Astounding Science Fiction/Volume 44/Number 05/Undesirable Alien
UNDESIRABLE ALIEN
BY DAVID MCCARTHY
Illustrated by Cartier
They spotted him as soon as he came through the air lock from the spaceship landing ramp, outside. There was nothing extraordinary about him, in fact, he had a particularly colorless, commonplace appearance as he entered carrying a heavy brief case. Nevertheless, two of the smartly uniformed Criminology Corps men who stood about scanning the new arrivals watched him. They kept their eyes on him while he checked his baggage, and as he came up to the gate where he was to be electronically searched for weapons and contraband, they moved closer together, spoke a few words, and motioned to a man in civilian clothes who was standing just outside the gate. He nodded comprehendingly and when the little man left the gate, he followed him unobtrusively.
The uniformed men watched until they left the Customs. "Another slip-up at one," said one of them. "They must tell 'em the right answers first up there or something." The other nodded, "Yeah, that's the second one in less than a month. D'ya suppose we should've picked him up?"
"No, he might be O.K.," the first one replied. "Or he might be a VIP. With Balik on him, we'll know where he is in case Tappan says pull him in."
Outside, the little man entered one of the little three-wheeled taxis. The plainclothes man moved quietly along the wall until he came to a tiny call box. Opening it and pressing a few buttons, he spoke a half-dozen words into it. The cab driver looked up as the other walked slowly past the stand and nodded almost imperceptibly. The plainclothes man entered a door a few paces down _-_Undesirable_Alien.png)
the corridor. He went into a room which contained a number of telescreens with men in front of most of them. Going to one that was not occupied, he twirled the dials for a few seconds, and the face of his quarry swam into focus. They were just driving up to the elevators at the end of the corridor. His face disappeared and an elevator door came on for a second, showing a sign "Platinumrest Hotel" above it. There was a few seconds wait, and his face came into view again in the elevator. In the lobby of the hotel several levels above, the man at the screen watched him register and when he entered his room, he was in plain sigh of the viewer.
After watching him a bit longer, the man at the screen called one of the operators over, spoke a few words to him, and left the screen to him. Going into another room, he picked up a file out of an automatic filing machine, and read it closely.
A few minutes later he stood in front of a desk in a gleaming chromium and black office. The man behind the desk was groaning, as if he was in pain.
"Evidentally, Station One was asleep again. Though I'll be doggoned if I see how they missed this one. A perfect specimen if I ever saw one. Occupation: Diamond buyer. Name: Van der Bush. Address: Amsterdam. Not much else on him, but we're checking with One," the first man said.
"Maybe we should have picked him up, but we've been a little cautious since we got that senator from South Africa last month. We can pull him in now, if you say so, sir."
The man behind the desk answered, "No, don't bother him unless you have to. Even if he's not a VIP, he'd probably make a squawk. Besides, it won't hurt morale to let 'em know we trust 'em a little. Good work, Balik, in spotting him."
Balik saluted and left. The other man got up and walked across the office, stopping to stare at a chart which covered one wall.
It was a detailed diagram of Moon Station Seven. To the ordinary observer, Station Seven was like all the other mining stations on the back side of the Moon. However, coming in through the Customs, one might note the large number of uniformed C'C men, and to an experienced observer, there would also be apparent a large number of men in civilian clothes, whose penetrating eyes as they watched the throng would give them away as plainclothes Criminology Corpsmen. The rest of the crowd was much the same as one would find anywhere on the Moon, a scattering of spacemen, a few businessmen, many miners, and an occasional prospector.
There was a difference, however. The successful looking man who sat next to you in a restaurant at Seven, for instance. He might have been one of the most successful embezzlers in the business not too long ago, or the prospector in his battered moonsuit, with his pack of rock samples. He might be an ex-murderer. This was the famous Tappan Project. It was set up for the purpose of rehabilitating criminals, and the majority of the inhabitants of the Station were ex-criminals with an amazing variety of crimes to their credit.
It was Tappan's project from beginning to end, and he was responsible for making it work. It was based on the idea that instead of casting the criminal out from society, you could achieve the same results by simply eliminating from their environment the elements of society that caused them to commit crimes. Tappan knew that many criminals were ordinary individuals, except for a rebellious trait in their character which kept them from seeing the wrong in obeying the rules that governed the rest of society. If they were removed to some selected environment where there would be no rules for them to break, they could lead useful, ordinary lives.
