by Various
"Easy, Mark, easy," he said. He picked up the translation again and sat down. "You can read it over my shoulder, if you want to."
"I just want to find out the dog's name."
"The important thing is his master's name. Julian Hagstrom, it says. And he was on a spaceship with his brother, Raoul."
Mark's eyes had skipped ahead. "Look, Pop, here's the dog's name--Arkem! I never heard of a dog having a name like that! What does it mean?"
"I wouldn't know," muttered Sam absently, still reading.
But Mark wasn't actually interested in his answer. He ran outside. "Arkem!" he called. "Arkem!"
There was nothing he could interpret as an answer. After a moment or two he came into the ship again, his face betraying his disappointment. "I guess he doesn't hear me. He's too far away."
Sam nodded. He had put the translation down and was staring straight ahead of him, as if looking through the ship's side.
"Is anything the matter, Pop?"
"What? Oh, no, nothing's the matter. I was just thinking about what I read here."
"They had an accident, didn't they? How did it happen?"
* * * * *
"It happened because their ship wasn't as good as ours. Julian Hagstrom, the man who was killed, was buried here by his brother. Raoul put this record in the stone to mark his grave. I think he also engraved something on the stone itself. But that's been worn away."
"It must have been a long time ago. Maybe years."
"Yes, it was years ago. After he buried Julian, Raoul tried to make repairs, and headed in a direction where he hoped he'd find a civilized planet. He never made it."
"How can you know that? He wrote the paper before he started out."
"If he had made it, we'd have heard of him. We'd certainly have heard of him." Sam's face was bleak. "And Rhoda--your mother--would still be alive."
Mark looked puzzled, and stared at the translation once more. "It says here he tried to re-reverse the aging process. What does that mean? And what's immortality, Pop?"
"Something he and his brother were looking for. Something to keep people from ever dying. They had a ship full of dogs and other animals. All died in their experiments--all but Arkem. They had high hopes of Arkem. He lived through a number of different treatments and became quite a pet of Julian's. Then came the crash. Their method wasn't proof against accidental death, and at any rate they hadn't applied it yet to themselves.
"After Raoul buried his brother, the dog was miserable, and howled so much that Raoul decided to leave him behind. He was helped to reach this decision by the fact that the ship had lost much of its air in the accident, and he knew that the air-purifying mechanism wasn't working too well. He figured he'd have a better chance of surviving if he stayed in the ship alone. But it didn't do him any good. He was lost in space, or we'd certainly have heard of him."
From outside there came the sound of a low growl. "It's Arkem!" cried Mark. "Now you'll see. Wait till he hears me call his name."
He ran out, and Sam followed slowly. "Don't expect too much, Mark," he said, almost with pity.
Mark didn't hear him. "Arkem!" he called. "Arkem! Arkem!"
The dog was watchful, keeping his distance and giving no sign of recognition. Sam put his arm around his son's shoulder.
"Arkem, Arkem! Here, Arkem!"
The dog snarled.
* * * * *
There were tears in the boy's eyes. "He doesn't know his own name! He doesn't even know his own name! Arkem!"
"It's no use, Mark, he's forgotten he ever had a name. I'm afraid you'd better give up the idea of having him as a pet."
"But you can't forget your own name!"
"You can in eight hundred years. Yes, Mark, that's when all this happened, eight hundred years ago. That's why the language had to be translated. Arkem is immortal. And during his long life he's forgotten not only his name, but the master for whose sake he was marooned here. If Julian Hagstrom were, by some miracle, to come back to life, I'm sure the dog wouldn't remember him. All he has is a vague but strong tie to that heap of stones. He no longer knows why he's protecting it. He's been away from live human beings so long that his brain is little more than a bundle of reflexes and instincts."
"I'll train him," said Mark. "Sometimes you forget a thing at first, but it comes back to you later. He'll remember his name--here, Arkem!"
"It's no use," said Sam. "For eight hundred years he's been tied to that heap of stones. He'll never remember anything except that fact. I'll get you another dog for a pet."
