VOYAGE TO FAR N'JURD

By KRIS NEVILLE

Illustrated by MACK

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Magazine April 1963.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

They would never live to see the trip's
end. So they made a few changes in their way
of life—and many in their way of death!

I

"I don't see why we have to be here," a crewman said. "He ain't liable to say anything."

"He shore better," the man in front of him said loudly.

"Be still," his wife said. "People's lookin' at ya."

"I don't care a smidgen," he said, "if en they ayre."

"Please," she said.

"Joanne Marie," he said, "you know that when I aims ta do somethin', I'm jest natcher'lly bound to do hit. An' iffen I aims ta talk...."

"Here comes the priest. Now, be still."

The man looked up. "So he do; an' I'll tell ya, hit shore is time he's a-gittin' hyere. I ain't got no all night fer ta sit."

The crewman to his left bent over and whispered, "I'll bet he's gonna tell us it's gonna be another postponement."

"Iffen he does, I'm jest a-gonna stand up an' yell right out that I ain't gonna stand fer hit no longer."

"Now, dear," said Joanne Marie, "the captain can hear ya, if you're gonna talk so loud."

"I hope he does; I jest hope he does. He's th' one that's a-keepin' us all from our Reward, an' I jest hope he does heyar me, so he'll know I'm a-gittin' mighty tyird uv waitin'."

"You tell 'im!" someone said from two rows behind him.

The captain, in the officer's section, sat very straight and tall. He was studiously ignoring the crew. This confined his field of vision to the left half of the recreation area. While the priest stood before the speaker's rostrum waiting for silence, the captain reached back with great dignity and scratched his right shoulder blade.

Nestir, the priest, was dressed out in the full ceremonial costume of office. His high, strapless boots glistened with polish. His fez perched jauntily on his shiny, shaven head. The baldness was symbolic of diligent mental application to abstruse points of doctrine. Cotian exentiati pablum re overum est: "Grass grows not in the middle of a busy thoroughfare." The baldness was the result of the diligent application of an effective depilatory. His blood-red cloak had been freshly cleaned for the occasion, and it rustled around him in silky sibilants.

"Men," he said. And then, more loudly, "Men!"

The hiss and sputter of conversation guttered away.

"Men," he said.

"The other evening," he said, "—Gelday it was, to be exact—one of the crew came to me with a complaint."

"Well, I'll be damned," Joanne Marie's husband said loudly.

Nestir cleared his throat. "It was about the Casting Off. That's why I called you all together today." He stared away, at a point over the head and to the rear of the audience.

"It puts me in mind of the parable of the six Vergios."

Joanne Marie's husband sighed deeply.

"Three, you will recall, were wise. When Prophet was at Meizque, they came to him and said, 'Prophet, we are afflicted. We have great sores upon our bodies.' The Prophet looked at them and did see that it was true. Then he blessed them and took out His knife and lay open their sores. For which the three wise Vergios were passing grateful. And within the last week, they were dead of infection. But three were foolish and hid their sores; and these three did live."

The captain rubbed his nose.

"Calex i pundendem hoy, my children. 'Secrecy makes for a long life,' as it says in the Jarcon." Nestir tugged behind him at his cloak.

"I want you all to remember that little story. I want you all to take it away from here with you and think about it, tonight, in the privacy of your cabins.

"And like the three wise Vergios who went to the Prophet, one of the crewmen came to me. He came to me, and he said: 'Father, I am weary of sailing.'

"Yes, he said, 'I am weary of sailing.'

"Now, don't you think I don't know that. Every one of you—every blessed one of you—is weary of sailing. I know that as well as I know my own name, yes.

"But because he came to me and said, 'Father, I am weary of sailing,' I went to the captain, and I said, 'Captain, the men are weary of sailing.'

"And then the captain said: 'All right, Father,' he said, 'I will set the day for the Festival of the Casting Off!'"

The little fellow was pleased by the rustle of approval from the audience. "God damn, hit's about time!" Joanne Marie's husband said.

Nestir cleared his throat again.

"Hummm. Uh. And the day is not very far distant," said Nestir.

"I knowed there was a catch to hit," Joanne Marie's husband said.

"I know you will have many questions; yes, I know you will have—ah, ah—well, many questions. You are thinking: 'What kind of a Festival can we have here on this ship?' You are thinking: 'What a fine thing—ah, what a good thing, that is—ah, how nice it would be to have the Casting Off at home, among friends.'"

Nestir waved his hands. "Well, I just want to tell you: I come from Koltah. And you know that Koltah never let any city state outdo her in a Festival, uh-huh.

