The Star Beast

by Robert A. Heinlein

  “Good health, Doctor. I’ll be in touch with you.”

  “Your good health, sir.”

  On his way back Mr. Kiku realized that he had felt not a single twinge in the presence of the medusoid…why, the blighter was rather likable, in a horrid way. Dr. Morgan was certainly an adroit hypnotherapist.

  His work basket was choked as usual; he put the Hroshii out of mind and worked happily. Late that afternoon communications informed him that they were holding a circuit for Mr. Greenberg. “Put him on,” Mr. Kiku said, feeling that at last the pieces were falling into place.

  “Boss?” Greenberg began.

  “Eh? Yes, Sergei. What the deuce are you looking upset about?”

  “Because I’m wondering how I’m going to like it as a private in the Outer Legion.”

  “Quit trying to break it gently. What happened?”

  “The bird has flown.”

  “Flown? Where?”

  “I wish I knew. The most likely place is a forest preserve west of here.”

  “Then why are you wasting time telling me? Get in there and find it.”

  Greenberg sighed. “I knew you would say that. Look, boss, this haystack has over ten million acres in it, tall trees, tall mountains, and no roads. And the local police chief is there ahead of me, with all his own men and half the sheriffs deputies in the state. He’s ordered them to kill on sight and has posted a reward for the ship making the kill.”

  “What?”

  “Just what I said. Your authorization to carry out the judgment of the court came through; the cancellation of it got lost…how, I don’t know. But the acting chief is an old relic with the soul of a file clerk; he points to the order and won’t budge…he won’t even let me call them on police frequency. With our intervention withdrawn I haven’t an ounce of authority to force him.”

  “You are accepting that, I suppose?” Mr. Kiku said bitterly. “Just waiting for it to blow up in your face?”

  “Just about. I’ve got a call in for the mayor—he’s out of town. Another for the governor—he’s in a closed grand jury session. And another for the chief forest ranger…I think he’s out after the reward. As soon as I, switch off I’m going to twist the arm of the acting chief until he sees the light and…”

  “You should be doing that now.”

  “I won’t dally. I called to suggest that you turn on heat from back there. I need help.”

  “You’ll get it”

  “Not just to reach the governor, not just to start a fresh intervention. Even after we reach this wild police chief and persuade him to call off his dogs I’ll still need help. Ten million acres of mountains, boss…it means men and ships, lots of men, lots of ships. It’s no job for one man with a brief case. Besides, I’m going to join the Outer Legion.”

  “We’ll both join,” Kiku said glumly. “All right, get on it. Move.”

  “It’s been nice knowing you.”

  Mr. Kiku switched off, then moved very fast, initiating a fresh departmental intervention, sending an emergency-priority message to the state governor, another to the mayor of Westville, another to the Westville district court. Formal action completed, he sat for a few seconds, bracing himself for what he must do next…then went in to tell the Secretary that they must ask for help from the military authorities of the Federation.

  CHAPTER X

  The Cygnus Decision

  WHEN John Thomas woke up he had trouble remembering where he was. The sleeping bag was toasty warm, he felt good, rested but lazy. Gradually the picture of where he was and why he was there built up and he poked his head out. The sun was high and it was pleasantly warm. Lummox was nearby. “Hi, Lummie.”

  “Hi, Johnnie. You slept a long time. You were noisy, too.”

  “Was I?” He crawled out and pulled his clothes on, switched off the sleeping bag. He folded it and turned to Lummox—and started. “What’s that?”

  Near Lummox’s head, lying squashed out as if it had been stepped on, was a very dead grizzly bear…about a six-hundred-pound male. Blood had gushed from mouth and nostrils, then dried. Lummox glanced at it. “Breakfast,” he explained.

  John Thomas looked at it with distaste. “Not for me, it’s not. Where did you get it?”

  “I catched it,” Lummox answered and simpered.

  “Not ‘catched it’…‘caught it.’”

  “But I did catch it. It tried to get in with you and I catched it.”

  “Well, all right. Thanks.” John Thomas looked at the bear again, turned away and opened his food bag. He selected a can of ham and eggs, twisted off the top, and waited for it to heat.

