Part 1

Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

Abbr.

BY FRANK RILEY

_Brevity was the new watchword. Vrythg dgstd stht lsrcdb njyd._

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, February 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Walther Von Koenigsburg woke up a few moments after the earth shuttle had passed Venus. As he gazed back at the lonely, shrouded planet, abandoned long ago when Man won freedom to colonize more habitable worlds in deep space, Walther realized that in just a matter of minutes his long pilgrimage would be over. Soon he would walk down the ramp and set foot on Earth--the almost mythical homeland of his people. Walther was young enough, and old enough, not to be ashamed of the sudden choking in his throat, the moisture in his eyes.

A light touch on his shoulder brought him back to the shuttle ship. The pert stewardess smiled at his start.

"Wyslgsr," she asked pleasantly.

Or at least that's what it sounded like to Walther, whose ears were still ringing from the take off at the Cyngus III shuttleport.

"I beg your pardon," he began. "I'm afraid...."

For a moment she looked startled, then her full, red lips parted in another bright smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I didn't realize ... I just asked, Sir, whether you had been sleeping."

She spoke with the mechanical, stilted perfection he had first noted when transferring from the Aldebaran liner at the shuttleport. He had wondered, briefly, about the source of the accent, but had been too polite to ask.

The stewardess put a small pillow in his lap, then placed a tray on it. The recessed compartments of the tray held a cup of steaming black coffee, a piece of pastry that reminded Walther of apfelstrudel, and a paper-covered booklet entitled: "Easy Earth Dictionary and Orientation Manual". Stamped on the cover, in the manner of an official seal, were the words: "Prepared under the authorization of Happy Time, Ltd."

"Thank you," said Walther, then he grinned buoyantly, eager to share these moments of excitement at being so close to Earth. "But I don't think I'll need the dictionary!"

Tiny frown lines appeared between the stewardess's carefully arched eyebrows.

"Hg su'v rthsr?" she inquired uncertainly.

"I don't understand...."

The stewardess managed a professional smile that was edged with just the faintest touch of impatience.

"That's what I thought. What I asked, Sir, was how long since you've been on Earth?"

"This is my first visit!"

"Then you had better study the dictionary," she said firmly.

"Oh, no, I really don't need it!" Walther's inner excitement showed in the flush of his fair Nordic complexion. He turned toward her in a burst of confidence. "You see, my people always kept alive their native languages. My father's side of the family was German ... and down through all the generations they've managed to teach the language to their children! It was the same way with my mother's family, who were English...." Pride came into his voice: "I could speak both languages by the time I was four."

"And you've never taken this shuttle from Cyngus?"

"I've never been on Cyngus before--nor on Aldebaran VI--Deneb II--or Arcturus IX," explained Walther, naming the farflung way station across the galaxy. He added: "I'm on my way in from Neustadt--Andromeda, you know."

Respect replaced the hint of impatience in the stewardess's smile, which instantly became more personal. Not for generations had a colonist from the Andromeda galaxy boarded this shuttle; the Andromeda run, across 1,500,000 light years of space, could be made only by special charter, at a fantastic cost. This blonde young man with the stubborn chin and sensitive mouth was obviously a colonial of tremendous wealth.

The pilot's buzzer sounded, and a red light flickered on the Passenger Instruction panel.

"I have to go forward now," the stewardess said, regretfully. "We're entering the warp, and it's time to prepare for landing. Maybe later...."

She let the invitation trail off, and left him with a very special smile.

Walther understood the smile. He was a young man, but he was no fool. In the trading centers of Andromeda many women smiled at him that way when they learned he was a Von Koenigsburg from Neustadt.

He dunked the pastry in the black coffee, took a generous bite and settled back to be alone with his thoughts. An earth woman was not an essential part of the dream that had taken him on this quixotic voyage. True, there might be a woman who would come to love him enough so that she would leave the old world culture and graciousness of Earth for the colonial life on the immense frontier of Andromeda. But, being of an age where the dreams of youth are merging with practicality, Walther rather doubted he would find such a woman.