"The arena in Koltah is the greatest arena in the whole system. We have as many as sixty thousand accepted applicants. All of them together in the arena is a—uh, uh, well—a sight to behold. People come from all over to behold it. I never will forget the Festival at which my father was accepted. He....

"Well, the point I want to make is this: I just wanted to tell you that I know what a Festival should be, and the captain and I will do everything in our power to make our Casting Off as wonderful as any anywhere.

"And I want to tell you that if you'll come to me with your suggestions, I'll do all I can to see that we do this thing just the way you want it done. I want you to be proud of this Casting Off Festival, so you can look back on it and say, uh, uh—this day was the real high point of your whole life!"

Everyone but Joanne Marie's husband cheered. He sat glumly muttering to himself.

Nestir bobbed his shiny head at them and beamed his cherubic smile. And noticed that there was a little blonde, one of the crewmen's wives, in the front row that had very cute ankles.

While they were still cheering and stomping and otherwise expressing their enthusiasm and approval, Nestir walked off the speaker's platform and into the officer's corridor. He wiped his forehead indecorously on the hem of his cloak and felt quite relieved that the announcement was over with and the public speaking done.

II

Dinner that evening was a gala occasion aboard the ship. The steward ordered the holiday feast prepared in celebration of Nestir's announcement. And, for the officers, he broke out of the special cellar the last case allotment for Crew One of the delicate Colta Barauche ('94). He ordered the messman to put a bottle of it to the right of each plate.

The captain came down from his stateroom after the meal had begun. He nodded curtly to the officers when he entered the mess hall, walked directly to his place at the head of the table, sat down and morosely began to work the cork out of his wine bottle with his teeth.

"You'll spoil the flavor, shaking it that way," the third mate cautioned. He was particularly fond of that year.

The captain twisted the bottle savagely, and the cork came free with a little pop. He removed the cork from between his teeth, placed it very carefully beside his fork, and poured himself a full glass of the wine.

"Very probably," he said sadly.

"I don't think hit'll do hit," the first mate said. "He hain't shook hard enough to matter."

The captain picked up the glass, brought it toward his lips—then, suddenly having thought of something, he put it back down and turned to Nestir.

"I say. Have you decided on this Carstar thing yet, Father?"

The little priest looked up. He laid his knife across the rim of his plate. "It has ramifications," he said.

When the third mate saw that his opinion on the wine was not immediately to be justified, he settled back in his chair with a little sigh of disapproval.

"Well, what do you think your decision will be, Father?" the steward asked.

Nestir picked up his knife and fork and cut off a piece of meat. "Hummmm," he said. "It's hard to say. The whole issue involves, as a core point, the principle of casta cum mae stotiti."

The first mate nodded sagely.

"The intent, of course, could actually be—ah—sub mailloux; and in that event, naturally, the decision would be even more difficult. I wish I could talk to higher authority about it; but of course I haven't the time. I'll have to decide something."

"He had a very pretty wife," the third mate said.

"Yes, very." Nestir agreed. "But as I was saying, if it could be proven that the culstem fell due to no negligence on his part, either consciously or subconsciously, then the obvious conclusion would be that no stigma would be attached." He speared his meat and chewed it thoughtfully.

"But it wasn't at all bloody," the wife of the second mate said. "I scarcely think he felt it at all. It happened too fast."

Nestir swallowed the mouthful of food and washed it down with a gulp of wine.

"The problem, my dear Helen," he said, "is one of intent. To raise the issue of concomitant agonies is to confuse the whole matter. For instance. Take Wilson, in my home state of Koltah. Certainly he died as miserable a death as anyone could desire."

"Yes," said the second mate's wife. "I remember that. I read about it in the newspapers."

"But it was a case of obvious intent," continued Nestir, "and therefore constituted a clear out attempt to avoid his duty by hastening to his Reward."

Upon hearing the word duty, the captain brightened.

"That," he said to Nestir, "my dear Father, is the cardinal point of the whole game, y'know." He scratched the back of his left hand. "Duty. And I must say, I think you're being quite short-sighted about the Casting Off date. After all, it's not only a question of how we go, but also a question of leaving only after having done our duty. And that's equally important."

"The Synod of Cathau—" Nestir began.

"Plague take it, Father! Really, now, I must say. The Synod of Cathau! Certainly you've misinterpreted that. Anticipation can be a joy, y'know: almost equal to the very Reward. Anticipation should spur man in duty. It's all noble and self sacrificing." He scratched the back of his right hand.

The second mate had been trying to get a word in edgewise for several minutes; he finally succeeded by utilizing the temporary silence following the captain's outburst.

"You don't need to worry about your Casting Off, Captain. You can leave that to me. I assure you, I have in mind a most ingenious method."