  Lummox took this as a signal that it was now all right for him to breakfast, too, which he did—first the bear, then a couple of small pine trees, a peck or so of gravel for crunchiness, and the empty container of John Thomas’s breakfast. They went down to the stream afterwards, with Johnnie going first to search the sky; Lummox washed down his meal with a few hogsheads of clear mountain water. Johnnie knelt and drank, then washed his face and hands and wiped them on his shirt. Lummox asked, “What do we do now, Johnnie? Go for a walk? Catch things, maybe?”

  “No,” Johnnie denied. “We go back up in those trees and lie low until dark. You’ve got to pretend you’re a rock.” He went up the bank, Lummox followed. “Settle down,” John Thomas ordered. “I want to look at those bumps.”

  Lummox did so; it brought the tumors down where his master could inspect them without stretching. Johnnie looked them over with increasing worry. They were larger and seemed to have lumps and bumps inside; Johnnie tried to remember whether such a development was a sign of malignancy. The skin over them had stretched and thinned until it was hardly more than thick leather, not in the least like the rest of Lummox’s armor. It was dry and hot to his touch. Johnnie kneaded the left one gently; Lummox pulled away.

  “Is it that tender?” Johnnie asked anxiously.

  “I can’t stand it,” Lummox protested. He extended his legs and walked over to a large pine tree, started rubbing the tumor against it.

  “Hey!” said Johnnie. “Don’t do that! You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “But it itches.” Lummox went on scratching.

  John Thomas ran to him, intending to be firm. But just as he reached him the tumor split open. He watched in horror.

  Something dark and wet and writhing emerged, caught on the ruptured skin, held there inchoate, then burst free to dangle and flop like a jungle snake from a branch. For an agonized moment all that Johnnie could think was that it was indeed something like that…some giant, parasitic worm eating its way out of its unlucky host. He thought with dumb self-blame that he had forced Lummie to climb over the mountains…when he was sick to death with that.

  Lummox sighed and wiggled. “Gee!” he said with satisfaction. “That feels better!”

  “Lummox! Are you all right?”

  “Huh? Why shouldn’t I be, Johnnie?”

  “Why? Why, that!”

  “What?” Lummox looked around; the strange growth bent forward and he glanced at it. “Oh, that…” he answered, dismissing the matter.

  The end of the thing opened out like a blossoming flower…and Johnnie realized at last what it was.

  Lummox had grown an arm.

  The arm dried rapidly, lightened in color and seemed to firm. Lummox did not have much control over it yet, but John Thomas could begin to see its final form. It had two elbows, a distinct hand with thumbs on each side. There were five fingers, seven digits in all, and the middle finger was longer and fully flexible, like an elephant’s trunk. The hand did not resemble a human hand much but there was no doubt that it was at least as useful—or would become so; at the moment the digits wiggled aimlessly.

  Lummox let him examine it, but did not himself seem especially interested in the development; Lummox acted as if it were something he always did right after breakfast.

  Johnnie said, “Let me have a look at the other bump,” and walked around Lummox. The rightsid
e tumor was still more bloated. When John Thomas touched it Lummox shrugged away and turned as if to rub it against the tree. “Hold it!” Johnnie called out. “Stand still.”

  “I’ve got to scratch.”

  “You might lame yourself for life. Hold still, I want to try something.” Lummox sulkily complied; Johnnie took out his belt knife and gently nicked the center of the swelling.

  The nick spread and Lummox’s right arm came out almost in Johnnie’s face. He jumped back.

  “Thanks, Johnnie!”

  “Any time, any time.” He sheathed the knife and stared at the newborn arms, his face thoughtful.

  He could not figure all the implications of Lummox’s unexpected acquisition of hands. But he did realize that it was going to change things a lot. In what way, he did not know. Perhaps Lummie would not need so much care after this. On the other hand he might have to be watched or he would be forever getting into things he shouldn’t. He remembered uneasily someone saying what a blessing it was cats did not have hands…well, Lummie had more curiosity than any cat.

