Satan's World

by Poul Anderson

  “Donder op!” van Rijn cried. Adzel tucked him under one arm. “Wat drommel?” he protested. The Wodenite grabbed Chee by the tail and pounded toward the air lock.

  He must squint into lightning dazzle, stagger from thunders, gasp in smoke and vapor, as the ship bombarded the castle. In the bridge, Falkayn protested: “We don’t want to hurt noncombatants.”

  Muddlehead replied, “In conformity with your general directive, I am taking the precaution of demolishing installations whose radio resonances suggest that they are heavy guns and missile racks.”

  “Can you get me through to somebody inside?” Falkayn asked.

  “I shall tune in what we have noted as the usual Dathynan communication bands . . . Yes. An attempt is being made to call us.”

  The screen flickered. Streaked, distorted, static-crazed, the image of Thea Beldaniel appeared. Her face was a mask of horror. Behind her, the room where she sat trembled and cracked under the ship’s blows. By now, Falkayn could no longer see the castle facade. Nothing showed but dust, pierced through and through by the nuclear flames and the bursting shells. His skull shivered; he was himself half deafened by the violence he unleashed. Faintly he heard her: “Davy, Davy, are you doing this to us?”

  He gripped the arms of his chair and said through clenched jaws: “I didn’t want to. You force me. Listen, though. This is a taste of war for you and yours. The tiniest, gentlest, most carefully administered dose of the poison we can give. We’re bound away soon. I’d hoped to be far off before you realized what’d happened. But maybe this is best. Because I don’t think you can summon help from elsewhere in time to catch us. And you know what to expect.”

  “Davy . . . my lord Moath . . . is dead . . . I saw a bolt hit him, he went up in a spurt of fire—” She could not go on.

  “You’re better off without a lord,” Falkayn said. “Every human being is. But tell the others. Tell them the Polesotechnic League bears no grudge and wants no fight. However, if we must, we will do the job once for all. Your Shenna won’t be exterminated; we have more mercy than they showed the Old Dathynans. But let them try resisting us, and we’ll strip the machinery from them and turn them into desert herders. I suggest you urge them to consider what terms they might make instead. Show them what happened here and tell them they were fools to get in the way of freemen!”

  She gave him a shattered look. Pity tugged at him, and he might have said more. But Adzel, Chee Lan, Nicholas van Rijn were aboard. The stronghold was reduced: with few casualties, he hoped, nevertheless a terrible object lesson. He cut his transmission. “Cease barrage,” he ordered. “Lift and make for Earth.”

  XXV

  “There has been no trace of any hyperdrive except our own for a continuous twenty-four hours,” Muddlehead reported.

  Falkayn gusted a sigh. His long body eased into a more comfortable position, seated half on the spine, feet on the saloon table. “I reckon that settles it,” he smiled. “We’re home safe.”

  For in the illimitable loneliness that reaches between the stars, how shall a single mote be found, once it has lost itself and the lives it carries? Dathyna’s sun was no more than the brightest glitter in those hordes that filled the cabin viewscreens. The engines murmured, the ventilators blew odors suggesting flowery meadows, tobacco was fragrant, one could look for peace throughout the month of flight that lay ahead.

  And Judas, but they needed a rest!

  A point of anxiety must first be blunted. “You’re sure you didn’t take undue radiation exposure while you were outside?” Falkayn asked.

  “I tell you, I have checked each of us down to the chromosomes,” Chee mapped. “I am a xenobiologist, you know . . . you do know, don’t you? . . . and this vessel is well-equipped for that kind of studies. Adzel got the largest dose, because he shielded us, but even in his case, no damage was done that available pharmaceuticals will not repair.” She turned from her curled-up placement on a bench, jerked her cigarette holder at the Wodenite where he sprawled on the deck, and added: “Of course, I shall have to give you your treatments en route, when I might be painting or sculpting or—You big slobbersoul, why didn’t you bring a chunk of lead to lie under?”

