Membership Drive

  Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  _Want to join our secret organization? Well, first youhave to pass the tests._]

  MEMBERSHIP DRIVE

  By MURRAY F. YACO

  ILLUSTRATED by GRAYAM

  Transcriber's Note: This e-text was produced from Amazing ScienceFiction Stories, July, 1960. Extensive research did not uncover anyevidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  Thirty million miles out, Keeter began monitoring the planet's radioand television networks. He kept the vigil for two sleepless days andnights, then turned off the receivers and began a systematic study ofthe notes he had taken on English idioms and irregular verbs.

  Twelve hours later, convinced that there would be no languagedifficulty, he left the control room, went into his cabin and fell intobed. He remained there for sixteen hours.

  When he awoke, he walked to a locker at the end of his cabin, openedthe door and carefully selected clothing from a wardrobe that wasastonishing both for its size and variety. For headdress, he selected ahelmet that was not too different in design from the "space helmets" hehad viewed on a number of television programs. It would disappoint noone, Keeter reflected happily, as he took a deep breath and blew analmost imperceptible film of dust from the helmet's iridescent finish.

  Trousers and blouse were a little more of a problem, but finally hecompromised on items of a distinct military cut; both were black andunembellished, providing, he hoped, an ascetic, spiritual tone totemper the military aura.

  Boots were no problem at all. The black and silver pair he wore everyday were, by happy coincidence, a synthesis of the cowboy and militaryfootgear styling he had observed hour after weary hour on the pick-uppanel in the control room.

  He placed the helmet carefully on his head, took time to make sure thatit did not hide too great a portion of his impressively high forehead,and then walked leisurely to the control room.

  In the control room he checked the relative position of two greenlights on the navigation panel, shut off the main drives, clicked theviewscreen up to maximum magnification and took over the manualcontrols. A little less than two hours later, at 11:30 A.M. EasternStandard Time, he landed smoothly and quietly near the JeffersonMemorial in Washington, D.C.

  Watching from a port in the airlock, Keeter was impressed with therestraint of the reception committee. Obviously, the entire city hadbeen alerted several hours before his arrival. Now, only orderly filesof military equipment could be seen on the city's streets, convergingcautiously toward the gleaming white hull and its lone occupant.

  He opened the airlock and stepped out on a small platform which heldhim a full hundred feet above the grass covered park. He watched as anarmored vehicle approached within shouting distance, then stopped.Telling himself that it was now or never, he raised both arms to thesky, a gesture which spoke eloquently, he hoped, of peace, friendshipand trust.

  Later that afternoon, behind locked doors and sitting somewhere nearthe middle of an enormous conference table, Keeter nonchalantlyconfessed to an excited gathering of public officials that he hadlanded on the planet by accident. It was not, he implied, a very happyaccident.

  "I didn't know where the hell I was," he explained carelessly, inexcellent English that awesomely contained the suggestion of amidwestern twang. "Some kind of trouble with the ship's computor--ifyou know what a computor is." He suppressed a yawn with the back of hishand and continued. "Anyway, the thing will repair itself by morningand I'll get out of your hair. Too bad I had to land in a populatedarea and stir up so much fuss, but from the ship this place looked morelike an abandoned rock quarry than a city. Now, if it's okay with you,I'll get back to the ship and--"

  A senator, Filmore by name, at the opposite end of the table jumped tohis feet. "You mean you had no intention of contacting us? My God, man,don't you realize what this means to us? For the first time, we haveproof that we're not alone in the universe! You can't just--"

  Keeter called for silence with an impatient wave of his hand. "Come,come, gentlemen. You're not the only other humanoid race in the galaxy.We don't have time to call on every undeveloped race we happen to runacross. Besides, I never did like playing the role of 'the mysteriousalien who appears unannounced from outer space.' Primitives alwaysrequire so much explanation."

  "Primitives!" exploded the senator. "Why, of all the impudent--"

  The senator was quieted by a colleague who placed his hand over theoffended man's mouth.

  The presiding officer at the meeting, a General Beemish, arose andaddressed the visitor. "We realize that from your point of view thisplanet has not exactly achieved the cultural or technological level ofyour, er, homeland--"

  "You said a mouthful," agreed Keeter, who was now cleaning his nailswith the pin attached to a United Nations emblem that somebody hadstuck to his tunic earlier in the day.

  "Look," said the general, gamely trying again. "We're not quite asunsophisticated as you seem to think. There are three billion personson this planet--persons who are well fed, reasonably well educated,persons who owe allegiance to only one government. We're making greatstrides technologically, too. Within a decade, we'll be established onthe moon--our satellite. Why, even our school children arespace-minded."

  "Sure," said Keeter, who had turned in his chair and was now staringout the window. "Nice little place you got here. Say, is there abathroom around this place. I gotta--"

  Someone showed the visitor to a bathroom where to everyone'sastonishment he proceeded to remove his clothes and leisurely shower.The meeting was adjourned for thirty minutes. When he had finished hisshower, he dressed, walked back into the conference room, waved acheery good-bye, and before anyone realized what was happening, he hadunlocked the door from the inside and closed it behind him.