"You mean we're going back to Mars or Earth?"
"Some place like that. Some place where there are people. Being alone in space is no good for you."
"Oh, no, Pop, you can't get rid of me like that."
"I'm not trying to get rid of you," said Sam. "Being alone in space is no good for me either. I'm going with you."
"Gee, are you sure? You won't change your mind?"
The delighted but uncertain look on his son's face shook Sam. He said carefully, "I won't change my mind. I've decided that it's possible to have too much of a good thing. If grief is a good thing."
Suddenly, for no reason that they could detect, the dog barked at them and backed away, the fur rising in an angry ridge along his back.
"Couldn't we take him along anyway?" asked Mark. "I don't like to think of him all alone here, year after year."
"He'll be miserable here, but he'd be more miserable away from his heap of dirt and stones. Perhaps--" Mark didn't see as Sam pulled his gun, then let it slip back into place. "No. That's none of my business. Maybe he'll be fortunate and have an accident."
"What did you say, Pop?"
"Nothing much. Come along, Mark. We're heading for civilization."
An hour later, the ship rose into the air. Through the blasting of the rockets, Sam thought--imagined, he decided, was a better word--that he heard the long doleful whine of a creature whose mindless grief was doomed to last for all eternity.
* * *
Contents
TREES ARE WHERE YOU FIND THEM
By Arthur Dekker Savage
The trees on Mars are few and stunted, says old Doc Yoris. There's plenty of gold, of course--but trees can be much more important!
You might say the trouble started at the Ivy, which is a moving picture house in Cave Junction built like a big quonset. It's the only show in these parts, and most of us old-timers up here in the timber country of southwest Oregon have got into the habit of going to see a picture on Saturday nights before we head for a tavern.
But I don't think old Doc Yoris, who was there with Lew and Rusty and me, had been to more than two or three shows in his life. Doc is kind of sensitive about his appearance on account of his small eyes and big nose and ears; and since gold mining gave way to logging and lumber mills, with Outsiders drifting into the country, Doc has taken to staying on his homestead away back up along Deer Creek, near the boundary of the Siskiyou National Forest. It's gotten so he'll come to Cave Junction only after dark, and even then he wears dark glasses so strangers won't notice him too much.
I couldn't see anything funny about the picture when Doc started laughing, but I figure it's a man's own business when he wants to laugh, so I didn't say anything. The show was one of these scientific things, and when Doc began to cackle it was showing some men getting out of a rocket ship on Mars and running over to look at some trees.
Rusty, who's top choker setter in our logging outfit, was trying to see Doc's point. He can snare logs with a hunk of steel cable faster than anyone I know, but he's never had much schooling. He turned to Doc. "I don't get it, Doc," he said. "What's the deal?"
Doc kept chuckling. "It's them trees," he said. "There's no trees like that on Mars."
"Oh," said Rusty.
I suppose it was just chance that Burt Holden was sitting behind us and heard the talk. Burt is one of the newcomers. He'd come down from Grants Pass and started a big lumber mill and logging outfit, and wa
s trying to freeze out the little operators.
He growled something about keeping quiet. That got Rusty and Lew kind of mad, and Lew turned around and looked at Burt. Lew is even bigger than Burt, and things might have got interesting, but I wanted to see the rest of the picture. I nudged him and asked him if he had a chew. They won't let you smoke in the show, but it's okay to chew, and most of us were in the habit anyway, because there's too much danger of forest fire when you smoke on the job.
Doc laughed every time the screen showed trees, and I could hear Burt humping around in his seat like he was irritated.
* * * * *
At the end of the show we drifted over to the Owl Tavern and took a table against the north wall, behind the pool tables and across from the bar. Doc had put his dark glasses back on, and he sat facing the wall.
Not that many people apart from the Insiders knew Doc. He hadn't been very active since the young medical doctor had come to Cave Junction in 1948, although he never turned down anyone who came for help, and as far as I knew he'd never lost a patient unless he was already dead when Doc got there.
