RETURN ENGAGEMENT
By Margaret St. Clair
The Earthman made the mistake of breaking
a law on the alien world. Naturally he had to
be chastised—in a manner to suit the aliens!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
January 1952
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"The ingratitude of humans," McBream said broodingly, "is amazing.Loan a Martian a couple of I.U.'s when he's in a spot, and he'll sendyou greeting cards on the anniversary for the rest of his life. Fisha terrestrial out of the water when he's drowning, and he sends youa bill from the tailor for resurfacin' his suit. Passengers!" McBreamspat in the direction of the lucite cuspidor.
I picked up the book from McBream's desk and examined it. It wasbeautifully printed on outsize sheets of silky preemitex, and bound insmooth, deep-garnet Vellumium. On the spine of the book, in shiningmiraloy, ran the words, FARQUARSON'S ENCHIRIDION OF EXTRA-TERRESTRIALCOOKERY.
"This what you're so sore about?" I asked.
"Sore?" McBream snorted. "Who's sore? Only petty, small-souledindividuals get sore at things. Me, I'm suffering from an attack ofrighteous wrath. I'm not vindictive, but I hope Farquarson chokes overone of his own recipes."
"The name sounds familiar," I ventured.
"It should be. Farquarson is culinary editor of Pro Homine, thesuper-sharp magazine for men. You must have heard of him. That bookin your hand is supposed to be his masterpiece. Masterpiece!" McBreamsnorted again.
"It isn't as though he hadn't plenty of room for it," my friendcontinued in an aggrieved tone after a silence. "The first ten pagesof the book are taken up with acknowledgments and expressions ofgratitude—you know, stuff like, 'My deep thanks, too, are due toLogarithmia McCloy for her skillful and patient typing of this book'smanuscript.' And it's dedicated to his hexapod, Waldmeister SchnitzelV. Luftraumzug, 'My six-legged friend and constant companion.' Butdoes he mention Joseph McBream, first mate of the S. S. Tisiphone,anywhere in it? Just once? Just one single time? He does not. And yet,if it hadn't been for me that book would never have been written."
"Did you help him with the recipes?" I asked.
"I did not," Joseph returned decisively. "I'm no greasy groon-slinger.The recipes in the ENCHIRIDION—agh, what a flossy way to sayhandbook—came out of Farquarson's own little head. No, I didn't helphim with the recipes. I only saved his life."
"Tell me about it," I said.
"He got on the Tisiphone at Marsport," Joseph McBream said, "witha sky-blue hexapod, four robot porters to carry his luggage, and abeautiful blonde secretary who couldn't spell even using phonemes.About half his stateroom was taken up with cooking stuff. He hadpressure vats and tenderizers and relayed casseroles, more damnedjunk than you ever saw outside a museum. He probably had a coupleof alembics and an athanor. It was all of it breakable, and the OldMan told everyone on board to be careful of it. Farquarson was somedynast's brother-in-law, and he didn't want to go offending him."
"What was he like personally?" I queried.
"Farquarson? Oh, dignified. God-awful dignified in a loose-jointedintellectual sort of way. He always wore sports clothes and talked witha sort of lazy drawl. His manners were beautiful. Everybody on boardhated him.
"The first night out he got into a fracas with the cook about theproper way of barbolizing bollo ribs. Marno, being half-Venusian, was asort of excitable gesell anyhow, and pretty soon we heard noise