He didn't doubt that the rest of his dream would come gloriously to life.

While the shuttleship whirled without motion through the voidless void of hyper space, Walther smiled at the prospect ahead. Six months to immerse himself in the wonder of Earth's culture! Six months to enjoy the whole of it, instead of nourishing the few precious fragments kept alive by his family through the first centuries of colonial life in the new galaxy.

Delightful evenings at the symphony and the opera! Beethoven, Verdi, Brahms, Schubert and Wagner! Wagner!--Perhaps he would even be able to attend a performance of Die Meistersinger. Walther smiled to himself. His great, great grandfather, who had first discovered the incredibly rich mines, forests and black loam of Neustadt, had started the tradition of naming the first son Walther, after the whimsical Meistersinger, Walther von der Vogelweide.

Then there would be leisurely afternoons in the great libraries and museums! All the great classics of literature and art, instead of the few faded pictures and the handful of volumes in the high beamed library of his family castle. The infrequent ships that traveled between the fringes of the two galaxies had little room for books and art treasures. Three years ago, on the occasion of Walther's twenty-first birthday, his mother had broken down in tears as she told of trying for half a decade to order a set of Goethe as a coming of age present for him. But after the request had finally reached Earth, some clerk had garbled the order and sent a four-page booklet that apparently was some kind of puzzle-book for children.

Now he could steep himself in Goethe, Schiller, Dickens, Maupassant, Tolstoi!

And best of all the conversation! The delicate art of communicating mind with mind! What tales he would have to tell when he sat again in the family banquet hall! How his mother's eyes would sparkle! How his father would roar with delight as he recounted some rapier-like _bon mot_....

But all this was only the small part of the dream. The small, personal part. The dream itself was so much bigger, as big as a dream must be to carry over from youth to manhood. He had first dreamed it as a boy, sitting on the hearth rug with his knees tucked up under his chin, watching the great leaping fire, while behind him in the shadows his grandfather played on the old violin. _Meditation_, his grandfather had called it. By a long ago composer of Earth, a man strangely named Thais. His grandfather couldn't play very much of it, but the fragment had lodged in Walther's heart and would be there to the end of his life.

Walther's dream was indeed a grand dream, shaped of a melody and leaping flames. He would not spend his lifetime wresting more wealth from the riches of Neustadt. That had been done for him; the challenge was gone. But someday he would make the journey to Earth, and bring back with him enough of the beauty and culture to make Neustadt a miniature Earth, out on the rim of Andromeda.

It was indeed a grand dream. He would spend his wealth for books and music and treasures of art. He would try to bring back artists and teachers, too, and from Neustadt would spread the wonder of the new, old culture; it would reach out to all the colonies of the Andromeda galaxy, giving texture to life. And it would be there like a shining beacon when Man made his next great step across space, across the millions of light years to the Camora galaxy, and beyond....

The stewardess again touched his shoulder, with a gesture that was not entirely according to shuttleship regulations.

"We're through the warp and are now in orbit," she said. "We'll land at Uniport in three minutes."

Uniport! The fabled entry port of Earth! It was the new hub, the pulsing heart of the homeland. It was the syndrome of all Earth culture, and its stratoways reached out like spokes of a spidery wheel to every city of the planet.

Walther's knees were a little shaky as he moved down the ramp, and the moisture in the corners of his eyes was not caused by the sleety December wind that whipped across the vast landing area. He was on Earth. He was the first of his people to return to the fatherland that had cradled them and sent them out into the universe.

When the stewardess said good-by to him at the foot of the ramp, she looked both puzzled and disappointed. Her smile had been an invitation, and she had sensed the tug of it in his answering grin. But he only tipped his hat, and went on into the customs office.

He felt like a small boy suddenly confronted by so many delights that he knew not which to sample first.

* * * * *

"Destination?"

