Unspecialist

== UNSPECIALIST ==
=== By Murray F. Yaco ===
Originally published in Astounding Science Fiction, October, 1959
A
machine can be built to do any accurately described job better than any man.
The superiority of a man is that he can do an unexpected, undescribed, and emergency
job ... provided he hasn't been especially trained to be a machine''
Banner ripped open his orders, read them,
stared in disbelief for a quick moment, then cursed wildly while reaching for
the telephone. 
"Hello,
Gastonia? Yes, I got 'em. What kinda way to waste our time you lunkheads think
... oh, it's you, colonel!" 
Banner
dropped the receiver and let it dangle. He sank into the only soft chair in the
apartment and watched hypnotically as the phone's receiver limply coiled and
uncoiled at the end of the wire. 
Somebody
knocked on, then opened the door. "Hi, pretty boy, you got our
orders?" 
"Come
on in and hear about it," Banner said. He got up from the chair, ran his
hands compulsively through his recently short-cropped red hair, hung up the
phone and shoved the orders into his co-pilot's hands. 
Warcraft
read them over three times, then sank into the chair just vacated by Banner.
Finally--while Banner poured them both a drink--he managed to blurt,
"Potato fertilizer and tractor fuel--Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!" 
"Oh,
yes, yes, yes," Banner said bitterly. "We are heroes of the
spaceways; yes, indeed. We train for ten years. Acquire great skill in the art
of the patrol. We dedicate ourselves to the protection of the Federation. We
ready ourselves for war. We gird our young, strong loins, we--" 
"You're
getting hysterical," said Warcraft, who poured himself another drink,
began pacing the floor and took up where Banner had left off. "We've never
even been lost on patrol. And now they do this. It's unbelievable! Potato
fertilizer and tractor fuel. We're supposed to travel thirty-six light-years,
pick up one thousand sleds of the stuff, deliver it to some God-forsaken farm
planet another thirty years out, and return to base. You know what they'll do
then?" He turned to Banner, pointed his finger accusingly and repeated,
"You know what they'll do then?" 
"How
would I know," said Banner, glumly staring into his drink. 
"Well,
I can tell you what they'll do. Yes, sir, I can tell you." Warcraft's
pudgy face and oversize brown eyes seemed to melt into each other, giving him
the appearance of an angry, if not very bright, chimpanzee. 
"O.K.,
what'll they do?" Banner said. 
"They'll
give us medals. That's what they'll do. For safe delivery of one million tons
of tractor fuel, you two fine specimens of manhood are hereby presented with
the Order of the Oil. And for your courageous service in delivering two million
tons of potato fertilizer, you are also awarded the shield of--" 
"Never
mind," Banner said. "It could be worse. They could've saddled us with
a Bean Brain. Come on. Let's go to some bar and get sober. We're leaving for
freight duty at 1700." 
***** 
The Bean
Brain met them at the air lock. "Name is Arnold. Here's my orders."
Banner stared at Warcraft, Warcraft stared at Arnold. 
"Get
inside," said Banner. 
The Bean
Brain smiled, "Er ... could you sort of lead the way? I've never been
inside a ship before. If you got some kind of can, it would save a mess. I'll
probably vomit a while." 
They
stopped calling him Bean Brain three days later. He was still sick, miserably
spacesick, and neither Banner nor Warcraft had the heart to keep needling him.
On the fourth day he managed to get up and around. They ate their first meal
together that day. "Let's get something straight right off the bat,"
Banner said. "Neither Warcraft nor I got anything against you 'cept
prejudice. That right, Warcraft?" 
"Right,"
Warcraft said. 
"In
short," continued Banner, between puffs on a cigarette, "all we know
is what we've heard." 
"And
that's not good," said Warcraft. 
"Item
one," said Banner, blowing smoke at the ceiling ventilator. "Patrol
Command came up with the Bean Brain idea about six months ago. Patrol Command,
in its infinite wisdom, has never seen fit to explain _why_ Bean Brains are
sometimes assigned, evidently at random, to small patrol vessels such as this.
