“He’s already doing that” Simms interrupted.
There was silence again for almost two minutes. Forefinger and thumb of Fredericks’ right hand moved with infinite care on a set of dials on the side of the scanner; otherwise neither he nor Simms stirred.
“Oh-hoo-hoo-haw!” Dr. John Fredericks cried suddenly. “Oh-hoo-hoo-HAW! A message, Ollie! Your Mr. Chard has left you a. . . hoo-hoo. . . message.”
For a moment McAllen couldn’t see clearly through the scanner. Fredericks was still laughing; Simms was saying in a rapid voice, “It’s quite all right, doctor! Quite all right. Your man’s sane, quite sane. In fact you’ve made, one might guess, a one hundred per cent convert to the McAllen approach to life. Can’t you see it?”
“No,” gasped McAllen. He had a vague impression of the top of the desk in the main room of the cabin, of something white—a white card—taped to it, of blurred printing on the card. “Nothing’s getting that boy unduly excited any more,” Simms’ voice went on beside him. “Not even the prospect of Beeing visitors from Earth for the first time in five years. But he’s letting you know it’s perfectly all right to make yourself at home in his cabin until he gets back. Here, let me—”
He reached past McAllen, adjusted the scanner. The printing on the card swam suddenly into focus before McAllen’s eyes.
The message was terse, self-explanatory, to the point:
GONE FISHING.
Regards,
B. Chard
BIG ANCESTOR
F.L. Wallace
People who still believe that man was created supreme among the beasts, as Adam was created master of all he surveyed (except Eve), blithely close their eyes to the anthropological, embryological, and paleontological evidence. Most modern scientists worth their salt believe that the direct ancestors of man were extremely humble animals.
The dominant scientific school of thought, probably the most valid on the present evidence, holds that those ancestors lived and evolved through the eons of the Great Reptiles—tyrannosaurs and the rest—because they were small, skulking, and only a nuisance to the dominant life-form of the time. They could scuttle in the lush undergrowth or scamper through the high prehistoric trees, keeping well out of the way of the monster saurian “elites” that ruled the roost for hundreds of thousands of years. And thus they survived—an occasional meal for their “betters,” but more usually a mere pest. Vermin.
So now the question arises, evolution being an inexorable creator of change, what is to follow man? Mr. Wallace has some pungent ideas on this: so pungent, indeed, that the amiable alien he dreams up doubts whether his human companions can stand the news, once it is revealed to them. It turns out that they can, but it is a hard lesson, for them and for us readers-of-today. A hard but salutary one, engendering a sense of proportion which is essential if a truly civilized humility is to be achieved. Unfortunately, many people find it hard to be that civilized . . .
In repose Taphetta the ribboner resembled a fancy giant bow on a package. His four flat legs looped out and in, the ends tucked under his wide, thin body, which constituted the knot at the middle. His neck was flat, too, arching out in another loop. Of all his features, only his head had appreciable thickness and it was crowned with a dozen long though narrower ribbons.
Taphetta rattled the head fronds together in a surprisingly good imitation of speech. “Yes, I’ve heard the legend.”
“It’s more than a legend,” said Sam Halden, biologist. The reaction was not unexpected—non-humans tended to dismiss the data as convenient speculation and nothing more. “There are at least a hundred kinds of humans, each supposedly originating in strict seclusion on as many widely scattered planets. Obviously there was no contact throughout the ages before space travel—and yet each planetary race can interbreed with a minimum of ten others. That’s more than a legend—one bell of a lot more!”
“It is impressive,” admitted Taphetta. “But I find it mildly distasteful to consider mating with someone who does not belong to my species.”
“That’s because you’re unique,” said Halden. “Outside of your own world, there’s nothing like your species, except superficially, and that’s true of all other creatures, intelligent or not with the sole exception of mankind. Actually, the four of us here, though it’s accidental, very nearly represent the biological spectrum of human development.