As he stared at the map he thought about the long years spent in development of the idea and getting it accepted. He had drawn up his plans, spending years among criminals, in prisons and in the underworld, gathering facts. Then he had presented them to the lawmakers. He had explained that "reform" was practically meaningless to this type of criminal, since the same state of mind that kept them from seeing their guilt in the first place would prevent them from reforming. The only thing that the old system did was make them try harder to keep from getting caught the next time.
Of course, he warned them, this would apply only to a certain type of criminal. There were others who could be reformed, and still others who were incapable of performing any useful tasks. They could be handled elsewhere.
He thought of the days spent in committee hearings, explaining his project. The lawmakers had been unable to see how such an experiment could be made to work, and all his facts and diagrams could not make them understand it.
Finally, however, the back of the Moon had been opened, and colonists who were willing to become permanent residents, in order to mine the rich mineral resources of the mountains of the Moon were hard to find, even for the high pay offered, so they had authorized the establishment of Station Seven. Tappan had scoured the prisons of the Atlantic Federation, selecting his subjects for stamina in order to stand the life on the Moon, as well as their potential ability to be useful. Then, along with a number of criminologists who had studied under him and understood his methods, and a few noncriminals, he had brought them here. They had arrived when there was nothing at Station Seven except a huge empty underground dome and a few quonset huts, and built a thriving mining town out of it. Tappan hoped eventually to be able to send a few back to civilization on business missions, and perhaps some day, allow a few to return permanently. But that was in the future. His immediate concern was to keep them safe from the undesirable elements of civilization which were always creeping in.
At first, when the group of noncriminals had been brought along to help set the station up, there had been some trouble with them, for undesirables had been included in spite of the careful selection. Since then, however, he had improved his system of selecting the individuals who were capable of getting along in a criminal society, and most of the noncriminals had gone anyhow, leaving only a select group of CC men, who kept the colony under a close but inconspicuous surveillance, moving rapidly to stamp out any crimepotential condition as soon as it became apparent to their trained eyes.
Although the experiment had succeeded beyond Tappan's wildest expectations, there was still an element on Earth and at Station One—which they were beginning to call Luna City—who were inalterably opposed to the project for various reasons. Tappan now returned to his desk and resumed his reading of an article written for them—by a "Luna City" correspondent who had been refused a permit to visit the Station. As Tappan read the article he did a bit of quick psychoanalysis on the writer, and it was apparent why he had been refused entrance. However, in spite of the fact that he had never seen the place the correspondent painted an unpleasing picture of what he called, "Tappan's slavelabor camp," and accused the guards of incredible brutalities. As he read this his jaw tightened. Actually the men, who hated to be called "guards" in the first place, were skillful criminologists who were as incapable of brutalities as any group of men alive. Most of them even refused to carry any sort of weapon.
However, as he read on, some of his ire changed to amusement. The writer seemed confused. In almost the same paragraph he described an ex-gambler who was becoming very wealthy as a mineral broker in the local mineral exchange. He described him in detail, brought up the fact that he had been one of the most successful gamblers in the business a few years previously. Tappan reminded himself to show the article to the gentleman in question, for the writer seemed alarmed at the idea of an ex-gambler being a broker. He was applying his talents at figuring odds quite successfully to the business of anticipating the price of uranium and gold now, and Tappan considered him one of his most promising subjects.
As he considered this, a disturbing thought struck him, and he turned off the microfilm viewer and entered another room, where there was a large telescreen. He switched it on and ordered into the mike beside it:"Put our little friend Van der Bush on, Jones. I'd like to see where he is now."
The screen glowed, and forms began to take shape. He could see the floor of the mineral exchange. An arrow of light pointed toward the booth in the center of the floor. "There he is, sir, over by Corrigan's booth. He's been buying diamonds."
Corrigan was the gambler mentioned in the article. Tappan watched the little man for a bit, speculatively. Then he said, "Thanks, Jones. Just keep a close eye on him." Then flipped the set off.
He returned to his desk and pressed a button summoning his secretary. She entered, a long-legged blond girl, with humorous intelligent blue eyes. She stood by the side of his desk, waiting to see what he wanted.
Tappan leaned back in his chair. "Shelia," he said, "what about having dinner and things with me at the Platinumrest tonight? We need a little relaxation."
Her eyes appraised him calmly. "Relaxation, Boss? Or some sort of business?" She had gone out with Tappan on several occasions, and his social life seemed to consist of nothing more than another method of keeping check on his criminals.
Tappan chuckled, "Well ... a little, perhaps. Mostly, though, just the pleasure of your company."
She replied, "All right, Chief. But I'd like to see you forget your job once in a while."
