Complete Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by James H. Schmitz

  But Duffold’s nerves were yammering that these creatures were more alien than so many spiders—their generally amiable attitude and the fact that they looked like human beings could be only a deliberate deception, designed to conceal some undefined but sinister purpose. He broke off that unreassuring line of thought, and clamped his mind down purposefully on a more objective consideration of the odd paradoxes presented by these pseudo-people. Palayatans were even more intrigued, for example, by the Hub humans’ spectacular technological achievements than by Hub styles and perfumes. Hence their presence in swarms about the Station where they could watch the space transports arrive and depart. But, in twelve years, they hadn’t shown the slightest inclination to transplant any significant part of Hub technology to their own rather rural though semimechanized civilization.

  At an average I.Q. level of seventy-eight in the population, that wasn’t surprising, of course. What was not only surprising but completely improbable, when you really considered it, was that they had not only developed a civilization at all, but that it had attained a uniform level everywhere on the planet.

  It simply made no sense, Duffold thought bitterly. Outposts’ sociological experts had made the same comment over a year ago, when presented with the available data on Palayata. They had suggested either a detailed check on the accuracy of the data, or a referral of the whole Palayatan question to Psychological Service.

  The data had been checked, exhaustively. It was quite accurate. After that, Outposts had had no choice—

  “My, you’re perspiring, Excellency!” Pilch said, as he stepped up on the platform of Ramp 19. “This is Wintan. You’ve met before, I believe. But you really needn’t have hurried so!” She glanced at her timepiece. “Why, you’re hardly even two minutes late!”

  Wintan was a stocky fair-haired man, and Duffold did recall having met him some months before, when his credentials—indicating a legitimate scholarly interest in sociology—were being checked at the Station.

  They shook hands, and Duffold turned to greet the other man.

  Only—it wasn’t a man.

  Mentally, Duffold recoiled in a kind of frenzy. Physically, he reached out and clasped the elderly Palayatan’s palm with a firm if clammy grip, shook it twice and dropped it, his mouth held taut in what he was positive was an appalling grin. Wintan was saying something about, “Albemarl . . . guide and traveling companion—” Then Pilch tapped Duffold’s shoulder.

  “The records you sent by tube have arrived, Excellency! Perhaps you’d better check them.”

  Gratefully, he followed her into the ship. Inside the lock, she stopped and looked at him quizzically. “Hits you pretty hard, doesn’t it?” she murmured. “Great Suns, why don’t you take one of those drugs?”

  Duffold mopped his brow. “Don’t like the idea,” he said stubbornly. He indicated the two outside the lock. “Don’t tell me you got a volunteer for the investigation?”

  Pilch’s gleaming black hair swung about her shoulders as she turned to look. “No,” she smiled. “Albemarl came along to see Wintan off. You’ve been honored, by the way! He’s an itinerant sage of sages among Palayatans—I.Q. one hundred and nine! He and Wintan have been working together for months. Of course, Wintan’s immune to the emotional reactions—”

  “I see,” Duffold said coldly. “No doubt he’s also had thorough psychological conditioning?”

  Pilch grinned at him. “Not many,” she said, “have had as much!”

  The Psychology Service ship that swallowed up the transport a few hours later was a camouflaged monstrosity moving along with the edge of an asteroid flow halfway across the system. For all practical purposes, it looked indistinguishable from the larger chunks of planetary debris in its neighborhood, and from its size, it might have had a complement of several thousand people. Duffold was a little surprised that out of that potential number, only five Service members attended the conference, two of whom were Wintan and Pilch. It suggested an economy and precision in organization he had somehow failed to expect here.

  The appearance of Buchele, the senior commander in charge of the conference, was almost shocking. He had the odd, waxy skin and cautious motion of a man on whom rejuvenation treatments had taken an incomplete effect, but there was no indication of the mental deterioration that was supposed to accompany that condition. His voice was quick, and he spoke with the easy courtesy of a man to whom command was too natural a thing to be emphasized. He introduced Cabon, the ship’s captain, a tall man of Pilch’s dark slender breed, who said almost nothing throughout the next few hours, and a red-haired woman named Lueral who was, she said, representing Biology Section. Then the conference was under way with a briskness that made Duffold glad he had decided to bring Outposts’ full records on Palayata along for the meeting.

  They went over the reasons why Outposts was interested in maintaining a Station on Palayata. They were sound reasons: Palayata was a convenient take-off point for the investigation and control of an entire new sector of space, the potential center of a thousand-year, many-sided project. Except for the doubtful factor of the natives, it was as favorable for human use as a world could be expected to become without a century-long conditioning program. The natives themselves represented an immediate new trade outlet for Grand Commerce, whose facilities would make the project enormously less expensive to Government than any similar one on a world that did not attract the organized commercial interests.

  Buchele nodded. “Assuming, Excellency, that the Service might be able to establish that the peculiarities of the Palayatan natives are in no way dangerous to human beings, but that the emotional disturbances they cause will have to continue to be controlled by drugs—would Outposts regard that as a satisfactory solution?”

