Bast's Assignment

By Vassar Smith

Sebastus (“Bast”) Tadlock is a man with a mission. He must save Earth and terraformed Mars from attack and invasion by an obnoxious unisex humanoid race called the Nosbor. They come from a planet that is an ecological nightmare but unimaginably rich in gold, silver, platinum, and other precious metals. Pretending to come in peace, they seduce much of Earth by using their vast wealth to buy whatever they want—goods, property, services, political influence, even social acceptability. In the dystopian future society on Earth everything and almost everyone is available for a price, which to the Nosbor is literally no object.
Bast’s assignment is to develop a superweapon before the fleet of the Nosbor and their amphibian allies the Mkrakken can show up to destroy all resistance and take by force whatever they could not buy. This weapon is a tachyonic beam which eliminates its target by teleporting it into a parallel dimension. In his experiments on Earth and Mars, Bast not only discovers and explores several alternate realities, but also recognizes and pursues beautiful, charming Ingrid, the love of his life.
In contrast to the frequent suspense and occasional anguish of Bast’s adventures are the many instructive experiences and hilarious misadventures of Bast’s adopted son. Eddie Tadlock seems in all respects a normal, healthy ten-year-old boy, but he is in fact an exiled alien emperor transformed back to childhood by the Retrogression Procedure from extreme old age some three years ago. After adapting quite well to living as a boy on Mars, Eddie must now endure and cope with the widespread discrimination and humiliation to which most “retros” are subjected on Earth. Eddie and Bast persevere through everything with courage and panache. Like its precursors MICHAEL REMEMBERS and BAST’S RECORD, their sequel BAST’S ASSIGNMENT is both social satire and science fiction at their best.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vassar Smith
• Release date: Feb 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370435456

Vassar Smith

V. W. Smith was born in Memphis, Tennessee and has lived most of his adult life in California. He earned and received his Ph.D. from Stanford University. He has been internationally published as a poet and humorist as well as a serious scholar and translator or Russian literature. His published translations include the novels BAD DREAMS and CONSOLATION by F. K. Sologub, and numerous poems by Pushkin, Lermontov, Sologub, Blok, and other Russian masters. Collections of Smith's original poetry include: BYZANTINES AMOK (1990), UNDER THE LIMERICK TREE (1991), THE OVEN-BIRD CHORUS (1993), and THE CALIPATRIA TRIOLETS (2008). BAST'S ASSIGNMENT is the third in a series of exciting, original novels that employ elements both of future fantasy and of social satire. Its story begins some three Earth years after the ending of the second book. That novel, BAST'S RECORD, is a sequel to Smith's uproarious satirical novel MICHAEL REMEMBERS, published by Midnight Express Books in 2012.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Wait for me at the Principal’s Office, I reminded Eddie as I handed him his lunch just before he left for school with Davy and Billy. I will be there for the conference with your teachers at 14:00 even if it means cutting short my work day by three hours which I’ll have to make up some evening or weekend.

In your position you’re not paid by the hour, are you? Eddie asked bluntly.

No, but I feel honor-bound to respect the time constraints of my job, I replied.

Very well, Bast, and quite commendably characteristic of you, Eddie acknowledged with not sarcasm, but a rather petulant overemphasis neither seemly nor typical for an average ten-year-old (or six-year-old by Martian years).

Eddie, I said, articulating clearly, but deliberately lowering my voice, you know better than to speak to me in that manner.

In what manner? I didn’t say anything rude to you, Bast, did I?

No. Nothing patently rude, I replied. But your tone verged ever so slightly on disrespect or condescension. It might simply have been impatience. I don’t want to make an issue of it. I’m perfectly willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. For your own good, however, let me advise you that some adults might not be so magnanimous. You need to be more careful about not just what you say but also how you say it.

Yes, Bast. Thanks for the advice.

Eddie and his slightly older cousins Davy and Billy then left for school. After nearly 500 years and numerous aerodynamic and mechanical improvements, the bicycle remains as popular as ever on Earth and has always been popular on Mars ever since the advent of human civilization here. Of all forms of ground transportation it is indubitably the healthiest and most efficient.

