The Apprentice

  New Worlds Science Fiction, #99 Oct 1960

  (1960)

  James White

  Chapter One

  Up until eleven thirty a.m. Arthur Richard Nicholson, the personnel manager of Coop's department store, had had a fairly average day.

  He was savoring that warm, pleasant and positive feeling of one who both enjoys and is completely on top of a job, when the sound of feet and voices came through to him from the outer office,

  The voices were low, but the quick, irregular thudding of four feet on the waiting room carpet told him that Harnrigg was in trouble again. All his pleasure was swept away by a wave of irritation. Striding across to the connecting door, he yanked it open and snapped, "Come inside, please. And sit down. Those who can," he added sourly.

  The trio which filed into his office was composed of Redmond, the ground-floor supervisor, a good-looking salesgirl whose make-up had been wrecked by tears, and Harnrigg. Harnrigg entered last, clumping softly across the carpet to stand between the chairs taken by Redmond and the girl. Watching the being, Nicholson could not decide whether it resembled a furry walrus with hooves, or an outsize skunk with arms. Harnrigg's physical aspect was centaurlike—four legs, two arms and a head which had eyes, nose and mouth in the usual positions. In addition it possessed a dark-brown furry pelt, dramatically marked by a broad white line which ran along the spine and into the tail, which was large and bushy. Chest and arms were almost manlike, and were topped by a head which might have come from a furry sea lion. The most obvious features were the eyes, which were very large and sad.

  Part of the sadness might be due to the fact that Harnrigg was some thirty-seven light-years from home.

  "What's the trouble this time?" Nicholson said.

  Redmond cleared his throat. He said, "Horseplay at the music counter, I'm afraid. Miss Clarke and Mr. Harnrigg were, er, dancing to one of the demonstration tapes. My arrival startled them, they lost balance and a display stand was knocked over, by Mr. Harnrigg's tail. Estimated cost of damage seven pounds, three shillings and sixpence. Including tax."

  Some of the other floor supervisors would have elaborated on a case like this for fifteen minutes or more, but Redmond preferred assisting misplaced shoppers and placating children who had lost their mammas to putting his staff on the carpet. That had been one of Nicholson's reasons for placing Harnrigg on Redmond's floor; only serious misdemeanors would be reported, and maybe he would get a rest from this extraterrestrial apprentice and his troubles.

  But that, apparently, was not to be.

  "Well?" he said sharply to Harnrigg and the girl.

  "I ... I'm sorry, Mr. Nicholson," Miss Clarke said, on the verge of tears again. "We were only tapping our feet. At ... at first, that is … I mean, there were no customers about ..."

  "It was my fault entirely," Harnrigg broke in, his tremendous bass voice filling the office. "I like Earth music very much, and this piece was such that some form of rhythmic movement was forced on me. I asked Miss Clarke if she would teach me to boop-jog."

  "I see," said Nicholson.

  It was common knowledge that Harnrigg's race derived intense enjoyment from earthly music—their culture, although very advanced in many ways, was musically starved. Placing the being at that counter had seemed a good idea. The Clarke girl had not objected and it was Nicholson's private conviction that the people who bought the currently popular boop-jog recordings were so far gone already that being served by a furry centaur would not even make them blink. Working so close to all that music should have made Harnrigg very happy.

  Apparently it had made him delirious.

  Nicholson addressed the girl. His remarks varied little from those used on similar occasions. Miss Clarke was a fully trained member of the selling staff. As well as being courteous, personally tidy and conscientious in her duties, an assistant was required to show a good example to trainees placed in her charge, especially when the trainee in question was an extraterrestrial. Miss Clarke should be ashamed of herself, Nicholson concluded.

  Stopping just short of pronouncing sentence, he turned to Harnrigg. "And as for you," he went on, "I can only say that I am disappointed and very angry, You came here seeking a job which would let you meet Earth people and see the planet, and insisting that you wanted to be treated as one of the boys. Well I can tell you that if you were being treated as one of one of the boys on this occasion you would have been on the street five minutes ago! Wait outside, both of you," he concluded grimly. "I have to discuss this matter with your floor supervisor."

  When Miss Clarke and the centaur had gone, Nicholson said, sighing: "I know Harnrigg's record. Is there anything previous against the girl?"

  Redmond shook his head.

  "What do you advise doing with these ... these boop-joggers?" Nicholson asked impatiently. "For my part, I'd run them out, Harnrigg anyway. I'm a bit sorry for the awkward so-and-so, to tell the truth, but this Harnrigg character has caused nothing but trouble ..."

  "I know," Redmond put in quietly. "But he grows on one, and the trouble wasn't always his fault. And the Clarke girl is very good at her job."

  "Whose side are you on?" said Nicholson irritably.

  Redmond grinned. "Theirs."

  Nicholson rose and headed for the outer office, then changed his mind and sat down again. He felt angry, indecisive and discontented. These feelings seemed to have been with him more and more frequently since Harnrigg had arrived. But Nicholson told himself that he couldn't go blaming the apprentice for his moodiness and fits of bad temper.