The orders always state that the 'passenger' will accompany pilot and co-pilot
throughout the entire trip, will obey orders, yet is equal in rank to the
ship's commanding officer. The Bean Brain has no duties aboard. This seems to
make sense, at least, since Bean Brains aren't trained for anything and can't
do anything." 
"Item
two," said Banner, taking his eyes off the ceiling and pointing a finger
at Arnold. "I have, or had, two good friends--both patrol captains--who
had the honor of taxiing Bean Brains around the universe. One never came back.
The other, Captain Slatkin, came back and got a big medal for reasons he'll
never talk about." 
"And
Slatkin liked to brag," said Warcraft, knowingly. 
Arnold
stood up slowly. He was a small man, but as he looked up at the ship's pilot
and co-pilot, he gave both the impression of height and strength. "I'll
tell you something, too," he said, speaking slowly as if in pain. "I
don't know why Bean Brains are assigned to ships like this either. I've never
been told. I took the job because I didn't like what I was doing before. I've
never had any real training, and this seemed like a chance to do something that
sounded like fun. 
"Like
I said, I've never been told anything. They tested me for a lot of things, then
gave me my orders and told me to come along. And if you're wondering, I flunked
the ESP tests, so there's nothing there. You want to consider me dead weight?
O.K., your privilege. Leave me alone if you want to, I'll do the same. Be
friendly, I'll be friendly. Ask me to help. I'll do my best." 
Then he got
up and went back to his bunk. 
***** 
During the
next six weeks, Arnold spent most of the time in his bunk, scanning tapes from
the ship's micro-library on an overhead viewer. At meal times he was polite,
offering no further information about himself, yet entering into any
conversation that centered around such trivia as terrestrial sports, taxes,
money, liquor, food, government agencies. By mutual, if silent, agreement,
neither women nor work were discussed. 
Working in
the ship's control room, sometimes together, sometimes spelling each other,
Banner and Warcraft speculated bitterly and endlessly about their passenger. Theories
to explain his presence--most of them propounded by Warcraft--were created,
torn apart, modified, exploded, in giant sequences of effort which left both
men finally exhausted and tired of the whole business. 
On the
second day of the seventh week out, their ennui vanished. A ship was picked up
by the spec-spanner, and at their delight at the break in routine, they
summoned Arnold up to the cabin. 
"Take
a good look," said Banner, "it's an Ankorbadian ship. Probably the
first and last you'll ever see." Arnold watched as Banner's finger tracked
a slowly moving point of light across a recessed ceiling screen. 
"Yes,
sir," said Warcraft, "you are looking at the representatives of
mankind's only sibling. The noble Ankorbades." Then he recited in a
singsong voice: 
"A simple race the Ankorbades     They wear no clothes and live in
caves     But out in space they do in
minutes     What our ships do at speeds
infinite." 
"Cultural
paranoia," added Warcraft. 
"Huh?"
"I
mean just what I said. You and a million others recite that ditty, or
variations of it every day of the week. It all adds up to the fact that the
world is full of small-egged animals who for ten years have done nothing but
just scream that we're about to be attacked by the savage Ankorbades." 
"_Tch,
tch_," said Banner, "treason, my lieutenant, treason. Of you I had
expected at least a show of chauvinism." 
"Stop
_tch-tch_ing me," Warcraft said irritably. "You've known how I felt
about this mess for a long time." 
"Yes,
indeed," said Banner, yawning, "ever since you took that micro-course
in culturology you have insights into the situation denied to the rest of the
race." 
"Anyway,"
Warcraft said, making a small adjustment on the screen, "you and countless
other atavisms are reacting in a very predictable way. Since you can't
reconcile the naked Ankorbades and their superior technology, and since they
are alien to point of showing no interest whatsoever in our elaborate art,
institutions, rituals--" 
"And
since," piped up Arnold, startling both men, "the human unconscious
can't help but equate nakedness with savagery, we have armed our mighty planet
to the teeth, convinced that Armageddon is around the corner." 