  For a full thirty seconds, no one said anything. Then suddenly someonemanaged to gasp, "My God, what'll we do?"

  "There's nothing we can do," said General Beemish. There were tears inhis eyes.

  Keeter walked all the way back to the ship. It took him an hour andforty minutes. Long enough, he hoped, for someone to have scooted aheadand notified the military personnel guarding the area to keep handsoff.

  No one attempted to stop him. He boarded the ship, made himselfsomething to eat, walked to a stock room and pocketed a defectivetransistor from an unemptied disposal tube in a corner. Five minuteslater he reappeared on the platform outside of the airlock. Fifteenminutes later he was delivered in a military staff car to theconference room he had left barely two hours before.

  Everyone was transfigured by his reappearance. Beemish lookedespecially radiant as Keeter sat down at the table, pulled thetransistor from his pocket, and stated his business quickly.

  "Look, it's probably no use asking, but I need a repair part for thatdamned computor. Something's wrong with the automatic repair circuits,and I don't feel like staying up all night to find the trouble." Heheld the transistor toward them at arm's length. "Frankly, I don'tthink you'll have much luck reproducing it, but I thought I'd askanyway--"

  "May I see it?" asked Beemish, leaning forward and eagerly stretchingout a hand.

  Keeter seemed to hesitate for a minute, then shrugged his shoulders anddropped the transistor into the general's sweating palm.

  Three persons got up from the table and crowded around Beemish, tryingto get a look at the alien product.

  "Well," said Keeter. "What do you think? If it's too far advanced foryou, don't hesitate to say so. I'll just get back to the ship and startworking."

  "Not at all, not at all," said a small, white haired man who hadfinally wrested the transistor from Beemish. He squinted at the thingthrough a pocket magnifier. "We'll have it for you
by morning, I'mquite sure."

  "I'm not quite so sure," said Keeter, yawning, "but I need the sleepanyway. See you here at eight in the morning." He yawned again, got upfrom the table and walked out once more through the door.

  When Keeter reappeared in the morning, Beemish ushered him into theconference room with a hearty clap on the back. When everyone wasseated, he pulled a small jewel box from a pocket and handed itceremoniously to Keeter.

  "I already ate breakfast," said Keeter, setting the box on the table.

  "No, no, no," groaned Beemish. "That's not food--open it up, man!"

  Keeter lifted the box to eye level, squinted at it suspiciously for amoment, then sniffed it. "You're sure--"

  "Yes, yes," shouted a dozen impatient voices, "open it, open it up!"

  Keeter shrugged and opened the box. Twelve tiny, identical transistorslay gleaming on a bed of black velvet.

  "Well?" said Beemish, eagerly.

  "Hm-m," answered Keeter.

  "What do you mean, hm-m," asked Beemish nervously.

  "I mean it's a silly damn way to pack transistors."

  "But--"

  "But they look like they'll do the job," said Keeter, snapping the lidclosed.

  The sighs of relief were heard in the corridor.

  Keeter pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. "I realizethat I've put you all to a lot of trouble, and I'd like to offer somekind of payment for your services, but frankly, gentlemen, I don't knowhow I can--"

  "Oh, you can, you can," interrupted Beemish excitedly. "What I mean tosay is that if you really want to, you can."

  "How?"

  "Why, er, you could provide us with a small amount of information."Beemish looked definitely nervous.

  "Be more specific, general." Keeter was beginning to look grim.

  "Well, we were thinking--I mean, it would be nice if you'd agree tohave a friendly chat with some of our people. For instance, an hour orso with our physicists, then maybe a half hour with a few sociologists,and perhaps the same amount of time with the senator's committee--"

  Keeter closed his eyes and sighed. "Okay, okay, boys, but let's make itquick. Also, let's keep it to twenty minutes for each inquisition. Comeon, when do we start? Now?"

  The scientists were the first--and the easiest. He gave them justenough information to whet their appetites, just enough to plant thesuggestion that it took a great deal of tolerance and patience on hispart to hold an interview with such backward people.

  "Gentlemen, I'd love to explain the principle of the neutrino drive,but frankly, I don't know where to begin. You--you just don't have themathematics for it." He didn't bother to add that neither did he.

  "Yes, of course, I'm sure I understand what you're getting at. My God,why shouldn't I? Even a child could understand those equations."

  "You call _that_ a representation of the mass-energy constant? Nooffense, old man, but I'm afraid you're going to have to start all overagain. Invention doesn't take the place of research, you know."

  The social scientists were next:

  "As I explained a moment ago, we are heterosexual and live an organizedcommunity life, but not in any cultural context that could be explainedby the term. You might say that our cultural continuum (although theterm for us is quite meaningless) is a function of an intricatelystructured social organism, with institutional coordinates that arelargely internalized. Do you follow me gentlemen?" They certainly didnot.

  But the senator's committee, as usual, got the information it wanted.

  _Senator Humper:_ Now, young man, you claim that your base is on one ofthree inhabited planets of Aldebaran. You also claim that in the knownuniverse there are twelve hundred or more inhabited worlds, all weldedtogether in a kind of super United Nations. Did you or did you notstate as much?

  _Keeter:_ Uh-huh.

