Lani People

F. Bone Jesse

Description

In this thought-provoking novel from the peak of science fiction's golden era, a veterinarian finds himself enmeshed in a tricky ethical dilemma when he discovers that the "creatures" he's been hired to provide care for are actually a race of humanoid aliens created to serve their human masters -- in more ways than one.

Sujets

• Science fiction

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 décembre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776673193
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE LANI PEOPLE
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JESSE F. BONE
 
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The Lani People First published in 1962 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-319-3 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-320-9 © 2016 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Chapter XIX Chapter XX
Chapter I
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The boxed ad in the opportunities section of the Kardon Journal ofAllied Medical Sciences stood out like a cut diamond in a handfulof gravel. "Wanted," it read, "Veterinarian—for residency in activelivestock operation. Single recent graduate preferred. Quarters andservice furnished. Well-equipped hospital. Five-year contract, renewaloption, starting salary 15,000 cr./annum with periodic increases. Stateage, school, marital status, and enclose recent tri-di with application.Address Box V-9, this journal."
Jac Kennon read the box a second time. There must be a catch to it.Nothing that paid a salary that large could possibly be on the level.Fifteen thousand a year was top pay even on Beta, and an offer like thisfor a new graduate was unheard of—unless Kardon was in the middle of aninflation. But Kardon wasn't. The planet's financial status was A-1.He knew. He'd checked that immediately after landing. Whatever mightbe wrong with Kardon, it wasn't her currency. The rate of exchange was1.2-1 Betan.
A five-year contract—hmm—that would be seventy-five thousand. Figurethree thousand a year for living expenses, that would leave sixty-plentyof capital to start a clinic. The banks couldn't turn him down if he hadthat much cash collateral.
Kennon chuckled wryly. He'd better get the job before he startedspending the money he didn't have. He had 231 credits plus a fewhalves, tenths, and hundredths, a diploma in veterinary medicine, sometextbooks, a few instruments, and a first-class spaceman's ticket. Bywatching his expenses he had enough money to live here for a month andif nothing came of his efforts to find a job on this planet, there wasalways his spaceman's ticket and another world.
Another world! There were over six thousand planets in the Brotherhoodof Man. At two months per planet, not figuring transit time, it wouldtake more than a thousand Galactic Standard years to visit them all, anda man could look forward to scarcely more than five hundred at best. Thehabitat of Man had become too large. There wasn't time to explore everypossibility.
But a man could have certain standards, and look until he found aposition that fitted. The trouble was—if the standards were too highthe jobs were too scarce. Despite the chronic shortage of veterinariansthroughout the Brotherhood, there was a peculiar reluctance on the partof established practitioners to welcome recent graduates. Most of theads in the professional journals read "State salary desired," which wasnothing more than economic blackmail—a bald-faced attempt to get asmuch for as little as possible. Kennon grimaced wryly. He'd be damned ifhe'd sell his training for six thousand a year. Slave labor, that's whatit was. There were a dozen ads like that in the Journal. Well, he'd givethem a trial, but he'd ask eight thousand and full GEA benefits. Eightyears of school and two more as an intern were worth at least that.
He pulled the portable voicewrite to a comfortable position in front ofthe view wall and began composing another of the series of letters thathad begun months ago in time and parsecs away in space. His voice was afluid counterpoint to the soft hum of the machine.
And as he dictated, his eyes took in the vista through the viewwall. Albertsville was a nice town, too young for slums, too new foroverpopulation. The white buildings were the color of winter butter inthe warm yellow sunlight as the city drowsed in the noonday heat. Itnestled snugly in the center of a bowl-shaped valley whose surroundingforest clad hills gave mute confirmation to the fact that Kardonwas still primitive, an unsettled world that had not yet reached theexplosive stage of population growth that presaged maturity. But thatwas no disadvantage. In fact, Kennon liked it. Living could be fun on aplanet like this.
It was abysmally crude compared to Beta, but the Brotherhood had openedKardon less than five hundred years ago, and in such a short time onecouldn't expect all the comforts of civilization.
