The Scifi & Fantasy Collection

by L. Ron Hubbard

  Twenty-three days later they landed on Deltoid in a valley indicated by the original survey, “high-walled and impossible of land assault, sparse in game but containing the bulk of the beings that inhabit this system.” The valley was about a hundred and fifty leagues in diameter. They made their preliminary salutations and then Angus McBane came to council with the high chiefs of the realm.

  Angus was a Civil Affairs officer. Nominally he was a colonial officer, but three years of special training and five more of service in CA had somehow removed him from the ordinary. He forgot to polish his buttons now. He had become gentle with years of dealing with less sentient races. He had spent a long time out beyond the last scout field and the life had changed him from the ordinary.

  He clung to a stick as a symbol of a gentleman. But his topee was a disgrace and his tunic pockets bulged and he had found that mastodon-hide boots were best.

  He squatted down at the council, cross-legged, his black-and-gold stick across his knees, his bold Scot face sharply white in contrast to his uncut hair, his wise eyes bright in the firelight. Behind him knelt Dirk, who had the largest mechanical sense and the least conscience of any non-com in the service.

  The place smelled bad and the people smelled worse. They were humanoid and one would have thought them more than that until he looked at their feet and hands. Where there were claws, there should have been nails. And there was a deal too much hair on them. But they were sentient, oddly so, and their speech, even through the translating filter, was full of startling strength.

  “You say you come to bring us blessings,” said the ruling chief. “We have blessings. You say you can teach us many things. We know many things. You say you have much to give and you give nothing!”

  The chief threw the trinkets into the fire, a magnifying glass and a chain of gold coins. Angus McBane showed no emotion about it. He looked at the men there, saw signs of disease and malnutrition, looked back at the chief.

  “I can show you many ways to grow good food. I can cure a thousand sicknesses. I can prepare aids which will make your work less. I bring peace and plenty. Do not despise my gifts.”

  “You want this valley,” said the chief, rearing up seven feet tall and glaring. “You want my people should enter your slavery. Your looking-over vessels came. This was not the first time we had seen your race. Five men of the looking-over vessel did not go back. We have no reason not to detain six.”

  “You must not talk like children,” said Angus, aware that knives had shifted. “We want the rights to mine a rock on your planet. You may retain your own government. But I have many things to give. I can show you how to raise food, good food, lots of food, food that is good to eat. I can build you ways to bring water into your villages. I can take away your sicknesses. I can do many powerful things for you and you will not have to pay.”

  The tribal chief expanded his chest and glared round him at his fellow councilmen. He read their mood.

  “What power do you have that we do not have?” said the chief.

  “It is a thing we call science,” said Angus patiently. “With it we build such things as the ship in which we came. It will do many great things. It can make light appear in the night and it can keep beds dry when it rains. It can produce better children and it can make everyone wise. It can—”

  “You say this science is powerful. Perhaps,” said the chief, glowering, “you do not know that we also have a thing which is power.”

  “What is this thing?” said Angus.

  A queer clacking sound came and a sleek, fat fellow rose from beside the fire. He grinned with superiority and then, with a glance at the chief, waved his hand through the air.

  Instantly a banner of light glowed there and then began to materialize into a form. Several near the fire scuttled back. Sergeant Dirk’s rum-bleared eyes shot wide. A woman was taking form there, comely save for her claws. She floated upon the air and then abruptly dropped to the floor. She sat up, dazed, looked at the fire-painted faces, at Angus, and hurriedly rushed from the council hut.

  The sleek, fat youth sat down.

  “Power,” said the chief. “We have power. Is science greater than this magic?”

  Angus McBane pushed at a live coal with his cane. He looked up after a little and there was a smile on his mouth. “Science is more powerful than this. It is more powerful than any magic. Its laws are greater laws than magic’s laws. Science is more powerful than this.”

  Some seemed afraid of him then. But most of them were cued by the chief who was arrogant with disdain.

  “If science is so great, I would know it. But nothing is greater than magic. I would like to see a thing greater than magic.”

  “I would be glad to show you,” said Angus. He took out a pocket light and turned it on, lighting up the entire hut. But when he shut it off, the sleek youth waved his hand and the hut became twice as light.

  The chief laughed. “Is there no more to your science?”

  “There is much more,” said Angus. “Science can do anything which this young man’s magic can do.”

  There was a titter of disbelief. Sergeant Dirk moved back a pace, the better to wield a morning star of his own manufacture in case the going got rough.

  “Magic can drive people mad,” said the chief.

  “Science can make people sane,” said Angus.

  “In any contest with magic,” suddenly announced the fat young man, grown very proud, “your science would lose.”

  Angus looked straight across the fire at the round, greasy face of the self-styled magician. “If we were to engage in a contest, I should beat you.”

  The young man leaped up in triumph. “He has declared it. He has called the challenge and he is the challenger. Behold, I call you all to witness. These people would come upon us and rob and kill us but their science is not great. Here is one who challenges me! I accept the challenge!” He sat down promptly.