The captain was not visibly cheered; he was still brooding about the sad absence of a sense of duty on the part of Nestir. "I will welcome it," he said, "at the proper time, sir. And I certainly hope—" His eyes swept the table. "I certainly hope to be Cast Off by an officer. It would be very humiliating, y'know, to have a crew member do it."

"Oh, very," said the steward.

"I don't know," the second mate's wife said, "whether you better count on my husband or not. I have my own plans for him."

"This problem of Carstar interests me," the third mate said. "Did I ever tell you about my wife? She strangled our second baby."

"He was a very annoying child," his wife said.

"He probably wouldn't have lived, anyway," the third mate said. "Puny baby."

"That," said Nestir, "is not at all like the Carstar case. Not at all. Yours is a question of saliex y cuminzund."

The first mate nodded.

"It seems to me that the whole thing would depend on the intent of the strangler."

"Captain," the steward said, "you really must let me give you some of that salve."

"That's very kind of you, but I...."

"No bother at all," the steward said.

"As I see it," Nestir said, "if the intent was the natural maternal instinct of the mother to release her child from its duty, then...."

"Oh, not at all," the third mate's wife said. "I did it to make him stop crying."

"Well, in that case, I see no reason why he shouldn't get his Reward."

"I certainly hope so," the third mate said. "Jane worries about it all the time."

"I do not," Jane contradicted.

"Now, honey, you know you do so."

At that moment, he lost interest in his wife and leaned across the table toward the captain, "Well?" he asked.

The captain rolled the wine over his tongue. "You were right, of course."

The third mate turned triumphantly to the first mate. "There, I told you so."

The first mate shrugged. "I never do say nothin' right," he said. "I hain't got no luck. I've spent more years un all ya, carpenterin' up a duty log that's better un even th' captain's. An' hit's Martha an' me that gotta wait an' help th' next crew. Lord above knows how long time hit'll be afore we uns'll got ta have a Festival."

"Oh, really, now. Now. Duty, duty," the captain reprimanded him mildly.

"Duty! Duty! Duty! You all ur in a conspiracy. You all want me ta die uv old age."

"Nonsense," said the steward. "We don't want anything of the sort. After all, someone has to orient the new crew."

"Quite right," said the captain. "You ought to be proud."

The first mate slammed his napkin in the middle of his food and stalked out of the mess hall.

"Quite touchy today," Nestir observed.

"By the way," the third mate said. "Wanda gave me a petition to give to you, Father."

"Wanda?"

"Yes. She's sixteen, now."

"Wanda who?" the steward asked.

"Wanda Miller, the bosun's daughter."

"I know her," Helen said.

"She's the oldest child on the ship, and she wants you to sign her adult petition so she can be in the Festival, Father."

"She's so young...."

"Sixteen, Father."

"After all, one must have done some duty," the captain said.

"He wants you to sign it so he can take her in the Changing of the Wives," Jane said.

Nestir fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well, I'll look at her record," he said.

"It's an idea," the second mate said. "Otherwise, we'll be short one woman."

"There wouldn't be one short if he had brought a wife," the first mate's wife said, looking squarely at the captain.

"Now, Martha. I place duty above pleasure. You're just angry, y'know, because you have to stay with your husband."

"All right, so I am. But it's true. And if Carstar hadn't been killed, there would have been two short." She shot a wicked glance at Nestir. "Why don't you and him share a woman—"

"Martha!"

"Although the Prophet knows what woman in her right mind would consent to...."

"Well," said Nestir hesitantly.

"Listen," the third mate said, "the second's right. If you don't sign it, someone will have to do without a woman."

Nestir blushed. "I'll look it over very carefully, but you must realize that the priestcraft...."

"Actually, in a way, it would be her duty to, you see. Think of it like that: as her way to do her duty."

"She's too young for you, dear," Jane said to her husband.

"Oh, I don't know," the steward said. "Sometimes they're the best, I hear."

III

The third mate, whose name was Harry, stood before the mirror combing his hair. He had been combing his hair for the last fifteen minutes.

"I suppose the crew is celebrating?" his wife said.

"I suppose."

She stood up and walked over to the dresser. Absently she began to finger the articles on it.

"You really shouldn't have told them about little Glenn tonight."

"Pish-tush."

"No, Harry. I mean it. Helen looked at me strangely all through dinner. She has three children, you know."

"You're imagining things."

"But she does have three children."

"I mean about her looking at you."

"Oh."

Harry fiddled with his tie without speaking.

"I mean, as much as to say: 'Well, I raised all of mine.'"

