Part 1

_The Nodarians weren't planning a revolt. Nor had the planet been captured by aliens. If they were obstinately silent, it was simply because they now lived on ..._

THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE TRACKS

By ALBERT TEICHNER

Illustrated by SCHELLING

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories May 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

For the last week they had been hovering a half-million miles out from the Terra-scale planet and now all fifty men aboard the _Probe_ were agreed that it was time to land and investigate the place at closer hand. Even Dr. Stern, the perennial pessimist, felt the inhabitants still looked human through the electroscope. While hopelessly blurred by such distance magnification, these two-legged, two-armed beings showed nothing dangerously different from men on any other member planet of the Galactic Glia.

But why did these seeming fellow creatures want to be by themselves in total isolation?

Every schoolboy knows that each of the ten thousand human planets signals all the others once each galactic hour--even if there is no information to exchange except the carrier signal itself. Just as each neuron in a brain maintains some electrical contact with every other. From this infinite openness of pathways, the schoolboy will explain to you, comes the adaptability of both the individual mind and human civilization in general, the ability to concentrate everything on whatever problem is at hand.

Yet here was Nodar refusing to answer the universal signals for years at a time. There was something menacing about this non-conformity and Supreme Council had carefully considered all possibilities before dispatching the _Probe_. These had boiled down to a painful set of alternatives: either an alien species, commencing the building of an empire, had seized the planet; _or_ the Nodarians, turned primitive for some unknown reason, were hiding behind the wall of silence to mount their own attack on the rest of the human universe.

"Alien seizure, my foot!" Commander Linder told the rest of the crew now. "Those are men down there, men working up some anti-social mischief we truly civilized people can't even imagine."

"Mischief? We just don't know that it is," Stern sighed through his grey, brush mustache. "Do we, Commander?"

"It can't be anything good," Linder snapped. The other officers nodded their agreement.

"Suppose they've become indifferent," Stern persisted, "and just want to be left by themselves?"

Linder gave a sour laugh as he moved down the catwalk, throwing one communication circuit after another to ON position. "I imagine they're going to play very coy before we wangle an answer out of them--but not because they're indifferent, Stern. It's impossible for people to be indifferent to their fellows--cooperation or hate, those are the two possibilities, and Nodar alone refuses to cooperate. _Why_ should they be indifferent? _What_ could they have to develop beside the universe of people around them?"

"I don't know," Stern conceded. "I don't even think my explanation's the likely one--yours is--but we do have to consider everything."

"In--dif--fe--rent," Linder repeated, provoking laughter from his crew. He whirled his bulky frame around with the usual surprising ease and snapped a receiving screen on. "Look at it again, look at what we've been picking up from them the last six days. I think they've known we're up here all along--deliberately pulling wool over our eyes."

* * * * *

To the tune of running squeaks and rumbles unshaped colors flowed across the screen mixed with equally shapeless flickers of black and white. "Certainly looks deliberate," said young Crawford who was Linder's second in command but not ordinarily one of the yesman chorus. "Doctor, as our Chief Semanticist, do you get any message at all out of that stuff?"

"No," he conceded again.

"The lack of a message," said the Commander, "there's your only message. A slap in our faces and a kick in our teeth!" His jaw tightened. "Even if it means our finish, we've got to go down there and find out what we can. Council will be receiving all our information on the fastest hyperspace beam unless and until Nodar cuts us off. Now let's get the job done!"

Stern was the first to applaud and every man there followed suit. They had spent a gruelling three months at speeds far beyond that of light and were impatient to be finished with the assignment. Their eyes gleamed with barely-suppressed anger as Linder started calling Nodar. "We are from Supreme Council. We wish to land. Our mission is charity but we insist on the right to land."

He had just begun to repeat the message when the prompt response came through, ungarbled. "Land any time. You have been out there one week, three hours, eighteen minutes, three seconds and never bothered to call us! You could have come in at any time."

"They have known all along!" There was a great outburst of indignation. "Those meatheads making fun of us!"

Linder held down the local sender at OFF while he turned to Stern. "A good sign for our safety, though, heh?"

"Yes," Stern agreed emphatically. "If they wanted to pull us into a trap they wouldn't be annoying us at this stage. They probably won't throw any obstacles in our way when we leave."

Linder nodded and pointed at Barnes. "Your team will keep communications open and we'll get data back to Terra as long as we can."

The stubby man saluted smartly and left with his five aides for Message Center.

"Go down to 18,000, sir?" Crawford asked. "18.9 should give us the best descent trajectory."

"First I'll notify them. We're dealing with a touchy bunch. An unannounced hyperdrive boom might send them into some nasty defense scramble." He spoke into his wrist microphone. "Hello, Nodar. Hello, Nodar. This is Commander Linder speaking, Linder of the _Probe_. We are coming down within the next two hours. This will necessitate a brief return to hyperspace and there--."