  Adzel leered. “You had all the lead in your own possession,” he said. “Guess where.”

  Chee sputtered. Van Rijn slapped the table—his beer glass leaped—and guffawed: “Touché! I did not think you was a wit.”

  “That’s wit?” the Cynthian grumbled. “Well, I suppose for him it is.”

  “Oh, he needs to learn,” van Rijn conceded, “but what makes matter is, he has begun. We will have him play at drawing-room comedies yet. How about in ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ ? Haw!”

  The merchant’s classical reference went by the others. “I’d suggest a party to celebrate,” Falkayn said. “Unfortunately—”

  “Right,” van Rijn said. “Business before pleasure, if not too bloomering long before. We should assemble our various informations while they is fresh in our minds, because if we let them begin to rot and stink in our minds, we could lose parts of what they imply.”

  “Huh?” Falkayn blinked. “What do you mean, sir?”

  Van Rijn leaned forward, cradling his chins in one great paw. “We need keys to the Shenn character so we know how to handle them.”

  “But isn’t that a job for professionals?” inquired Adzel. “After the League has been alerted to the existence of a real threat, it will find ways to carry out a detailed scientific study of Dathyna and draw conclusions much more certain and complete than we possibly could on the basis of our data.”

  “Ja, ja, ja,” van Rijn said, irritated, “but our time is shortening. We don’t know for sure what the Shenna do next. Could be they decide they will attack fast as they possible can, try and beat us to the rum punch, in spite of what you taught them, Muddlehead.”

  “I was not programmed to deliver formal instruction,” the computer admitted.

  Van Rijn ignored it. “Maybe they don’t be that suicidal,” he went on. “Anyhowever, we got to have some theory about them to start on. Maybe it is wrong, but even then it is better than nothing, because it will set xenological teams looking for something definite. When we know what the Shenna want in their bottom, then we can talk meaningful to them and maybe make peace.”

  “It is not for me to correct a Terrestrial’s use of Terrestrial idiom,” Adzel said, “but don’t you wish to discuss what they basically want?”

  Van Rijn turned red. “Hokay, hokay, you damn pedagoggle! What is the base desires of the Shenna? What drives them, really? We get insight—oh, not scientific, Chee Lan, not in formulas—but we get a feel for them, a poet’s empathizing, and they is no longer senseless monsters to us but beings we can reason with. The specialists from the League can make their specials later. Time is so precious, though. We can save a lot of it, and so maybe save a lot of lives, if we bring back with us at Earth a tantivy . . . a tentacle . . . dood ook ondergang, this Anglic! . . . a tentative program for research and even for action.”

  He drained his beer. Soothed thereby, he lit his pipe, settled back, and rumbled: “We got our experience and information. Also we got analogues for help. I don’t think any sophonts could be total unique, in this big a universe. So we can draw on our understanding about other races.

  “Like you, Chee Lan, for instance: we know you is a carnivore—but a small one—and this means you got instincts for being tough and aggressive within reason. You, Adzel, is a big omnivore, so big your ancestors didn’t never need to carry chips on their shoulders, nor fish either; your breed tends more to be peaceful, but hellish independent too, in a quiet way; somebody tries for dictating your life, you don’t kill him like Chee would, no, you plain don’t listen at him. And we humans, we is omnivores, too, but our primate ancestors went hunting in packs, and they got built in a year-around sex drive; from these two roots springs everything what makes a man a human being. Hokay? I admit this is too generalistic, but still, if we could fi
t what we know about the Shenna in one broad pattern—”

  Actually, the same idea had been germinating in each of them. Talking, they developed several facets of it. These being mutually consistent, they came to believe their end result, however sketchy, was in essence true. Later xenological studies confirmed it.

  Even a world like Earth, blessed with a constant sun, has known periods of massive extinction. Conditions changed in a geological overnight, and organisms that had flourished for megayears vanished. Thus, at the end of the Cretaceous, ammonites and dinosaurs alike closed their long careers. At the end of the Pliocene, most of the large mammals—those whose names, as bestowed afterward, usually terminate in -therium—stopped bumbling across the landscape. The reasons are obscure to this day. The raw fact remains: existence is precarious.