  _Humper:_ Well, now it appears that we're getting some place. Tell us,how does each planet manage to qualify for--er--membership in thisorganization?

  _Keeter:_ Why, they have to pass the test, of course.

  _Humper:_ Test? What test?

  _Keeter:_ The Brxll-Hawkre-Gaal test. We administer it to anybody whoseems to be qualified.

  _Humper:_ Er--tell us, young man, just exactly what sort of test isthis? An intelligence test?

  _Keeter:_ Yes, you might call it that, although it has a number ofsections. Actually, Gaal has divided it into three parts.

  _Humper:_ I see. Well, what kind of parts?

  _Keeter:_ Well, let's see. First there's the fuel test.

  _Humper:_ Fuel test?

  _Keeter:_ Let me explain, all very simple really. Let's take the caseof a planet that seems to be qualified for Federation membership inevery respect but one. They don't have interstellar flight. Now--sincemembership imposes duties requiring commercial, diplomatic andscientific intercourse between member worlds, the applicant must beable, within a comparatively short time, to engineer its owntransportation. Follow me?

  _Humper:_ Yes. Yes, go on.

  _Keeter:_ Well, since the biggest technological stumbling block formost planets in such a situation is the development of the necessaryfuel, we'll help them along. In other words, we give them the fueltest; we supply a sample quantity of Z-67As--our standard thermonuclearpower source. If the applicant, working with the sample, is able toreproduce the fuel in quantity, then that's it. They've passed thatportion of the test, and at the same time have developed the means forinterstellar flight. Follow me?

  _Humper:_ Yes, of course. Now how about the second part of the test?

  _Keeter:_ Oh, yes, that's the weapons section.

  _Humper:_ I'm sorry, I'm afraid I didn't hear you. I thought you saidweapons.

  _Keeter:_ I did. You see, it's a matter of self defense. There are anumber of primitive worlds that _have_ developed interstellar flight,but have not achieved the cultural and social levels that would qualifythem for membership. As a result, they become rather nasty about thisexclusion, and devote themselves to warring against any Federation shipthat comes within range. You'd call them pirates, I think. Anyway, theFederation Patrol keeps them pretty well in hand, but occasionally, theBlues--that's our nickname for them since all their ships are blue--domanage to waylay a ship or raid a Federation planet. So naturally,every ship must carry suitable armament; the standard equipment is anR-37ax computor missile--even more complicated for an applicant tomanufacture than the reactor fuel. Therefore we provide a samplemissile along with our blessings. The rest is up to the applicant.

  _Humper:_ And the last part of the test?

  _Keeter:_ Oh, that's genetic. We require a specimen, a woman from theapplicant's world. She's taken to a Federation laboratory, evaluatedgenetically, physiologically, psychologically. Our people are able toextrapolate the future racial--and to some degree cultural--developmentof the entire planet after about two weeks works. Needless to say, theentire process of testing is painless; the subject is made ascomfortable as possible. And after the test period, the specimen isreturned as quickly as possible to her home world.

  _Humper:_ Well, now, don't you think--after what you've seen ofus--that we might possibly qualify, at least qualify to take the test?I'm sure you'll be surprised--

  _Keeter:_ Oh, no you don't! I've fulfilled whatever obligation I had byanswering your questions. That was the agreement, remember? Informationin exchange for the transistors. Now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me--

  Keeter allowed himself to be delivered back to the ship in a staff car.Beemish and several others were on hand to see him off. He shook handsall around--a custom which amused him immensely, since the same actmeant something tremendously different in most other parts of theuniverse.

  Back in the ship, he walked to his cabin, stripped off his clothes,showered, ate, dressed again. Going into the control room, he checked anumber of detectors, found no evidence that any Blues were hunting forhim, left the control room and walked back to a supply room.

  Here, he selected a plastic vacuum solenoid from a r
ack, hefted it inone hand for a moment, then deliberately let it drop to the floor. Hepicked it up, squinted at it, then walked out to the airlock.

  General Beemish was delighted. Everyone was delighted. "No trouble atall," said Beemish, who had already made a phone call that hadgalvanized two thousand scientists and technicians into action. "We'llhave it for you in no time."

  "I certainly hope so," said Keeter. Some of the flippancy had left him,and it was apparent that this new bid for assistance was causing himconsiderable embarrassment--for a short time, anyway.

  "Yes sir," said Beemish, grinning. "Glad to be of help, in fact, we'reflattered that you'd let us, primitive as we are, help at all. Weprimitives don't often have an opportunity to do this sort of thing,you know." Beemish believed in rubbing while the rubbing was good.

  The solenoids, forty in all, were delivered the following morning. Theywere packaged in a small black box lined with velvet. This time Keetermade no comment about the packaging. Instead, he rose from his chair inthe conference room, tucked the box under an arm, and addressed thegroup. "Gentlemen, I'd like you to know just how much I appreciate thisfavor. Evidently, I misjudged your level of technology, and for this Iapologize. I don't know how I can repay you for this latest favor, butif you'd like, I'll be glad to formally submit your planet'sapplication for Federation Membership as soon as I return toAldebaran."

  "When will that