Next Hokas Pokas They’re Baaaaack! When a human thinks he’s Napoleon Bonaparte. it’s time to get out a straitjacket. But when a Hoka thinks he’s Napoleon Bonaparte, you’d better believe it! Particularly since there’ll bet hundreds of other Hokas around who know for a fact that they’re the French army mon amis, even if they’re on another planet light years away from Earth, and the forces they’re facing aren’t the British but very nasty warlike aliens who by all reason should be expected to make mincemeat of of the Hokas. But when it comes to Hokas, reason does not compute. These friendly, fuzzy aliens who resemble large Teddy bears have a very vivid imagination and have never quite grasped the difference between human fiction and reality, or (in the present case}, between past history and the much later and rather different present. Always bet on the Hokas. Even when a young lad and his Hoka tutor find themselves stuck on a planet where they seem to be scheduled to fulfill an ancient (and lethal) prophecy that neither of them had ever heard of until now, Hokas as usual find that reatity is merely optional and the good guys - and bears - always win, quicker than you can say HOKAS POKAS “… the funniest s-f ever written.” - A Readers Guide to Science Fiction “You aren’t apt to find a more gleeful book of S-F.” - The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction “I’ll bet you can’t read just one.” - Philadelphia Weekly Press Publisher’s Note: Hokas Pokas! has been published in parts. This is the first unitary edition. Paperback Cover art by Michael Whelan, designed by Patrick Turner This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. First printing, January 2000 Distributed by Simon & Schuster 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 Printed in the United States of America ISBN: 0-671-57858-8 Copyright (c) 1983 “Prologue”, by Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson; (c) 1957 Full Pack (Hokas Wild), The Mercury Press, Inc.; (c) 1983 The Napoleon Crime, by Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson; (c) 1975 Star Prince Charlie, by Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. A Baen Books Original Baen Publishing Enterprises P.O. Box 1403 Riverdale, NY 10471 http://www.baen.com Typeset by Windhaven Press Auburn, NH Electronic version by WebWrights http://www.webwrights.com Other Books in This Series: Hoka! Hoka! Hoka! Baen Books by Poul Anderson Fire Time Three Hearts and Three Lions Baen Books by Gordon R. Dickson The Magnificent Wilf Mindspan CONTENTS Part I: Full Pack (Hokas Wild) Part II: The Napoleon Crime Part III: Star Prince Charlie Next Back | Next I. Full Pack (Hokas Wild) Prologue From the Encyclopaedia Galactica, 11th edition: TOKA: Brackney’s Star III. The sun (NSC 7-190853426) is of type G2, located in Region Deneb, approximately 503 lightyears from Sol… . The third planet appears Earthlike, to a sufficiently superficial observer … There are three small moons, their League names being Uha, Buha, and Huha. As is customary in the case of inhabited planets, these derive from a major autochthonous language (see NOMENCLATURE: Astronomical). It was discovered too late that they mean, respectively, “Fat,” “Drunk,” and “Sluggish.” … At least “Toka” means “Earth.” However, indigenous tongues have become little more than historical curiosities, displaced by whatever Terrestrial speech suits the role of the moment… . Two intelligent species evolved, known today as the Hokas and the Slissii. The former are quasi-mammalian, the latter reptiloid… . Conflict was ineluctable… . It terminated after human explorers had come upon the system and the Interbeing League took charge… . In effect, the Slissii were bought out. Abandoning their home world en masse, they became free wanderers throughout civilization, much to its detriment. (See SLISSII. See also COMPUTER CRIME; CONFIDENCE GAMES; EMBEZZLEMENT; GAMBLING: Crooked; MISREPRESENTATION; POLITICS.) The ursinoid Hokas generally stayed in place. No nation of theirs refused to accept League tutelage, which of course has had the objective of raising their level of civilization to a point where autonomy and full membership can be granted. Rather, they all agreed with an eagerness which should have warned the Commissioners… . The fact is that the Hokas are the most imaginative race of beings in known space, and doubtless in unknown space too. Any role that strikes their fancy they will play, individually or as a group, to the limits of the preposterous and beyond. This does not imply deficiency of intellect, for they are remarkably quick to learn. It does not even imply that they lose touch with reality; indeed, they have been heard to complain that reality often loses touch with them. It does demonstrate a completely protean personality. Added to that are a physical strength and energy astonishing in such comparatively small bodies. Thus, in the course of a few short years, the “demon teddy bears,” to use a popular phrase for them, have covered their planet with an implausible kaleidoscope of harlequin societies describable only by some such metaphor as the foregoing… . Back | Next Framed Title: Hokas Pokas Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson ISBN: 0-671-57858-8 Copyright: 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson Publisher: Baen Books Back | Next Full Pack When one is a regular ambassador to a civilized planet with full membership in the Interbeing League, it is quite