"We will anticipate the visual boom," chuckled a deep voice behind which interweaving lines of squeaks were running. "Our calculation for your best trajectory in normal space is for you to come back to it at 18.3846 thousand miles. You will then be square on our landing beam. Good luck."

"Maybe they've forgotten their galactic good manners," Stern smiled, "but not their navigation."

The Commander disregarded him. Shifting from normal space and back was always physiologically disruptive, if only slightly so each time, and every long voyager, according to his specific makeup, was allotted a limited number of such shifts before being retired from the service. A shame to use any of it up on such a short hop but from now on this diplomatic transaction had to be handled rapidly, so rapidly that Nodar could not anticipate every move.

He pressed the field-shift button.

* * * * *

A few minutes later they were back in normal space, coasting on Nodar's landing beam. "Doesn't make sense," Stern insisted. "The beam's perfectly clear yet every other signal we've picked up is a complete garble."

"I told you--they were just throwing sand in our eyes."

"But Barnes says the garbles were all ground-to-ground signals, thousands of different ones and none for us. They still know standard Galactese when they speak directly to us."

The _Probe_ was down to 14 thousand, moving smoothly, and the Commander sympathetically patted the semanticist's shoulder. "There's no call on your specialty, that's what's worrying you. Mustn't go introspective on us now, eh?"

"I'm not sure I mustn't, sir," he stood firm. "But I won't."

"Good enough. In the final analysis the doing's what counts, I always say, not the thinking."

He leaned over the navigation screen, propping himself on his two stiffly outstretched arms, and Stern knew he was no longer there for Linder, not while the Commander concentrated on the problem of landing the _Probe_. Stern moved along the catwalk past the open doorway of the Message Center to the curving permaquartz window from which the descent could be studied. As he watched Nodar's features rise toward him, first silver blue, then breaking into broad continents of green and tan and brown with brilliant clusters of metropolitan lights here and there on the night side, he kept wondering about all those meaningless picture signals they had intercepted. On Terra there had been a dangerous cult of non-communication way back in the late twentieth century, at the very time man's greatest era was dawning. But that, everyone realized today, was due to neurotic fear of the grandeur--and responsibilities--ahead. Could a whole planet still go neurotic?

It was a terrible question and he brooded on it, wondering how ruthless the Council's treatment must be to bring this civilization back to normalcy. Certainly it was a question to keep from Linder as long as possible; his tendency toward prompt and decisive action had to be checked as much as possible.

Then they were landing, the anti-gravity jets letting the _Probe_ sink slowly into the waiting cradle until it stood still against the usual manscape of one- and two-hundred story buildings. "Stern to the bridge," Linder called on the intercom. "You'd better be part of the landing delegation--just in case they really are in symbol trouble."

"Thank you, sir!" Stern replied, grateful, and hurried to the bridge.

There were eight men in this first group to leave the craft. They started across the vast and empty checkerboard area leading from the gantry to the sparkling Reception Center building. At least in one respect, despite three decades of increasingly erratic behavior, Nodar was following standard procedure; interstellar spaceports always were laid out in huge black and white squares. From the distance which was emphasized by this linear perspective a solitary figure was coming toward them square by square.

Stern was the first to pinpoint the thing making the official greeter's walk so peculiar. His arms, instead of moving to the rhythm of his advancing body, were swinging back and forth at separate rates of speed. As the figure came closer, the Commander muttered: "It looks as if he's playing some kind of gymnastic game by himself. I don't think he cares whether we're here or not--a fine greeting, I must say!"

Then they could see the smiling (or was it smiling?) face. "Something odd about his eyes too," Crawford said.

"No, the eyes are all right," Barnes insisted. "He's anatomically normal but you got that impression because only one side of his face is smiling and the other's kind of expressionless, almost bored!"

He was still striding toward them, a handsome man well over seven feet as planetary hospitality officials were supposed to be, and his left hand, the more-rapidly swinging one, was making elaborate arabesques in the air.

"Crazy habit," said the Commander, "never seen the likes of that before."

"The eyes _are_ peculiar," Stern said in a low voice to the rest of the group, "and I'll tell you why. Every once in a while they blink out of step with each other."

"No," said Barnes, "I don't see anything like that. There--they just blinked together. And there, together ag--no, I'm not sure this time!"

* * * * *

But Barnes withdrew his aggressive stare and fell silent as the Nodarian came closer. Dressed in the same sheath garments as the visitors, he was now beaming at them on both sides of his face. "We are glad to welcome ancient brothers. My given name is Jackson," he said in a deep, full voice and extended the right hand to Linder who was resplendent in the gold sash of Space Commander, while his other hand continued to play gracefully up and around and down and under and up, moulding air to instantly vanishing shapes.

