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Title: A Matter of Ethics

Author: R. R. Winterbotham

Release Date: October 20, 2021 [EBook #66574]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ***

Homer was a shy Faderfield bachelor; his

visitor was a beautiful Pleiades girl. At any

rate she was a girl, and Homer had a problem—

A MATTER OF ETHICS

By Russ Winterbotham

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy

April 1955

Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that

the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

The fly rod, the letter and the small jar of paint were, in a sense, half of the problem Homer Hopkins had to solve. The other half rested in his complex mind.

Fader's Fadeless Formulae had offered him a position, not a job, to take charge of its research department, at ten thousand a year, twice what he was paid at Faderfield Junior College to teach chemistry. All this was in the letter.

"But I like being a teacher," said Homer. And he looked at the fly rod. "And I also like to fish." Teaching chemistry had left him little time for fishing. The science had advanced with such gigantic strides that Homer was continually catching up on the subject. He spent his vacations going to colleges, and his off days reading literature, orienting himself.

The little jar of paint had brought it about. Homer had sent a jar like it to C. J. Fader suggesting that it be placed on the market. All Homer had wanted was a fat check, and a royalty which he could invest so he could retire someday. Instead, C. J. Fader had offered him a job. The Old Man, who ran the principal industry of Faderfield, would expect a new formula a month and Homer was afraid he might not be able to turn one out every month. Homer knew enough about C. J. to realize that if he offered ten thousand, he would expect a ninety-thousand profit. Homer could qualify for the first figure, but he wasn't so sure about the second.

And then the door bell rang.

Homer glanced out the window at the row of lighted houses across the street. He lived by himself in a little four-room cottage near the junior college. Twice a week the cleaning woman got rid of the male litter and on Saturdays a student did the outside work to keep the little rented home in trim with the rest of the neat little neighborhood. Homer managed by himself the rest of the time.

Whoever was at the door was not in line with the window. Callers were not infrequent. There were three other bachelor males in the chemistry department who dropped in occasionally. And some of the neighbors came over from time to time, usually to borrow a book. Students sometimes came to see him, especially when their grades were low.

Homer opened the door. It was not a bachelor friend. It was not a neighbor. It was not a student. It was a very pretty young woman. She was dressed like she was going to a masquerade, with spangled tights, or something of that nature, a glittering tiara and shoes covered with rhinestones.

Her hair was black and her eyes were brown. There was a faint flush on her cheeks that looked well with the ivory shade of her smooth skin.

Without being invited, she stepped past Homer and into the house. She looked around, from floor to the ceiling. She strode across the room and sank down on Homer's overstuffed divan.

"I like this place," she said. "Do you want to move, or will you share it with me?"

"Uh?" Homer laughed nervously. "I beg pardon?"

"What for? You didn't do anything."

"I meant I misunderstood you," Homer said. "I thought you suggested taking my house away from me."

"I didn't," said the young woman. "If you want to stay, it's all right with me. I'll only be here a few days. The place is much too large for one person."

Homer's jaw dropped. He closed his mouth and bobbed his adam's apple a couple of times. But he was beyond words.

She rose, strode across the room and opened the front door. She stepped out on the porch and Homer felt a momentary relief. It was an illusion. C. J.'s offer had been more of a shock than he thought. Then she appeared again, carrying a black bag.

"Where will I put my things?" she asked.

"Ma'am," said Homer. "I am a gentleman." That, he decided, was the best way to state his position in mixed company.

"What has that got to do with it? I'm a lady."

"Certainly, ma'am, but you must realize that what you're suggesting is—er—most unorthodox. I don't propose to turn my house over to you with or without company. Even if—" Homer clamped his jaw shut for he almost said that the offer was attractive. How could he have said such a thing? He'd hardly known this woman for a full minute.

"Your house? I'll admit your arms and legs are yours, and so no doubt is your hair, your teeth, your eyes and your ears. But how can you say this house is yours?"

Homer looked at the girl. She spoke perfect English although now that he noticed there was just a slight accent. She had something of an Italian grace, French fire, and the wholesome heartiness of Scandinavia in her, and yet she was different.

"It is my private property," said Homer. "I'll admit I do not own it, but I rent it. I have a year's lease."

