The Repairman | Page 4

fairly easy to do when you have a machine
memory to work with. One of the lizards gargled at another one and the
second one turned around. I tagged this expression with the phrase,
"Hey, George!" and waited my chance to use it. Later the same day, I
caught one of them alone and shouted "Hey, George!" at him. It
gurgled out through the speaker in the local tongue and he turned
around.
When you get enough reference phrases like this in the memory bank,
the MT brain takes over and starts filling in the missing pieces. As soon
as the MT could give a running translation of any conversation it heard,
I figured it was time to make a contact.
* * * * *
I found him easily enough. He was the Centaurian version of a
goat-boy--he herded a particularly loathsome form of local life in the
swamps outside the town. I had one of the working eyes dig a cave in
an outcropping of rock and wait for him.
When he passed next day, I whispered into the mike: "Welcome, O
Goat-boy Grandson! This is your grandfather's spirit speaking from
paradise." This fitted in with what I could make out of the local
religion.
Goat-boy stopped as if he'd been shot. Before he could move, I pushed
a switch and a handful of the local currency, wampum-type shells,
rolled out of the cave and landed at his feet.
"Here is some money from paradise, because you have been a good
boy." Not really from paradise--I had lifted it from the treasury the
night before. "Come back tomorrow and we will talk some more," I
called after the fleeing figure. I was pleased to notice that he took the
cash before taking off.
After that, Grandpa in paradise had many heart-to-heart talks with
Grandson, who found the heavenly loot more than he could resist.

Grandpa had been out of touch with things since his death and
Goat-boy happily filled him in.
I learned all I needed to know of the history, past and recent, and it
wasn't nice.
In addition to the pyramid being around the beacon, there was a nice
little religious war going on around the pyramid.
It all began with the land bridge. Apparently the local lizards had been
living in the swamps when the beacon was built, but the builders didn't
think much of them. They were a low type and confined to a distant
continent. The idea that the race would develop and might reach this
continent never occurred to the beacon mechanics. Which is, of course,
what happened.
A little geological turnover, a swampy land bridge formed in the right
spot, and the lizards began to wander up beacon valley. And found
religion. A shiny metal temple out of which poured a constant stream
of magic water--the reactor-cooling water pumped down from the
atmosphere condenser on the roof. The radioactivity in the water didn't
hurt the natives. It caused mutations that bred true.
A city was built around the temple and, through the centuries, the
pyramid was put up around the beacon. A special branch of the
priesthood served the temple. All went well until one of the priests
violated the temple and destroyed the holy waters. There had been
revolt, strife, murder and destruction since then. But still the holy
waters would not flow. Now armed mobs fought around the temple
each day and a new band of priests guarded the sacred fount.
And I had to walk into the middle of that mess and repair the thing.
It would have been easy enough if we were allowed a little mayhem. I
could have had a lizard fry, fixed the beacon and taken off. Only
"native life-forms" were quite well protected. There were spy cells on
my ship, all of which I hadn't found, that would cheerfully rat on me
when I got back.

Diplomacy was called for. I sighed and dragged out the plastiflesh
equipment.
* * * * *
Working from 3D snaps of Grandson, I modeled a passable reptile head
over my own features. It was a little short in the jaw, me not having one
of their toothy mandibles, but that was all right. I didn't have to look
exactly like them, just something close, to soothe the native mind. It's
logical. If I were an ignorant aborigine of Earth and I ran into a Spican,
who looks like a two-foot gob of dried shellac, I would immediately
leave the scene. However, if the Spican was wearing a suit of
plastiflesh that looked remotely humanoid, I would at least stay and
talk to him. This was what I was aiming to do with the Centaurians.
When the head was done, I peeled it off and attached it to an