We were kidding Lew because he was still wearing his tin hat and caulked boots from work. "You figuring on starting early in the morning?" I asked him. Rusty and Doc laughed. It was a good joke because we rode out to the job in my jeep, and so we'd naturally get there at the same time.
Then Rusty sat up straighter and looked over at the bar. "Hey," he said, "Pop's talking to Burt Holden." Pop Johnson owns our outfit. He's one of the small operators that guys like Burt are trying to squeeze out.
"Hope he don't try to rook Pop into no deals," said Lew.
Doc tipped up his bottle of beer. In Oregon they don't sell anything but beer in the taverns. "Times change," he said. "Back in 1900 all they wanted was gold. Now they're trying to take all the trees."
"It's the big operators like Burt," I said. "Little guys like Pop can't cut 'em as fast as they grow. The companies don't have to reseed, either, except on National Forest land."
"That Burt Holden was up to my place couple weeks ago," said Doc. "Darn near caught me skinning out a deer."
"He better not yap to the game warden," said Rusty. "Them laws is for sports and Outsiders, not us guys who need the meat."
"He wanted to buy all my timber," said Doc. "Offered me ten dollars a thousand board feet, on the stump."
"Don't sell," I advised him. "If Burt offers that much, almost anyone else will pay twelve."
Doc looked at me. "I'd never sell my trees. Not at any price. I got a hundred and sixty acres of virgin stand, and that's the way it's gonna stay. I cut up the windfalls and snags for firewood, and that's all."
"Here comes Pop," said Lew.
Pop sat down with us and had a beer. He looked worried. We didn't ask him any questions, because we figure a man will talk if he wants to, and if he doesn't it's his own business.
He finally unlimbered. "Burt Holden wants to buy the mill," he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Buy your mill?" said Lew. "Hell, his mill is five times as big, and he's even got a burner to take care of slashings, so he don't have to shut down in the fire season."
"He just wants the land," said Pop, "because it's near the highway. He wants to tear down my setup and build a pulp mill."
"A pulp mill!" If we could have seen Doc's eyes through the glasses I imagine they'd have been popped open a full half inch. "Why, then they'll be cutting down everything but the brush!"
Pop nodded. "Yeah. Size of a log don't matter when you make paper--just so it's wood."
It seemed as though Doc was talking to himself. "They'll strip the land down bare," he mumbled. "And the hills will wash away, and the chemicals they use in the mill will kill the fish in the creeks and the Illinois River."
"That's why they won't let anyone start a pulp mill near Grants Pass," said Pop. "Most of the town's money comes from sports who come up to the Rogue River to fish."
Rusty set his jaw. "In the winter we need them fish," he said. He was right, too. The woods close down in the winter, on account of the snow, and if a man can't hunt and fish he's liable to get kind of hungry. That rocking chair money doesn't stretch very far.
"I ain't gonna sell," said Pop. "But that won't stop Burt Holden, and any place he builds the mill around here will drain into the Illinois."
Doc pushed back his chair and stood up to his full height of five foot four. "I'm gonna talk to Burt Holden," he said.
Rusty stood up to his six foot three. "I'll bring him over here, Doc," he said. "We're handy to the cue rack here, and Lew and Simmons can keep them guys he's with off my back."
I stood up and shoved Rusty back down. I'm no taller than he is, but I outweigh him about twenty pounds. I started working in the woods when we still felled trees with axes and misery whips--crosscut saws to the Outsiders. "I'll go get him," I said. "You're still mad about the show, and you wouldn't be able to get him this far without mussing him up."
"There won't be no trouble," said Doc. "I just want to make him an offer."
* * * * *
I went over and told Burt that Doc wanted to talk to him. The three guys with him followed us back to the table.
Burt figured he knew what it was all about, and he just stood over Doc and looked down on him. "If it's about your timber, Yoris," he said, "I'll take it, but I can't pay you more than nine dollars now. Lumber's coming down, and I'm taking a chance even at that." He rocked back and forth on his heels and looked at Pop as though daring him to say different.