Linder, a little dubious, accepted the greeting. "We have been eager to visit here. Contact has been so infrequent and Glia's Supreme Council has wondered--." He stopped because Jackson's eyes had drifted away. The man seemed to be listening either to some vigorous mathemusic that had started up on the main building's PA system or some other music, much more languid, coming from another direction. "I said, Greeter Jackson, that contact has been so infrequent and--."

"Oh, I heard everything you said," the Nodarian nodded patiently, still not bothering to focus his gaze on him.

The Commander fumed at the indignity but remained silent. Stern hastily filled the gap. "I'm official semanticist for the expedition," he said, himself disconcerted by the brief flicker of something like disdain at one corner of Jackson's smile. "Well, I can see my services in that capacity won't be essential here--." "--certainly not," Barnes boomed. "--but I would like to say we have come here principally to ascertain whether you are in any difficulties which the combined resources of Glia's Council might help you face."

"_We_ in any difficulties!" Jackson laughed. "We need no other planet's help. How could _you_ help _us_?"

"I hardly call that a polite greeting!" Linder exploded. "Certainly not an appreciative one. Galactic practice states you people should signal every hour on a universal pulse line. Out of ten thousand settled zones yours is the only one in violation. And now you receive us with arrogance and--and--hand-circle waving!"

The left hand's movements slowed down but did not stop while Jackson's steel blue eyes settled, unnervingly blinkless now, on them. "No, I guess you're not ready for it," he cryptically announced. The smile came back, even warmer than before, but they were still a little shaken as he bade them follow. "One pupil," Stern whispered to the Commander, "one pupil was more dilated than the other!"

"Don't I have enough problems without your fantasies?" Linder came back crossly. "Cut it out."

"You heard what the Commander said," Barnes joined in, more menacing than his superior.

Stern considered the Message Center Chief with contempt. The broad-beamed runt was basking in his usual reflected-glory routine, cultivating the Commander's favor by encouraging his natural impulsiveness. _A fine example of cooperation we can set for anyone else!_ he thought bitterly.

But, like the others, he was quickly distracted from personal problems by what became apparent as soon as they entered Reception's building. Inside, it had a rundown appearance, nothing you could precisely put your finger on but the paint seemed slightly faded, and chairs, lockers, tables, in fact all objects, had a very slightly worn appearance. This was something no other planet permitted to happen; Reception was the place travellers saw first and every normal planet wanted to make a good initial impression.

The people, though, there was the real reason for feeling that everything was sloppy, lax. Groups of officials and onlookers were milling about the great center hall area but they hardly seemed to notice their guests. Many of them had listening devices in their ears and their eyes wandered about even more outrageously than did Jackson's while everywhere there were hands making pointless gestures.

"Look at that computer!" Linder snorted, beside himself with disgust. "It must be half out!"

* * * * *

The eight men gaped at the machine, standard spaceport size, that covered one wall. Here and there dial plates had fallen away, revealing disrupted wire circuits. "In the name of Council," Linder snapped, "I'm telling you to get that Thinker fixed."

"Oh, it's in good enough shape," Jackson yawned. "We don't need the _whole_ thing functioning."

"And I'm ordering you to need the whole thing! No wonder we haven't been receiving regular signals."

People within earshot were grinning and turning away. "Commander--"

"Linder. L-I--"

"No need to spell _anything_ out for us ever, sir. As I said, we don't need the whole thing. We could fix it easily enough any time the necessity arose. But it never will again, I assure you."

"Let's go to your Central Headquarters so I can settle this with someone in authority!"

"There isn't anybody in authority." He considered the Commander's puzzled expression. "Because everyone is capable of authority."

Barnes roared with humorless laughter and waved his hand at a few men gaping toward a wall. "These characters capable of authority?"

A few briefly swung eyes toward them, then back to the wall. "You people certainly are not ready," Jackson sighed. "Well, come along anyway, I'll show you Central Headquarters, such as it is now."

They followed him into the street, gawking at an area robot control computer on the central island. It, too, had sections of broken plating with unattached wires crazily dangling.

"Some kind of robot revolt?" Crawford whispered to Stern.

"Looks like it could be," Stern agreed. "You can't adequately control thinking robots without area computers mediating their activities. But still--there's never been a robot revolt. Maybe something else peculiar explains--"

Jackson who had been listening to music on an ear set turned around and said, "Of course you can control them without area computers. I mean, _we_ can. Anyway we don't need so many robots now."

Barnes was about to register another vehement protest but his chief shook his head and whispered, "No use, there's something the matter with this one. I'll have him disciplined as soon as I talk to the top people."

"Why are you turning this into a diplomatic prestige match?" Stern broke in, his voice even lower than the others. "There's something more important going on here. Didn't you notice what those types in Reception were gawking at?"

"Us!" Barnes snorted.