The customs officer's blue pencil poised over the question on the Uniport entry form. Walther shrugged carelessly.

"Oh, I'll look around Uniport awhile, then visit other cities ... New York ... London ... Vienna.... I have six months, you know."

"I know--I'm sure you'll enjoy your happy time. But you must have a destination--someplace where you can be contacted, or leave forwarding addresses." The official's voice was patient, but it had the curious mechanical quality Walther had noted in speech of the pretty young stewardess.

"Can you recommend good lodging?"

"The Uniport landing provides excellent facilities, and you'll be among other travelers until you have a chance to adjust yourself to happy time activities."

"Oh, no! I don't want to waste a moment! I want to live among the people of Earth from this very first night!"

The customs officer peered at Walther's entry permit.

"Andromeda ... that's what I thought." He shook his head dubiously. "You have your Orientation Manual?"

Walther fumbled in the pockets of his greatcoat.

"I must have left it on the shuttleship, but I don't need it."

The official pressed another copy of the manual firmly into Walther's hands.

"It is required," he said. "First visitors are not allowed to leave the Uniport landing without one."

Walther was too happy to argue. He shoved the manual into one of pockets.

"If I may suggest, Sir," said the customs officer, his eyes widening as he looked over Walther's letters of credit, "You will find the Hotel Altair most comfortable. It's where all important visitors in Uniport stay."

The next few moments went by so quickly they left Walther a little dazed. A servo-robot took his bags and led him to a monorail car, which whisked him off to the hotel.

"Gdegr," said the doorman, another servo-robot, in a brilliant scarlet uniform. Its wax-like features were set in a perpetual smile.

Walther blinked.

"I'm sorry," he began. "I--"

"Thayr," said the majestic robot, taking Walther's handtooled overnight bag and motioning imperiously for two bellhop robots to bring the rest of the luggage. Silent and smiling, they leaped to obey.

The desk clerk was a human, and greeted Walther with an efficient:

"Wemtalr."

He offered Walther a pen and a registration card on which appeared some undecipherable combination of letters.

Walther began to have a sense of unreality about the whole thing, as if he were still day-dreaming in the Venus warp.

"Really," he said, "I seem to be quite confused--"

With a smile of sudden comprehension, the clerk produced a Manual and thumbed rapidly through its pages. He pointed to a phrase with the tip of his pen, and Walther read:

What price room do you desire?

Opposite these words was the phonetic jumble:

Whprumuirer?

Walther shrugged to indicate that price was not important, but his thoughts were spinning. And they were still spinning when the robot bellhop left him alone in his suite. The possibility of a language barrier on Earth was something he had never considered. With only six months planned for his visit, it would be impossible to learn a new language and still do all he had dreamed of doing.

But the Von Koenigsburgs were noted for their stubbornness. Walther's chin set, and he opened the Manual to learn what this was all about.

He promptly realized that this was a Manual only for the most elementary needs of conversation, and that a great amount of study would be necessary for normal discourse. The first section of the Manual devoted a short chapter to each of the basic languages of Earth. Turning from one to another, Walther discovered that an extreme degree of condensation had taken place in all languages. It was as though a form of speedwriting and shorthand had been vocalized.

But why? What did it mean?

Walther found a partial explanation in the Orientation section which began:

"Be brief!"

"Soyez bref!"

"Mach' es kurz!"

"Sea breze!"

In a score of languages, first-time visitors were admonished that an understanding of these two words was essential to getting maximum enjoyment out of their stay on Earth.

"Even in an earlier age," the introduction pointed out, "the words 'Be Brief' expressed the essence of a new way of life, a life in which pace and tempo were all important. Later, as technology and automation relieved man of the burden of labor, he realized that tempo was equally important to fullest enjoyment of his happy time hours. You will understand this better after a few pleasant days on Earth."

There was a false ring to the words that heightened Walther's sense of forboding.