"Well,"
said the surprised Warcraft. 
"Where'd
you pick that up," asked Banner. 
"From
Captain Slatkin," said Arnold, smiling. "I met him when I was
indoctrinated. He took the same micro-course in culturology. 'Course, he only
believed that stuff when he was scared." 
"Oh,
you don't say," said Banner. "Tell us, my little friend, are you too,
convinced that Armageddon is around the corner? Not that I really think you're
capable of having an opinion." 
"I got
plenty of opinions, all right," said Arnold quietly, staring at his shoes.
"Opinion number one is this: We're not really at war yet, but within the
past two years, fifty-six patrol ships have disappeared in the vicinity of our
friendly neighbor." 
"That's
not an opinion," Banner said. "And disappeared can mean a lot of
things." 
"Opinion
number two," continued Arnold, scratching himself under an arm.
"About the only diplomatic relations we got with them animals is when they
write a note complaining about some Patrol ship getting too close to some piece
of dirt in their system." 
"Speaking
of that, you'll have to excuse me for a moment," Warcraft said. 
"Stop
clowning," snapped Banner. "Listen to him. Here's your chance to get
some insight into the nature of the thorn in your side. Go on, Bean Brain. Any
more opinions?" 
"Yeah.
If you're such a wise guy, tell me why you're here right now. Why?"
Arnold's mouth screwed itself into a knowing, bitter smile. "When both of
you were children you heard the story about the Big Fleet. So you made it into
the Patrol, spent the rest of your life training, looking, thinking that some
day--" 
Warcraft
broke in, "That tale about an Ankorbadian fleet build-up has been
discredited a full thousand times. When they pried that crazy scout out of his
ship, he was an hour away from the crematorium. You try spending forty-six days
in space without food or water sometime! You'll see hidden arsenals of alien
ships till hell won't have it." 
"And,"
added Banner, "where is this fleet build-up supposed to take place? The
patrol has had every planet in reachable space under scheduled surveillance for
the past twenty years. You don't hide a thousand S-type cruisers in somebody's
pocket." 
"So
nobody's scared, huh?" said Arnold. "So the entire space command has
been playing footsie all over the galaxy for twenty years looking for a
thousand ships that aren't there in the first place, huh?" 
"Routine
surveillance," said Warcraft. 
"A
thousand ships," said Arnold, slapping his sweating forehead.
"They'll burn through our defense system like--" 
"You're
a paranoid rabble rouser," said Banner lightly. "We've got work to do
up here. How about getting back to your bunk?" 
***** 
Two days
later they made scheduled contact with the caravan of potato fertilizer and
tractor fuel. One thousand sleds, in tandem, were in proper orbit two hundred
miles above Sedor II. Their orders provided for a landing on the planet and a
short ship-leave, at the discretion of the ship's pilot to refresh personnel. 
Banner and
Harcraft decided against landing. All necessary contact, now that they were out
of hyperdrive, could be accomplished with the ship's radio. Short planetfalls
were, psychologically, more trouble than they were worth, often destroying the
hard-earned, delicate space orientation which was their only defense against
the abysmal boredom. 
"It's
a dull place anyway," explained Harcraft to Arnold, who had come up to the
control room. "It's a mining and processing settlement. Maybe five hundred
families altogether. Got a funny religion, too." 
"Huh,
what kind?" 
"Well,"
began Harcraft breezily, "sort of sacrificial you might say. They believe
in killing strangers who annoy their women." 
"A
dull place," agreed Arnold, wiping his nose with his sleeve. 
"Speaking
of religion," said Banner, "I just talked to their monitor on the
radio. They've picked up twelve big ships on their scanner during the past two
days." 
"Ankorbades?"
asked Arnold quickly. 
"Uh-huh.
But not what you think. It's Easter time or some such thing at home. They all
return to the home planet and stay there for about thirty days in the spring.
