Nidorian 02c
(1956)*
Astounding Science Fiction – December 1956
Randall Garrett & Robert Silverberg
(as Robert Randall)
illustrated by van Dongen
The shortfiction stories The Chosen People, The Promised Land, and False Prophet were expanded in a fix-up titled the The Shrouded Planet(1957)
There are times when it is exceedingly unwise to tell the truth—and the Nidorian was dedicated to truth. The Earthmen were wiser; they lied about him.
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THE last thing that would have entered Norvis peRahn Brajjyd's mind would have been a ceremony centering around his esteemed classmate, Dran peNibro Sesom. Dran peNibro, being honored for something? Impossible, Norvis thought. Dran peNibro was a bedraggled little Nidorian from the slums of Tammulcor, and, as far as Norvis knew, he had done nothing in his two years at the Bel-rogas School of Divine Law but occupy space in the classrooms.
Norvis shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs away. It had been a long, hard night of work and brooding—mostly brooding, unfortunately—and Norvis took it most unkindly when young Krin peBor Yorgen, the first-year man who did the waking-up duties for Norvis' floor of the dormitory, awakened him an hour before the usual Bel-rogas reveille.
Norvis had had just three hours of sleep, and he was thoroughly unhappy at the sight of Krin peBor's shining young face peeking in the door ahead of time.
"Rise and shine, Norvis peRahn," Krin exclaimed, in an all-too-cheery voice.
Norvis opened one eye quizzically and squinted out the window. It was still gray outside; the Great Light was not yet bright in the sky.
"What are you doing here at this hour?" Norvis asked. "It's an hour to reveille, maybe more."
"Not today," Krin said brightly. "Special ceremony this morning. Smith himself just came around to tell me to get everyone up early."
"Oh," Norvis said, and sank back under the covers, thinking that Smith had a lot of nerve calling a morning ceremony after he'd been up most of the night. He shut his eyes hard, trying to pretend it was all a dream.
A moment later he opened them cautiously. Krin peBor was still standing there, arms folded.
"You'd better get up, Norvis peRahn," he said. "This is something special, according to Smith."
"He's not going to miss me," Norvis told him. "The School's big enough that they'll never notice I'm not there. Go away."
He slumped back and shut his eyes a second time, only to find Krin peBor shaking him vigorously by the shoulder.
"Will you go away?" Norvis said. "I want to sleep—and you can tell that to Smith if you feel like it."
"Sorry," Krin said cheerfully, "but Smith gave me special instructions that you were to be there. So I guess you don't have any choice."
"I guess not," Norvis grumbled, and dragged himself out of bed. "What's going on, anyway? You have any idea?"
"Sure," Krin said. "They're honoring Dran peNibro. Giving him the Order of Merit, Smith said."
It took a moment to register. Then Norvis said, "What?" He sat down again. "Dran peNibro, getting honored? For what? That fumblewit can't even find his way to class without having trouble."
Krin peBor shrugged. "I don't know why either," he said. "But the Earthmen do funny things sometimes." He gave Norvis a look intended to convey deep meanings, but which merely seemed ridiculous on his youthful face.
Norvis shook his head. "Dran peNibro! I don't get it."
It was, on the face of it, incredible, Norvis told himself, as he reluctantly pulled himself out of his bed, still red-eyed from his long night of wasted effort. Still puzzled, he rose and groped for a fresh vest. Krin peBor, seeing that Norvis was definitely up to stay, smiled politely and ducked out. A moment later, Norvis heard him thundering on the next door down the hall.
Norvis stared balefully at the heap of papers on his desk, at the two or three scratched notes that had been the only products of his night's labors. His project was nearing completion—that was obvious—but last night he had come to the jarring discovery that, with the end in sight, he was not at all anxious to finish.
His specialty was genetics, like that of his mother's illustrious father, Kiv peGanz Brajjyd. Norvis had been working fairly closely on his project with Smith, the enigmatic, bearded Earthman who was the leader of the Earthmen on Nidor. Both he and Smith were sure that the project would probably make him a national hero, a member of the Order of Merit, and all the other things, but some nagging doubt at the back of his mind kept him from handing in the completed work to Smith. The worst part of it was that he didn't know why; he was simply reluctant, and until he found out the source of his reluctance he was determined to go no further on the project.