"I still don't want to sell, Mr. Holden," said Doc. "But I've got better than three million feet on my place, and I'll give it to you if you won't put a pulp mill anywhere in the Illinois Valley."
We were all floored at that, but Burt recovered first. He gave a nasty laugh. "Not interested, Yoris. If you want to sell, look me up."
"Wait!" said Doc. "A pulp mill will take every tree in the Valley. In a few years--"
"It'll make money, too," said Burt flatly.
"Money ain't everything by a long shot. It won't buy trees and creeks and rain."
"It'll buy trees to make lumber." Burt was getting mad. "I don't want any opposition from you, Yoris. I've had enough trouble from people who try to hold back progress. If you don't like the way we run things here, you can--hell, you can go back to Mars!"
It seemed to me that it was just about time to start in. I could have taken Burt easiest, but I knew Rusty would probably swing on him first and get in my way, so I planned to work on the two guys on Burt's right, leaving the one on his left for Lew. I didn't want Pop to get tangled up in it.
I don't generally wait too long after I make up my mind, but then I noticed Rusty reaching out slowly for a cue stick, and I thought maybe I'd better take Burt first, while Rusty got set. I never did see a guy so one way about having something in his hands.
But Doc didn't drop out. "There ain't nothing but a few scrub trees on Mars," he said to Burt, looking him square in the eye. "And no creeks and no rain."
Burt curled his lip sarcastically. "The hell you say! Is that why you didn't like it there?" You could see he was just trying to egg Doc into saying he'd come from Mars, so he could give him the horse laugh. The guys he was with were getting set for a fracas, but they were waiting for Burt to lead off.
Doc didn't get caught. "But there's gold," he said, like he hadn't heard Burt at all. "Tons of it--laying all over the ground."
I guess Burt decided to ride along. "Okay, Yoris," he said. "Tell you what I'll do. For only one ton of Martian gold I'll agree to drop all plans for a pulp mill, here or anywhere else. In fact, I'll get out of business altogether."
Doc moved in like a log falling out of the loading tongs. "That's a deal," he said. "You ready to go?"
Burt started to look disgusted, then he smiled. "Sure. Mars must be quite a place if you came from there."
"Okay," said Doc. "You just stand up against the wall, Mr. Holden." Burt's smile faded. He figured D
oc was trying to maneuver him into a likely position for us. But Doc cleared that up quick. "You boys get up and stand aside," he ordered. "Get back a ways and give Mr. Holden plenty of room." We didn't like it, but we cleared out from around the table. A bunch from the bar and pool tables, sensing something was up, came drifting over to watch. I could feel tension building up. "Now," said Doc, pointing, "you just stand right over there, Mr. Holden, and fold your arms."
Burt didn't like the audience, and I guess he figured his plans were backfiring when Doc didn't bluff. "You hill-happy old coot," he snarled. "You'd better go home and sleep it off!" I grabbed hold of Lew's arm and shook my head at Rusty. I wasn't going to interfere with Doc now.
"You're not scared, are you, Mr. Holden?" said Doc quietly. "Just you stand against the wall and take it easy. It won't hurt a bit."
* * * * *
Burt Holden was plenty tough for an Outsider, and a hard-headed businessman to boot, but he'd never run into a customer like Doc before. You could see him trying to make up his mind on how to handle this thing. He glanced around quick at the crowd, and I could tell he decided to play it out to where Doc would have to draw in his horns. He actually grinned, for the effect it would have on everybody watching. "All right, Yoris," he said. He backed against the wall and folded his arms. "But hadn't you better stand up here with me?"
"I ain't going," said Doc. "I don't like Mars. But you won't have no trouble getting your gold. There's nuggets the size of your fist laying all over the dry river beds."
"I hate to be nosey," said Burt, playing to the crowd, "but how are you going to get me there?"
"With his head, o'course!" blurted Rusty before I could stop him. "Just like he cures you when you're sick!" Doc had pulled Rusty through two or three bad kid sicknesses--and a lot of the rest of us, too.
"Yep," said Doc. "A man don't need one of them rocket things to get between here and Mars. Fact is, I never seen one."