  On Dathyna, the predicament was worse. The solar bombardment was always greater than Earth receives. At the irregular peaks of activity, it was very much greater. Magnetic field and atmosphere could not ward off everything. Belike, mutations which occurred during an earlier maximum led to the improbable result of talking, dreaming, tool-making herbivores. If so, a cruel natural selection was likewise involved: for the history of such a planet must needs be one of ecological catastrophes.

  The next radiation blizzard held off long enough for the race to attain full intelligence; to develop its technology; to discover the scientific method; to create a world-wide society which was about to embark for the stars, had perhaps already done it a time or two. Then the sun burned high again.

  Snows melted, oceans rose, coasts and low valleys were inundated. The tropics were scorched to savannah or desert. All that could be survived. Indeed, quite probably its harsh stimulus was what produced the last technological creativity, the planetary union, the reaching into space.

  But again the assault intensified. This second phase was less an increase of electromagnetic energy, heat and light, than it was a whole new set of process, triggered when a certain threshold was passed within the waxing star. Protons were hurled forth; electrons; mesons; X-ray quanta. The magnetosphere glowed with synchrotron radiation, the upper atmosphere with secondaries. Many life forms must have died within a year or two. Others, interdependent, followed them. The ecological pyramid crumbled. Mutation went over the world like a scythe, and everything collapsed.

  No matter how far it had progressed, civilization was not autonomous. It could not synthesize all its necessities. Crop lands became dust-bowls, orchards stood leafless, sea plants decayed into scum, forests parched and burned, new diseases arose. Step by step, population shrank, enterprises were abandoned for lack of personnel and resources, knowledge was forgotten, the area of the possible shrank. A species more fierce by nature might have made a stronger effort to surmount its troubles—or might not—but in any event, the Dathynans were not equal to the task. More and more of those who remained sank gradually into barbarism.

  And then, among the barbarians, appeared a new mutation.

  A favorable mutation.

  Herbivores cannot soon become carnivores, not even when they can process meat to make it edible. But they can shed the instincts which make them herd together in groups too large for a devastated country to support. They can acquire an instinct to hunt the animals that supplement their diet—to defend, with absolute fanaticism, a territory that will keep them and theirs alive—to move if that region is no longer habitable, and seize the next piece of land—to perfect the weapons, organization, institutions, myths, religions, and symbols necessary—

  —To become killer herbivores.

  And they will go further along that line than the carnivora, whose fang-and-claw ancestors evolved limits on aggressiveness lest the species dangerously deplete itself. They might even go further than the omnivora, who, while not so formidable in body and hence with less original reason to restrain their pugnacity, have borne arms of some kind since the first proto-intelligence developed in them, and may thus have weeded the worst berserker tendencies out of their own stock.

  Granted, this is a very rough rule-of-thumb statement with many an exception. But the idea will perhaps be clarified if we compare the peaceful lion with the wild boar who may or may not go looking for a battle and him in turn with the rhinoceros or Cape buffalo.

  The parent stock on Dathyna had no chance. It could fight bravely, but not collectively to much effect. If victorious in a given clash, it rarely thought about pursuing; if defeated, it scattered. Its civilization was tottering already, its people demoralized, its politico-economic structure reduced to a kind of feudalism. If any group escaped to space, they never came back looking for revenge.

  A gang of Shenna would invade an area, seize the buildings, kill and eat those Old Dathynans whom they did not castrate and enslave. No doubt the conquerors afterward made treaties with surrounding domains, who were pathetically eager to believe the aliens were now satisfied. Not many years passed, however, before a new land-hungry generation of Shenna quarreled with their fathers and left to seek their fortunes.