It required a high population density to supply them, and while Kardonwas integrated its population was scarcely more than two hundredmillion. It would be some time yet before this world would achieve aClass I status. However, a Class II planet had some advantages. What itlacked in conveniences it made up in opportunities and elbow room.
A normal Betan would have despised this world, but Kennon wasn't normal,although to the casual eye he was a typical representative of theMedico-Technological Civilization, long legged, fair haired, and shortbodied with the typical Betan squint that left his eyes mere slitsbehind thick lashes and heavy brows. The difference was internal ratherthan external.
Possibly it was due to the fact that his father was the commander of aShortliner and most of his formative years had been spent in space. ToKennon, accustomed to the timeless horror of hyper space, all planetswere good, broad open places where a man could breathe unfiltered airand look for miles across distances unbroken by dually bulk heads andsafety shields. On a planet there were spaciousness and freedom andafter the claustrophobic confinement of a hyper ship any world wasparadise. Kennon sighed, finished his letters, and placed them in themail chute. Perhaps, this time, there would be a favorable reply.
Chapter II
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Kennon was startled by the speed with which his letters were answered.Accustomed to the slower pace of Beta he had expected a week wouldelapse before the first reply, but within twenty-four hours nine of histwelve inquiries were returned. Five expressed the expected "Thank youbut I feel that your asking salary is a bit high in view of your lackof experience." Three were frankly interested and requested a personalinterview. And the last was the letter, outstanding in its quietlyostentatious folder-the reply from Box V-9.
"Would Dr. Kennon call at 10 A.M. tomorrow at the offices ofOutworld Enterprises Incorporated and bring this letter and suitableidentifications?" Kennon chuckled. Would he? There was no question aboutit. The address, 200 Central Avenue, was only a few blocks away. Infact, he could see the building from his window, a tall functional blockof durilium and plastic, soaring above the others on the street, thesunlight gleaming off its clean square lines. He eyed it curiously,wondering what he would find inside.
*
The receptionist took his I.D. and the letter, scanned them briefly,and slipped them into one of the message tubes beside her desk. "It willonly be a moment, Doctor," she said impersonally. "Would you care to sitdown? '"
"Thank you," he said. The minute, reflected, could easily be an hour. Butshe was right. It was only a minute until the message tube clickedand popped a capsule onto the girl's desk. She opened it, and removedKennon's I.D. and a small yellow plastic rectangle. Her eyes widened atthe sight of the plastic card.
"Here you are, Doctor. Take shaft number one. Slip the card into thescanner slot and you'll be taken to the correct floor. The offices youwant will be at the end of the corridor to the left. You'll find anyother data you may need on the card in case you get lost." She looked athim with a curious mixture of surprise and respect as she handed him thecontents of the message tube.
Kennon murmured an acknowledgment, took the card and his I.D., andentered the grav-shaft. There was the usual moment of heaviness asthe shaft whisked him upward and deposited him in front of a thicklycarpeted corridor.
Executive level, Kennon thought as he followed the receptionist'sdirections. No wonder she had looked respectful. But what was he doinghere? The employment of a veterinarian wasn't important enough to demandthe attention of a senior executive. The personnel section could handlethe details of his application as well as not. He shrugged. Perhapsveterinarians were more important on Kardon. He didn't know a thingabout this world's customs.
He opened the unmarked door at the end of the corridor, entered a smallreception room, smiled uncertainly at the woman behind the desk, andreceived an answering smile in return.
Come right in, Dr. Kennon. Mr. Alexander is waiting for you.
Alexander! The entrepreneur himself! Why? Numb with surprise Kennonwatched the woman open the intercom on her desk.
"Sir, Dr. Kennon is here," she said.
"Bring him in," a smooth voice replied from the speaker. Alexander X. M.Alexander, President of Outworld Enterprises—a lean, dark, wolfish manin his early sixties—eyed Kennon with a flat predatory intentness thatwas oddly disquieting. His stare combined the analytical inspectionof the pathologist, the probing curiosity of the psychiatrist, and theweighing appraisal of the butcher. Kennon's thoughts about Alexander'syouth vanished that instant. Those eyes belonged to a leader on thebattlefield of galactic business.
Kennon felt the conditioned respect for authority surge through him ina smothering wave. Grimly he fought it down, knowing i