Joe's people overrun the planet? Even withthe brief life-span, each female should produce many babies.
Joe had no answer. The problem didn't interest him, and he refused toponder it. He'd squat in the corner jealously guarding his limp-skinnedmango, nipping at it occasionally when our questions failed to makesense.
We were all, incidentally, quite curious to taste Joe's tala juice, butit was his sole property. His lady-friends would hand it to no one buthim, and he guarded it selfishly. Bailey and Sorenson had enlisted thehelp of our two organic chemists to examine the moist residue of theempty skins, but with their limited lab facilities all they could do wasmake guesses that the coveted juice was the product of fermentation orenzymic action with which we were unfamiliar.
As a psychologist I knew that Joe responded to the tala similarly to theway a human dipsomaniac does to alcohol. When he was well-supplied hewas cheerful and happy. When he ran out, he became taciturn andirritable. His frequent resort to the liquor, when we tried to force himto answer troublesome questions, confirmed my suspicion that there werecertain matters his brilliant mind simply refused to embrace, and thesimplest way to avoid worrying about them was to take another drink oftala.
Benson and I discussed this one afternoon while Joe was taking a nap. Wesat in the shade of my hut spooning the lush pulp of a mango into ourmouths. He said, "Everything points to a race of super-intelligence helddown by sheer degeneracy."
"You mean the tala-drinking?" I asked.
He nodded. "For one thing. Our work parties report that they never stopdrinking the stuff. The older ones get quite plastered. I've seen itmyself. Disgusting. And they have no common sense of, of--well, Ishouldn't say decency, because obviously morality as we know it justdoesn't exist. But thank heavens they don't care for the scent ofhumans."
I said, "Don't depend on that too much. I asked Joe about it, and hesaid that we don't necessarily smell bad to them. It's just so alien toany scent they've known that they tend to shy off. Joe is quite used toit now. He lets Sue rub his back and his head. She's made quite a pet ofhim."
Benson didn't like this news at all. He pondered thoughtfully for amoment. "That means that they'll all gradually get used to being aroundus. I don't like it, Phil. They're just human enough to have a badinfluence on the colony. They're dissolute and entirely withoutambition. In fact they seem to have damned little race survival instinctat all."
I had pondered this many times, but it hadn't struck me as especiallydangerous to the colony. Benson went on, "We have a glorious planethere, rich in minerals and other natural resources. By comparison, Earthis so worn-out and depleted and over-crowded that the contrast is almosttoo great."
"What are you driving at?" I demanded.
"Just this. From the first the biggest problem here has been to prodeveryone to work. We have a civilization to build here, and that meansclearing more land, breaking the soil, mining, construction,manufacturing."
"Look," I said somewhat impatiently, "you don't expect 80 people toaccomplish all this in four years, surely?"
"I expect progress," he said firmly. "Do you realize that when wefinished the last of the forty houses that virtually ended the buildingprogram? Work on the two warehouses, the water system, sewage disposalplant and the commissary we planned is almost at a standstill."
"The people want time to finish up their homes and make themcomfortable," I objected.
"That's what they say," he told me, "but they're fooling away theirtime."
"Phil, we've only been here a month, and--"
"And if I hadn't pulled a blue alert," he interrupted, "we wouldn't evenhave the residentials built yet. Now they've got their precious privacy,and the pressure is off. They'd rather go chasing off into the woods tohunt exotic fruit and peek at the natives than get on with the project."
I hadn't realized things were this serious. "Don't they obey orders anymore? What about your work schedules?"
"I've pushed them as hard as I can without forcing a test of myauthority," he said. "They claim they deserve time to get adjusted andrelax a little before buckling down."
"I agree with them," I said. "They're all serious, industrious people,and this is still an adventure with them. It will wear off pretty soon,and they'll be yearning for comforts of Earth. They'll buckle down whenthe rainy season hits," I predicted.
"I wonder. Here's one good example. Look over there. Donnegan's fooddetail is just now returning with its first load. They left three hoursago." He yelled over to the foreman.
Donnegan, a large, pleasant-faced biologist sauntered over to us. Bensonsaid, "Was the _expedition_ successful?"
Donnegan brushed off the sarcasm. "Fooling aside, it is getting to besomething of an expedition to find fruit. The natives are cleaning itout near at hand."
Turning to me Benson said, "There's another thing. The little devilshave settled all around us, and everything is community property withthem. Not only do they strip the fruit but they pick up anything thatisn't nailed down and wander off with it."
"That's odd," I said. "Joe indicates that they place no value onpossessions normally."
"Oh, they don't keep things," Donnegan explained. "They pack them off,fiddle with them and then we find them strewn all over the forest.Sometimes I'd like to wring their little necks!"
Benson looked up at him quickly. "Sounds funny coming from you, Paul.You were one of their chief defenders at the meeting last week."
Donnegan's face darkened. "That was last week, before I found out a fewthings. As a matter of fact, I think it's time you knew about them,too." He squatted down by us and unburdened himself.
* * * * *
As it so often will, a barrier had erected itself between the colonymembers and their leader, Phillip Benson. Donnegan somewhat shamefacedlyconfessed what had gone on behind this curtain of silence.
It seemed that two weeks earlier Bromley, one of the chemists, hadcontrived some rather crude, old-fashioned, sulphur-and-phosphorus,friction matches. Trading on the native's delight with fire, he hadbribed them with matches to give him one of the tala-mangoes which hetasted, then promptly proceeded to swill until he was quite drunk.
In a generous mood he passed out matches to other male members of thecolony who, in turn, made the barter and joined the party.
"The stuff is really delicious," Donnegan admitted. "And it doesn't evengive you a hang-over."
"Go on," Benson invited coldly.
Within a few days, Donnegan related, everybody was nipping on the tala.Bromley was turning out a steady supply of matches from his lab, andthey were now the going currency for trading with the natives. In orderto keep their wives quiet the men brought the super-ripe mangoes homeand shared them.
The precious fruit, it developed, came from regular mango trees butreached the desired, fermented condition only at the leafy crowns of thetrees where even the nimble, light-weight natives found it hazardous anddifficult to reach them. Bromley said that he knew of several nativecasualties from fatal falls that had occurred since the traffic in talaincreased.
Benson asked the question that was in my mind. "What caused you to cometo me at this late date?" he demanded. "Something more serious must havehappened."
"Well, I didn't mind the tala-drinking so much--but, well, CaptainSpooner and I came back to his hut one afternoon this week and found hispretty little wife with one of the natives--a male. Spooner thought itwas a big joke--he was a little drunk at the time, and so was his wife.But I don't think it's any joke at all."
Benson was on his feet, his face livid. "What else?"
Bromley said, "I checked around a little bit, and I found that quite afew of our people are making pets out of the natives. The little devilshave got used to our scent, and they'll do anything just to watch amatch burn."
"But the quarantine?" I said.
"I guess they figure it's safe enough. Personally, I don't. But theyfeel that since you and Sue have escaped any disease there's no reasonfor the non-fraterniz
ing rule, not even in closed spaces. Severalcouples I know hold parties every night in their huts after dark. Theyinvite a couple of natives who supply the tala. They all sit around acandle. The natives sleep there."
He kicked at an empty tala skin that Joe had tossed out the doorearlier. "Things are out of hand, and I'm ashamed I haven't come to yousooner, Benson."
Phil was so outraged he couldn't speak. I said, "Thanks, Donnegan. Youdid the right thing."
He left us, and while Benson was
The Test Colony Page 5