Under the glass top of his dressing table, he saw several brightly colored, attractively illustrated notices. One in particular caught his attention. It showed a young woman with lovely and poignantly expressive features. Her hands were outstretched, as though she were singing or engaged in a dramatic scene.

With the help of his Manual, Walther ascertained that the young woman was named Maria Piavi, and that she was an Italian operatic soprano appearing currently in Uniport with a New York company.

Walther's buoyancy began to return. What better way to become acquainted with Earth's culture than to spend his first evening at the opera? He removed the announcement with Maria Piavi's picture from under the glass and stood it upright against the mirror.

Dinner in the hotel's main dining room was a confusing interlude. The cuisine was superb, the robot waiter faultless--although Walther was beginning to weary of their fixed smiles. But more irritating was the flicker of huge, tri-dimensional television screens on the walls of the dining room. When he deciphered his bill, he saw he had been taxed for the TV entertainment.

After dinner, he showed the opera announcement to the hotel clerk, and asked how to get there. The clerk wrote down the number of the monorail car he was to take, but when Walther learned the opera house was only six blocks away, he decided to walk. The clerk was aghast at this, and followed him all the way to the sidewalk, waving his arms and protesting in an hysterical jumble of consonants.

* * * * *

The opera house itself was a revelation. All he had dreamed of, and more. The frescoed facade! The dazzling marquee! The crowd of elegantly dressed men and women, animatedly speaking their strange syllables as they watched a floor show in the lobby. When the floor show ended, and the crowd shifted to the far end, where a pantomimist was beginning his act, Walther had a dear view of the life-size cutout of Maria Piavi in the center of the lobby.

He stood in front of it, staring with unashamed admiration. There was an earthiness and warmth about her that reminded him of the young women of his own planet. Paradoxically, there was also an air of remoteness and rigid self-discipline, a sense of emotion eternally controlled. He wondered which was the real Maria. Beside her picture was the photograph of a peppery old man whom Walther was able to identify as Willy Fritsh. The consonants under his name said he was now a producer, and had formerly directed for many years.

Walther purchased his ticket without too much difficulty. The lights blinked, and he followed the crowd into the orchestra section.

As he sank into the luxury of upholstered seat, Walther opened his senses to the sounds and sights about him, the tingling scent of the lovely women, the ebb and flow of indistinguishable conversation, the strange, short bursts of music which he found to be emanating from a tiny, jeweled radio in the purse of the woman who sat next to him.

His excitement and anticipation grew still greater when he carefully deciphered the program and discovered that Maria Piavi was to sing Gilda, in Rigoletto, this very evening. What unbelievable good luck! Rigoletto, to commemorate his first evening on Earth! Walther vaguely knew the story of the opera, but from earliest childhood he could remember his mother singing snatches of _Caro Nome_ and _La donna e mobile_. Now he would hear the entire arias, the full score of this masterpiece.

Suddenly all was quiet. The orchestra rose swiftly into view in front of the stage. The white-haired leader bowed. There was an eruption of applause, as brief as the crack of a rocket breaking the sound barrier. The golden baton rose, a glorious burst of music filled the opera house and the velvet curtain zipped upward so rapidly that the blinking of an eye would have missed it.

The opening scene of festal entertainment in the hall of the ducal palace was a masterpiece in conception, but the gay cavaliers and ladies, the Duke's twenty-second condensation of the "Questa o quella" ballata, the plotting with Rigoletto and the mocking of Monterone were all accomplished and done with before Walther knew what was happening.

Then he realized that he was looking upon a tremendous revolving stage, divided into many exquisite sets. Each set appeared majestically, established itself, often with an almost indiscernable pause, and then moved out of view to be replaced by the next.