  The conquest was no result of an overall plan. Rather, the Shenna took Dathyna in the course of several centuries because they were better fitted. In an economy of scarcity, where an individual needed hectares to support himself, aggressiveness paid off; it was how you acquired those hectares in the first place and retained them later. No doubt the sexual difference, unusual among sophonts, was another mutation which, being useful too, became linked. Given a high casualty rate among the Shenn males, the warriors, reproduction was maximized by providing each with several females. Hunting and fighting were the principal jobs; females, who must conserve the young, could not take part in this; accordingly, they lost a certain amount of intelligence and initiative. (Remember that the original Shenn population was very small, and did not increase fast for quite a while. Thus genetic drift operated powerfully. Some fairly irrelevant characteristics like the male mane became established in that way—plus some other traits that might actually be disadvantageous, though not crippling.)

  At length the parricidal race had overrun the planet. Conditions began to improve as radiation slacked off, new life forms developed, old ones returned from enclaves of survival. It would be long before Dathyna had her original fertility back. But she could again bear a machine culture. From relics, from books, from traditions, conceivably from a few last slaves of the first species, the Shenna began rebuilding what they had helped destroy.

  But here the peculiar set of drives which had served them well during the evil millennia, played them false. How shall there be community, as is required for a high technology, if each male is to live alone with his harem, challenging any other who dares enter his realm?

  The answer is that the facts were never that simple. There was as much variation from Shenn to Shenn as there is from man to man. The less successful had always tended to attach themselves to the great, rather than go into exile. From this developed the extended household—a number of polygynous families in strict hierarchy under a patriarch with absolute authority—that was the “fundamental” unit of Shenn society, as the tribe is of human, the matrilineal clan of Cynthian, or the migratory band of Wodenite society.

  The creation of larger groups out of the basic one is difficult on any planet. The results are all too likely to be pathological organizations, preserved more and more as time goes on by nothing except naked force, until finally they disintegrate. Consider, for example, nations, empires, and world associations on Earth. But it need not always be thus.

  The Shenna were reasoning creatures. They could grasp the need for cooperation intellectually, as most species can. If they were not emotionally capable of a planet-wide government, they were of an inter-baronial confederacy.

  Especially when they saw their way clear to an attack—the Minotaur’s charge—upon the stars!

  “Ja,” nodded van Rijn, “if they are like that, we can handle them hokay.”

  “By kicking them back into the Stone Age and sitting on them,�
� Chee Lan growled.

  Adzel raised his head. “What obscenity did you speak? I won’t have it!”

  “You’d rather let them run loose, with nuclear weapons?” she retorted.

  “Now, now,” said van Rijn. “Now, now, now. Don’t let’s say bad things about a whole race. I am sure they can do much good if they is approached right.” He beamed and rubbed his hands together. “Sure, much fine money to make off them Shenna.” His grin grew broader and smugger. “Well, friends, I think we finished our duty for today. We has clubbed our brains and come up with understandings and we deserve a little celebration. Davy, lad, suppose you start by bringing in a bottle Genever and a few cases of beer—”

  Falkayn braced himself. “I tried to tell you earlier, sir,” he said, “that brew you drank was the end of our supply.”

  Van Rijn’s eyes threatened to leap from their sockets.

  “This ship left Luna without taking on extra provisions,” Falkayn said. “Nothing aboard except the standard rations. Including some beverages, of course . . . but, well, how was I to know you’d join us and—” His voice trailed off. The hurricane was rising.

  “Wha-a-a-at?” Echoes flew around van Rijn’s scream. “You mean . . . a month in space . . . and nothings for drinking except—Not even any beer?”

  The next half hour was indescribable.

  XXVI

  But half an Earth year after that—

  Chandra Mahavany, Assistant Minister of Foreign Relations of the Terrestrial Commonwealth looked out at the ocher-and-gold globe which the battleship was orbiting, and back again, and said indignantly: “You cannot do it! You, a mere mutual-benefit alliance of . . . of capitalists . . . enslaving a species, a world!”