  Duffold was convinced that under the circumstances Outposts would be almost tearfully thankful for such a solution, but he expressed himself a little more conservatively. He added, “Is there any reason to believe that they actually are harmless?”

  Buchele’s dead-alive face showed almost no expression. “No,” he said, “there isn’t. Your records show what ours do. The picture of this Palayatan culture isn’t fully explainable in the terms of any other culture, human or nonhuman, that we know of. There’s an unseen controlling factor—well, call it ‘X’. That much is almost definitely established. With the information we have, we could make a number of guesses at its nature; and that’s all.”

  Duffold stared bleakly at him. No one in Outposts had cared to put it into so many words, but that was what they had been afraid of.

  Buchele said softly, “We have considered two possible methods of procedure. With your assistance, Excellency, we should like to decide between them now.”

  With his assistance! Duffold became suddenly enormously wary.

  “Go ahead, commander,” he requested affably.

  “Very well. Let’s assume that ‘X’ actually is a latent source of danger. The section of your records covering the recent deaths of two human beings on the planet might suggest that the danger has become active, but there is no immediate reason to connect those deaths with ‘X’.”

  Duffold nodded hesitantly.

  “The point that the Service and, I’m sure, Outposts are most concerned with,” the gentle voice of the dead-alive man went on, “is that there is absolutely no way of estimating the possible extent of the assumed danger. As we sit here, we may be members of a race which already has doomed itself by reaching out for one new world that should have been left forever untouched. On the basis of our present information, that is exactly as possible as that the Palayatan ‘X’ may turn out to be a completely innocuous factor. Where ‘X’ lies on the scale between those two possibilities can almost certainly be determined, however. The question is simply whether we want to employ the means that will determine it.”

  “Meaning,” said Duffold, “that the rather direct kind of investigation I understand you’re planning—kidnaping a native, bringing him out to this ship and subjecting
him to psychological pressures—could start the trouble?”

  “It might.”

  “I agree,” Duffold said. “What was the other procedure?”

  “To have Outposts and Grand Commerce withdraw all human personnel from Palayata.”

  “Abandon the planet permanently?” Duffold felt his face go hot.

  “Yes,” said Buchele.

  Duffold drew a slow breath. A spasm of rage shook through him and went away. “We can’t do that, and you know it!” he said.

  Lusterless eyes hooded themselves in the waxy face. “If you please, Excellency,” Buchele said quietly, “there is nothing in the records given us by your Department to indicate that this is an impossibility.”

  It was true enough. Duffold said sourly, “No need to underline the obvious! We’re committed to remain on Palayata until the situation is understood. If there is no danger there, or only ordinary danger—nothing that reaches beyond the planet itself—we can stay or not as we choose. But we can’t leave, now that we’ve brought ourselves to the attention of this ‘X’ factor, before we know whether or not it constitutes a potential danger to every human world in the galaxy. We can’t even destroy the planet, since we don’t know whether that would also destroy ‘X,’ or simply irritate it!”

  “Is the destruction of Palayata being seriously considered?” the Service man said.

  “Not at the moment,” Duffold said grimly.

  For the first time then, Buchele shifted his glance slowly about at the other Service members. “It seems that we are in agreement so far,” he said, as if addressing them. He looked back at Duffold.

  That was when the thought came to Duffold. It startled him, but he didn’t stop to consider it. He said, “My Department obviously has been unable to work out a satisfactory solution to the problem. I’m authorized to say that Outposts will give the Service any required support in solving it, providing I’m allowed to observe the operation.”

  There was a momentary silence. It was bluff, and it wasn’t fooling them; but the Service was known to go to considerable lengths to build up good will in the other Departments.

  Pilch said suddenly, “We accept the condition—with one qualification.”

  Duffold hesitated, surprised. Buchele’s gaze was on Pilch; the others seemed to be studying him reflectively, but nobody appeared to question Pilch’s acceptance. “What’s the qualification?” he asked.

  “We should have your agreement,” she said, “that you will accept any safety measures we feel are required.”

  “I assume those safety measures are for my benefit,” Duffold said gravely.

  “Well, yes—”

  “Why,” said Duffold, “in that case I thank you for your concern.

  And, of course, you have my agreement.”

  The others stirred and smiled. Pilch looked rueful. “It’s just that—”

  “I know,” Duffold nodded. “It’s just that I haven’t had any psychological conditioning.”

  Pilch was called from the conference room immediately afterwards. This time Duffold was not surprised to discover that she appeared to be in charge of the actual kidnaping project and that she was arranging to include him in the landing party. There seemed to be a constant easy shifting of authority among these people which did not correspond too well with the rank they held.

  Others came in. He began to get a picture of unsuspected complexities of organization and purpose within this huge, ungainly ship. There was talk of pattern analysis and factor summaries at the table at which Buchele remained in charge; and Duffold stayed there, since they were dealing with material with which he was in part familiar. It appeared that Wintan, the Service operator who had been working planetside on Palayata, had provided the ship’s Integrators with detailed information not included in previous reports; and the patterns were still being revised. So far, Buchele seemed to feel that the revisions indicated no significant changes.

