“Suppose,” the Meeg said, “we Meegs were to offer you a new contract?”
“We have a prior agreement with the Sarkangers,” Gregor said. “It wouldn’t be legal.”
“It would be perfectly legal in any Meeg court,” the Meeg said. “A basic principle of Meeg jurisprudence is that no contract with a Sarkanger is binding.”
“My partner and I will have to think about it,” Arnold said. “It’s a difficult position.”
“I appreciate that,” the Meeg said. “I’ll give you a change to think it over. Just remember that the Sarkangers deserve to be exterminated and that you’ll make a handsome profit as well as earning the undying gratitude of a race of intelligent and not, I think, unlikable cats.”
After the Meeg had left, Gregor said, “Let’s just get out of here. This is not a very nice business.”
“We can’t just up and leave,” Arnold said. “Non-fulfillment of contract is a serious matter. We’re going to have to exterminate one race or the other.”
“I won’t do it,” Gregor said.
“You don’t seem to understand our extremely precarious legal position,” Arnold told him. “The courts will crucify us if we don’t wipe out the Meegs as we promised. But if we exterminate the Sarkangers we could at least claim an honest mistake.”
“It’s morally complicated,” Gregor said. “I don’t like problems like that.”
“It gets even more complicated,” a voice said behind them.
Arnold jumped as though touched by an electric wire. Gregor went into a state of frozen immobility.
“I’m over here,” the voice said.
They looked around. There was nobody there. Only a large saunicus cabbage on the ground all by itself at the edge of their camp. Somehow this saunicus looked more intelligent than most of the ones they had seen. But could it have spoken?
“Yes, yes,” said the saunicus. “I spoke to you. Telepathically, of course, since vegetables—in whose family I am proud to consider myself a member—have no organs of articulation.”
“But vegetables can’t telepathize,” Arnold said. “They have no brains or other organs to telepathize with. Excuse me, I don’t mean to be offensive.”
“We don’t need organs,” the saunicus said. “Don’t you know that all matter with a sufficiently complex degree of organization possesses intelligence? Communication is the inevitable concomitant of intelligence. Only the higher vegetables such as myself can telepathize. Saunicus intelligence is being studied at your Harvard University. We have even applied for observer status at your United Planets. Under the circumstances, I think we should have a say in this matter of who gets exterminated.”
“True, it’s only fair,” Gregor said. “After all, it’s you the Meegs and the Sarkangers are fighting over.”
“To be more precise,” the saunicus said, “they are fighting over which race will have the exclusive right to rend, tear, and mutilate us. Or do I state the case unfairly?”
“No, that seems to sum it up,” Gregor said. “Which one do you vote for?”
“As you might expect, I am in favor of neither. Both those races are contemptible vermin. I vote for an entirely different solution.”
“I was afraid of that,” Arnold said. “What did you have in mind?”
“Simple enough. Sign a contract with me to rid my planet of both Meegs and Sarkangers.”
“Oh, no,” Gregor said.
“We are, after all, much the earliest inhabitants of this planet. We arrived not long after the lichens, before animal life had even developed. We are peaceful, indigenous, and threatened by barbarous newcomers. It seems to me that your moral duty is clear.”
Arnold sighed. “Morality is all very well. But there are practical considerations, too.”
“I am aware of that,” the saunicus said. “Aside from your satisfaction for doing a good job, we would be prepared to sign a contract and pay you double what the others have offered.”
“Look,” Arnold said, “it’s difficult for me to believe that a vegetable has a bank account.”
“Intelligence, no matter what form it comes in, can always get money. Working through our holding company, Saunicus Entertainment Modalities, we publish books and tapes and compile data bases on a variety of subjects. We impart our knowledge telepathically to Terran authors whom we hire at a flat rate per page. Our gardening section is especially profitable: only a vegetable can be a true expert on growing plants. I think you will find our Dun & Bradstreet rating more than adequate.”
The saunicus went to a distant part of the field to give the partners a chance to talk it over. When he was fifty yards away—outside of telepathic range—Arnold said, “I didn’t much like that cabbage. He seemed too smart for his own good, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, it was like he was trying to prove something,” Gregor said. “But the Meeg—didn’t you sense something untrustworthy about him?”
Arnold nodded. “And the Sarkanger who began all this—he seemed like a thoroughly unscrupulous character.”
Gregor said, “It’s difficult to decide which race to exterminate on such short acquaintance. I wish we knew them a little better.”
“Let’s just exterminate somebody, anybody,” Arnold said, “and get finished with this job. But which?”
“We’ll flip a coin. Then no one can accuse us of being prejudiced.”
“But there are three parties to choose from.”
“So we draw straws. I just don’t know what else to do.”
Just at that moment a tremendous clap of thunder came rolling off the nearby mountains. The sky, previously a light azure, now turned dark and ominous. Massive, quick-moving cumulus bubbled and frothed across the horizon. From the vast vault of the heavens there came a tremendous voice:
“I can stand for this no longer!”
“Oh my God,” Gregor said, “we’ve offended somebody!”