  But he felt without knowing why that such things were side issues; this was important.

  In any case, he decided fiercely, this doesn’t change one thing: Chief Dreiser isn’t going to get another crack at him!

  He searched the sky through the branches and wondered if they could be spotted. “Lum…”

  “Yes, Johnnie?”

  “Haul in your legs. It’s time to play like a rock.”

  “Aw, let’s go for a walk, Johnnie.”

  “We’ll go for a walk tonight. But until it gets dark I want you to stay put and hold still.”

  “Aw, Johnnie!”

  “Look, you don’t want to go downtown again, do you? All right, then, quit arguing.”

  “Well, if you feel that way about it.” Lummox settled to the ground. John Thomas sat down, leaned against him, and thought.

  Maybe there was a way in this for Lummie and him to make a living…in a carnival or something. E.-t.s were big stuff in carnivals; they couldn’t run without them—even though half of them were fakes—and Lummie wasn’t a fake. Probably he could learn to do tricks with his hands, play something or something. Maybe a circus was still better.

  No, that wasn’t the thing for Lummie; crowds made him nervous. Uh, what could the two of them do to make a living?…after this mess with the authorities was straightened out, of course. A farm, maybe? Lummie would be better than a tractor and with hands he would be a farm hand, too. Maybe that was the ticket, even though he had never thought about farming.

  In his mind’s eye he saw himself and Lummox growing great fields of grain…and hay…and vegetables and…unaware that he had fallen asleep.

  He was awakened by a cracking noise and knew vaguely that he had heard several of them. He opened his eyes, looked around and found that he was lying beside Lummox. The creature had not left the spot…but he was moving his arms. One arm flailed past Lummox’s head, there was a blur and another crack…and a small aspen some distance away suddenly came down. Several others were down near it.

  John Thomas scrambled to his feet. “Hey, stop that!”

  Lummox stopped. “What’s the matter, Johnnie?” he asked in a hurt voice. There was a pile of rocks in front of him; he was just reaching for one.

  “Don’t throw rocks at trees.”

  “But you do, Johnnie.”

  “Yes, but I don’t ruin them. It’s all right to eat trees, but don’t just spoil them.”

  “I’ll eat them. I was going to.”

  “All right.” Johnnie looked around. It was dusk, they could start again in a few minutes. “Go ahead and have them for supper. Here, wait a minute.” He examined Lummox’s arms. They were the same color as the rest of him, and beginning to get armor hard. But the most striking change was that they were twice as thick as they had been at first—as big around as Johnnie’s thighs. Most of the loose hide had sloughed off; Johnnie found that he could tear off the rest. “Okay. Chow time.”

  Lummox finished the aspens in the time it took John Thomas to prepare and eat his simple meal, and was ready to eat the empty container as a sweet. It was dark by then; they took to the road.

  The second night was even less eventful than the first. It grew steadily colder as they wound even higher; presently Johnnie plugged the power pack of his sleeping bag into his suit. Shortly he was warm and drowsy. “Lum—if I go to sleep, call me when it starts to get light.”

  “Okay, Johnnie.” Lummox stored the order in his after brain, just in case. Cold did not bother him, he was not conscious of it, as his body thermostat was more efficient than was Johnnie’s—even more efficient than the one controlling the power pack.

  John Thomas dozed and woke up and dozed. He was dozing when Lummox called him, just as the first rays brushed distant peaks. Johnnie sat up and began watching for a place to pull out and hide. Luck was against him; it was straight up on one side and the other side swung over a deep, dismal drop. As minutes wore away and it turned broad daylight he began to get panicky.

  But there was nothing to do but plod ahead.

  A stratoship passed in the distance. He could hear the thunderclap, but he could not see it; he could only hope that it was not scanning for him. A few minutes later, while searching all around, he spotted behind them a dot that he hoped was an eagle.

  Very soon he was forced to admit that it was a single human in a flight harness. “Stop, Lummox! Pull over to the wall. You’re a landslide.”

  “A landslide, Johnnie?”

  “Shut up and do it!” Lummox shut up and did it. John Thomas slid down and hid behind Lummox’s head, making himself small. He waited for the flier to pass over.

