told?’

‘Listen, since before midnight last night I’ve had my hands full of something else altogether! Who was it?’


‘Not one of ours, fortunately. A Regulan – a private visitor.’ Tinescu relaxed visibly; Regulans were about the toughest life-form
conceivable, and a rocket crash wasn’t likely to damage one. I thought I’d better – well – have a few tactful words with him,
see if he was angry at what happened. But he seemed not to be. What’s more, he’s done some good for Regulan-human relations
– the rescue teams were full of praise for the way he helped to bring out the casualties.’


Tinescu told his desk to make a memo about that for later reference. Half-way through, he glanced up.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Anovel.’

‘Okay.’ He leaned back on completing the memo, and fixed me with a beady glare. ‘Well! You know who I was talking to when
you came in?’


‘The Minister, wasn’t it?’

‘Right.’ The attention light of the phone came on; he spared a moment to bestow some round curses on it in archaic Rumanian
and set the secretary to record. ‘Anybody told you about a Starhomer ship due to ground this morning?’


I searched memory and shook my head. ‘Normally I’d hear if it concerned my department —’

‘Normally!’ Tinescu banged a fist down on the squat plastic bulk of the addresser on his desk; for the first time I noticed
its calculator-like keyboard was brand-new, contrasting with the worn air of everything else in the room. ‘It does concern you, like everyone else on this weary old planet! Only the addresser threw the memo I sent you into the wrong channel,
and it wound up in Casley’s office, and he’s on furlough, and – ah, to hell. It’s happened now and we shall just have to pick
up the pieces.’ He shot a fierce glance at his watch. ‘Roald, what do you know about the Tau Cetians?


‘Not much.’ I frowned. This isn’t my line, strictly —’

‘Blazes, I’m only the Chief of Bureau! I know what’s your line and what isn’t! Answer my question, how about that?’

I recognized the danger signs: Tinescu was getting sarcastic, and that meant this was a crisis-for-real, not a crisis-to-shake-up.
Baldly I summarized my knowledge in this area.


‘They’re the first daughter contact. In other words, they weren’t contacted by an expedition from Earth, but by one from Starhome
– Epsilon Eridani. So far there’s been no direct contact between us and them. I’ve seen a reference somewhere to the establishment
of a mission on their planet, and I guess it won’t be long now before we have a delegation of them here, too.’


‘You’re so right,’ Tinescu said sweetly. ‘To be exact, it will be around lunch-time.’


“What”?

‘Listen hard, because if we foul this one up the consequences will – now I’m wasting time!’ Another look at his watch. ‘Roald, at about twenty-three hours last night, this Starhomer ship broached normal
for Earth. The captain calls through for a landing pattern, receives it immediately – they’d had the courtesy to notify us
the ship was due, at least – and then says, “By the way, I guess I ought to warn you that we have a delegation of Tau Cetians
on board and you may have to make some special arrangements to welcome them.”’


‘But this is absurd!’ I was half out of my chair.

‘Maybe. Or maybe the Starhomers just like the idea of making us run around in little circles. But this isn’t the half of it.
The Starhomers have done their best to tackle the Tau Cetians by themselves, because of the way they feel about Earth – “anything you can do I can do better”, as you might put it. So they’ve done all the things we usually do, like assigning
a courier to the delegation and so forth, but they just aren’t up to it.’ Sweat was beginning to shine on his forehead. ‘They’re technicians, primarily. They don’t have a Bureau of Cultural
Relations, they don’t have enough trained interracial psychologists, they don’t have any of the basic staffs and disciplines we use. And though the captain of that ship only confessed it very grudgingly, we’re
sure beyond a doubt that the Tau Cetians have proved more than their courier can handle.’


‘Fast metabolism, aren’t they?’ Another snippet about Tau Cetians jumped up in memory.

‘Very fast. Chlorine-iodine breathers with a subjective time-rate of one point three – a third again as fast as ours and nearly
as fast as that of a Regulan breathing fluorine… Blazes! You can get all that off the file – I slapped an imperative-reserve
on it for you.’


I took a deep breath. ‘Chief, why me? I’ve hardly done any alien contact work —’

‘Hell and confusion! Roald, all I’m asking you to do is go out to the port, take over from this courier – the name is Kay Lee Wong – and get
them settled at the Ark. And I’m picking on you half because you’re least tied up today with urgent work, half because I think
you’ve got the tact to handle it.’


Ark – spelt, strictly, A A C for Alien Accommodation Centre. It sounded straightforward enough put this way, but I had a sinking
suspicion that it wouldn’t turn out that easy in the long run. I said feebly, ‘Couldn’t Jacky or Tomas—?’