  The chief smiled and his eyes glittered with a sporting thirst. “You have challenged, newcomer. It shall be arranged. When two warriors of our people disagree, they fight before all. You shall fight against our Taubo, he whom you have challenged. You have your rights. You shall fight.”

  Angus sighed but he nodded.

  “You are aware of our rules?” said the chief.

  “I am not,” said Angus.

  “Then I shall dictate the rules of this contest. Taubo shall have the morning in which to destroy you with his magic. You shall have the afternoon to destroy him with your science. Then so shall it be proved.”

  Sergeant Dirk tugged at Angus’ shoulder. “Pull out, sir. It’ll be poison and no chaser. I’ll—” He stopped at his boss’ quick glance.

  Angus thought for a while and poked a coal with the end of his cane. Then he looked at the chief and said, “I accept this ‘contest.’” He stood up and bowed to the young man. “I wish you every success,” he said ironically and, turning on his heel, left the hut.

  The word raced across the gigantic valley and for a week outlanders poured into the center, bringing with them scanty provisions but a voracious curiosity. They came, dragging children and weird animals, to aid in the erection of a brush amphitheater, to gossip all day and dance all night, and to gawp about the Argus 48 and be kept at a distance by the marines.

  The dust was thick, even within the ship, and Angus McBane wore a bandana across the lower part of his face as he read. He had to lift the bandana to sip at a drink and he occasionally had to lift his eyes from print to make some answer to Sergeant Dirk toiling in the room beyond.

  Dirk had come into the Marine Corps under sentence never to be seen in civilian clothes again. He had left his right name behind but he had brought his ingenuity. Now and again some glimpse of his past would come up when a job needed to be done. But it was only a glimpse, like a curtain flicked back for an i
nstant upon a long and gore-spattered corridor, and Angus never inquired.

  Too tough even for the corps, Dirk had been shunted to Civil Affairs, that catchall for odd men and odder jobs, and under Angus McBane he had managed to keep reasonably out of trouble. This was because he had found in his calloused and sin-choked heart, an affection for the officer. Time and again Angus had raked him out of drunk tanks and sent him back to duty without a tour in the infamous “dancing school” and Dirk, out of continually mounting gratitude, fondly supposed that he had shielded Angus from the facts of life.

  When he lifted his eyes, Angus could see the jagged peaks which bounded the north of the valley and the rolling, dusty, scrub-covered lands which intervened. The place could be fertile, if these people could be coerced into the practices of agriculture. It was a wonder they had not discovered that their hunter society had begun to fail a century or two ago. They practiced infanticide and senicide to keep their population down to near food production level and yet they left untended better than ten thousand square miles of arable land. Such things irked Angus. Professionally, he was supposed to be indifferent to these things. But he was not. They distressed him.

  “—so I says to this girl, ‘Baby, if it’s money that’s worryin’ you, take a look.’ And then I found myself in a gutter with a headache and that’s how I come to distrust wimmen,” narrated Dirk. “The more sweet and beautiful they appear, the more I distrusts ’em. You got to be careful.” He was busy with a small set of cogs which were entirely swallowed in his enormous hands. “Aw, you ain’t listenin’.”

  “Sergeant,” said Angus, “we can do a lot for these people.”

  Dirk looked out the port at the dusty land and the throng of gaping multicolored ‘goonies.’ He looked at his officer. “If you ast me, a dose of ray would cure ’em best. Sir, they got about as much heart as a Jack Ketch. They revels at the sight of blood and howls in glee at the screams of the dead and dyin’. They’re an outlandish and immoral lot of swine!”

  “I am sure you are an authority on morals, Sergeant. But the dose of ray you suggest would turn this place into a new nova.”

  “You kiddin’?”

  “I am sure I am not,” said Angus.

  “Then you better not let Edwards run that guard by hisself. He ain’t got any sense.”

  “There isn’t a loaded gun on board,” said Angus. “And not one round.”

  Dirk looked through the port at the crowding, jostling humanoids. He looked at the dangling weapons, the filed teeth and the rolling eyes. He swallowed, coughed his chew of tobacco back up and spat in confusion. “That’s why the scouts left their dead behind!”

  “Right,” said Angus. “Here comes the chief.”

  That dignitary was being carried on a litter of animal skins to the ship. His guards clubbed the crowd away, walked on a body or two and came to a halt at the airlock.

  The chief got all seven feet of him to the ground and entered the ship. He was not dismayed by the machinery. You couldn’t hunt with it and so it was subject only to contempt.

  “Taubo ready in the morning.”

  “That is a day early,” said Angus.

  “Taubo ready in the morning,” said the chief.

  They bowed. The chief got back on his litter and was carried away. The stricken lay where they had fallen, trodden down again by the curious.

  “Civilize ’em!” said Dirk. “Give me twenty men and fixed bayonets and I’ll civilize ’em. We won’t be ready by morning!”

  “We will,” said Angus, putting the book aside. “Indeed we will.”

  The brush arena was jammed, presenting a wall of faces and a surge of odors which would have overpowered a lion. Three thousand humanoids had turned out this day to witness Taubo present a display of his powers and to howl over the downfall of the strange invaders. Deltoid had turned Mandrel’s light above the rim and the far mountains were washed with pink. The dust had been settled by sprayings of water and pennons hung at either side of the arena.