"But honey, about little Glenn. That was an accident, almost. You didn't really mean to choke him that hard."

"But still ... it ... I mean, there was Helen, looking at me like I wasn't doing my duty. You know."

"No," he said. "That's nonsense, Jane. Sheer nonsense. You know what the priest said."

He polished one of his brass buttons with the sleeve of his coat.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"I don't think all that is necessary just to go on duty."

"Probably not."

She walked to the bed and sat down. "Harry?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Don't you really think she's awful young?"

"Huh-uh."

"I mean, why don't you pick someone else? Like Mary? She's awful sweet. I'll bet she'd be better."

"Probably."

"She's a lot of fun."

He brushed at his hair again. "Who do you want, Jane?"

"Oh, I don't know." She looked down at her legs, raised them up from the floor and held them out in front of her. "I think I'd kind of like Nestir. With his funny bald head. I hope he asks me."

"I'll mention it to him."

"Would you really, Harry? That would be sweet."

"Sure, honey." He looked down at his watch.

"Harry? Are you going to meet Wanda in the control room?"

"Uh-huh."

"I thought so. Well, remember this, dear: It isn't the day of the Changing of the Wives yet. Don't forget."

"Honey! You don't think for a minute that...."

"No, dear. I know you wouldn't. But just don't, I mean."

He walked over and kissed her forehead and patted her cheek. "Course not," he said, comfortingly.

He left her sitting on the bed and strolled down the officers' corridor, whistling.

He made a mental note to have the bosun send some of the crew in tomorrow to wash down these bulkheads. They needed it. In one corner a spider spun its silver web.

He jogged up the companionway, turned left and felt the air as fresh as spring when he stepped under the great ventilator.

And beneath it lay one of the crew.

He kicked the man several times in the ribs until he came to consciousness.

"Can't sleep here, my man," Harry explained.

"Awww. Go way an' le' me 'lone, huh?"

"Here. Here." He pulled the fellow erect and slapped him in the face briskly. "This is the officers' corridor."

"Oh? Ish it? Schorry. Shore schorry, shir. So schorry."

Harry assisted him to the crew's corridor where he sank to the floor and relapsed once more into a profound slumber.

Harry continued on to the control room.

When he entered it, the second mate was yawning.

"Hi, John. Sleepy?"

"Uh-huh. You're early."

"Don't mind, do you?"

"No ... Quiet tonight. Had to cut the motors an hour ago. Control technician passed out."

"Oh?"

The second mate took out a cigarette and lit it. "Can't blow the ship up, you know. Look like hell on the record. Hope the captain don't find out about it, though. He'll figure the man was neglecting his duty."

He blew a smoke ring.

"Might even bar him from the Festival."

"Yeah," said Harry, "the captain's funny that way."

The second mate blew another smoke ring.

"Well," Harry said.

"Uh. Harry? Are you really going to take that Wanda girl?"

"If Nestir lets me."

"Say. Harry. Do you suppose your wife would...?"

Harry crossed to the second mate and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, old fellow. She's got it in her head to take Nestir." He shrugged. "I don't exactly approve, of course, but ... I'm sure if he doesn't want her, she'd be glad to hear your offer."

"Aw, that's all right," John said. "Don't really matter. Say. By the way. Have I told you what I intend to do to the captain? I've got it all thought out. You know that saber I picked up on Queglat? Well...."

"Look. How about telling me another time?"

"Uh, Sure. If you say so. Uh?"

"I'm kind of expecting Wanda."

"Oh. Sure. I should have known you weren't here early for nothing. In that case, I better be shoving off. Luck."

"Thanks. See you at breakfast."

"Right-o."

After the second mate left, Harry walked over to the control panel. The jet lights were dead. He picked up the intercom and switched over the engine call bell. "'Lo," he said into the microphone. "This is the bridge.... Oh, hi, Barney. Harry.... Have you got a sober control technician down there yet...? Fine. We'll start the jets again. If the captain comes in now—well, you know how he is.... Okay, thanks. Night."

He replaced the microphone. He reached over and threw the forward firing lever. The jet lights came on and the ship began to brake acceleration again.

Having done that, he switched on the space viewer. The steady buzz of the equipment warming sounded in his ears. Wanda would be sure to want to look at the stars. She was simple minded.

"Hello."

He swiveled around. "Oh, hello, Wanda, honey."

"Hello, Haireee. Are you glad little ol' me could come, huh?"

"Sure am."

"Me, too. Can I look at the—oh. It's already on."

"Uh-huh. Look. Wanda."

"Hum?"

"I talked to Nestir today."

"Goody. What did he say, huh? I can be an adult and get to play in the Festival, can I?"