  The flier did not pass, but swooped in a familiar shoot-the-works style and came in for a landing. Johnnie sighed with relief as Betty Sorenson landed on the spot he had just vacated. She called out, “Howdy, Lummie,” then turned to Johnnie, put her hands on her hips and said, “Well! Aren’t you a pretty sight! Running off without telling me!”

  “Uh, I meant to, Slugger, I really did. But I didn’t have a chance to… I’m sorry.”

  She dropped her fierce expression and smiled. “Never mind. I think better of you than I have in some time. At least you did something. Johnnie, I was afraid you were just a big lummox yourself—pushed around by anybody.”

  John Thomas decided not to argue, being too pleased to see her to take offense. “Uh…well, anyway, how did you manage to spot us?”

  “Huh? Knothead, you’ve been gone two nights and you are still only a short flight from town…how could you expect not to be spotted?”

  “Yes, but how did you know where to look?”

  She shrugged. “The old rule: I thought like a mule and went where the mule would. I knew you would be along this road, so I started out at barely ‘can-see’ and swooped along it. And if you don’t want to be caught in the next few minutes we had better boost out of here and get under cover. Come on! Lummie old boy, start your engines.”

  She put down a hand and Johnnie swung aboard; the procession started up. “I’ve been trying to get off the road,” Johnnie explained nervously, “but we haven’t come to a spot.”

  “I see. Well, hold your breath, ’cause around this bend is Adam-and-Eve Falls and we can get off the road just above them.”

  “Oh, is that where we are?”

  “Yes.” Betty leaned forward in a futile attempt to see around a rock shoulder ahead. So doing, she caught her first glimpse of Lummox’s arms. She grabbed John Thomas. “Johnnie! There’s a boa constrictor on Lummie!”

  “What? Don’t be silly. That’s just his right arm.”

  “His what? Johnnie, you’re ill.”

  “Level off and quit grabbing me. I said ‘arms’—those tumor things were arms.”

  “The tumors…were arms?” She sighed. “I got up too early and I haven’t had breakfast. I can’t take shocks like that. All right, tell him to stop. I got to see this.”

>   “How about getting under cover?”

  “Oh. Yes, you’re right You’re usually right, Johnnie—two or three weeks late.”

  “Don’t strain yourself. There are the falls.”

  They passed the falls; the floor of the canyon thereby came up to meet them. John Thomas took the first chance to get off the road, a spot like their bivouac of the day before. He felt much better to have Lummox back under thick trees again. While he prepared breakfast, Betty examined Lummox’s brand-new arms.

  “Lummox,” she said reprovingly, “you didn’t tell mama about this.”

  “You didn’t ask me,” he objected.

  “Excuses, always excuses. Well, what can you do with them?”

  “I can throw rocks. Johnnie, is it all right?”

  “No!” John Thomas said hastily. “Betty, how do you want your coffee?”

  “Just bare-footed,” she answered absently and went on inspecting the limbs. There was a notion hovering in her mind about them, but it would not light…which annoyed her, as she expected her mind to work for her with the humming precision of a calculator and no nonsense, please! Oh, well…breakfast first.

  After they had fed the dirty dishes to Lummox, Betty lounged back and said to John Thomas, “Problem child, have you any idea what a storm you have stirred up?”

  “Uh, I guess I’ve got Chief Dreiser’s goat.”

  “No doubt and correct. But you might as well turn it loose; there won’t be room in the pen.”

  “Mr. Perkins?”

  “Right. Keep trying.”

  “Mum, of course.”

  “Of course. She alternates between weeping for her lost baby and announcing that you are no son of hers.”

  “Yeah. I know Mum,” he admitted uneasily. “Well, I don’t care… I knew they’d all be sore at me. But I had to.”

  “Of course you had to, Knothead darling, even though you did it with the eager grace of a hippopotamus. But I don’t mean them.”

  “Huh?”

  “Johnnie, there is a little town in Georgia named Adrian. It’s too small to have a regular safety force, just a constable. Do you happen to know that constable’s name?”