  Somebody came to warn Duffold that the landing operation was to get underway in eighty minutes. He hurried off to contact the Outposts Station on Palayata and extend the period he expected to be absent.

  When he came back, they were still at it—

  There seemed to be no permanent government or permanent social structure of any sort on Palayata; not even, as a rule, anything resembling permanent family groups. On the other hand, some family groups maintained themselves for decades—almost as if someone were trying to prove that no rule could be applied too definitely to the perverse planet! Children needing attention attached themselves to any convenient adult or group of adults and were accepted until they decided to wander off again.

  There were no indications of organized science or of scientific speculation. Palayatan curiosity might be intense, but it was brief and readily satisfied. Technical writings on some practical application or other of the scientific principles with which they were familiar here could be picked up almost anywhere and were used in the haphazard instruction that took the place of formal schooling. There wasn’t even the vaguest sort of recorded history, but there were a considerable number of historical manuscripts, some of them centuries old and lovingly preserved, which dealt with personal events of intense interest to the recorder and of very limited usefulness to his researcher. It had been the Hub’s own archeological workers who eventually turned up evidence indicating that Palayata’s present civilization had been drifting along in much the same fashion for at least two thousand years and perhaps a good deal longer.

  Impossible . . . impossible . . . impossible—if things were what they seemed to be!

  So they weren’t what they seemed to be. Duffold became aware of the fact that by now Buchele and Wintan and he were the only ones remaining at that table. The others presumably had turned their attention to more promising work; and refreshments had appeared.

  They ate thoughtfully until Duffold remarked, “They’re still either very much smarter than they act—smarter than we are, in fact—or something is controlling them. Right?”

  Buchele said that seemed to be about it.

  “And if they’re controlled,” Duffold went on, “the controlling agency is something very much smarter than human beings.”

  Wintan shook his short-cropped blond head. “That wouldn’t necessarily be true.”

  Duffold looked at him. “Put it this way,” he said. “Does the Service think human beings, using all the tricks of your psychological technology, could control a world to the extent Palayata seems to be controlled?”

  “Oh, certainly!” Wintan said cheerfully; and Buchele nodded. “Given one trained operator to approximately every thousand natives, something quite similar could be established,” the senior commander said drily. “But who would want to go to all that trouble?”

  “And keep it up for twenty centuries or so!” Wintan added. “It’s a technical possibility, but it seems a rather pointless one.”

  Duffold was silent for a moment, savoring some old suspicions. Even if the Service men had a genuine lack of interest in the possibilities of such a project, the notion that Psychology Service felt it was capable of that degree of control was unpleasant. “What methods would be employed?” he said. “Telepathic amplifiers?”

  “Well, that would be one of the basic means, of course,” Wintan agreed. “Then, sociological conditioning—business of picking off the ones that were getting too bright to be handled. Oh, it would be a job, all right!”

  Telepathic amplifiers—Outposts was aware, as was everyone else, that the Service employed gadgetry in that class; but no one outside the Service took a very serious view of such activities. History backed up that opinion with emphasis: the psi boys had produced disturbing effects in various populations from time to time, but in the showdown the big guns always had cleaned them up very handily. Duffold said hopefully, “Does it seem to be telepathy we’re dealing with here?”

  Wintan shook his head. “No. If it were, we could spot it and probably handle whoever was using it. You missed that
part of the summary, Excellency! Checking for tele-impulses was a major part of the job I was sent to do.” He looked at Buchele, perhaps a trifle doubtfully. “Palayatans appear to be completely blind to any telepathic form of approach; at least, that’s the report of my instruments.”

  “Or shut-off,” Buchele said gently.

  “Or shut-off,” Wintan agreed. “We can’t determine that with certainty until we get our specimen on board. We know the instruments would have detected such a resistance in any human being.”

  Buchele almost grinned. “In any human being we’ve investigated,” he amended.

  Wintan looked annoyed. From behind Duffold, Pilch’s voice announced, “I’ll be wanting his Excellency at Eighty-two Lock in”—there was something like a millisecond’s pause, while he could imagine her glancing at her timepiece again—“seventeen minutes. But Lueral wants him first.”

  As Duffold stood up, she added, “You two had better come along. Biology has something to add to your discussion on telepathy.”

  “Significant?” Buchele asked, coming stiffly to his feet.

  “Possibly. The Integrators should finish chewing it around in a few more minutes.”

  Duffold had been puzzling about what Lueral and the Biology Section could be wanting of him, but the moment he stepped out of a transfer lock and saw the amplification stage set up, with a view of a steamy Palayatan swamp floating in it, he knew what it was and he had a momentary touch of revulsion. The incident with the keff creature, which had cost the lives of two Outposts investigators, had been an unlovely one to study in its restructure; and he had studied it carefully several times in the past few days, in an attempt to discover any correlation with the general Palayatan situation. He had been unsuccessful in that and, taking the seat next to the stage that was indicated to him, he wondered what Biology thought it had found.