Religious festival." 
"Oh,
yeah. They paint themselves blue and howl at both of their moons for a month. I
read about it once." 
"We'll
be home, too, pretty soon," ventured Harcraft, for whom the return journey
was subjectively always short. 
"Let's
hitch up to those sleds," Banner said. "It's time to get going."
Four weeks
later two of the fertilizer sleds went out of phase and automatically cut the
ship out of hyperdrive. 
"A
welcome diversion," said Banner to Harcraft, "you are now about to
meet your mortal enemy face to face." 
"Manual
labor? Never," said Harcraft, assuming the pose of a man bravely facing
the firing squad. "Patrol duty is my lifeblood. Even freight duty such as
this I can stomach. But manual labor! Please captain, let the air out of the
ship, if you will, but never shall these hands--" 
"Somebody
call me?" asked Arnold, appearing silently. 
"Yeah,"
said Banner, "how'd you like to help?" 
"Sure,
what you got." 
"Couple
sleds are out of phase. You and Harcraft are going to slip into suits and go
out and find the trouble." 
Arnold
shrugged, "O.K. with me, when do we start?" 
"Pretty
quick," said Banner, who had turned to look at the ship's spec-scanner.
"Looks like we're in a belt of meteorites. We'll be able to match
velocities, but we could still be creamed if the path gets too eccentric. Show
him the way, Harcraft. I don't want to take any longer than necessary, either.
Understand?" 
Fifteen
minutes later, both Arnold and Harcraft were out of the air lock, each
clutching a new phase unit. Harcraft called instructions to Arnold over his
suit's inter-com, but within minutes the smaller man was, if anything, more
adept at the business of maneuvering himself through the void than his teacher.
They replaced the phase unit in the first sled--the fiftieth from the
ship--with Harcraft doing the work and Arnold watching. 
"Can
you do the next one alone?" Harcraft asked. 
"Easy
as pie," Arnold said. "Where is it?" 
"About
two hundred sleds farther back. Numbers on the side. Number two hundred
sixty-three. Can you remember?" 
"I
ain't dumb. Where you gonna be?" 
"Back
in the ship. We'll be waiting for you." 
***** 
Back again
in the control cabin with Banner, Harcraft was about to congratulate himself on
inventing the apprentice system, when a piercing scream brought both men to
their feet. "It's Arnold," Banner said. "Arnold, you all
right?" 
Harcraft
pushed Banner away from the speaker. "Arnold, what's wrong, you
O.K.?" The speaker remained silent. 
"You
better suit up," Banner said quietly. 
"Yeah,"
Harcraft said, staring dumbly at the speaker. "Yeah, I better suit
up." 
"Wait.
Better take a look on the viewscreen." 
"Hey,
he's coming this way! Quick, get ready at the air lock!" 
It was
fifteen minutes before they could get anything out of him, and then he wasn't
too coherent. They gave him an injection of herodine to quiet him down, but his
eyes still rolled wildly and all he could manage was: "Big hunk of rock
... big hunk of rock ... rock, quick ... monkey ships." 
"Any
idea what he's talking about?" 
"No,"
Banner said thoughtfully. "There was a sizable meteorite that came pretty
close while you were on your way back to the ship, but I'd already tracked it
before either one of you went outside." 
"How
close?" 
"Hm-m-m.
Visually, a dozen kilometers, I'd guess. I could run the tape if you--" 
"Velocities
almost the same?" asked Harcraft, who was now fiddling with the viewscreen
controls. 
"Yeah.
Shouldn't be too hard to find. How about lugging Bean Brain back to his bunk.
I'll run the tape, then you can plot it on the screen." 
When Harcraft
returned to the control cabin, Banner had already plotted it on the screen. 
"I'll
say it's a big piece of rock! About four kilometers in diameter." 
"Yeah,
but nothing out of order." 
"Uh-huh.
Let me turn up the magnification a little and see if--" Banner watched as
Harcraft turned control buttons, skillfully increasing magnification without
losing the held of view. Suddenly, the object exploded into iridescence.