"No, there was some kind of smear of light flowing across the wall and every once in a while I thought I saw one or two words!"

"For the last time, Stern," and this time Linder's voice was loud enough to echo from a building across the narrowing street, "last time, Stern, no more morbid talk--more morbid talk--." The words, coming back like a kind of self-mockery, threw him off his verbal stride and he fell silent, satisfying himself with the chance to glare at the semanticist. Who the devil needed a symbol specialist on a mission like this anyway?

* * * * *

They turned into a huge plaza where the echo phenomenon ceased, but the same sloppiness attracted their attention as had been the case at the spaceport. The pavement approach to Nodar's Central Headquarters was evenly laid out but, wherever repairs had been made, there was no sign of an attempt to cover the patches up and maintain pleasing visual symmetry. "There'll have to be a Glia Expeditionary Force," Linder muttered, unable to remain silent in the face of such deliberate disorganization. "They're suffering from some weird disease. They'll need all the help every planet can send."

At this Jackson, who had not seemed to be listening, turned around and gave them all the most icy glance they had ever encountered. Then he nodded his head into an angelic smile. Linder, refusing to be cowed, strode to the insolent greeter's side and entered the building ahead of him. A few seconds later he whirled around and came back to the other seven who by now were just about to step into the place. "They've made some kind of movie madhouse of their planetary headquarters!" he muttered, stunned. "Come and see for yourselves."

They did. The hall they entered was monumentally vast like all planetary centers, to express the majesty and prestige of its function. It was partially darkened and hundreds of men and women were lounging about on chairs and sofas, talking to each other while looking at the wall at one end of the building. This wall was covered for several hundred yards with blobs rapidly sinking toward the floor and similar patches reappearing near the ceiling while words, mathematical symbols, three-dimensional color patterns and other disconnected symbols streamed in and out of the confusion to add the final touch of chaos. Many of the viewers were also eating and here and there were even young couples necking as they watched the wall.

Once in a while somebody seemed to look straight at the party that had entered but the glance was always brief. "This is the limit," Barnes said. "Commander, Council prestige is at stake here."

"No, let's try to stay calm," Stern insisted, "we're surrounded by potentially hostile people and--"

"Are you afraid?" Barnes taunted him.

"You know that's not it," the taller man came back. "I just think we ought to try to find some sense to all this."

"I think you _are_ afraid," Linder broke in. "Fine analysis jobs our psychology people are doing these days! They're supposed to weed out every fearmonger _before_ a hyperspace team takes off." He leaned toward Stern, all his frustrations finally achieving a point of focus. "You'll never get another expedition if we make it back. Get this straight--my job isn't primarily to protect our hides. It's to make obvious to our hosts that Glia Council is supreme everywhere, the one, ultimate institution for maintaining stability throughout the Galaxy."

Jackson, for the first time, was giving _all_ of his attention to them. "You have a complaint, Commander?" he said. "Why not address it to me? Don't worry about being violently treated. We _want_ you to get back to Terra with the news."

Arms akimbo, Linder faced the alien unflinchingly. "Space voyagers don't worry about their personal safety. I demand," his voice rose to a shout that reverberated unpleasantly through the soaring vault, "I demand we get the respect, the total attention, due to a delegation from Glia. We are not here in search of violence and you know it. Glia missions have always been peaceful and to help our fellows. But there is such a thing as carrying matters too far and you Nodarians are threatening to do it with your disrespect for what we represent!"

They were receiving many more glances, all filled with distaste, from members of the audience. But the glances remained brief and Barnes shouted in an equally stentorian voice, "We demand your attention! Contact must be resumed!"

Now some shouts echoed back at them. "You're boring us!" "Stop your yawnmaking!" "Nothing worse than an inferior level of intelligence!"

Jackson, never taking his hypnotic gaze from his guests, gracefully waved his hands and the Nodarians fell silent. Many of them returned to their former activities but about fifteen formed a circle about the visitors. "We are agreed?" the greeter said to his compatriots. They all nodded.

"Good." He turned to Linder and Barnes. "As I said before to you, you're really not ready yet for what we are hoping to tell you and we have our own work to continue, work that will never menace anyone. Some day, in fact, gratitude will ring from one end of the Galaxy to the other."

"But I don't see," Stern wondered aloud, "why you have to withdraw from contact with all the other planets if your plans are so innocuous."

"At this point," Jackson smiled, "it doesn't matter one way or the other so we have not bothered. Our isolation did minimize the danger of interference. We are not afraid of contact--we just don't need it now."

"Isn't that a rather selfish attitude?"

"Not at all. We're working to something which will, as I said, widen the scope of everyone everywhere. We don't threaten you and you _cannot_ threaten us."

"Keep out of this, Stern." The Commander moved closer to the other man. "As for you, Jackson, I view this ingathering of your friends as a kind of threat."