The Duplicators

by Murray Leinster

  “Then you’ll probably have to pay it.”

  “Without greenstuff, I can’t,” said Harl bitterly.

  There was an addition to the faint, joyous clamor beyond the horizon. Link began to discount any chance of success in this expedition. If Harl was right, Thistlethwaite had gotten to the ship, had gotten more clothing, and had very probably passed out in lieu of cash or beer, such objects of virtue as mirrors, cosmetics, cooking pots made of other metals than iron, crockery, small electric appliances like flashlights, pens, pencils, and synthetic fabrics. None of these things could be duplied on Sord Three, because the minerals required as raw materials had been forgotten if they were ever known.

  And all this would put Harl in a bad situation, no doubt. Every Householder would need to deal with Old Man Addison for such trinkets, which he must supply to his retainers or seem less than a desirable feudal superior. But to Link the grim fact was that Thistlethwaite must have gotten to the ship before the mounted party. If he suspected pursuit he’d waste no time. He’d go on. And if he had gone on—

  Dead ahead, now, there were peculiar small sounds. It took Link seconds to realize that it was the hoofs of uffts on metal stair treads and metal floors, the sound coming out of an opened exit port.

  “Harl,” said Link in a low tone, “Thistlethwaite may still be in the ship. There are certainly plenty of uffts rummaging around in there! Can you get your men—”

  But Harl did not wait for such advice as a self-appointed chief of staff might give to his commander-in-chief on the eve of battle. He raised his voice.

  “There they are, boys!” he bellowed. “Come along an’ get ’em! Get the whiskery fella! If we don’t get him there’ll be no hangin’ tonight!”

  Roaring impressively, he urged his awkward mount forward. He was followed by all his undisciplined troop. It was a wild and furious and completely confused charge. Link and Harl led it, of course. They topped a natural rise in the ground and saw the tall shape of the Glamorgan against the stars.

  There was a wild stirring of what seemed to be hordes of uffts, clustered about the exit port and swarming in and swarming out again. A light inside the port cast an inadequate glow outside and in that dim light, rotund, pig-like shapes could be seen squirming and struggling to get into the ship, if they were outside, or to get out if they happened to be in. Link saw the glitter of that light upon metal. Evidently the uffts were making free with at least the contents of one cargo compartment. They were bringing out what small objects they could carry.

  Harl bellowed again, and his followers dutifully yelled behind him, and the whole pack of them went sweeping over the hillcrest and down upon the aggregation of uffts. The unicorns were apparently blessed with good night vision, because none of them fell among the boulders that strewed the hillside.

  The charge was discovered. Squeals and squeaks of alarm came from the uffts. It was not as much of a tumult as so many small creatures should make, however. Those with aluminum pots and pans, or kitchen appliances, or small tools or other booty, those of them with objects carried in their mouths simply bolted off into the dark, making no outcry because it would have made them drop their loot. Link saw one of them with an especially large pot dive into it and roll over, and pick it up again and run ten paces and then trip and dive into it again before it found a way to hold the pot safely and go galloping madly away.

  The other uffts scattered. But there were boulders here. They shrilled defiant slogans from behind them. “Down with men! Uffts forever!” they yapped at the men on their unicorns. So far as combat was concerned, however, the charge on the spaceship was anticlimactic. The uffts outside either fled with whatever they’d picked up in their teeth, or scattered to abuse the men from lurking-places among the boulders all round about. But there were very many more inside the ship. They came streaming out in a struggling, squabbling flood. The riders did not try to stop them. They seemed satisfied and even pleased with themselves over the panicky flight of the uffts. They clustered about the exit port, but they allowed the uffts through as they fled.

  “What’ll we do now?” asked Harl.

  “See if Thistlethwaite’s inside,” said Link curtly.

  He got the stun gun ready. There’d been no effort by any of the riders to use their spears on the uffts. Link could understand it. Uffts talked. And a man can kill a dangerous animal, or even a merely annoying one, but it would seem like murder to use a deadly weapon on a creature which was apparently incapable of anything more dangerous than nipping at a unicorn’s foot or tearing the clothes of a man buried under a squealing heap of them. A man simply wouldn’t think of killing a talking animal which couldn’t harm him save by abuse.

  Harl swung from his saddle and strode inside the ship. Link heard him climb the metal stairs inside. There was a wild squealing sound, and something came falling down the steps with a clatter as of tinware. An ufft rolled out of the door and streaked for the horizon, squealing.

  There were more yellings.

  “Down with murderers of interstellar travelers!” squeaked an invisible ufft somewhere nearby. “Men have hands!

  “Shame! Shame! Shame!” yapped another. Then a chorus set up, “Men go home! Men go home! Men go home!”

  The men on the unicorns seemed to grow uneasy. They were bunched around the exit port of the ship. There were very many uffts concealed nearby. They made a racket of abuse. Sometimes they shouted whatever of competing outcries caught their fancy, as in the rhythmic, “Men go home!” effort. Then there was merely a wild clamor until some especially strident voice began a more attractive phrase of insulting content.

  There were thumpings inside the ship. Harl bellowed somewhere. More thumpings. The yellings of abuse grew louder and louder. Apparently the burdenless uffts had ceased to flee when they found themselves not pursued. The torrent of insult became deafening. At the very farthest limit of the light from the port, round bodies could be seen, running among the boulders as they yelled epithets.