"What--" 
"Watch,"
Harcraft said. He bumped the magnification as much as he dared. 
"The
Ankorbadian fleet," said Banner between clenched teeth. 
They spent
the next hour scanning the ship's micro-library for anything at all on
Ankorbadian religious practices. There was nothing. Arnold awoke in another
hour and seemed remarkably free of hysteria. 
"What
do you know about our friends' religious holiday?" asked Banner. "We
checked the library without any luck." 
Arnold
scratched the side of his face. "Lemme think. Yeah, I remember. They go
home to celebrate spring, like you said." 
"They
all go home?" 
"Uh-huh.
They got to. Only time they can mate. Only place, too." 
"How
long they stay? I've heard it's about one of our months, but we have to know
exactly." 
"That's
all I know. Read it some place a long time ago. Can I go back to sleep
now?" 
"Go
back to sleep," said Banner. 
They spent
the next three hours maneuvering carefully around the asteroid. They took six
thousand feet of movies and stared at the projections for another three hours.
One thousand seven hundred and thirty silvery needles flashed reflected
starlight into astonished, wild eyes. 
"At
least," whispered Banner, "there's nobody there." 
"A lot
of good that does us. They'll be back from their home planet in a few weeks,
just as soon as the breeding season is over. Why should they leave anybody
here? There's not a map in the galaxy that indicates the position of this piece
of rock. And we haven't any weapons." 
"I
don't suppose the computer--" 
"You
can't compute an orbit without at least one more reference point. Besides,
we're four weeks from any kind of fleet contact." 
"Great.
In other words, they'll be back here, ready to roll before we can even tell
anybody that we don't know how to find it again." 
"Right.
And since there's not any room left to park another ship of that size, it's a
pretty safe assumption that they are ready to roll." 
"Armageddon,"
muttered Harcraft. 
"You
sure we don't have anything to--" 
"Weapons?
Yeah. We have a pistol and three small nitro paks in a locker some place. You
couldn't even blow your way inside one of those ships. And if you could, you'd
spend two weeks and then blow yourself to hell before you'd know anything about
the armament." 
"O.K.,
let's land and look around. Go get Arnold." 
***** 
They cut
off the sleds and plunged down, landing between two of the ships. Before
putting on suits, Banner sent Arnold to the locker to get the three nitro paks.
He hoped it would help him overcome the terrible feeling of nakedness and
impotence. 
They spent
only a little time out of the ship. There was nothing to see that hadn't been
seen before, and the heavy artificial gravity generated by the alien
ships--coupled with a maze of deep crevices--made walking difficult and
dangerous. 
Back in the
control cabin, Banner turned to Harcraft, "Any ideas?" 
"Ideas?
You mean for saving Homo sapiens? I'm afraid not. I simply do not feel up to
saving six billion sentient organisms today. I feel--" 
"You're
getting hysterical," said Banner, whose own tight, small voice was barely
audible. 
"I got
an opinion," said Arnold. "You guys stop crying for a minute and I'll
tell you." 
It took him
five minutes to explain the whole thing. When he was through, both Banner and
Harcraft turned him down flat. "Not a chance," said Banner. It would
take a week to set the thing up, and then it wouldn't work. Our best chance is
a long one, but maybe we'll make it. We're four weeks away from any fleet
contact, but it's the only sensible course of action." 
"That
makes it a total of eight weeks, with four weeks to get back here. That's two months,"
said Arnold. "You think they're gonna wait two months before they shove
out of here?" 
"Maybe
not," Banner said. "But that's the only thing to do. And the sooner
we get started the better the chances. Let's get going." 
"You
look here--" Arnold began. 
"No
more opinions, Bean Brain. You're not entitled to an opinion. You think we
should take your word for everything you told us? Tell me why. You said
yourself you never had any training. So you're guessing and hoping. It would
take a staff of two dozen highly specialized technicians to even evaluate your
idea, much less put it into action. Hell, man, face it. What do you know about
geology, chemistry, mining? What do you know about anything?" 