"I don't know, yet. He's thinking about it. That's why I want to see you. He's going to check your record. And Wanda?"

"Them stars shore are purty."

"Wanda, listen to me."

"I'm a-listenin', Haireee."

"You're simply going to have to stop carrying that doll around with you if you want to be an adult."

In Nestir's cabin the next morning, the captain and the priest held a conference.

"No, Captain. I'm afraid I can't agree to that," Nestir said.

The captain said, "Oh, don't be unreasonable, Father. After all, this is a ship, y'know. And I am, after all, the captain."

Nestir shook his head. "The crew and the officers will participate together in the Festival. I will not put the officers' corridor off limits, and—Oh! Yes? Come in!"

The door opened. "Father?"

"Yes, my son? Come in."

"Thank you, Father. Good morning, Captain, sir."

"Sit down, my son. Now, Captain, as I was saying: no segregation. It's contrary to the spirit, if not the wording, of the Jarcon."

"But Father! A crewman! In the officers' corridor! Think!"

"Before the Prophet, we are all equal. I'm sorry, Captain. Now on Koltah, we practiced it with very good results, and...."

"I say, really—"

"Father?" said the crewman who had just entered.

"Yes, my son. In one moment. Now, Captain. As I have been explaining: The arena method has advantages. In Koltah we always used it. But here—due to the—ah—exigencies of deep space—I feel convinced that a departure from normal procedure is warranted. It is not without precedent. Such things were fairly common, in astoli tavoro, up until centralization, three hundred years before Allth. Indeed, in my home city—Koltah—in the year of the seventh plague, a most unusual expedient was adopted. It seems...."

"You're perfectly correct, of course," the captain said.

"That's just what I wanted to see you about, Father," the crewman said. "Now, in my city state of Ni, for the Festivals, we...."

"Shut up," said the captain softly.

"Yes, sir."

"Now, as I was saying, Captain, when the methods used in...."

"If you'll excuse me, Father, I really should return to duty," said the crewman.

"Quite all right, my son. Close the door after you."

"I must say, fellow, your sense of duty is commendable."

"Well, uh, thank you, sir. And thank you, Father, for your time."

"Quite all right, my son. That's what I'm here for. Come in as often as you like."

The crewman closed the door after him.

He had been gone only a moment, scarcely time for Nestir to get properly launched on his account, when Harry, the third mate, knocked on the door and was admitted.

"Oh? Good morning, Captain. I didn't know you were here." Then, to the priest: "I'll come back later, Father."

"Nonsense," said the captain. "Come in."

"Well, I had hoped to see the Father for a minute on ... private business."

"I have to be toddling along," said the captain.

"But Captain! I haven't finished telling you about...."

"I'll just go down and get a cup of coffee," the captain said.

"I'll call you when I'm through," said Harry.

The captain left the room.

"It's about Wanda, Father," said the third mate.

The priest studied the table top. He rearranged some papers. "Ah, yes. The young girl."

"Well, I mean, it's not only about Wanda," said Harry. "You see, my wife, Jane, that is...."

"Yes?" said the priest. He took his pen out of the holder.

"I think, with the proper ... ah ... you know. What I mean is, I think she might look with favor on you in the Changing of the Wives, if I said a few well chosen words in your behalf."

"That is very flattering, my son." He returned the pen to the holder. "Such bounty, as it says in the Jarcon, is cull tensio."

"And with your permission, Father...."

"Ah...."

"She's a very pretty woman."

"Ah.... Quite so."

"Well, about Wanda. I really shouldn't mention this. But Father, if we are short one woman...."

"Hummmm."

"I mean, the girls might think a man gets rusty."

"I see what you mean." Nestir blinked his eyes. "It wouldn't be fair, all things considered."

He stood up.

"I may tell you, my son, that, in thinking this matter over last night, I decided that Wanda—ah—Miller, yes, has had sufficient duty to merit participation in the Festival."

"Justice is a priestly virtue," Harry said.

"And you really think your wife would...?"

"Oh, yes, Father."

"Well, ahem. But...."

"Yes, Father?"

"Ad dulce verboten."

"Uh?"

"That is to say, in order for a woman to join in the ritual of the Changing of the Wives, she must, ahem, be married."

"I never thought of that," said the third mate disconsolately.

"I think that can be arranged, however," said Nestir. "If you go by the mess hall on your way out, please tell the captain we can continue our discussion at his pleasure."

IV

"Sit down, Captain," said Nestir, when the captain entered. "No. Over there, in the comfortable chair. There. Are you comfortable, Captain?"

"Of course I am."

"Good. I have a question to ask you, Captain."

"I say?"