"Edward L. Ferman - Best From F&SF, 23rd Edition" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferman Edward L)

тАФJeremy Hole
тАФBarry N. Malzberg

HERBERT'S The Frank Worlds of Herbert
ELLISON'S Gentleman and Other Junkie Stories of the Hung-up Generation
тАФDavid Labor


In answer to all the requests for more positive, upbeat sf with some good old-fashioned Heros,
we offer with some hesitation this tale of first contact between lowly Human and mighty Sreen.

Upstart
STEVEN UTLEY

"You must obey the edict of the Sreen," the Intermediaries have told us repeatedly, "there is no
appeal," but the captain won't hear of it, not for a moment. He draws himself up to his full height of two
meters and looms threateningly over the four or five Intermediaries, who are, after all, small and not
particularly substantial-looking beings, mere wisps of translucent flesh through which their bluish skeletal
structures and pulsing organs can be seen.
"You take us in to talk to the Sreen," the captain tells them, "you take us in right now, do you hear
me?" His voice is like a sword coming out of its scabbard, an angry, menacing, deadly metal-on-metal
rasp. "You take us to these God-damned Sreen of yours and let us talk to them."
The Intermediaries shrink before him, fluttering their pallid appendages in obvious dismay, and bleat
in unison, "No, no, what you request is impossible. The decision of the Sreen is final, and, anyway,
they're very busy right now, they can't be bothered."
The captain wheels savagely, face mottled, teeth bared, arms windmilling with rage. I have never seen
him this furious before, and it frightens me. Not that I cannot appreciate and even share his anger toward
the Sreen, of course. The Sreen have been very arbitrary and high-handed from the start, snatching our
vessel out of normal space, scooping it up and stuffing it into the maw of their own craft, establishing
communication with us through their Intermediaries, then issuing their incredible edict. They do not
appear to care that they have interfered with Humankind's grandest endeavor. Our vessel is Terra's first
bona fide starship, in which the captain and I were to have accelerated through normal space to
light-velocity, activated the tardyon-tachyon conversion system and popped back into normal space in
the neighborhood of Alpha Centauri. I can understand how the captain feels.
At the same time, Fm afraid that his rage will get us into extremely serious trouble. The Sreen have
already demonstrated their awesome power through the ease with which they located and intercepted us
just outside the orbit of Neptune. Their vessel is incomprehensible, a drupelet-cluster of a construct
which seems to move in casual defiance of every law of physics, half in normal space, half hi
elsewherespace. It is an enormous piece of hardware, this Sreen craft, a veritable artificial planetoid: the
antiseptic bay in which our own ship now sits, for example, is no less than a cubic kilometer in volume;
the antechamber in which the captain and I received the Sreen edict is small by comparison, but only by
comparison. Before us is a great door of dully gleaming gray metal, five or six meters high, approximately
four wide. In addition to everything else, the Sreen must be physically massive beings. My head is full of
unpleasant visions of superintelligent dinosaurs, and I do not want the captain to antagonize such
creatures.
"Sir," I say, "there's nothing we can do here. We're just going to have to return home and let Earth
figure a way out of this thing. Let them handle it." Absurd, absurd, I know how absurd the suggestion is
even as I voice it, no one on Earth is going to be able to defy the edict. "We haven't any choice, sir, they
want us to go now, and I think we'd better do it"
The captain glares at me and balls his meaty hands into fists. I tense in expectation of blows which do