Speaking of historical developments, no one uninformed of such would ever in a million years suspect that Eddie had been born well over a hundred years before the advent of the bicycle. Though I and all the other adults in the Tadlock household were thoroughly aware of his background, the children—all my nieces, nephews, and first cousins once removed—still were blithely ignorant of the fact that my adopted son Eddie had once been a terminally ill old man. And not just any old man. He had been Emperor Edward, absolute monarch of the Cidron Empire, which dominates Altair IV and a half dozen other planets in our galaxy.

How was Eddie transformed from a cranky, dying old man into a healthy, active, and (usually) quite likable little boy some three years ago? Well, of course through the Retrogression Procedure. When Emperor Edward’s nephew Weden brought him the news that scientists on Earth had developed the technology to transform an individual biophysically back to the being that he had been at one tenth his present chronological age, Weden got more than Edward’s undivided attention. He got assigned a mission of the highest priority.

Once Edward had learned about retrogression technology, he would be satisfied with nothing less than: (1) acquiring such from Earth by any means; (2) having a complete Retrogression Chamber (and all the staff necessary to perform a Procedure) transported to Altair IV; and (3) undergoing the Procedure himself so that he would have both the distinction and the benefits of being brought back from the dying embers of extreme old age to the full and robust flower of youth.

Before Edward subjected His Imperial Person to the Retrogression Procedure Dr. Felix Mendelssohn, one of Earth’s foremost palinologists, urged, indeed implored the Emperor to allow him to carry out the Procedure on some other Cidron as a test subject. Edward would have none of this. He had carefully studied the details of thousands of case histories of Retrogression Procedures performed on Earth. In Edward’s opinion the results were so similar as to be virtually identical. Without exception the subject was transformed back to the same being that he (or she) had been at one tenth his (or her) current age. Therefore Edward believed with unshakable conviction that undergoing the Retrogression Procedure would restore him to the fullness of health, strength, and physical beauty that had characterized the time of his youth.

A Cidron’s youth could last well into the third century of his life.

Therefore the aged Emperor Edward had every expectation of emerging from the Retrogression Procedure restored biophysically to the man which he had been in his seventies. To the Scidron that would have been comparable to an Earth man’s recovering the state of health, vigor, and comeliness that he had known between the ages of 25 and 35.

Edward’s Retrogression Procedure was performed as scheduled. The results, however, proved quite different from what the Emperor had expected. He had blithely ignored or disregarded the fact that, whereas the Scidron and humans of our solar system are ostensibly of the same species, Cidron DNA possesses three extra genes on the X chromosome. This phenomenon drastically alters the outcome when any of these large Altairan humans subject themselves to the Retrogression Procedure. A Cidron emerges from the Procedure with his body transformed back to what it had been not at one tenth, but at one-hundredth his present chronological age. Edward, in other words, emerged from the Retrogression Procedure not as a still- young man of some seventy years, but as a seven-year-old boy indistinguishable in size and development from a typical, healthy seven-year-old boy on Earth.

As striking as the unexpected development itself had been, its repercussions were at least as drastic. Despite their high level of technology and culture, the Scidron had never developed a democratic-republican system of government. Although they enjoyed more personal freedom and fewer regulations than in most countries on Earth, the Cidron government, both currently and historically, had always been an absolute monarchy ruled by an Emperor who succeeded to the Throne through heredity and primogeniture. If an Emperor happened to die while his oldest son was still a minor, then a trusted and capable relative would serve as Regent until the young Emperor had shown sufficient wisdom, courage, and experience to assume the reins of power for himself. At that point the young monarch became Emperor in fact as well as title, and the Regent literally took a bow and retired to private life. Or—especially if he had shown exceptional capability and irreproachable loyalty—he might be invited to remain in the Imperial Retinue as a prominent minister or counselor.

However, there was no provision in the Cidron Code of Law for what should be done with an Emperor who, having attained his majority, then, for any reason besides the infelicity of extreme old age or terminal illness, was deemed unfit to remain on the Throne. As with all empires of lasting duration, there were occasional instances in which the legitimate heir to the Throne proved utterly incapable of governing on his own, and neither would he heed the advice of his most prudent and benevolent counselors. Such cases were few and far between, but in all such instances the ‘powers behind the Throne’ had handled the situation by deposing the inept or abusive Emperor and installing a presumably more competent heir to succeed him.

