Citizen in Spase. Stories / Гражданин в Космосе. Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“Be sure you’re running an Earth colony, General, with no radical departures from the norm, such as free will, free love, free elections, or anything else on the proscribed list. Those things are alien, and we’re pretty rough on aliens. Get your colony in order, General. The inspector will call in about two weeks. That is all.”

The village held an immediate meeting, to determine how best to conform with the Earth mandate. All they could do was hastily model themselves upon the Earth pattern as shown in their ancient books.

“I don’t see why there has to be a criminal,” Tom said.

“That’s a very important part of Earth society,” the mayor explained. “All the books agree on it. The criminal is as important as the postman, say, or the police chief. Unlike them, the criminal is engaged in anti-social work. He works against society, Tom. If you don’t have people working against society, how can you have people working for it? There’d be no jobs for them to do.”

Tom shook his head. “I just don’t see it.”

“Be reasonable, Tom. We have to have earthly things. Like paved roads. All the books mention that. And churches, and schoolhouses, and jails. And all the books mention crime.”

“I won’t do it,” Tom said.

“Put yourself in my position,” the mayor begged. “This inspector comes and meets Billy Painter, our police chief. He asks to see the jail. Then he says, ‘No prisoners?’ I answer, ‘Of course not. We don’t have any crime here.’ ‘No crime?’ he says. ‘But Earth colonies always have crime. You know that.’ ‘We don’t,’ I answer, ‘didn’t even know what it was until we looked up the word last week.’ ‘Then why did you build a jail?’ he asks me. ‘Why did you appoint a police chief?’”

The mayor paused for breath. “You see? The whole thing falls through. He sees at once that we’re not truly earthlike. We’re faking it. We’re aliens!”

“Hmm,” Tom said, impressed in spite of himself.

“This way,” the mayor went on quickly, “I can say, ‘Certainly we’ve got crime here, just like on Earth. We’ve got a combination thief and murderer. Poor fellow had a bad upbringing and he’s maladjusted. Our police chief has some clues, though. We expect an arrest within twenty-four hours. We’ll lock him in the jail, then rehabilitate him.’”

“What’s rehabilitate?” Tom asked.

“I’m not sure. I’ll worry about that when I come to it. But now do you see how necessary crime is?”

“I suppose so. But why me?”

“Can’t spare anyone else. And you’ve got narrow eyes. Criminals always have narrow eyes.”

“They aren’t that narrow. They’re no narrower than Ed Weaver’s —”

“Tom, please,” the mayor said. “We’re all doing our part. You want to help, don’t you?”

“I suppose so,” Tom repeated wearily.

“Fine. You’re our criminal. Here, this makes it legal.” He handed Tom a document. It read:

SKULKING PERMIT

Know all Men by these Presents that Tom Fisher is a Duly Authorized Thief and Murderer. He is hereby required to Skulk in Dismal Alleys, Haunt Places of Low Repute, and Break the Law.

Tom read it through twice, then asked, “What law?”

“I’ll let you know as fast as I make them up,” the mayor said. “All Earth colonies have laws.”

“But what do I do?”

“You steal. And kill. That should be easy enough.” The mayor walked to his bookcase and took down ancient volumes entitled The Criminal and His Environment, Psychology of the Slayer, and Studies in Thief Motivation.

“These’ll give you everything you need to know. Steal as much as you like. One murder should be enough, though. No sense overdoing it.”

“Right,” Tom nodded. “I guess I’ll catch on.” He picked up the books and returned to his cottage. It was very hot and all the talk about crime had puzzled and wearied him. He lay down on his bed and began to go through the ancient books.

There was a knock on his door. “Come in,” Tom called, rubbing his tired eyes. Marv Carpenter, oldest and tallest of the red-headed Carpenter boys, came in, followed by old Jed Farmer. They were carrying a small sack.

“You the town criminal, Tom?” Marv asked.

“Looks like it.”

“Then this is for you.” They put the sack on the floor and took from it a hatchet, two knives, a short spear, a club and a blackjack.

“What’s all that?” Tom asked, sitting upright.

“Weapons, of course,” Jed Farmer said testily. “You can’t be a real criminal without weapons.”

Tom scratched his head. “Is that a fact?”

“You’d better start figuring these things out for yourself,” Farmer went on in his impatient voice. “Can’t expect us to do everything for you.”

Marv Carpenter winked at Tom. “Jed’s sore because the mayor made him our postman.”

“I’ll do my part,” Jed said. “I just don’t like having to write all those letters.”