sufficient to marry a girl who is only blond and beautiful. However, a plenipotentiary, guiding a backward world along the tortuous path to modern culture and full status, needs a wife who is also competent to handle the unexpected. Alexander Jones had no reason to doubt that his Tanni met all the requirements of blondness, beauty, and competence. Neither did she. After a dozen years of Toka, he did not hesitate to leave her in charge while he took a native delegation to Earth and arranged for the planet’s advancement in grade. And for a while things went smoothlyas smoothly, at least, as they can go on a world of eager, energetic teddy bears with imaginations active to the point of autohypnosis. Picture her, then, on a sunny day shortly after lunch, walking through her official residence in the city Mixumaxu. Bright sunshine streamed through the glassite wall, revealing a pleasant view of cobbled streets, peaked roofs, and the grim towers of the Bastille. (This was annually erected by a self-appointed Roi Soleil, and torn down again by happy sans-culottes every July 14.) Tanni Jones’ brief tunic and long golden hair were in the latest Bangkok fashion, even on this remote outpost, and her slim tanned figure would never be outmoded and she was comfortably aware of the fact. She had just checked the nursery, finding her two younger children safe at play. A newly arrived letter from her husband was tucked into her bosom. It announced in one sentence that his mission had been successful; thereafter several pages were devoted to more important matters, such as his imminent return with a new fur coat and he wished he could have been in the envelope and meanwhile he loved her madly, passionately, etc. She was murmuring to herself. Let us listen. “Damn and blast it to hell, anyway! Where is that little monster?” As she passed the utility room, a small, round-bellied, yellow-furred ursinoid popped out. This was Carruthers. His official title was Secretary-in-Chief-to-the- Plenipotentiary, which meant whatever Carruthers decided it should mean. Tanni felt relieved that today he was dressed merely in anachronistic trousers, spats, coat, and bowler hat, umbrella furled beneath one arm, and spoke proper Oxford English. Last week it had been a toga, and he had brought her messages written in Latin with Greek characters; he had also buttonholed every passerby with the information that she, Tanni, was above suspicion. “The newsfax sheet, madam,” he bowed. “Just came off the jolly old printer, don’t y’know.” “Oh. Thanks.” She took the bulletin and swept her eyes down it. Sensational tidings from Earth Headquarters: the delegates from Worben and Porkelans accused of conspiracy; Goldfarb’s Planet awarded to Bagdadburgh; a League- wide alert for a Starflash space yacht which had been seen carrying the Tertiary Receptacle of Wisdom of Sanussi and the as-yet-unidentified dastards who had kidnaped him from his planet’s Terrestrial embassy; commercial agreement governing the xisfthikl traffic signed between Jruthn and PtrfskTanni handed it back. There were too many worlds for anyone to remember; none of the names meant a thing to her. “Have you seen young Alex?” she inquired. Carruthers screwed a monocle into one beady black eye and tapped his short muzzle with the umbrella handle. “Why, yes, I do believe so, eh, what, what, what?” “Well, where is he?” “He asked me not to tell, madam.” Carruthers eyed her reproachfully. “Couldn’t peach on him, now could I? Old School Tie and all that sort of bally old …” Tanni stalked off with the secretary still bleating behind her. True, she thought, her children did attend the same school which educated the adult Hokas, but … Hah! In way, it was too bad Alex was returning so soon. She had long felt that he didn’t take a firm enough line with his mercurial charges. He was too easily reduced to gibbering bewilderment. Now she was made of sterner stuff, andin a Boadicean mood, she swept through a glassite passageway to the flitter garage. Yes, there was her oldest son, Alexander Braithwaite Jones, Jr., curled up on the front seat with his nose buried in an ancient but well-preserved folio volume. She much regretted giving it to him. Her idea had been that he could carry it under one arm and enjoy it between bouts of healthful outdoor play, rather than having to sit hunched over a microset; but all he did was read it, sneaking off to places like “Alexander!” The boy, a nine-year-old, tanglehaired pocket edition of his father, started guiltily. “Oh, hello, Mom,” he smiled. It quite melted her resolve. “Now, Alex,” said Tanni in a reasonable tone, “you know you ought to be out getting some exercise. You’ve already read those Jungle Books a dozen times.” “Aw, golly, Mom,” protested the younger generation. “You give me a book and then you won’t let me read it!” “Alexander!” Boadicea had returned in full armor. “You know perfectly well what I mean. Now I told you to” “Madam,” squeaked a voice, “the devil’s to pay!” Tanni yipped and jumped. Remembering herself, she turned in a suitably dignified manner to see Carruthers, hastily clad in pith helmet and fake walrus mustache. “Message on the transtype just came,” said the Hoka. “From Injah, don’t y’ know. Seems a bit urgent.” Tanni snatched the paper he extended and read: FROM: Captain O’Neil of the Black Tyrone TO: Rt. Hon. Plen. A. Jones SUBJECT: UFO (Unidentified Flying Object) identified. Your Excellency: While burying dead and bolting beef north of the