Eric Russell: Wasp

“But we’ll get around to that in due course, won’t we?”

“Maybe,” said Wolf. “Or maybe not. It depends.”

“Depends upon what?”

“Whether we make full and intelligent use of our resources, especially people—meaning people such as you.”

“You could be more specific,” Mowry suggested.

“Look, in technical matters we are ahead of the Sirian Combine, a little ahead in some respects and far ahead in others. That gives us the advantage of, better weapons, more efficient armaments. But what the public does not know—because nobody has seen fit to tell them—is that the Sirians also have an advantage. They outnumber us by twelve to one and outweigh us by material in the same proportion.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Unfortunately it is, though our propagandists don’t bother to mention it. Our war-potential is superior qualitatively. The Sirians have superiority quantitatively. That’s a very serious handicap to us. We’ve got to counter it in the best way we know how. It won’t be done by playing for time while we make the effort to breed like flies.”

“I see.” Mowry gnawed his bottom lip, looked thoughtful.

“However,” Wolf went on, “the problem becomes less formidable than it looks if we bear in mind that one man can shake a government, two men temporarily can put down an army twenty-seven thousands strong, or one small wasp can slay four comparative giants and destroy their huge machine into the bargain.” He paused, watching the other for effect, continued, “Which means that by scrawling suitable words upon a wall, the right man in the right place at the right time might immobilise an armoured division with the aid of nothing more than a piece of chalk.”

“You’re concocting a pretty unorthodox form of warfare.”

“So much the better.”

“I am sufficiently perverse to like such methods. They appeal to me.”

“We know,” said Wolf. He took a file from his desk, thumbed through it. “Upon your fourteenth birthday You were fined one hundred Sirian guilders for expressing your opinion of an official, upon a wall, in letters twenty inches high. Your father apologised on your behalf and pleaded the impetuosity of youth. The Sirians were annoyed but let the matter drop.”

“Razaduth was a scheming, pot-bellied liar and I say it again.” Mowry eyed the file. “That my life-story you’ve got there?”

“Yes.”

“Nosey lot, aren’t you?”

“We have to be. Regard it as part of the price to be paid for survival” Shoving the file to one side, Wolf informed, “We’ve a punched card for every Terran in existence. In no time worth mentioning we can sort out electronically all those who have false teeth, or wear size eleven shoes, or had red-haired mothers, or can be relied upon to try dodge the draft. Without trouble we can extract any specified type of sheep from the general mass of sheep and goats.”

“And I am a specified sheep?”

“Speaking metaphorically, of course. No insult is intend.”

His face gave a craggy twitch that was the nearest it could come to a smile. “We first dug out about sixteen thousand completely fluent speakers of the several Sirian dialects. Eliminating the females and children brought the number down to nine thousand. Then, step by step, we cut out the elderly, the infirm, the weak, the untrustworthy, the temperamentally unsuitable, those too short, too tall, too fat, too thin, too stupid, too rash, too cautious, and so forth. We weren’t left with many among whom to seek for wasps.”

“What defines a wasp?”

“Several things—but mostly a shorty who can walk slightly bandy-legged with his ears pinned back and his face dyed purple. In other words, one who can play the part of a native-born Sirian and do it well enough to fool the Sirians.”

“Never!” exclaimed Mowry. “Never in a month of Sundays! I’m pink, I’ve got wisdom teeth and my ears stick out.”

“The surplus. teeth can be pulled. Surgical removal of a sliver of cartilage will fasten your ears back good and tight, leaving no visible evidence of the operation. Painless and easy, with complete healing in two weeks. That is medical evidence; so don’t argue it.” Again the craggy twitch. “As for the purple complexion, its nothing startling: There are some Terrans a good deal more purple-faced than any Sirian, they having acquired the colour via many gallons of booze. We can fix you up with a dye guaranteed firm for four months, also a retinting kit that will enable you to carry on as much longer as may be necessary.”

“But—”

“Listen to me. You were born in Masham, capital city of Diracta which is the Sirian home planet. Your father was a trader there at the time. You lived on Diracta until age seventeen when you returned with your parents to Terra. Luckily you happen to be a half-pint of just about Sirian size and build. You are now twenty-six and still speak perfect Sirian with a decided Mashambi accent which, if anything, is an advantage. It lends plausibility. About fifty million Sirians speak with Mashambi accents. You’re a natural for the job we have in mind”

“What if I invite you to thrust the job right up the air-shaft?” asked Mowry, with great interest.

“I would regret it,” said Wolf, coldly, “because in time of war it is an old, well-founded adage that one volunteer is worth a thousand conscripts.”

“Meaning I’d get my call-up papers?” Mowry made a gesture of irritation. “Damn!—I’d rather walk into something of my own accord than be frog marched into it”

“So it says here,” informed Wolf, motioning toward the file. “James Mowry, twenty-six, restless and pigheaded—can be trusted to do anything at all—provided the alternative is worse.”

“Sounds like my father. Did he tell you that.”

“The Service does not reveal its sources of information.”

“Humph!” He pondered a little while, asked “Suppose I volunteer, what follows?”

“We’ll send you to a school. It runs a special course that is fast and tough— and takes six to eight weeks. ‘You’ll be crammed to the gills with everything likely to be useful to you: weapons, explosives, sabotage, psychological warfare, map reading, compass reading, camouflage, judo, radio techniques and maybe a dozen other subjects. By the time they’ve finished with you, you’ll be fully qualified to function as a complete and absolute pain-in-the-neck.”

“And after that?”

“You will be dropped surreptitiously upon a Sirian held planet and be left to make yourself as awkward as possible.”

There was a lengthy silence at the end of which Mowry gave begrudgingly, “Once when my father was thoroughly aggravated he said, “Son, you were born a fool and you’ll die a fool.” He let go a long, deep sigh. “The old man was dead right. I hereby volunteer.”

“We knew you would,” said Wolf, imperturbably.

He saw Wolf again, that being two days after he had finished the arduous course and passed with satisfactory marks. Wolf arrived at the school, visited him in his room.

“What was it like?”

“Sheer sadism,” said Mowry, pulling a face. “So almighty tough that I’m beaten up in mind and body. I feel like a half stunned cripple.”

You’ll have plenty of time to get over that. The journey will take long enough. You’re leaving Thursday.”

“For where?”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you. Your pilot carries sealed orders to be opened only on the last lap. In case of accident or successful interception he destroys them unread.”

“What’s the likelihood of us being grabbed on the way there?”

“Not great. Your ship will be. considerably faster than anything the enemy possesses. But even the best of vessels can get into trouble once in a while. We’re taking no chances. You know the stinking reputation of the Sirian Security Police, the Kaitempi. They can make a slab of granite grovel and confess its sins. If they snatch you en route and learn your intended destination they’ll take counter-measures and try to trap your successor on arrival.”