“To whom are we speaking?” Arnold said, looking up at the sky.
“I am the voice of this planet which you know as Sarkan.”
“I never knew planets could talk,” Gregor mumbled under his breath. But the being or whoever it was picked it up at once.
“In general,” the voice said, “we planets do not bother communicating with the tiny creatures who crawl across our surfaces. We are content with our own thoughts, and with the company of our own kind. The occasional comet brings us news of distant places, and that’s enough for us. We try to ignore the nonsense that goes on on our surfaces. But sometimes it gets to be too much. These murderous Sarkangers, Meegs, and saunicus which inhabit me are simply too vile to be tolerated any longer. I am about to take an appropriate and long overdue action.”
“What are you going to do?” Arnold asked.
“I shall flood myself to a mean depth of ten meters, thus disposing of Sarkangers, Meegs, and saunicus. A few innocent species will also suffer, but what the hell, that’s the way it goes. You two have one hour to get out of here. After that, I can’t be held responsible for your safety.”
The partners packed up quickly and returned to their spaceship.
“Thanks for the warning,” Gregor said just before they took off.
“It’s not out of any fondness for you,” the planet replied. “As far as I’m concerned you’re vermin just like the others. But you’re vermin from another planet. If word ever got out that I wiped you out, others of your species would come with their atom bombs and laser cannons and destroy me as a rogue planet. So get out of here while I’m still in a good mood.”
Several hours later, in orbit above Sarkan, Arnold and Gregor watched scenes of fantastic destruction take place before their eyes.
When it was over, Gregor set a course for home.
“I suppose,” he said to Arnold, “that this is the end of AAA Ace. We’ve forfeited our contract. The Sarkanger’s lawyers will nail us.”
Arnold looked up. He had been studying the contract. “No,” he said, “Oddly enough, I think
we’re in the clear. Read that last paragraph.”
Gregor read it and scratched his head. “I see what you mean. But do you think it’ll hold up in court?”
“Sure it will. Floods are always considered Acts of God. And if we don’t tell and the planet doesn’t tell, who’s ever going to know different?”
AT THE CONFERENCE OF THE BIRDS
So respect the child within you because he knows the truth: he was kidnapped and put into an aging body and given unpleasant work and a lot of stupid rules to follow. From time to time, the child wakes up in the grownup’s body and finds there’s no one left on the baseball field and he can’t even find his ball and glove, that the little river beside which he used to read poetry and eat licorice lozenges has been swallowed up by the utilitarianism of a world which permits a stream to exist only if it proves useful to pollute. What a strange world, when each tree, each flower, each blade of grass, each bee and swallow has to earn a living, and even the lilies of the field must have a care for tomorrow. The oversight that Christ noticed: “They reap not, neither do they sow . . .” has now been corrected. In this new world, everything reaps and sows and commits a double blasphemy by ascribing it all to the grace of God. The swallows have failed to fulfill their quota of mosquitoes; they will be punished. The squirrel’s granary is full of acorns, but he has neglected to pay his income tax.
There was great consternation in the world, for the hand of man had reached out, had discovered a way to communicate with all living things, had discovered at last a way of being understood and of understanding. And what did they choose to say? That our labor is required in their scheme of things. No longer are we to go our way and they theirs; now we are to work for them. “It’s not just for ourselves,” the humans said. “Don’t think we don’t recognize how unseemly this must seem, trying to tax the previously untaxable. But these are troubled times. Due to various forms of bad luck and (we admit it) mismanagement by our predecessors, to whom we bear no resemblance and from whom we repudiate all relationship, it is necessary now for everyone to work. Not just the human beings and their allies, the horses and dogs. All of us must make an effort to repair the damage, so that we will still have a planet to live on. This being the case, please spare me the lilies of the field routine. At least they can collect moisture for our water replenishment scheme. And the birds can bring us twigs and bits of sod from the few wooded areas left, so that we can start our reforestation. We haven’t made contact with the bacteria yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I’m sure they will do their part, because they are by all accounts sober-minded and serious people.”
Graylag, the great gray goose of the northern latitudes, had been late in getting the news. He and his flock usually went further north than anybody else, to the regions where the low summer sun flashed off bright waters pierced with dark wooded islands. The sooty terns arrived soon after, and they brought the news.
“Listen, geese, it’s finally happened! The humans have held discussions with us!”
Graylag was less than enthusiastic about this news. In fact, this was just what he had been dreading.
“What did they say?” he asked.
“Just ‘happy to see you,’ that sort of thing. They really seemed rather nice.”
“Sure, humans always seem nice at first,” Graylag said. “But then they do something unthinkable and unspeakable. Which of us would hang up humanskins on our walls, mount the stuffed head of a hunter on the wall of a cave, or paint pictures of deer bringing a wounded hunstman to bay? They go too far, humans, they presume too much.”
“Maybe it’s different for them now,” the sooty tern said. “They’ve been through a lot recently.”
“Haven’t we all!” Graylag sniffed.