That night, Shelia and Tappan sat at a table in the above-ground cocktail lounge of the Platinumrest. The plexiglass dome that covered them had recently been shined, removing all traces of meteor scars, and the stars shone through beautifully.
Tappan was telling one of his innumerable fund of stories about his experiences in the underworld while they sipped their drinks, and although he was careful to tell it objectively, Shelia thought she could detect traces of his being the hero of the incident. She was fairly new at Station Seven, having been at One for a year when job at Seven was opened. She had accepted, for the salary was even better than the average on the Moon. When she discovered that she was to be private secretary to the great Tappan, she did not know whether to be happy at the chance, or to quit. However, she discovered that, in addition to being a pleasant employer, he was a very handsome man, and seemed to show some interest in her. It was annoying at times, though, to work for him. She never knew whether he was laughing at her or not, and she was certain that, just as he seemed to know what his criminals were thinking, he could read her mind to a certain extent. It was embarrassing.
Two men entered the room. One of them she knew. It was Corrigan the mineral exchange man, but the other one she had never seen around Station Seven before. They seemed unable to find a table, and Tappan, after glancing inquiringly at her and waiting until she smiled assent, motioned them over.
Corrigan introduced his companion as Mr. Van der Bush, a diamond buyer. Van der Bush bowed formally, and said, with a faint accent, "Verry pleased to meet you."
Tappan began telling Corrigan about the magazine article which had been alarmed about him, and they laughed merrily at the incongruity of it. Van der Bush said, "Yes, Mr. Corrigan has been telling me about the wonderful job you haff been doing here, Mr. Tappan. How you haff reformed him ant the others and made useful citizens again of them."
Tappan winced slightly at the mention of the word, reform. Shelia knew it was one of his pet hates, and expected him to say something, but he refrained, glancing hard at Corrigan.
They talked of the project. Corrigan told them some of the facts behind the constantly changing prices of minerals on the Moon. Hearing him as he gave information about his business, one would have put him down as a man who had grown up in the brokerage business, probably serving an apprenticeship in New York on the Stock Exchange, or some other place of the sort on the Earth, instead of over a green tabletop.
The music started. Shelia looked as if she wished to dance. Tappan smiled at her and said, "You know I'm not a very good dancer. Perhaps Mr. Van der Bush—" He was lying, she knew, but she realized that he had something to say to Corrigan so, when the little diamond buyer rose from the table, bowing, she went with him to the dance floor.
The two men watched the tall girl and the little man as they danced. There was a great deal of resemblance between the criminologist and the ex-gambler. Both of them were near the same age, and they were both well-built physical specimens. In addition, they habitually wore an expression of amused tolerance about their faces. Seeing them together would have made one believe that they might be engaged in the same profession.
Tappan said casually: "Strange little character, Van der Bush, isn't he?"
The ex-gambler glanced sharply at the criminologist. "I really hadn't noticed anything unusual about him. Seems pretty commonplace to me."
Tappan continued to watch the dancers. "As a matter of fact," he went on, "I suspect that he's unique among the population of Station Seven. I think he'd be interesting to watch, since he's a little out of the ordinary, don't you?"
Corrigan laughed, "Since you mention it, he might be at that. But I don't imagine he'll be around long enough for us to really get to know him. What do you think?"
Tappan's "Perhaps" was noncommittal. The dancers rejoined them, and shortly afterwards, the two men left.
Shelia looked inquiringly at Tappan. "I don't get it, Chief. What went on that I missed?"
Tappan chuckled. "Business is over. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"
He dodged the subject the rest of the evening, and when he finally said good night at the door of her apartment, the girl was still in the dark about the whole business.
Next morning, as Tappan was finishing a leisurely breakfast in the administrative office's restaurant, Van der Bush entered and sat down at the counter beside him. "Ah, good morning, Mr. Tappan. Business brings me here, but I haff not had my coffee. Would you be so kind as to join me in a cup?"
Tappan nodded and motioned to the counterman. The little man went on. "I haff decided to go prospecting, Mr. Tappan. I am not a geologist, but I haff some knowledge of the business, and an excellent vein of diamond bearing clay hass been discovered just beyond the spaceship landing ramps, I am told this morning. I will seek a permit to go out and examine it."
Tappan turned to face him. "Very interesting, Mr. Van der Bush. I had not heard of it. Of course," he smiled, "Mr. Corrigan would know of it before any of us up here, I'm sure."
Van der Bush chuckled gleefully, "Oh, no, Mr. Tappan. Efen Mr. Corrigan does not know yet of this one. I haff contacted the prospector who discovered it. I haff not seen Mr. Corrigan since we left you last night."