He scooped up the papers and shoveled them into his file, and clicked closed the combination lock. Then, smoothing his golden facial down with his fingers to make himself more presentable, he started downstairs. From outside, he could hear the sounds of the gathering starting to form in the square.
He still didn't believe it. Dran peNibro, being honored? For what? What was the little rodent capable of, Norvis wondered, that could ever make him the center of any such affair?
For a bleary-eyed moment Norvis considered the possibility that it was all a hoax instituted by Krin peBor for some obscure motive. It was unlikely, but it was more conceivable than the idea that Dran peNibro had done something worth-while.
Yet, when he emerged from the dorm and crossed the square to the main building of the School, he discovered that all was actually as Krin peBor had said. On the little platform usually erected for such events, Norvis could see the tall, solemn-faced figure of the Earthman Smith, the rotund figure of Morn peDrogh Yorgen, Head Grandfather of the Bel-rogas School, and, standing between them, looking impossibly thin and meek, Dran peNibro Sesom.
It just doesn't figure, Norvis told himself, as he drew closer. It just doesn't add up at all.
He joined the outermost edge of the throng, edging in to a little clump of upperclassmen who were standing together. They greeted him morosely; they were, obviously, just as sleepy as he was.
"Did I hear right?" Norvis asked. "Are we all down here to see Dran peNibro get glorified?"
"Precisely," said a tall, bored-looking student named Kresh peKresh Dmorno, who came from the western coast of the gigantic landmass that was Nidor's one continent. "We were just discussing the improbability of it now."
Norvis nodded and flicked a glance at the platform. Smith, Dran peNibro, and Grandfather Morn peDrogh were standing there waiting for the School to assemble.
Smith, who had guided the School for years, who had been there in the days when Norvis' parents were students there—though he had not been a member of the original party of Earthmen who had come down to Nidor eighty-four years before, descending from the sky to found the Bel-rogas School and help bring the Law to the Nidorians—Smith was standing there, stroking and smoothing his graying beard, waiting calmly and patiently. Grandfather Morn peDrogh was darting nervous glances around, and occasionally turned to mutter something to Smith, at which the Earthman would hold up a hand in pardon. Apparently he was apologizing for the tardiness of his students; Morn peDrogh was much more of a stickler about those things than his predecessor, old Gils, peKlin Hebylla.
As for Dran peNibro, the little fellow looked utterly ill at ease. As usual, his golden body down seemed waterlogged and unkempt, and his eyes were dull and dreamy. It had long been a mystery to Norvis—and, apparently, to some of the others—how Dran peNibro had managed to get past the Examiners. The Bel-rogas School, after all, skimmed off only the cream of Nidorian youth, with an eye toward grooming at least some of them for the priesthood and later the all-powerful Council of Elders. Indeed, with the selection of Norvis' grandfather Kiv to head the Brajjyd clan last year, the Council of Elders was at last composed entirely of Bel-rogas alumni. All sixteen clan-heads had studied at the School. It was quite an accomplishment for an institution which could trace its lineage back only four generations. On Nidor, where recorded history stretched back thousands of years, four generations was an incredibly short span of time for anything like that to come about.
But Dran peNibro? What could they be grooming him for? He was just about fit to raise peych-beans like any other peasant, or perhaps work in the stables, tending deests. But yet there he was, planted up there between Smith and the Head Grandfather. And now, Morn peDrogh held both of his arms above his head. The crowd stilled. Norvis leaned forward to hear better. He was curious to find out just what this was all about.
"My children," the Grandfather said in his solemn voice, "your attention, please." The priest waited for the low hum of conversation to die out, smoothing his hands against his blue tunic impatiently, then went on.
"We are here this morning to ask the blessings of the Great Light upon one of our members. Let us pray."
Everyone turned to face the east, where the morning glow of the Great Light was already showing a pearly gray through the eternal cloud layer of Nidor.
"O Great and Shining Father," the priest intoned, "favor us this day by shedding Your Holy light and Your ineffable blessings upon us all. And favor especially those of us who have diligently worked in Your holy Cause. And favor especially one of our members whom we, Your servants, are to honor today for his work in Your Great Plan.