Kathun road, received word from native scout of UFO crashed in jungle nearby, containing three beasts of unknown origin. Interesting, what? Yr. Humble & Obt. Svt., etc., “Crook” O’Neil For a moment Tanni had a dreamlike sense of unreality. Then, slowly, she translated the Hokaese. Yes … there were some Hokas from this northern hemisphere who had moved down to the sub-continent due south which the natives had gleefully rechristened India, and set themselves up as Imperialists. The Indians were quite happy to cooperate, since it meant that they could wear turbans and mysterious expressions. Vaguely she recalled Kipling’s Ballad of Boh Da Thone. It dealt with Burma, to be sure, but if consistency is the virtue of little minds, then the Hokas were very large-minded indeed. India was mostly Kipling country, with portions here and there belonging to Clive, the Grand Mogul, and lesser lights. The UFO must be a spaceship and the “beasts,” of course, its crew, from some other planet. God alone knew what they would think if the Indians located them first and assumed they werewhat would Hokas convinced they were Hindus, Pathans, and Britishers imagine alien space travelers to be? “Carruthers!” said Tanni sharply. “Has there been any distress call on the radio?” “No, madam, there has not. And damme, I don’t like it. Don’t like it at all. When I was with Her Majesty’s Very Own Royal, Loyal, and Excessively Brave Fifth Fusiliers, I” Tanni’s mind worked swiftly. This was just the sort of situation in which Alex, Sr., was always getting involved and coming off second best. It was her chance to show him how these matters ought to be handled. “Carruthers,” she snapped, “you and I will take the flitter and go to the rescue of these aliens. And I want it clearly understood that” “Mom! Can I go? Can I go, huh, Mom, can I?” It was Alex, Jr., hopping up and down with excitement, his eyes shining. “No,” began Tanni. “You stay here and read your book and” She checked herself, aware of the pitfall. Countermanding her own orders! Here was a heaven-sent opportunity to get the boy out of the house and interested in something newlike, for example, these castaways. They were clearly beings of authority or means, important beings, or they could not afford a private spaceship. There was no danger involved; Toka’s India was a land of congenial climate, without any life-forms harmful to man. “You can go,” she told Alex severely, “if you’ll do exactly as I say at all times. Now that means exactly.” “Yes, yes, yes. Sure, Mom, sure.” “All right, then,” said Tanni. She ran back into the house, making hasty arrangements with the servants, while Carruthers set the flitter’s autopilot to locating the British bivouac. In minutes, two humans and one Hoka were skyborne. * The camp proved to be a collection of tents set among fronded trees and tangled vines, drowsy under the late afternoon sun. A radio and a transtype were the only modern equipment, a reluctant concession to the plenipotentiary’s program of technological education. They stood at the edge of the clearing, covered with jungle mold, while the Black Tyrone, a hundred strong, drilled with musket, fife, and drum. Captain O’Neil was a grizzled, hard-bitten Hoka in shorts, tunic, and bandolier. He. limped across the clearing, pith helmet in hand, as Tanni emerged from the flitter with Alex and Carruthers. “Honored, ma’am,” he bowed. “Pardon my one-sided gait, ma’am. Caught a slug in the ulnar bone recently.” (Tanni knew very well he had not; there was no war on Toka, and anyway the ulnar bone is in the arm.) “Now a slug that is hammered from telegraph wireah, a book?” His eyes lit up with characteristic enthusiasm, and Tanni, looking around, discovered the reason in her son’s arms. “Alex!” she said. “Did you bring that Jungle Books thing along?” His downcast face told her that he had. “I’m not going to bother with it any longer. You hand that right over to Captain O’Neil and let him keep it for you till we leave for home again.” “Awwwww, Mom!” “Right now!” “is a thorn in the flesh and a rankling fire,” murmured Captain O’Neil. “Ah, thank you, m’boy. Well, well, what have we here? The Jungle Books, by Rudyard Kipling himself! Never seen ‘em before.” Humming a little tune, he opened the volume. “Now, where is that UFO?” demanded Tanni. “Have you rescued its crew yet?” “No, ma’am,” said the Captain, with his nose between the pages. “Going to go look for ‘em this morning, but we were hanging Danny Deever and” His voice trailed off into a mumble. Tanni compressed her lips. “Well, we shall have to find them,” she clipped. “Is it far? Should we go overland or take the flitter?” “Er … yes, ma’am? Ha, hum,” said O’Neil, closing the book reluctantly but marking the place with a furry forefinger. “Not far. Overland, I would recommend. You’d find landing difficult in our jungles here in the Seeonee Hills” “The what?” “Er … I mean north of the Kathun road. A wolf … I mean, a native scout brought us the word. Perhaps you’d care to talk to him, ma’am?” “I would,” said Tanni. “Right away.” O’Neil shouted for Gunga Din and sent him off to look, then dove back into the volume. Presently another Hoka slouched from behind a tent. He was of the local race, which had fur of midnight black, but was otherwise indistinguishable from the portly northern variety. Unless, of course, you specified his costume: turban, baggy trousers, loose shirt, assorted cutlery thrust into a sash, and a flaming red false beard. He salaamed.