A MATTER OF PROTOCOL
By JACK SHARKEY
Illustrated by SCHELLING
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Magazine August 1962.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
First Contact was always dangerous—but
usually only to the man involved!
From space, the planet Viridian resembled a great green moss-coveredtennis ball. When the spaceship had arrowed even closer to the lushjungle that was the surface of the 7000-mile sphere, there was still novisible break in the green cloak of the planet. Even when they dippedalmost below their margin of safety—spaceships were poorly builtfor extended flight within the atmosphere—it took nearly a completecircuit of the planet before a triangle of emptiness was spotted.It was in the midst of the tangled canopy of treetops, themselvesinterwoven inextricably with coarse-leaved ropy vines that sprawled andcoiled about the upthrust branches like underfed anacondas.
Into the center of this triangle the ship was lowered on sputteringblue pillars of crackling energy, to come to rest on the soft loamyearth.
A bare instant after setdown, crewmen exploded from the airlock anddashed into the jungle shadows with high-pressure tanks of gushingspume. Their job was to coat, cool and throttle the hungry firestrickling in bright orange fingers through the heat-blackened grasses.Higher in the trees, a few vines smoldered fitfully where the fires hadbrushed them, then hissed into smoky wet ash as their own glutinoussap smothered the urgent embers. But the fire was going out.
"Under control, sir," reported a returning crewman.
Lieutenant Jerry Norcriss emerged into the green gloaming that cloakedthe base of the ship with a net of harlequin diamonds. Jerry noddedabstractedly as other crewmen laid a lightweight form-fitting couchalongside the tailfins near the airlock. On this couch Jerry reclined.Remaining crew members turned their fire-fighting gear over tocompanions and stood guard in a rough semi-circle with loaded rifles,their backs to the figure on the couch, facing the jungle and whateverpredatory dangers it might hold.
Ensign Bob Ryder, the technician who had the much softer job of simplycontrolling and coordinating any information relayed by Jerry, leanedout through the open circle in the hull.
"All set, sir," said the tech. Jerry nodded and settled a heavilywired helmet onto his head, while Bob made a hookup between the helmetand the power outlet that was concealed under a flap of metal on thetailfin.
Helmet secured, Jerry lay back upon the couch and closed his eyes. "Anytime you're ready, Ensign."
Bob hurried back inside, found the panel he sought among the jumble ofhigh-powered machinery there, and placed a spool of microtape on aspindle inside it.
He shut the panel and thumbed the button that started an impulseradiating from the tape into the jungle.
The impulse had been detected and taped by a roborocket which hadcircled the planet for months before their arrival. It was one ofthe two Viridian species whose types were as yet uncatalogued by theSpace Corps, in its vast files of alien life. Jerry's job, as a SpaceZoologist, was to complete those files, planet by planet throughout thespreading wave of slowly colonized universe.
Bob made sure the tape was functioning. Then he clicked the switch thatwould stimulate the Contact center in Jerry's brain and release hismind into that of the taped alien