Robert Sheckley - Shall We Have a Llittle Talk?

'You've done it, boys,' he told them. 'You've beaten the system. Old Earth could swallow you and never notice the difference; you couldn't do a damned thing about it. But the folks back home like their legalism, and our law says that we must be in a state of communication as a prior condition to any transaction.'

' Mm«?' Erum asked politely.

'So I guess that means I leave you folks alone,' Jackson said. 'At least, I do as long as they keep that law on the books. But what the hell, a reprieve is the best anyone can ask for. Eh?'

'Mun mun,' the mayor said hesitantly.

'I'll be getting along now,' Jackson said. 'Fair's fair ... But if I ever find out that you Naians were putting one over on me—'

He left the sentence unfinished. Without another word, Jackson turned and went back to his ship.

In half an hour he was spaceworthy, and fifteen minutes after that he was under way.

In Erum's office, the officials watched while Jackson's spaceship glowed like a comet in the dark afternoon sky. It dwindled to a brilliant needlepoint, and then vanished into the vastness of space.

The officials were silent for a moment; then they turned and looked at each other. Suddenly, spontaneously, they burst into laughter. Harder and harder they laughed, clutching their sides while tears rolled down their cheeks.

The mayor was the first to check the hysteria. Getting a grip on himself he said, 'Mun, mun, mun-mun.'

This thought instantly sobered the others. Their mirth died away. Uneasily they contemplated the distant unfriendly sky, and they thought back over their recent adventures.

At last young Erum asked, 'Mun-mun? Mun-mun?'

Several of the officials smiled at the naivete of the question. And yet, none could answer that simple yet crucial demand. Why indeed? Did anyone dare hazard even a guess?

It was a perplexity leaving in doubt not only the future but the past as well. And, if a real answer were unthinkable, then no answer at all was surely insupportable.

The silence grew, and Erum's young mouth twisted downwards in premature cynicism. He said quite harshly, 'Mun! Mun-mun! Mun?'

His shocking words were no more than the hasty cruelty of the young; but such a statement could not go unchallenged. And the venerable first alderman stepped forward to essay a reply.

'Mun mun, mun-mun,' the old man said, with disarming simplicity. 'Mun mun mun-mun? Mun mun-mun-mun. Mun mun mun; mun mun mun; mun mun. Mun, mun mun mun - mun mun mun. Mun-mun? Mun mun mun mun!'

This straightforward declaration of faith pierced Erum to the core of his being. Tears sprang unanticipated to his eyes. All postures forgotten, he turned to the sky, clenched his fist and shouted, 'Mun! Mun! Mun-munl'

Smiling serenely, the old alderman murmured, ' Mun-mun-mun; mun, mun-mun.'

This was, ironically enough, the marvellous and frightening truth of the situation. Perhaps it was just as well that the others did not hear.