E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
()
Transcriber's note:
This etext was produced from the September, 1960,issue of If. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
To Choke An ocean
By J. F. Bone
Illustrated by WOOD
"Nice that you dropped in," the man in the detention room said. "I neverexpected a visit from the Consul General. It makes me feel important."
"The Confederation takes an interest in all of its citizens' welfare,"Lanceford said. "You are important! Incidentally, how is it going?"
"Not too bad. They treat me all right. But these natives sure are toughon visitors. I've never been checked so thoroughly in all my life—andnow this thirty day quarantine! Why, you'd think I was carrying theplague instead of a sample case!"
The chubby little commercial traveller probably had a right to complain,Lanceford thought. After all, a Niobian quarantine station isn't thepleasantest sort of environment. It's not meant to be comfortable,physical discomfort being as good a way as any to discourage casualvisitors. The ones who have fortitude enough to stand the entryregulations can get in, but tourists seldom visit Niobe. However, theplanet's expanding economy offered a fertile field for salesmen, and menof that stripe would endure far worse hardships than a port of entry inpursuit of the Almighty Credit.
Now this fellow, George Perkins, was a typical salesman. And despite hissoft exterior there was a good hard core inside.
Lanceford looked him over and decided that he would last. "You came hereof your own free will, didn't you?" he asked.
"If you call a company directive free will," Perkins answered. "Iwouldn't come here for a vacation, if that's what you mean. But thecommercial opportunities can't be ignored."
"I suppose not, but you can hardly blame the Niobians for beingsuspicious of strangers. Perhaps there's no harm in you. But they have aright to be sure; they've been burned before." Lanceford uncoiled hislean gray length from the chair and walked over to the broad armorglaswindow. He stared out at the gloomy view of Niobe's rainswept polarlandscape. "You know," he continued, "you might call this CustomsService a natural consequence of uninvestigated visitors." He broodedover the grayness outside. A polar view was depressing—scrubbyvegetation, dank grassland, the eternal Niobian rain. He felt sorry forPerkins. Thirty days in this place would be sheer torture.
"It must have been quite some disturbance to result in this." Perkinswaved his hand at the barren room. "Sounds like you know something aboutit."
"I do. In a way you might say that I was responsible for it."
"Would you mind telling me?"
"I wouldn't mind at all." Lanceford looked at his watch. "If I have thetime, that is. I'm due to be picked up in an hour, but Niobians havesome quaint conceptions of time. So if you want to take a chance that Iwon't finish—"
"Go ahead."
"To start with, take a look at that insigne over the door. The wholestory's right there."
Perkins eyed the emblem of the Niobian Customs Service. It was afive-pointed star surrounding a circle, superimposed over the typicallyTerran motto: "Eternal Vigilance is the Price of Sa