“Emmer, a Neanderthal type and our archeologist, is around the beginning of the scale. I’m from Earth, near the middle, though on Emmer’s side. Meredith, linguist is on the other side of the middle. And beyond her, toward the far end, is Kelburn, mathematician. There’s a corresponding span of fertility. Emmer just misses being able to breed with my kind, but there’s a fair chance that I’d be fertile with Meredith and a similar though lesser chance that her fertility may extend to Kelburn.”
Taphetta rustled his speech ribbons quizzically. “But I thought it was proved that some humans did originate on one planet, that there was an unbroken line of evolution that could be traced back a billion years.”
“You’re thinking of Earth,” said Halden. “Humans require a certain kind of planet. It’s reasonable to assume that if men were set down on a hundred such worlds, they’d seem to fit in with native life-forms on a few of them. That’s what happened on Earth; when Man arrived, there was actually a manlike creature there. Naturally our early evolutionists stretched their theories to cover the facts they had.
“But there are other worlds in which humans who were there before the Stone Age aren’t related to anything else there. We have to conclude that Man didn’t originate on any of the planets on which he is now found. Instead, he evolved elsewhere and later was scattered throughout this section of the Milky Way.”
“And so, to account for the unique race that can interbreed across thousands of light-years, you’ve brought in the big ancestor,” commented Taphetta dryly. ‘It seems an unnecessary simplification.”
“Can you think of a better explanation?” asked Kelburn. “Something had to distribute one species so widely and it’s not the result of parallel evolution—not when a hundred human races are involved, and only the human race.”
“I can think of a better explanation.” Taphetta rearranged his ribbons. “Frankly, no one else is much interested in Man’s theories about himself.”
It was easy to understand the attitude. Man was the most numerous though not always the most advanced—Ribboneers had a civilization as high as anything in the known section of the Milky Way, and there were others—and humans were more than a little feared. If they ever got together—but they hadn’t except in agreement as to their common origin.
Still, Taphetta the Ribboneer was an experienced pilot and could be very useful. A clear statement of their position was essential in helping him make up his mind. “You’ve heard of the adjacency mating principle?” asked Sam Halden. “Vaguely. Most people have if they’ve been around men.”
“We’ve got new data and are able to interpret it better. The theory is that humans who can mate with each other were once physically dose. We’ve got a list of all our races arranged in sequence. If planetary race F can mate with race E back to A and forward to M, and race G is fertile only back to B, but forward to O, then we assume that whatever their positions are now, at one time G was actually adjacent to F, but was a little further along. When we project back into time those star systems on which humans existed prior to space travel, we get a certain pattern. Kelburn can explain it to you.”
The normally pink body of the Ribboneer flushed slightly.
The color change was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to indicate that he was interested.
Kelburn went to the projector. “It would be easier if we knew all the stars in the Milky Way, but though we’ve explored only a small portion of it, we can reconstruct a fairly accurate representation of the past”
He pressed the controls and stars twinkled on the screen. “We’re looking down on the plane of the Galaxy. This is one arm o
f it as it is today and here are the human systems.” He pressed another control and, for purposes of identification, certain stars became more brilliant. There was no pattern, merely a scattering of stars. “The whole Milky Way is rotating. And while stars in a given region tend to remain together, there’s also a random motion. Here’s what happens when we calculate the positions of stars in the past.”
Flecks of light shifted and flowed across the screen. Kelburn stopped the motion.
“Two hundred thousand years ago,” he said.
There was a pattern of the identified stars. They were spaced at fairly equal intervals along a regular curve, a horseshoe loop that didn’t close, though if the ends were extended, the lines would have crossed.
Taphetta rustled. “The math is accurate?”
“As accurate as it can be with a million-plus body problem.”
“And that’s the hypothetical route of the unknown ancestor?”
‘To the best of our knowledge,” said Kelburn. “And whereas there are humans who are relatively near and not fertile, they can always mate with those they were adjacent to two hundred thousand years ago!”