"When I studied your customs and manners I must have overlooked a few things," she said. "But I can't see how you can own a dwelling."

Homer was horrified. Undoubtedly she was from behind the Iron Curtain. "This is America, ma'am," he said stiffly.

"I thought this was the earth," she said.

Again Homer's jaw dropped as if he had not heard correctly. "Do you mean that you are from Some Other Place?" His voice supplied capitals.

"I am assuredly not of this planet," she said. "I'm Qalith of Planet 12, star 10, Pleiades." Her smile was pleasant too, Homer observed. "I learned your language by telepathy but unfortunately I didn't go deeply into your economics and social customs."

Homer decided she must have tuned in on Russia, then he realized that English is not usually spoken there, so he assumed she had listened to some subversives somewhere. If she was from the Pleiades. More than likely she was a spy. "Do you think the Revolution will come during our life-time?" he asked.

"There is a revolution every twenty-four hours on this planet," she smiled. "On my planet the revolution is 26 hours, your hours."

This was a joke, Homer decided. A student trick, extremely in bad taste. Especially since it entailed a girl to expose herself in such a costume.

"I hope you didn't park your spaceship by a fire plug," he said sarcastically.

"Fire plug? I missed that when I learned your language. Something electrical, no doubt. But if you mean my space shuttle, it is in a desolate area south of here." She pointed in the direction of the Cambridge Manor Country Club. "We know that spaceships have a disturbing effect on primitive races such as yours."

In spite of Homer's determination not to believe this girl, he felt an admiration in the way she played her role. He wondered if there was really a spaceship on the golf course. It would certainly have a disturbing effect on early morning golfers. Good heavens! C. J. Fader belonged to Cambridge Manor!

"Miss—er—Qalith," Homer said, "your being here presents problems, whether or not you are from the Pleiades! You must understand that this isn't the proper thing to do." Homer glanced toward the window and quickly moved over to the venetian blinds which he turned downward, just in case one of the neighbors looked in. "I must sit down and think a moment. Then we'll decide what must be done."

"I know what I'm going to do," said Qalith. "So you decide what you're going to do."

Homer had a bottle of bourbon in his kitchen cabinet. The board of trustees of Faderfield Junior College frowned on faculty drinking of any sort, and of course alcoholic beverages were forbidden on the campus under strictest penalties—expulsion for a student, dismissal for an instructor. But Homer was extremely moderate and there were times when he felt that whisky had a respectable place in the scheme of things. He poured himself a drink, after offering one to Miss Qalith. She declined.

"I must be careful what I eat and drink on strange planets," she said.

"A wise forethought," Homer said, with a nod. He mixed the whisky with tap water, dropped in an ice cube and began sipping it as he sat in a straight-backed chair opposite her.

"Now," he began, "I won't question anything you've said. It doesn't matter really whether you were born in Faderfield, the next county or a planet 200 light years distant. There's one fact we can't deny. You are a woman. Right?"

"You are perceptive, sir—"

"My name's Homer," he said. He smiled and she smiled back. Homer finished his drink and put aside the glass. "I'm a man."

"That I had already perceived."

"Do men and women—ah—occupy the same lodgings on Planet 12?"

"Certainly. And so do they here. I looked in all the houses on this street before I came to yours. I picked your house because you were alone."

"But those people are married!" said Homer. "I'm an unmarried man. A bachelor."

"Are you a social outcast? An exile?" Qalith asked.

"No. I have not chosen a mate—as yet," he didn't want her to think he was opposed to the idea. "On earth it's not customary for an unmarried couple—"

"Oh," said Qalith. "That old thing."

Homer felt a little indignant. "It isn't to be ignored."

"Far be it from me to upset the earth," she said. "I just dropped in for a brief time to complete our museum catalog of your system. We're not complete on the earth, you see, and your little village seemed to have a pretty fair representation of human society, except a lack of primitive tribes. Now I'm not so sure it is anything but primitive."

"We are civilized," said Homer. "Highly civilized. We have a certain moral code and your being with me jeopardizes my position in respect to that code." He paused. "If anyone saw you here, I'd be disgraced. I couldn't face my fellow citizens." He added mentally that he wouldn't get that job with Fader's Fadeless Formulae if he wanted it.

"Is that why you closed the blinds?"

Homer nodded.