"Favor us, then, O Light of the World, by giving special grace to Your servant, Dran, the son of Nibro, of the noble Clan of Sesom, for the work he has done for Your people.'^
The invocation was over. As one, the group turned back to look again at the platform.
Dran peNibro still looked as snivelly and as stupid as ever. Norvis felt it quite unlikely that the Great Light had paid any attention to the prayer.
Smith, the Earthman, stood up. "In order for all of you t& understand what this young man has done," he said, "we must take a look at the world's food supply and examine its fundamental nature.
"The principal crop, which is the basic food of all Nidor, is the peych-bean," Smith said. "Now, while it is truly written, 'We do not live on peych alone,' it is, nevertheless, our most important crop. Because of its versatility, it may be used for many things: its leaves provide us with fiber for our clothing; its stalks can be used as fuel or deest-fodder."
Norvis exchanged wary grins with the man standing next to him. "Next he'll be telling us that the stuff we breathe is air, and how important that is," the other whispered.
"No," Norvis whispered back. "I think, after judicious consideration, that he will remind us that water is, after all, very wet."
"You can see, therefore," Smith continued, "what a boon it would be if some method were discovered to aid the farmer in producing peych-beans. Dran peNibro has been concentrating on an approach to this problem.
"Those of you who have been studying agronomy know how the soil is enriched by fertilizers, of course. What Dran peNibro has done, very briefly, is discover a way to increase the per acre yield by nearly one hundred per cent, by means of a new growth hormone which—"
Norvis peRahn Brajjyd's wandering attention snapped back suddenly to what the Earthman was saying. Growth hormone? It couldn't be! That was his own pet project!
He strained his ears to hear Smith's words more carefully.
"... Which permits the plant to make more efficient use of the soil. Although the cost of producing this new substance is high, very little is needed for each plant, a matter of a few drops injected into the tap-root of the peych plant itself.
"Naturally, the exact process will remain a secret, to be kept in the possession of Dran peNibro and his descendants, in order that he may reap the proper profit due him by virtue of his work."
Norvis peRahn felt the golden fuzz on the back of his neck prickle. Smith had quoted almost exactly the words in his own notebook, locked upstairs in his file! He sputtered in rage. Why, that little sneak of a Dran peNibro had stolen his work!
Norvis rocked back and forth for a second or two, much too bewildered to be able to do anything at all. The events of the entire morning had been insane, unbelievable.
On the platform, Smith, with great show of ceremony, had taken a small box from his voluminous robes and had handed it to Grandfather Morn peDrogh. The Grandfather turned to Dran peNibro, who was yet to open his mouth. He was standing there, smiling insipidly.
Grandfather Morn opened the box and brought forth a magnificent ribbon with a gleaming medal dangling from it. The assembled students suddenly became terribly quiet.
"Dran peNibro," he said sonorously, "kneel."
The little man knelt humbly. Grandfather Morn looked upward, where the Great Light was breaking through the clouds, and then down at the kneeling Dran peNibro. Norvis froze.
Solemnly, the Grandfather said, "The Blessings of the Great Light are upon you, Dran peNibro, for the brilliant work you have performed here at the Bel-rogas School. It is only fitting then," he said, starting to slip the ribbon around Dran peNibro's thin neck, "that we, by virtue of the power vested in us by the Council of Elders, hereby invest you with full and unqualified membership in the Order of—"
Norvis could take no more.
"Stop!" he roared. The sound of his voice broke the dead silence that had prevailed. He heard the word ricocheting off the buildings and echoing back, bouncing around the square.
All eyes turned on him. He felt terribly alone in the midst of the crowd.
"What does this interruption mean?" Grandfather Morn asked sternly. His eyes were blazing with rage.
Norvis took a step backward, and noticed that everyone around him was edging slowly away from him. He tried to speak, but couldn't find words.
"I repeat," the Grandfather said, "what did that outburst mean? Why did you tell me to stop?"
Again Norvis struggled to speak, and this time he found words.
"Dran peNibro is a thief" ...
allforjesus2001