“The adjacency mating principle. I’ve never seen it demonstrated,” murmured Taphetta, flexing his ribbons. “Is that the only era that satisfies the calculations?”
“Plus or minus a hundred thousand years, we can still get something that might be the path of a spaceship attempting to cover a representative section of territory,” said Kelburn. “However, we have other ways of dating it. On some worlds on which there are no other mammals, we’re able to place the first human fossils chronologically. The evidence is sometimes contradictory, but we believe we’ve got the time right.”
Taphetta waved a ribbon at the chart “And you think that where the two ends of the carve cross is your original home?”
“We think so,” said Kelburn. “We’ve narrowed it down to several cubic light-years—then. Now it’s far more. And, of course, if it were a fast-moving star, it might be completely out of the field of our exploration. But we’re certain we’ve got a good chance of finding it this trip.”
“It seems I must decide quickly.” The Ribboneer glanced out the vision port, where another ship hung motionless in space beside them. “Do you mind if I ask other questions?”
“Go ahead,” Kelburn invited sardonically. “But if it’s not math, you’d better ask Halden. He’s the leader of the expedition.”
Halden flushed; the sarcasm wasn’t necessary. It was true that Kelburn was the most advanced human type present, but while there were differences, biological and in the scale of intelligence, it wasn’t as great as once was thought. Anyway, non-humans weren’t trained in the fine distinctions that men made among themselves. And, higher or lower, he was as good b-biologist as the other was a mathematician. And there was the matter of training; he’d been on several expeditions and this was Kelburn’s first trip. Damn it, he thought, that rated some respect.
The Ribboneer shifted his attention. “Aside from the sudden illness of your pilot, why did you ask for me?”
“We didn’t. The man became sick and required treatment we can’t give him. Luckily, a ship was passing and we hailed it because it’s four months to the nearest planet They consented to take him back and told us that there was a passenger on board who was an experienced pilot We have men who could do the job in a makeshift fashion, but the region we’re heading for, while mapped, is largely unknown. We’d prefer to have an expert—and Ribboneers are famous for their navigational ability.”
Taphetta crinkled politely at the reference to his skill. “I had other plans, but I can’t evade professional obligations, and an emergency such as this should cancel out any previous agreements. Still, what are the incentives?”
Sam Halden coughed. “The usual, plus a little extra. We’ve copied the Ribboneer’s standard contract, simplifying it a little and adding a per cent here and there for the crew pilot and scientist’s share of the profits from any discoveries we may make.”
“I’m complimented that you like our contract so well,” said Taphetta, “but I really must have our own unsimplified version. If you want me, you’ll take my contract. I came prepared.” He extended a tightly bound roll that he had kept somewhere on his person.
They glanced at one another as Hal den took it “You can read it if you want,” offered Taphetta. “But it will take you all day—it’s micro-printing. However, you needn’t be afraid that I’m defrauding you. It’s honored everywhere we go and we go nearly everywhere in this sector—places men have never been.”
There was no choice if they wanted him, and they did. Besides, the integrity of Ribboneers was not to be questioned. Halden signed.
“Good.” Taphetta crinkled. “Send it to the strip T They’ll forward it for me. And you can tell the ship to go on without me.” He rubbed his ribbons together. “Now if you’ll get me the charts, I’ll examine the region toward which we’re heading.” Firmon of hydroponics slouched in, a tall man with scanty hair and an equal lack of grace. He seemed to have difficulty in taking his eyes off Meredith, though, since he was a notch or so above her in the mating scale, he shouldn’t have been so interested. But his planet had been inexplicably slow in developing and he wasn’t completely aware of his place in the human hierarchy.
Disdainfully, Meredith adjusted a skirt that a few inches shorter, wouldn’t have been a skirt at all, revealing, while doing so, just how long and beautiful a woman’s legs could be. Her people had never given much thought to physical modesty and, with legs like that it was easy to see why.
Muttering something about primitive women, Firmon turned to the biologist. “The pilot doesn’t like our air.”