"It would seem to me to be worse if people knew I was here and didn't see us," she said. "But I'm new to your planet and I still have a problem. Where will I stay?"

Homer thought quickly. "There's a rooming house where some of the lady teachers stay." He paused, looked at her spangled costume and shook his head. "But your clothes wouldn't be understood. They'd think you were a burlesque queen."

"A burlesque queen?"

"Another thing you'd never understand," said Homer. "If I could find the proper clothes, I could say you were a cousin from Des Moines—"

"What is a cousin from Des Moines?"

Homer shook his head. "You'd give away the show."

"Why don't you say I'm from another planet?"

"No one would believe it. In fact, I'm not sure I believe it myself."

"If Earthlings won't believe the truth, why not let me stay here? No one would believe I did."

"You don't understand," Homer groaned. "There's such a thing as custom. Moral law. Ethics. Social behavior. There are ways a person can act because to act otherwise is not the thing to do. Certain things cannot be done and people are quick to suspect that they are being done sometimes when they're not being done. Am I clear?"

"No," said Qalith. "But the earth file in our museum is going to be a large one."

Suddenly the phone rang. Homer jumped and knocked his empty glass to the floor. Quickly he rose and lifted the phone.

"This is Fader, Hopkins," came a voice over the wire. "About my letter—"

"Oh yes, C. J. It came today."

"This is a big thing, my boy."

"I know it is, C. J."

"I want to get started on it immediately."

"To be frank, C. J., I wanted a little time to think it over."

"I'll make it twelve thousand if you make up your mind now—tonight," Fader said. "I'm going to expand. I'll make Fader's Fadeless the biggest line of paints in the world, but I've got to have research. You've convinced me you can do the job—"

"Can't I call you back C. J.? I just want to study this thing—" And get rid of Qalith, Homer told himself.

"No! I'm coming over to talk to you." There was a click in the receiver and Homer held a silent phone.

"A funny instrument," said Qalith, "It'll never take the place of telepathy."

Homer put the phone back in its cradle, and picked up the empty liquor glass. He took it to the kitchen. It wasn't the first thing he had to do, but C. J. might not approve so Homer had to get it out of sight. He closed the kitchen cabinet door so the whisky was out of sight. Then he went to the living room and saw that Qalith was unpacking her bag.

Homer could see the spangles of garments like the one she wore. She was setting out small boxes, which looked a great deal like boxes of things that women always carry—perfume, cosmetics, and so on.

"No, no, no!" Homer shouted. "You mustn't unpack your bag! C. J. will be here any minute."

"I was here first," said Qalith.

"Listen, Qalith," said Homer, "On your planet there must be certain rules of conduct that may seem outlandish when considered alone, but have very good reason for being when you consider them in the light of other facts."

"Oh yes," said Qalith. "One should always wear a telepathy helmet when he's keeping a secret."

Homer took Qalith by the arm, led her to the divan and sat down beside her. Quickly and pointedly he told her about Fader's Fadeless Formulae and the opportunity that faced him. And he gave her the Facts of life.

"The only drawback is that old skinflint Fader himself," Homer explained. "As I'm fixed now, I have a pleasant job. The dean's nice and easy going. I get along fine and I like my work. Fader will pay me twice as much, but he'll be breathing down my neck every minute, making sure he's making a 90 per cent profit on everything I do."

"You don't know whether to take a job in which you'll be unhappy, but which can give you what you want or to stay on a job where you'll be happy, but poor. Is that it?" Qalith looked at him with a curious expression in her eyes.

"That's it," said Homer.

The front doorbell rang and Homer realized he'd spent more time explaining to Qalith than he should have spent. He jumped to his feet. His arms swept up the boxes and piled them into the bag. He lifted the bag and ran to the kitchen. "Hide, Qalith! Hide quickly! In the bedroom and close the door!" he said.

He thrust the bag in the broom closet off the kitchen.

When he returned he saw Qalith admitting C. J. Fader at the front door.

"Harrumph!" said Mr. Fader. His eyes traveled over Qalith from spangled boots to gleaming tiara.

"Oh, Mr. Fader," said Homer thickly.

"I must have arrived more quickly than you anticipated," said Fader. He stepped forward and nudged Homer. "You sly young dog."