Since harsh reality dictated that there be only one living, crowned Emperor at large in the Realm, the deposed Emperor had to be disposed of. Historically this had been accomplished in several ways, all morally ambiguous and with potential, unsatisfactory ramifications. The most drastic and forceful was simply executing the deposed Emperor. This definitely forestalled any plots to restore him to his Throne, but violated a number of legal and moral niceties. An arguably less extreme but, in my opinion, more cruel remedy was one applied by the Greeks during the Byzantine Empire on Earth, namely blinding the deposed Emperor and keeping him in a monastery or under house arrest. The third method was definitely more humane but entailed extensive manpower and expense, namely sending the deposed Emperor into exile and keeping him under sufficient guard and surveillance to insure that he remained out of sight and out of the news for the rest of his life.

At the time of his Retrogression Procedure, Edward had two grown sons, Princes Leif and Bjorn. Moreover, Crown Prince Leif had a grown son who will probably succeed his father someday, to rule as Edward II. In any case, though they had all obeyed Edward I with unquestioning loyalty throughout their lives while he had been their revered elder, they all balked at the prospect of taking orders from a child. Therefore they and all their retinue stood united in the decision to depose the Emperor once they had learned of the Retrogression Procedure’s unforeseen effect on Edward.

Nevertheless, his family’s regard for Edward was such, that no one wanted to see him executed, blinded, or sent into a miserable exile. His nephew, my good friend Weden, therefore effected the arrangement whereby Edward would be allowed to leave unharmed and depart for Mars to live there as my ward— on condition that he never return to Altair IV nor to any other domain of the Cidron Empire. When approached with this proposition as the only viable means of saving Edward’s life, health, and eyesight, I agreed to it at once on purely humanitarian grounds. Still, if I had it to do over, and the same choice were thrust upon me, I would decide exactly as I did before.

Only several months after we were both comfortably settled in our new life on Mars did I learn that the arrangement with the Scidron included a handsome stipend to compensate me for any incidental expenses incurred in providing Edward with adequate and suitable nutrition, clothing, shelter, medical care, etc. This emolument really wasn’t necessary. After all, I was already independently wealthy, and neither Edward nor I had any extravagant tastes. However, no one knows what exigencies the future might bring, and wealth can always be put to good use.

Therefore, who was I to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth? Every month my bank account received an electronic transfer for 100,000 Olympians from the Cidron Embassy in Bradbury. Likewise, every month I invested at least 90% of such funds in sound stocks, bonds, and Certificates of Deposit in custodial accounts for Eddie’s benefit.

Almost three Earth years had passed now, and we were doing very well, thank you! Six Martian years (eleven Earth years) from now Eddie would again attain his majority. He would be quite a wealthy young man.

Chapter 2

Any notion of having an ordinary work day vanished as soon as I had hung up my hat and jacket. I had just said, Good morning! to Maureen Friday, my young, brainy, attractive executive assistant. She then greeted me with the portentous news:

Gen. Stahlberger wants to see you in his office at once.

I can’t even check my projects and messages first?

Sir, I’m just the messenger. But when Gen. Stahlberger says A.S.A.P., he means right away, not half an hour later.

All right. Duly noted, Girl Friday.

Bast, if anyone else called me that, I’d have him called on the carpet for breach of protocol, conduct unbecoming, etc. But I make an exception for you because I know you mean it as a compliment. Still, I wish you wouldn’t call me that. It just doesn’t feel right.

Why? You’re in the full bloom of youth, and your last name is Friday.

But I’m not a girl—I’m a woman.

All right. Still, your last name is Friday, and you’re so... dependable.

I’m an MSC sergeant. Don’t compare me to Robinson Crusoe’s Friday.

Because that Friday was Black?

No. Because he was a savage.

As I recall, he became quite civilized after a few years with Robinson Crusoe.

Honor me anyway by not calling me that anymore.