“Then change it to suit him. He’s in charge of the ship and knows more about these things than I do.”
“More than a man?” Firmon leered at Meredith and, when she failed to smile, added plaintively, “I did try to change it but he still complains.”
Halden took a deep breath. “Seems all right to me.”
“To everybody else, too, but the tapeworm hasn’t got lungs. He breathes through a million tubes scattered over his body.” It would do no good to explain that Taphetta wasn’t a worm, that his evolution had taken a different course, but that he was in no sense less complex than Man. It was a paradox that some biologically higher humans hadn’t developed as much as lower races and actually weren’t prepared for the multitude of life-forms they’d meet in space. Firmon’s reaction was quite typical.
“If he asks for cleaner air, it’s because his system needs it,” said Halden. “Do anything you can to give it to him.”
“Can’t. This is as good as I can get it Taphetta thought you could do something about it”
“Hydroponics is your job. There’s nothing I can do.” Halden paused thoughtfully. “Is there something wrong with the plants?”
“In a way, I guess, and yet not really.”
“What is it, some kind of toxic condition?”
“The plants are healthy enough, but something’s chewing them down as fast as they grow.”
“Insects? There shouldn’t be any, but if there are, we’ve got sprays. Use them.”
“It’s an animal,” said Firmon. “We tried poison and got a few, but now they won’t touch the stuff. I had electronics rig up some traps. The animals seem to know what they are and we’ve never caught one that way.”
Halden glowered at the man. “How long has this been going on?”
“About three months. It’s not bad; we can keep up with them.”
It was probably nothing to become alarmed at, but an animal on the ship was a nuisance, doubly so because of their pilot.
“Tell me what you know about it” said Halden.
“They’re little things.” Firmon held out his-hands to show how small. “I don’t know how they got on, but once they did, there were plenty of places to hide.” He looked up defensively. “This is an old ship with new equipment and they hide under
the machinery. There’s nothing we can do except rebuild the ship from the hull inward.”
Firmon was right. The new equipment had been installed in any place just to get it in and now there were inaccessible comers and crevices everywhere that couldn’t be closed off without rebuilding.
They couldn’t set up a continuous watch and shoot the animals down because there weren’t that many men to spare. Besides, the use of weapons in hydroponics would cause more damage to the thing they were trying to protect than to the pest. He’d have to devise other ways.
Sam Halden got up. “I’ll take a look and see what I can do.”
“I’ll come along and help,” said Meredith, untwining her legs and leaning against him. “Your mistress ought to have some sort of privileges.”
Halden started. So she knew that the crew was calling her that! Perhaps it was intended to discourage Firmon, but he wished she hadn’t said it. It didn’t help the situation at all.
Taphetta sat in a chair designed for humans. With a less flexible body, he wouldn’t have fitted. Maybe it wasn’t sitting, but his flat legs were folded neatly around the arms and his head rested comfortably on the seat The head ribbons, which were his hands and voice, were never quite still.
He looked from Halden to Firmon and back again. “The hydroponics tech tells me you’re contemplating an experiment I don’t like it”
Halden shrugged. “We’ve got to have better air. It might work.”
“Pests on the ship? It’s filthy! My people would never tolerate it!”
“Neither do we.”
The Ribboneer’s distaste subsided. “What kind of creatures are they?”
“I have a description, though I’ve never seen one. It’s a small four-legged animal with two antennae at the lower base of its skull. A typical pest”
Taphetta rustled. “Have you found out how it got on?”
“It was probably brought in with the supplies,” said the biologist “Considering how far we’ve come, it may have been any one of a half a dozen planets. Anyway, it hid, and since most of the places it had access to were near the outer hull, it got an extra dose of hard radiation, or it may have nested near the atomic engines; both are possibilities. Either way, it mutated, became a different animal. It’s developed a tolerance for the poisons we spray on plants. Other things it detects and avoids, even electronic traps.”
Possible Tomorrows Page 20