Arnold
pointed a trembling finger at Banner. "Look, I told you that I know rock.
I know plenty of gardening, too. I gave you guys a chance to say O.K. You still
say no? Have it your way, but we'll do it my way." Both Banner and
Harcraft found themselves staring into the barrel of the ship's only weapon. 
Harcraft
recovered from his astonishment quicker than Banner. "O.K., Bean Brain,
have it your way." Quickly, casually he started for the cabin door. Then,
with such speed that Banner hardly saw the movement, he chopped down viciously
toward Arnold's wrist with the edge of his hand. 
Harcraft
recovered consciousness a half hour later. "Don't try that again, little
boy," said Arnold with unconcealed hatred. "I'll give you another
thirty minutes to catch your breath. Then we all go to work." 
It took ten
days instead of seven. Under Arnold's close supervision, they made the ship
perform like a tractor, an air hammer, a foundation borer and an angledozer. 
Once, when
they told him that some particular maneuver couldn't be done, he took the
controls himself, and came so close to killing them all that Banner, out of
sheer terror, took over and made it do the things Arnold decreed necessary. 
Finally it
was finished. Two million tons of potato fertilizer, one million tons of
tractor fuel combined into a slimy pulp lay jammed into the largest crevice on
the asteroid. A few hours later they were a thousand miles out in space. 
"Now?"
asked Banner. 
"Now,"
said Arnold. 
With the
viewscreen at maximum magnification, they watched as the asteroid blew itself
into a thousand million pieces. 
***** 
In the
control cabin, a short week away from fleet contact, Banner was still gloating
over the movies. "Look at these. Before and After. How many medals you
think we can carry on our strong, manly chests?" 
"I
really couldn't care less," answered Harcraft. "While you've been
sitting there enriching your fantasy life, I've solved the mystery of
mysteries." 
"Out
with it." 
"O.K.
While our little friend has been lying on his bunk ruining his beady eyes on
the micro-viewer, I've been asking myself significant questions. Question
number one: What kind of person does it take to survive the inactivity and
boredom of three, four, maybe six months in a space can like this? Answer: It
takes a highly trained and conditioned person such as yours truly or yourself.
Arnold is obviously not such a person." 
"Obviously."
"Question
number two: Under what circumstances can a person as obviously intelligent as
Arnold manage not to become a highly specialized member of society? And last,
what kind of person can be so revoltingly unspecialized as to know, with
fanatical certainty, that the main ingredient of a good potato fertilizer is
ammonium nitrate; that such a substance is rather ineffective as an explosive
unless you mix it with a good oxidizable material, such as Diesel fuel; that a
four-square mile chunk of rock is 'brittle'--" 
"And
don't forget to add another nice facet--that he's a lot cleverer in the manly
art of self-defense than you'll ever be." 
"I
acknowledge my humiliation and at the same time repeat my question: What kind
of person can be so unspecialized and at the same time so miserably
competent?" 
"I
give up. Do you really know the answer?" 
"I
know this. I know that whoever he is, it makes good sense to send somebody like
him along with two overspecialized robots like us. Look at us. You couldn't
pull a cotter pin with a pair of pliers if you knew what a cotter pin was. As
for myself, if I'd of gotten that gun away from Arnold, I'm not even sure I'd
have known how to fire it." 
"Which
still doesn't answer any questions." 
"There
are still a hundred places on our primitive homeland that provide the
answer," said Harcraft thoughtfully. "Places where men spend half the
year working with vegetables and fertilizer--" 
"And
the other half breaking rock with a sledge hammer?" 
"Yes.
And there's probably no better place than a cell to train for the isolation of
space." 
"Uh-huh.
It also explains a certain familiarity with makeshift explosives and
weapons." 
"And,
brother Bean Brain," summed up Harcraft wistfully. " 
Category:Yaco
Category:Astounding
Category:Science Fiction