Yes, Maureen.

Thank you, Bast.

And there we had it. I wasn’t going to make an issue of her calling me Bast. Had anyone else been present or within hearing range, she would most certainly have addressed me as Col. Tadlock or Sir. That she would address me as Bast even in private, and that I permitted it, were signs of how positive a rapport had developed between us.

* * *

As soon as he had returned my salute, Gen. Stahlberger directed me to be seated in the cushioned but armless chair in front of his desk. He had been standing when I entered his office. Now he sat down in the swivel chair behind his desk and glanced at the folder that he was holding in his left hand.

At ease, Col. Tadlock, he began reassuringly. Do you know why I’ve called you in?

No, Sir. It’s too early for a formal report on my latest project.

The matter-displacement pistol? Interesting concept! Does it actually work? I mean, I believe that you can pull it off if anyone can. But how soon can you turn it from a purely theoretical concept into a practical reality? When it’s done, we’ll need a functioning weapon that someone besides a specialist can operate.

I wasn’t aware that it was that much of a priority, Sir. I was given a time frame of 3-6 Martian months. I’m comfortable with that window.

Why? I’m not.

You’re not, Sir? What’s changed?

Once we have a working prototype of that weapon, we’ll have a greater technological edge over Earth... and other cultures out there.

As he spoke he gestured toward the long, heavily tinted picture window with a beautiful view of the horizon and the Martian morning sky.

Sir, I opined, ‘‘so far as our sources have determined, no one on Earth is anywhere close to developing such technology. The Scidron, on the other hand, have possessed it for years. They’re our allies. What’s the problem?"

Things change.

‘So far as I know, the Scidron are as much our allies as they’ve been ever since we met them. If anything, they should be less of a concern to us with Emperor Leif rather than Edward on the Throne."

I don’t disagree with that for a minute, Colonel. I just want to point out that most Cidron technology—not all, fortunately, but most—has also fallen into the hands of the Mkrakken.

I’m aware of that, Sir. I’m not at all complacent, Sir, just optimistic, at least on that point.

Why so?

First, because there are only a few hundred thousand Mkrakken left, all on the outlying worlds of their erstwhile empire. More than 95% of the species—100% of those on Altair III—perished in or as a result of their civil war several years ago, when both sides went nuclear.

True. But don’t discount the fact that they literally breed like flies. Give them even a few years, and they will number in the millions again. They rape a planet’s ecology, and they’re as vengeful as any creature I’ve ever seen.

No argument about that, Sir. Still, at least for the time being I feel at ease because the Scidron are keeping an eye on them as well as patrolling this quadrant of the galaxy.

And?

And we have substantial defensive weapons in place, weapons of proven effectiveness, and we’re developing more all the time.

All that is commendable, Colonel. Nor do I doubt either your information or your judgment. There is, however, a new development. One of our satellites took this picture yesterday.

He handed me a large color photograph from the folder on his desk. It showed a medium-sized battle cruiser headed for Earth, probably about to begin the descent for landing. It was still high above the Eastern Hemisphere, over what used to be called China before it united with Korea, Vietnam, and several other countries.

This doesn’t look exactly like the Mkrakken ships I’ve seen before, I remarked.

Right. Go on, please, Gen. Stahlberger directed.

Certain details are different. The wings and tail are more streamlined. The engine looks larger. I bet this craft is fast! If it hadn’t been hovering at the time, our camera might not have caught it, certainly wouldn’t have caught it so clearly.

There might be other plausible explanations, but what you say makes perfect sense. So, what else do you think?

One thing’s for sure. This doesn’t make me feel all warm and cozy. As we both realize, the Mkrakken have been knocked for a loop but not out of the picture entirely. Even before I can formulate the full equation, there are two factors that worry me.

I think I know what you have in mind, but please elaborate anyhow.

All right, Sir. First, that ship, heading for Earth and unquestionably there by now, definitely looks suspicious. I’d bet my eye teeth that the beings inside that ship are either Mkrakken or some other race, one yet unknown to us but closely allied with the Mkrakken. Second, we may have committed a serious error in judgment as far as Earth is concerned.