  Angrily he forced his thoughts into more constructive channels. He cleared his throat and prepared to rid himself both of the problem and this soft-hearted floor supervisor who insisted on acting like a defense counsel when it was his duty to side with the prosecution.

  "Tell them they're suspended until Friday, pending my final decision," Nicholson said briskly. "That will give them a couple of days to stew in their own juice. On Friday give them a good lecture. And none of your fatherly more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger routines, d'you hear? My reason for suspending them," he ended, "is to have time to find another spot for Harnrigg."

  When Redmond and the others had gone Nicholson tried to work himself into a pleasant, engaging and forceful frame of mind. He was going to try selling Harvey of the Toy department the idea of taking Harnrigg into his section again.

  The Toy buyer was a "good boss." Nicholson hoped that his good nature would extend to centaurs.

  "Oh, no!" Harvey protested when Nicholson phoned him. "I had him the first two weeks he came here. He's awkward. Some of the children are frightened by him, and others want to ride him like a donkey, which frightens their parents. Apparently you drummed this customer-is-always-right stuff into him so thoroughly that he was willing to give a kid a ride around the department if it would help him sell a doll's house. Some of my girls thought this an unfair advantage," Harvey added reflectively. "Harnrigg was away ahead of them with commission. Space behind my counters is cramped and with the Christmas stocks coming in it will be more so. We'd trip over him and he'd break things. I'll take him if you insist, but I'd as soon not ..."

  When Nicholson let the receiver drop he had decided that Harvey's objections were sound. His next call was to Furniture.

  While waiting for Fielding, the Furniture buyer, to be brought to the phone Nicholson visualized the great department, which covered nearly all the fourth floor. There was a big central aisle along which stood lines of tables, couches and assorted dining and bedroom suites. The side aisles were also wide, though there were a few awkward corners here and there. Nicholson was becoming adept at estimating Harnrigg's powers of maneuverability in any given space, and he decided that there would be a few scratched surfaces before the being got used to the place, but then what was the polishing shop for? He prepared to be very charming to the Furniture buyer.

  "I won't have him!" Fielding burst out. "I don't want that hairy brute dancing about in my department. Oh, yes, I heard all about it. You should have fired him!" Fielding had stomach trouble and it showed in his disposition.

  "Fielding, yours is one of the few departments where he could turn around without breaking something …"

  "I won't have him near me! Why doesn't he go home!"

  The Radio and TV department he considered and dismissed at once, and also China, Electrical and the other sections which dealt in valuable and easily damaged merchandise. Jewelry, Cosmetics and Lingerie were out also; Harnrigg would have looked ridiculous in those surroundings. Men's Wear would have been ideal—their buyers raised no objections and the floor space between their stock fixtures was ample—but in those departments the assistant was often the arbiter in matters of fit, style and appearance, and what customer would believe an assistant whose dress consisted only of a watch and four hoof protectors! Pharmacy required special training and Grocery was out. The sight of meat, even tinned meat, made Harnrigg ill.

  After an hour's solid telephoning, Nicholson had the possibilities narrowed down to three: Blankets, Garden Implements and Carpets. But the buyers concerned were not very cooperative. They had nothing personal against Harnrigg, but all were men close to retirement age who ran good, paying departments, and they were too set in their ways to welcome a disturbing influence.

  The selling end was beginning to look hopeless, but the store employed a small army of clerical and maintenance staff. There were repair men, painters, carpenters and cleaners. Making Harnrigg a cleaner seemed the ideal solution. ,

  But would he take a job like that?

  Chapter Two

  At the initial interview Harnrigg had told him that he wanted to meet people and see the sights of Earth, and that he would work hard to earn the money to do so. He further stated that it was a point of honor with him that he earn what money he received, and he wanted no special privileges. Harnrigg was a proud type despite the donkey-rides and the boop-jogging.

  Contact had been made with his species ten years previously, but even now there was only a handful of his race on Earth at any given time. This meant that, despite the request that no special consideration be given him, Harnrigg was in effect a guest of the planet.

  One did not set one's guests to polishing floors and mopping out washrooms.

  Nicholson was still trying to find the answer, and was rapidly losing his temper in the process, when his phone rang. The abrasive quality of the voice identified the caller as Hammond, the store manager himself.

  "Nicholson! I hear you suspended our extraterrestrial, and may fire him. Why?"

  "Er, some disciplinary action seemed necessary ..." Nicholson began.

  "Disciplinary action my foot!" Hammond''s voice blared. "You were told to find a place here where he could work happily and efficiently, and that is your job! The fact that Harnrigg is on e-t may entail a little more work for you, but that is all." The voice became quieter, but with a dangerous edge to it as Hammond went on: "This is the first time one of Harnrigg's race has come here to work at an ordinary job. As I've already explained to you, his presence at the store is publicity for us of the most valuable and subtle kind. We aren't using him as part of some cheap advertising stunt, but are employing him as an ordinary member of the staff. He has trade-union protection, shares in sickness and superannuation benefits, and receives the usual apprentice's wages. This demonstrates our initiative, farsightedness and racial tolerance. We do not want to lose him."