  Taubo came with his assistants. He was a wily young man, Taubo. He had succeeded his teacher and the former head of his profession by a very effective dose of poison and his followers, knowing it well, served him with deference which, while it was not devotion, was at least efficient dignity.

  The group toured the arena and then, in the center, Taubo leaped up, flung wide his arms and let loose a dreadful screech. It was a well-practiced screech and it would nearly deafen at five feet. It started high and went higher and it had volume enough to satisfy the most savage. But it had more purpose than mere satisfaction. Many a victim had been paralyzed into complete obedience by that screech.

  The crowd was instantly silent.

  “I am Taubo!” cried the magician. “I come to show the invader of my power so that he will forever be afraid to come to us again from beyond the mountains. I am Taubo! I drink fresh blood and I dine on newborn children! One sight of my magic and the strongest sicken. One blast of my breath and men die. I am Taubo. My magic protects us from becoming slaves. I shall conquer!”

  That was most satisfying to them all and, when they had recovered a little from fright, they cheered and cheered, beating wooden lances against hide shields and waving skins in the air.

  But this had to end. They expected something very spectacular from the other pennon. A small knot of human beings had been gathered there since the first streaks of dawn. They had a raised curtain and from time to time one or another glanced into it.

  Taubo became brave. He capered toward the humans, shouting for them to come forth and let him have his will of them, promising things which were truly blood-laking. Taubo ran back again to the seated chiefs.

  “Make them come forth! They are cowards. Make them come! I will strike them where they are if they do not start!”

  A chief raised a hand and a horn blew for silence.

  “Come forth, invaders!” commanded the chief.

  Three thousand pairs of humanoid eyes watched the curtain. It twitched. A form walked forth, calmly, certainly, carrying a chair and a book, and the crowd recognized the leader of the invaders.

  The invader’s cane was tucked under his arm and he seemed to be neither impressed nor hurried. He put the chair down in the exact center of the arena and sat upon it. He put the cane across his knees and he opened the book. And then calmly, very calmly, he began to scan the pages with a quiet eye.

  Taubo leaped forward. He paused only long enough to wave his arms in salute to the crowd and then he went to work. Coming to within a foot of the invader’s ear he let loose a screech which rocked the first rows. It was long, loud and deafening.

  The quiet eyes continued to scan the pages.

  Taubo let go a howl of disappointment which was not part of his program. He backed up. Then he reached a hand toward a follower and took a wand.

  Two of his people began to beat upon a drum and the shocks of it were physical. Close up they were enough to stop a heart, properly directed. Taubo waved the wand. A curtain of fire began to play about the invader’s head.

  After a few minutes of this, a woman and an old man in the near rows fell out of their seats, insensible.

  The drumming continued, grew louder, the whole force of it solidly directed at the breast of the quiet reader. The lightning played and crackled, set fire to a tunic of one of Taubo’s followers and had to be put out.

  For half an hour the beating continued.

  The invader turned pages calmly.

  “You Angus!” screamed Taubo. “You wait. I fix you!”

  Taubo was becoming angry. He pulled forth an incense pot and he put some coals into it from a fire near his pennon. His followers knew now not to get downwind of that pot. One whiff and a man would die. Taubo dropped some powder into it and blue flames and dense clouds began to roll, clouds which Taubo avoided.
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  The engulfing smoke bore down upon the seated invader, swallowed him up from sight, drifted across the field and abruptly and with agony killed a wandering dog. It reached the arena edge and a man leaped up and clawed, his throat bleeding. The area of the smoke was hastily cleared.

  The charge in the pot sputtered out. Taubo stared.

  Another page was being turned!

  After a frenzy of rage in which he beat two followers, Taubo came back to his business at hand. He made a number of incantations, driving them home with flashes of light from his wand. He did not expect these would have any effect but they were good showmanship. Then he trotted back and gingerly scooped up a small spade of gray powder. He carefully touched none of it. It was culled from a certain bush and when distilled, a pinch of it on the skin caused an exquisite and rapid dying.

  Taubo capered, careful of the powder, and made further loud incantations, interspersed with numerous shrieks and wailings which were orders to the demons of the place to do their worst.

  He dashed in suddenly, tipped the spade and showered a cascade of violent poison over his enemy.

  Gleeful now, Taubo capered back, expecting an instantaneous effect, since the powder had touched the face and the hands.

  The invader tipped the book to clear the print, put the volume back on his knees, and went on reading!

  The crowd was becoming a little restless. The sun was rather high now and they had not come to see a magician dance but an invader die. Then, that imperturbable figure was beginning to wear upon them almost as much as it did on Taubo. They had seen magic operate before!

  Taubo withdrew. For a long time he took advices with his followers and at last decided upon the final trick.

  He had planted, that morning, a number of very tindery bushes underneath the sand and he had saturated them with an oil which burned furiously. He had not thought he would have to use this trick, but the time was at hand.