"What sort of error do you mean? Be specific,’ Gen. Stahlberger directed.

Sir, our government may have committed the same sort of error as the Americans did in their perception of the Russians around the end of World War II. As you no doubt recall from history, Franklin Roosevelt trusted Josef Stalin implicitly. Such trust was entirely unwarranted, and the world paid a dear price for it, particularly in Eastern Europe, for the rest of the Twentieth Century.

You’ve stated the historical analogy. Now sum up the similarity to the present. Are you saying that Earth or certain governments on Earth are not to be trusted?

Rather the latter, Sir. Every government has some dirt on it. But I’m still convinced that the USNA and the European Union, including Russia, are managing themselves responsibly and dealing with us honorably.

You’re not so sure about the East Asian Union or East Asian Republic as it now prefers to be called?

No, Sir, I’m not. I believe the majority of the Chinese, Koreans, etc. are exceptionally honorable people. Even if that is so, we both know that when some crisis develops, even the most moral of cultures are prone to fall back on the old truism that ‘drastic times call for drastic measures.’ I also believe that for decades the East Asian nations have been working closely with certain elements from the Middle East. It’s possible that they’re all fed up with being on the short end of the stick in the balance of power on Earth.

You mean, they resent the higher standard of living and favorable balance of trade in Europe, the Americas, the Indo-Australian Federation and most of Africa.

Yes, that too.

Do you understand my primary concern, Bast?

I think so, Sir. If the Easterners believe an alliance with the alien powers could tip the balance in their favor on Earth, then they would press ahead to form such an alliance at all costs.

Exactly. Unfortunately, that’s only one side of the coin. Can you see where I’m heading with this?

I believe so. I think I understand the Scidron well enough that it might raise some questions but no great concern, no matter whom they visited on Earth. But a non-Cidron ship’s visiting Earth—with no one briefing us about it—that’s not a good sign. What do you consider the best way for us to deal with this? Have you discussed this with any of our people on Earth?

No, I haven’t. They’re all good agents, but I don’t think any of them knows how to proceed effectively without drawing suspicion to himself.

You don’t know even one who has the technical knowledge and the skill and training to defend himself and get away in case of an emergency?

I know one such officer. I’m looking at him right now.

You mean me, Sir?

Do you see anyone else in the room?

But, Sir, my projects...

Your other projects? They’ll keep. Or you can delegate them to your assistants. On Earth you’ll get to work on the weapon under cover while you’re gathering intel.

I really didn’t like the sound of this, but I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound insubordinate. So, I tried another tactical approach:

Sir, what about Eddie?

Eddie? You mean your ward? The former Cidron Emperor who was deposed after he retrogressed himself back to a little boy?

Sir, the intention was to make him young again. Changing himself back to a child was an unforeseen complication.

I’m aware of the details, Colonel. Since you live in a mansion with a large extended family, why would your assignment to Earth affect Edward?

He gets along well enough with my cousins and nephews and his schoolmates. However, there’s occasionally some friction between him and my mother. If I’m going to Earth, it would be better to take him with me.

I believe that can be arranged. Don’t you think that adjusting to life on Earth might present certain problems for him?

No more than adjusting to life on Mars did, I replied.

I’m not even going to ask any more about that today. Good luck. We’ll make the necessary arrangements for both of you to travel to Earth, and we’ll set you up with suitable accommodations there. Be ready to go in two weeks, sooner actually, since you’ll be departing at an hour considerably earlier than the current time of day.

How much should we plan on taking? Any furniture or large personal possessions?

"Nope. Nothing that you can’t get into two suitcases each. Everything else will be provided on Earth. In the following days you’ll be briefed more on the goals of your mission. That’s it for now.’

Thank you, Sir.

No. Thank you, Bast!

Chapter 3

It had been years, indeed decades since I had seen the inside of Ben Bova Elementary School. In fact I hadn’t been back there since my own graduation from the fifth grade some eleven Martian years ago (22 Earth years). I didn’t harbor unpleasant memories of my childhood schooling. Those times just didn’t seem that important.

