The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

“What proof do we have?” Hardy said. “You could be lying.”

“Where are your papers?” Jill said. “And even if you were skipper of a whaling ship, so what? What qualification is that for a dirigible man?”

“Now, now,” Firebrass said. “Don’t let us get our bowels in an uproar. I believe you, Gulbirra. I don’t think you’re one of the many phonies I’ve had to put up with.

“But let’s get one thing straight. You are a hell of a lot more qualified than I am-as of this moment, anyway-to command the ship. But nevertheless, I am the captain, the boss, the head cheese! I’m running this whole show from start to finish. On the ground and up there. I didn’t give up being chief engineer on Clemens’ boat so I could take a minor position in this project.

“It’s Captain Firebrass, and don’t ever forget that. If that’s okay, signed and sealed in blood, then I’ll be jumping with joy to welcome you aboard. You might even be first mate-no sexual implications involved-though I can’t promise that. The roster is a long way from being filled.”

He paused, cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes.

“First thing off. You have to swear by your personal honor-and by God, if you believe in one-that you’ll obey the laws of Parolando. No ifs, ands, buts.”

Gulbifra hesitated. She licked her lips, feeling their dryness. She desired-no, lusted for-the airship. She could visualize it even now. It hovered over them, casting a shadow over her and Firebrass, shining silvery where the imaginary sun struck it.

“I’m not going to sacrifice any of my principles!” she said. She spoke so loudly that she startled the men. “Are men and women equal here? Is there any discrimination in sex, race, nationality, and so forth? Especially in sex?”

“No,” Firebrass said. “Theoretically and legally, that is. Actu­ally, that is, personally, there is, of course. And there is, as there has always been everywhere and everytime, discrimination based on competency. We have high standards here. If you’re one of those who think that a person should be given a job just because he-or she-belongs to a group that has been discriminated against, forget it. Or move your ass on out of here.”

She was silent for a moment. The men looked at her, obviously aware of the struggle inside her.

Firebrass grinned again. “You’re not the only one in agony,” he said. “I want you in the worst way, just as you want in the worst way, that is, the best way, to be one of the crew. But I’ve got my principles, just as you have yours.”

He jerked a thumb at Schwartz and Hardy. “Look at them. Both nineteenth-century. One’s an Austrian; one, a New Englander. But they’ve not only accepted me as the captain, they’re good friends. Maybe they still believe, way deep down, that I’m an uppity nig­ger, but they’d take a poke at anyone who called me that. Right, men?”

They nodded.

“Thirty-one years on The Riverworld changes a person. If he’s capable of being changed. So, what do you say? Want to hear the constitution of Parolando?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t make a decision until I knew what I was getting into.”

“It was formulated by the great Sam Clemens, who left on his boat, the Mark Twain, almost a year ago.”

“The Mark Twain? That’s pretty egostistical, isn’t it?”

“The name was chosen by popular vote. Sam protested, though not very strongly. Anyway, you interrupted me. There’s an unwrit­ten rule that nobody interrupts the captain. So here goes. We, the people of Parolando, do hereby declare …”

There was no hesitation nor, as far as she knew, any mistakes in the long recital. The almost total lack of the written word had forced the literate population to rely on memory. A skill that once had flourished only among preliterates-and actors-was now general property.

While the words rose to the sky, the sky became brighter. The mists shrank to their knees. The valley floor was still covered with what looked at a distance like snow. The foothills beyond the plains were no longer distorted. The long hillgrass, the bushes, the iron-trees, oaks, pines, yews, and bamboo no longer looked like a Japanese painting, misty, unreal, and far off. The huge flowers that grew from the thick vines intertwined on the irontree branches were beginning to collect color. When the sun would hit them, they would glow with vivid reds, greens, blues, blacks, whites, yellows, stripes and diamonds of mixed colors.