"It's not what you think, C. J.," said Homer.

"I haven't said a word about what I thought," said Fader. "What I want to know is where you found her."

"I didn't—"

"I'm from another planet," said Qalith.

"I'll say you are, baby," said Fader, chucking her under the chin. "You know, Homer here had me fooled. But I can see he's not as namby pamby as I thought. Yes, sir! He's quite a boy."

"He's been explaining all of the manners and customs of the earth to me," said Qalith.

"And I'll bet he knows how!" said Fader.

"It's really the truth," said Homer. "Qalith is from the Pleiades."

"Oh yes! Near Cincinnati! Well I always heard those Cincy girls were pretty cute. Playing at the Roxy?"

Homer shuddered. "She's left her spaceship on the Cambridge Manor golf links," he said.

Mr. Fader roared. "Homer, you're a man after my own heart! I'll tell you what, boy. You come into my organization and I'll make you a vice president with a big chunk of stock. You can have charge of research and if you can line up the babes for our conventions we'll put the whole dammed paint trade in our pocket inside of two years! After all, boy, it's girls and salesmen, not the quality of your product that win on today's market!"

Slowly the idea sank into Homer's brain. Mr. Fader hadn't wanted to hire him because he was anything special as a chemist.

"How much will I get?" Homer asked bluntly.

"The stock ought to be worth twelve thousand a year," said Fader. "On top of that you'll get twenty-five thousand as vice president in charge of research and conventions."

And the ten thousand that Homer hoped to get had been cheap. Ten thousand for a chemist, twenty-five for a salesman, plus a bundle of stock. A high priced pimp.

"Are you sure I'll be worth it?"

"Don't talk like a nincompoop, boy! We're in." He turned to Qalith. "Got any friends, honey?"

Qalith's eyes seemed to gleam. Fader's hand straightened with a jerk. He stood stiffly.

"He's hypnotized," said Qalith. "We can talk and he won't hear or remember what we say."

"There's not much to be said," said Homer.

"You don't want the job?"

"With this lecherous old tom-cat?"

Qalith smiled. "You are Puritanical," she said. "You're stuffy and naive and innocent. But I like you."

"I'm probably crazy too," said Homer.

Qalith shook her head. "No. You're unhappy. You don't like being a teacher either, do you?"

"Of course I do!" Homer spoke with too much emphasis. "It's a pleasant life."

"But you've seen broken old men teaching. Men who had brains and who didn't have a cent in their savings account. You know you'll starve all your life and get very little thanks for discovering genius. You know and you want to get away from it. That's why you even considered going with Fader in the first place. If you'd really been contented you'd have turned him down right off."

Homer realized she spoke the truth. "But any job has its drawbacks. I've either got to teach chemistry or become a research chemist. From what I've seen, Fader and Faderfield Junior College are my only choices. And Chemistry is all I know."

"You know about ethics and customs of your planet. You know what people are supposed to do and rarely do."

"It doesn't make a living for me."

"Not on earth. But on Planet 12, you'd be an authority on the planet Earth. The only authority because you know all about the earth's unkept laws of social conduct and you're one of the few that ever kept those laws."

One thing held Homer back. "Is your planet really communistic? Don't you have private property?"

"Do you own this house?"

"Well I rent it, but some people do own their houses."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, they have mortgages and taxes and so on."

"Actually very few people own what they think they have, excepting their bodies."

"But men move in with women and women move in with men—"

"This thing you call marriage corresponds with a custom we have," said Qalith. "I was going to marry you."

"I don't know you and you don't know me!"

"How do you think I found you without telepathy? And you've seen me now—is there anything wrong about me that—well, that—"

"Nothing!" Homer said fervently. He thought of people who had courted many years and still didn't know each other. Then he glanced down at Fader, still staring hypnotically. "What a tale he's going to spread about town tomorrow!" Homer said.

"He won't believe it," said Qalith.

"I'll be gone," said Homer.

"Then we'd better get going. You can work on the earth file on the trip to the Pleiades."

"Says you," said Homer. He got her bag from the broom closet and as an afterthought, he picked up his rod and tackle. Maybe he'd get some fishing done on Planet 12, among other things—

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Matter of Ethics, by R. R. Winterbotham

A MATTER OF ETHICS

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