Laura, my cousin Mike’s wife, worked here part-time as a paid librarian and served as a volunteer tutor and teacher’s aide several days each week. She had handled Eddie’s registration, brought photocopies of the health forms, adoption papers, and other requisite documents. So, I had been spared that and all the orientation conferences and other such tedium. Today, though there was no getting out of the meeting at the school. Every parent’s attendance at several consultations with his child’s teachers was mandatory. Mike, Laura, or (now retired) Uncle Mark might have been allowed to sit there in my stead if I had been on a mission off world. Since I was currently still working on Mars, I had no practical option except to attend. Coming directly from the base, I showed up at the school in my Space Corps uniform.

That in itself probably got me admitted in record time. From numerous accounts and documents I know that schools on Earth have been subjected to many violent crimes, even murders, and that, consequently, stringent security measures have been implemented there. At the very least this means that anyone entering the premises is screened and searched for weapons or other potentially dangerous items. Fortunately, individual and community standards of ethics on Mars have remained high enough that such procedures have not been instituted here. To date, crime on Mars remains markedly lower than on Earth. There are two primary reasons:

Mars offers not just a sufficiency, but an abundance of employment opportunities. Honest labor receives a fair wage. Those unemployed because of temporary adversities or because of disabilities of any sort are paid a monthly stipend and receive other benefits from the government. This enables even the most marginal legal residents of Mars to live not in luxury, but with decency and self-respect.

A sharp distinction is recognized between actual crime and mere human foibles, including mental illness. Drinking is allowed in private residences and in hotels, restaurants, bars, and other such establishments. Alcohol is almost never a factor in vehicular or other mechanical accidents here, because anyone of legal age who goes over the limit is transported home or to a therapeutic, non- judgmental facility which he (or she) is free to leave the next morning as long as the individual has not exhibited violent behavior or caused damage to any person or property. Likewise, the law enforcement agencies prefer not to get involved in any situation where counseling, education, or any other palliative measure serves as a better deterrent than arrest and sentencing. I can declare both truthfully and with great pride that throughout the Martian Federation child abuse is practically unheard of, and juvenile delinquency virtually nonexistent.

So, there I was, in the conference room down the hall from the Principal’s Office. With me at the large wooden table sat the school Principal Mr. Phelps, the school psychologist Mrs. Weber, Eddie’s classroom teacher Mrs. Charles, and several of her colleagues. I remembered Mrs. Charles well (in both senses of the word) from my own days as a kid at Bova Elementary School. She was now a bit stouter (though not truly stout, just showing the beginning of middle-age spread), and her hair color had changed from a medium blond to a dignified gray.

In any case, everyone greeted me with pleasant smiles and warm handshakes. Unfortunately, they were all so cordial and deferential toward me, that it took considerably longer than usual to get down to the focus and purpose of the meeting, namely the academic and social progress of my adopted son Eddie.

Everyone across the board had nothing but the highest praise for Eddie’s intellectual abilities and academic performance. Indeed, in reading, writing, math, science, etc. he struck everyone as not just exceptional but prodigious. Clearly, as a pupil he was a source of pride and fascination to them all.

As far as his social and interpersonal skills, well, that was a horse of a different color. It wasn’t that Eddie didn’t like other children, nor that he wasn’t liked by them. And as a rule he was neither rude nor patently disdainful to adults. He was just, to use Mr. Phelps’ words, exceptionally bright but also extremely strong-willed and markedly different from any other child the school personnel had ever seen before.

Please be more specific. Give me some concrete examples, I requested.

Certainly, Col. Tadlock, Mrs. Charles replied, speaking for the others as well as herself.

Please, Mrs. Charles, I said with a warm smile, I’d prefer that you call me Bast.

She and the others agreed to this on condition that I likewise address them by their respective first names so long as no children were in the room.

So, what specifically is the problem or problems with Eddie? I asked, bringing the focus back to the subject of my son’s progress or lack thereof in school.

Bast, I hardly know how to say it, Stephanie Charles began. I guess I’ve just never before seen a little boy his age put on such airs.

Airs? I asked, not entirely surprised, but awaiting some sort of clarification. What sort of airs?

"Eddie puts a lot of