‘Roald!’ Tinescu got up. He was shorter than me, but if he got really furious he liked to tower over other people who were
seated. ‘It’s no business of mine if your ambition is limited to supervising trade in sonnets and string quartets from Viridis – you can stick at that job till you rot, for all I care. But you are a department head in this Bureau, and this Bureau has had a problem dumped on its doorstep which it has got to clean up. I’d go myself for the sake of seeing the thing smoothed over, but I’ve got Ministers and other parasites on
my back.’


He slapped the desk with his open palm. The gesture sent a gaily-coloured pamphlet sliding to the floor; I hadn’t noticed
it before. He dived for it and stuffed it into the destructor slot. From his face, he would cheerfully have done the same
to me if I hadn’t hurried out of the door.


A good plain day’s work! Hah!

I dropped into my own office chair again and punched for filing centre. ‘Get me the file on the Tau Cetians,’ I told the autoclerk.
‘There’s an imperative-reserve on it for me.’


‘Priority noted,’ the machine said in its irritatingly sweet voice, and I hit the off switch as though it had done me a personal
injury.


Frankly, I was smarting under the rebuke Tinescu had given me. No matter how true it was that I was contented in my present
work, with no great wish to be promoted to a tougher grade of problems – no matter how unfair it might be to dismiss what
I did at present as ‘trading in sonnets and string quartets’ – I retained my original admiration for Tinescu as an able man
and a first-rate administrator, and to have him snap at me did hurt.


But – blazes: even if I was the ranking person in the Bureau with free time available, even if the job was a plain and simple
one, why couldn’t he have picked one of the sixty-odd staff on regular alien contact duty?


I sighed. I’d been assigned, and I’d have to save the arguments for later. I just hoped nothing would go seriously amiss.


So: clear away today’s work. I told the secretary to postpone the Viridis items, neither of which was urgent. That left, first,
my scheduled call to Micky Torres. A shame to lose that, but I was intending to fly to Cambridge over the week-end and see
him personally, so it didn’t really matter. I filed a cancel-with-regret at the exchange.


And, second, my lunch-date. I spoke to the secretary again. ‘Get me a person-to-person call to Patricia Ryder at Area Meteorological
Centre, and call me as soon as it goes through.’


I didn’t wait for the acknowledge. I was too busy rehearsing my excuses to Patricia. She was by far the biggest thing in my
life right now, Bureau or no Bureau. I’d never been married because I’d always felt it was a serious project to be undertaken
only with children in mind, and somehow even though I felt I’d had at least my fair share of attractive women – so far I and
the current girl-friend had never managed to agree that long enough had gone in looking for the right partner. An early marriage,
after all, theoretically implied the daunting prospect of eighty years together, with modern life-expectancy.


But with Patricia … maybe the time had arrived. I couldn’t be sure. All I did know was that I hated missing this lunch with
her, in spite of knowing that I could see her tonight.


The phone said with its inevitable horrid sweetness, ‘Patricia Ryder is unavailable at Area Met.’

Damn! Well, I’d just have to get Jacky to keep the date for me. I shuffled that to the side of my mind and tried to give some
serious thought to what Tinescu had said.


Frankly, I didn’t like Starhomers much. My impression – borne out by cultural analysis – was that they were jealous of Earth and determined to outdo the mother world in every possible way. Exactly what kind of insecurity had led to this situation,
I wasn’t entirely sure, but apparently it was reflected in their rigid, almost deterministic and intensively computer-planned
social system. Of course, since they were dealing with intractable material when they tried to apply to human beings the same
methods that they found so successful in physical sciences and engineering – where no one could doubt their remarkable achievements
– they fell down occasionally. Earth’s great successes nowadays were in precisely those areas where Starhome was most likely
to make errors. This seemed to be the obvious explanation for the dirty trick they were playing on the Bureau – and via us,
on the mother world.


And it was a dirty trick. We had refrained deliberately from interfering when they contacted the Tau Cetians, in case their jealousy
led them to accuse us of trying to muscle in; we’d stood by, and made admiring noises in the intervals of chewing our nails
with anxiety lest they foul up the interracial situation through ignorance or arrogance. To bring a delegation of Tau Cetians
to Earth without prior warning was explicable only on the assumption Tinescu had made: before admitting they hadn’t got the
experience to complete the job, the Starhomers wanted to see us run in little circles and perhaps make a bad mistake in our
own speciality.


There was no denying it: dealing with the Viridians was infinitely more pleasant than either alien contact or the Starhome
side of the Bureau.


I heard the flopping sound from my conveyor which presumably announced the arrival of the Tau Ceti file. Before reaching for
it, I remembered a couple more items I should tell the secretary.
. . .