  "I've been trying—" began Nicholson again.

  "Obviously not hard enough!" Hammond snapped, and hung up.

  Nicholson banged down his own receiver with a force which threatened to shatter the plastic. So he wasn't trying hard enough! What had he been doing for the past hour? Bouncing out of his chair, he stamped out of the office. He was fed up with this job, the store and everyone in it. He was going out to lunch before he hit somebody.

  During the meal Nicholson calmed down but his feeling of angry discontent would not leave him, which was strange. He had always preferred dealing with people as people rather than as adjuncts to increasing business, and had sought promotion in the administrative rather than the selling side. Well, he had risen as far as it was possible to go. If he had not been scared of the dog-eat-dog atmosphere of the selling side, he might have been in Hammond's place today.

  By the time Nicholson got back from lunch he was fed up with himself too.

  There was a spaceman waiting in his office.

  "Good afternoon," said Nicholson respectfully. The sight of the trim black uniform with the tight, silver-edged beret and surgeon-commander's insignia gave him a funny feeling in his chest. It was like meeting royalty. The things this man has seen, Nicholson thought; the places he's been ... Despite the spaceport being only twenty miles away, this was the first time he had spoken to a space officer.

  "My name is Telford," said the visitor, smiling and getting to his feet. "Friends, including a mutual acquaintance called Harnrigg, shorten it to Joe."

  Harnrigg again! Abruptly the aura of glamour died from around the commander.

  Telford ignored Nicholson's expression and said cheerfully, "Harnrigg has to bunk at the spaceport— none of the hotel or boarding-house people will accept members of his race, I'm ashamed to say. When I saw him wandering about during working hours I asked him what was wrong. He wouldn't tell me. What is wrong?"

  In spite of the light tone it was obvious that the commander was deeply concerned for the alien. So Nicholson gave him a quiet, objective resume of the apprentice's record to date.

  "I suppose I could tolerate having him here because of the prestige," Nicholson went on, "but none of the department heads want him, which means he isn't going to have a happy time wherever I send him. I'm beginning to think that staying here is a punishment he doesn't deserve."

  "He isn't a criminal," said Telford drily.

  "I know that!" Nicholson snapped. Irritably he went on, "He's a fairly normal type, not too young, unmarried and with itchy feet. The Earth team on his planet distributed a lot of illustrated literature, translated copies of the National Geographic and so on, and he fell in love with Niagara Falls or the Matterhorn. I've had several long interviews with him, you know, and once I had to listen to him being homesick for a solid hour. Wouldn't it be kinder," Nicholson went on seriously, "to take him out of this place? There are very few centaurs on Earth at the moment, and all except Harnrigg seem to be getting the red-carpet treatment. Why not send him on a conducted tour as a goodwill gesture, and then pack him off home? Why does he have to work?"

  Telford leaned forward to give emphasis to his reply. He said soberly, "Because Harnrigg is the most important centaur to visit us to date, and he must earn his keep."

  "But if he's such a VIP …"

  "He isn't. On the contrary, Harnrigg is a very ordinary, not-too-intelligent and slightly maladjusted type."

  I agree with you there, Nicholson said under his breath. Despite the awe he felt for the other's rank and profession, he wanted to tell the commander to talk sense.

  Nicholson tried not to fidget as Telford began talking about Earth's first contacts with the centaur race. Gradually he began to realize that the commander had been talking sense.

  During the years which followed the first contact, scientists and other great minds of both races had exchanged visits, Telford explained, and those exchanges were still going on. The beings concerned, both centaur and human, were very much aware of their responsibilities and were careful not to do or say anything which might offend the other party. And because they were sane and highly intelligent beings, these people displayed a code of ethics which was not representative of their respective planets …

  "A fair analogy," Telford went on drily, "would be that of an old-time captain of a warship visiting a foreign port. The mayor and other leading citizens are impressed and delighted by the charm, politeness and friendliness of the captain and his officers and feel more than favorably inclined toward his country of origin. Then the ship's crew get twelve hours' shore leave and wreck the place!" The commander sat back and continued more quietly: "At present a millionaire couldn't afford the trip to the centaur planet, but twenty years from now a man in your own position could do so at least once in his lifetime. Thousands of people will be visiting each other's planets then, and they will be ordinary people. Friction will occur, misunderstanding, possibly war. We are hoping," Telford ended, "that by presenting the worst as well as the best facets of our respective cultures from the very beginning, both sides will have a fuller understanding by the time the stage of a mass exchange of tourists is reached."

  "I see," said Nicholson, getting to his feet. He felt that he had to walk around, or do some physical exercise, to relieve the excitement building up inside him. That a problem of such vast scope, affecting as it did the future well-being of two whole solar systems, was being discussed in his office!

 

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