The second scene was the deserted street outside Rigoletto's cottage. Rigoletto appeared and disappeared, Gilda and the disguised Duke flashed through their duets, the orchestra set up the briefest of fanfares, and the lovely Maria Piavi moved to the center of the stage to sing Gilda's immortal aria,

"_Caro nome che il me cor...._"

The words electrified Walther to the edge of his seat. Here were the first naturally spoken words of the opera, the words of Gilda as she expressed joy at learning the name of her lover. Walther's mother had sung the haunting words on many an evening as he drifted off to sleep in his nursery. But he had never heard them phrased so beautifully as they came now from the lips of Maria Piavi. After the numbing shock of the first scene, they started the blood throbbing in his temples again.

But they were the last words he understood of the aria.

Using the archaic phrase with superb showmanship to startle her audience, Maria swung with flawless technique into a contraction of verse and music that somehow managed to convey the beauty of both in the few seconds that she held the center of the stage. It was like passing a star just before you entered hyperspace. You saw it for an instant, it awed and choked you with its wonder, and then it vanished into a nothingness that was deeper than night.

There was so much beauty in the fragment that Walther ached to hear the rest of the aria. But Gilda had been abducted to the Duke's palace, and the stage had revolved far into Act II before Walther could assimilate the realization that no more of "Caro Nome" would be heard this evening, or any evening.

Nothing mattered after this, not even the Duke's half-minute condensation of "_La donna e mobile_". The stage picked up momentum, thunder and lightning flashed, the murdered Gilda's body was discovered by her father in the sack beside the river, the final curtain swooped down over the grisly horror, the orchestra disappeared, lights flashed on and Walther found himself being hurried along with the pleased audience toward the exit, where servo-robots were passing out handbills and pointing to a theatre across the street.

The entire opera had lasted eleven minutes.

* * * * *

Stunned, his dream crumbling, Walther stood outside the opera house and watched the crowd disappear into the theatre across the street, or plunge into passing monorail cars. The wind of the late afternoon was gone. A light snow was falling; it melted on his cheeks and powdered the fur collar of his greatcoat. Some of the younger couples didn't immediately board the monorail. They walked around to the stage exit and waited, laughing and chattering. Walther joined them.

In a few moments members of the cast began to appear. They waved gaily at friends in the crowd.

Maria came out in the company of two young men, followed closely by the peppery, bright-eyed little man whom Walther recognized from the lobby poster as being Willy Fritsh, the producer. The young couples closed around them, applauding. Walther shouldered his way toward the center of the group.

Maria was laughing with excitement. This was the warm, earthy Maria, not the exquisite, almost aloof, artist Walther had seen on the stage. She was a full-lipped, gay Italian girl who was enjoying the plaudits of her friends. She was bundled in a white fur, and her teeth flashed as she tossed back a rippling comment to one of the young men standing near Walther.

As they started to move away, Walther stepped forward in sudden desperation.

"I beg pardon," he said. "Can you wait while I try to ask one question?"

Maria looked startled, and one of her escorts stepped quickly between her and Walther.

"Whtstywt?" the young man snapped.

Walther flushed at the tone. He wasn't used to being spoken to this way, certainly not by anyone his own age. His jaw set as he held on to his self control, and continued thumbing through the Manual.

Then he noticed that Maria was being hurried along by her other escort. He tried to step around the young man blocking his path.

The young man put out his arm and pushed against Walther's shoulder, as if to shove him back into the crowd.

Out of the corner of his eye, Walther saw Willy Fritsh hurrying forward to intervene. But his own reflexes were already in motion. His left hand flashed up; the back of it struck the young man in the chest. Walther didn't intend it to be a blow, merely a warning. He even managed to check it before it landed. But, to his bewilderment, the young man staggered back, slumped to his knees, gasping for breath.

The other escort, though white-faced with fear, hurled himself at Walther.

Still trying to maintain a measure of control, Walther merely blocked the second escort by thrusting out the palm of his hand. The young man toppled backward, and the whole scene began to take on a never-never land quality.

Girls screamed in terror; the crowd around Walther scrambled out of his reach. Maria stared at him wide-eyed, but didn't move.

"I'm terribly sorry," Walther blurted.