The tern flew on. The terns were nesting this year near Lake Baikal, where the big human rocket station had been. New grass and seeds were growing nicely in the cracks of the lava shield that resulted when the installation melted down under nuclear attack.
There had been disturbances all over Earth. The terns had suffered sad losses, as had all the other species they knew. Only some of the underwater species had profited—sharks and moray eels were doing nicely—but at least they had the good taste not to rub it in. They knew they were perverse to be able to benefit by what came near to causing the end of all life on the Earth.
Later in the season, a flight of ptarmigan came through to the north and exchanged information with Graylag.
“How is it going between you and the humans?” Graylag asked.
“Well, frankly, not so good.”
“Eating you, are they?” said Graylag.
“Oh, no, they’re being very good about that,” the ptarmigan said. “Downright silly about it, in fact. They seem to think that just because you can converse intelligently with a fellow means you shouldn’t eat him. Which makes no sense at all. Wolves and bears talk as well as anyone, and it never occurs to them to give up meat in favor of salads. We eat what we must and we all get along somehow, isn’t that right?”
“Of course,” said Graylag. “But what seems to be the trouble, then?”
“Well, you’re not going to believe this, Graylag.”
“About humans? Try me!”
“Very well. They want us to work for them.”
“You? The ptarmigans?”
“Among others.”
“Who else?”
“Everybody. All the animals and all the birds.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe it.”
“Nevertheless, it’s true.”
“Work for them? What do you mean? You’re not exactly of a size to carry a pick and shovel or scrub dishes—the two jobs humans seem to have the most need to fill.”
“I don’t know exactly what they mean,” the ptarmigan said. “I got out before they could make me do it, whatever it is.”
“How could they make you?”
The ptarmigan said, “Oh gray goose, you don’t know much about men! You may know the high empty skies, but you don’t know men. Don’t you know that whereas birds can fly and fish can swim and turtles can crawl, men can talk? It is talk that is the excellence of a man, and he can convince you to do anything he wants, if he talks at you long enough.”
“Convince you to work for them?”
“Yes, and pay taxes, too.”
“But this is madness! One of their own holy men promised us exemption from all that. He said, they reap not, neither do they sow. We have our own things to do. We live in the aesthetic dimension. We are not utilitarian.”
The ptarmigan looked discomfited and said, “You should have been there. You’d have to hear them talk.”
“And then become a beast of burden! Never, ptarmigan!”
Sometime later, a conference was held among several species of large predatory birds. This was the first time eagle, hawk, and owl shared the same branches. The meeting was held in a wooded valley in northern Oregon, one of the few areas in the northwest that had escaped direct nuclear effects. A man was there, too.
“It’s easy enough to blame this mess on us,” the man said. “But we’re just creatures like the rest of you, and we did only what seemed best. If you were in our situation, do you think you would have done any better? It’s too easy an answer to say that man is bad, kick him out and the rest of us will live in peace. Men have always been saying that to each other. But it should be obvious that there’s no way everything can stay as it was. Things have to change.”
The animals objected, “You men are not natural. There can be no cooperation between you and the rest of us.”
“Not natural?” the man said. “Perhaps this mess around us, this shrinking down of the habitable earth, this cutting back of the proliferation of species, was not an accident or an evil. The lightning that starts the forest fire isn’t evil. Perhaps we humans are nature’s way of producing atomic explosions without dragging stellar cataclysms into it.”
“Perhaps,” the animals said. “But what’s the
point? The damage was been done. What do you want from us now?”
“The Earth is in pretty sorry shape,” the man said. “And there may be worse to come. We all have to work now, to restore soil, water, vegetation, to give ourselves a chance. This is the only task left to us now, all of us.”
“But what has that to do with us?” the animals asked.
“Frankly, you birds and animals have had it easy for long enough. It must have been nice for you, the millions of years without responsibility. Well, the fun’s over now. All of us have work to do.”
A pileated woodpecker raised his rakish head and said, “Why must we animals do it all? What about the plants? They just sit around and grow. Is that equitable?”
“We have already contacted the plants,” the man said. “They are prepared to do their duty. We have discussions going on with some of the larger bacteria, too. This time we’re all in it together.”
Animals and birds are essentially simple-minded and of romantic natures. They cannot resist the fine words of a man, because those words act on them like the finest food, sex, and slumber combined. Even animals dream of the perfect world of future.
The tern grasped a twig in his claw. He said to Graylag, “Do you think men can be trusted?”
“Certainly not,” Graylag said. “But what does that matter?” He grasped a bit of bark. “It’s all changed now, but whether for the better or the worse I don’t know. All I do know is this: it is probably going to be interesting.” Grasping the bit of bark, he flew over to add it to the pile.
DIVINE INTERVENTION
There is a planet called Atalla. On this planet there is a stupendous mountain. It is called Sanito. Civilizations flourish in the temperate regions at the mountain’s base. The mountain, its upper half sheathed in eternal ice, is the dominant feature of all the lands thereabouts. Avalanches continually rain down its sides. Where it is not steep, it is sheer; where it is not sheer, it is precipitous.
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