He chatted on, telling Tappan of the prospector who had called on him this morning, and how he had needed a little money to finance the claim until it began to produce. Tappan listened with an air of semidetachment, letting his fingers wander over a small jukeboxlike device in front of him.
They finished their coffee and Tappan bade the little diamond buyer good-by. Van der Bush said: "I am going to come up and see you one of these days, Mr. Tappan. I expecde to pe here for some time."
Tappan hurried to his office. Shelia was just putting some mail on his desk when he entered. She looked up and said cheerfully: "Good morning, Boss. I—"
He interrupted her with, "Quick, get the permit office. Tell 'em Van der whosis is coming over to get a prospector's permit. I want him stalled until they can give him the tests. Tell 'em that they can tell him that they give them to everybody who applies for one, or anything."
She moved instantly to obey. Tappan dialed Balik, and when the plainclothes man's face appeared on the telescreen, he said:"Go by and pick up the latest on Van der Bush and head for the permit office. I want you to, get him out as soon as they finish quizzing him. No excitement. If you work fast, he won't know what's happened. Ask him about the prospector, too. Might be interesting to meet him."
Balik grinned, "I was watching you when it happened. Good work, Chief. And I know who the 'prospector' was, too. Want to talk to him?"
"No. It won't be necessary. It wasn't his fault. We should've picked the diamond man up sooner."
"Roger. Don't worry about him, Chief. He won't know what happened 'til he's landing at Luna City." Balik replied confidently, signing off.
Shutting the set off, Tappan leaned back in his chair. His secretary entered saying, "They said they had him, Chief. He was already there when I called." Her face wore a puzzled frown. "But I don't understand why you want to kick him out. He was a nice little guy, really. How come?"
Tappan chuckled. "I suppose you should know what happened, since you helped a bit. Sit down and I'll try to explain." She complied, and Tappan rose from his chair and seated himself on the corner of the desk. "You see," he began, "that's just the reason we don't want him around—because he's such a harmless little chap. Probably never did anyone any harm in his life—consciously. That made him an extremely dangerous type around here, however. He could have caused more damage than an exploding meteor. You see, just as ordinary society considers the criminal dangerous, here we consider harmless little characters like Van der Bush dangerous because of the harm he can cause criminals to do him. These people aren't going to commit any crimes as long as there's no opportunity, but when the temptation is too great, they just can't help it. And Van der Bush is a one-hundred percent, gold-plated fall guy. In other words, he is one of the finest specimens of an old-fashioned sucker I've seen in many a day. To have turned him loose here would have been like putting a nice little lamb in a cage of hungry lions and expecting them not to eat it!"
Shelia laughed. "I see now. You just didn't want the populace endangered. But why didn't you pick him up as soon as he got here? Looks to me as if that would've been better."
Tappan's face became solemn. "I wish we could have, Shelia. But Station Seven has a lot of enemies. They are watching all the time for something to hang on us. If we had turned him back, they would have said, 'Slave labor camp! He doesn't want anyone to see what he's doing'—or something of the sort."
He got up and walked around the desk, "It's hard to convince people of a simple thing like this. The old idea of punishing the criminal, making him pay his debt to society, has been around a long time. They like to talk about society being to blame for crime, but they mean society in the 'abstract'. When we come along and point out individuals, and say, 'You are one of the causative factors of crime,' they won't let themselves face the fact. They want to tear us down, make us take it back, and let them go on talking about society in the abstract. One crime committed here wouldn't mean that the project had failed, but it would mean the end of us if it got out."
"You saw part of what could have happened if we'd let Van der Bush alone. Corrigan is safer than the average, because he figures the odds against getting away with it. But this looked so easy, and safe, that he just couldn't resist trying to sell him a bill of goods. As soon as he found out we were keeping our eye on Van der Bush, however, he didn't look so attractive."
"But the situation still existed. After he left us, somebody sold him the old diamond deposit fraud, and he fell for it like a ton of uranium. If he had been around a week, we'd have had a crime wave, with him as the sole victim of all of 'em."
He smiled and sat down again. "But he didn't, thanks to Balik and the others being alert. Let's forget about him now. How about a repeat on that date again tonight? And this time absolutely no business. I promise."
Shelia rose to leave the office. "Suits me, Boss. But if you think you're going to get by without telling me more about this business, you're nuts. I still want to know—"
Tappan interrupted her by saying in a mock-stern voice, "Please, we must get to work. You're loafing on the Station's time, Miss!"
THE END