  The riders stirred apprehensively. The military tactics of the uffts, it could be said, consisted of derogatory outcries for moral effect and the biting of unicorns’ feet as direct attack. Agitated running in circles had prefaced the attack on three unicorns, most tender parts in the village street. The riders in the starlight, here, were held immobile because Harl was inside the ship. But they showed disturbance at the prospect of another such attack on their mounts. More, there came encouraging, bloodthirsty cries from across the hilltop as if a war party from the ufft city were on the way to reinforce the uffts making a tumult about the ship.

  Footsteps. Two pairs of them. Harl came out the exit port, very angry, with a woebegone retainer following him.

  “This fella,” said Harl, fuming, “is the one I left to watch the ship for you, Link. The whiskery fella came here with a crowd of uffts. He hadn’t any clothes on and he told this fella he’d got in trouble and needed to get his clothes. The fella thought it was only mannerly to let a man have his own clothes, so he let him in. An’ then the whiskery fella hit him from behind with somethin’, an’ locked him in a cabin an’ let the uffts in.”

  Link said curtly, “Too bad, but—”

  “We’d better get movin’,” said Harl angrily. “We missed him. He musta got away before we found it out. He opened up a door somewheres, this fella says, and he heard him cussin’ the uffts like they were just takin’ anything they could close their teeth on. Then he heard some noise.”

  An ufft leaped a boulder and darted at the uneasily stamping unicorns. He hadn’t quite the nerve to make it all the way. He swerved back. But other uffts made similar short rushes. Presently there’d be one underfoot, nipping at the animals’ feet, and they’d stampede.

  “We’d better get movin’,” said Harl. “They’re gettin’ nervy.”

  “No,” said Link, grimly. “Wait a minute!”

  He swung the stun gun around. He opened the cone-of-fire aperture. He adjusted the intensity-of-shock stud. He raised
it. The yells were truly deafening. “Scoundrels! Villains!” yapped the racing, jumping small creatures.

  Link pulled the trigger. The stun gun made a burping noise. Electric charges sped out of it, scattering. The gun would carry nearly a hundred yards at widest dispersion of its fire. Within the cone-shaped space it affected, any flesh unshielded by metal would receive a sharp and painful but totally uninjurious electric shock. To men who knew nothing of electricity it would have been startling. To uffts it would be unparalleled and utterly horrifying. They squealed.

  Link fired it again, at another area in the darkness. Shrieks of ufftian terror rose to the stars.

  “Murderers!” cried ufft voices. “Murderers! You’re killing us!”

  Link aimed at the voices and fired again. Twice.

  The uffts around the spaceship went away from there, making an hysterical outcry in which complaints that the complainer had been killed were only drowned out by louder squealings to the effect that the squealers were dead.

  “Sput!” said Harl, astounded. “What’re you doin’, Link? You ain’t killin’ ’em, are you? I need ’em to bring in greenstuff!”

  “They’ll live,” said Link. “Wait here. I want to see what Thistlethwaite did. Anyhow, he didn’t try to lift the ship off to Old Man Addison’s Household!”

  He went in. He climbed the stairway. He saw a cargo compartment door. It had been sealed. It was now welded shut. Thistlethwaite had used an oxygen torch on it. A second cargo door. Welded shut. The third door was open. It was apparently the compartment from which the loot of the uffts had come. It appeared to be empty. The engine room door was welded shut, and the spaceboat blister. The control room was sealed off from any entry by anybody without at least a cold chisel, but preferably a torch. And the oxygen torch was gone.

  Link went down the stairs again, muttering. Thistlethwaite had made the Glamorgan useless to anybody possessing neither a cold chisel nor an oxygen torch. Harl couldn’t seize the materials Thistlethwaite planned to trade for dupliers. Old Man Addison might—

  In the one gutted cargo space—he looked into it again with no hope at all—he found a plastic can of beans, toppled on the floor. He picked it up. It was too large for the jaws of uffts to grasp.

  He went down to the exit port again, piously turning out the electric lights that Thistlethwaite had left burning. He was deeply and savagely disappointed. He was almost at the exit port when an idea came to him. He climbed back up and touched the bottommost weld. It scorched his fingers.

  Thistlethwaite hadn’t done it long ago. He couldn’t be far off.

  Link turned on the lights again and searched. The only loose object left anywhere was an open can of seal-off compound, for stopping air leaks such as the Glamorgan had a habit of developing. It was black and tarry and even an ufft would not want it. Link did.

  He reached the open air again. He said briefly, “Hold this, Harl.”

  He handed over the container of beans and worked on the landing fin in which the exit port existed. He had only the narrow bristle brush used to apply the seal-off compound, and only the compound to apply. The light was starlight alone. But when he’d finished he read the straggling letters of the message with some satisfaction. The message read:

  THISTLETHWAITE,

  HOUSEHOLDERS DELIGHTED WITH TEST OF WEAPONS TO MAKE UFFTS WORK WITHOUT PAY. LEAD YOUR GANG INTO AMBUSH AS PLANNED FOR LARGE SCALE USE OF WEAPON. WATCH OUT FOR LINK. HE IS PRO-UFFT AND SECRETLY AN UFFT SYMPATHIZER.

  “What’d you do, Link?” demanded Harl. “The uffts’ve all run away, squealing. What’d you do? And what’s that writing for?”

  “That writing,” said Link, “is to end the Thistlethwaite problem on Sord Three. You may not realize that there is such a problem, Harl, but that’s to take care of it. And what I did was use a stun gun at maximum dispersion and minimum power. And I’m going to ask you, Harl, to go back to the Household straight through the ufft city. If they try to object I’ll give them more of what they’ve had. I think the psychological effect will be salutary.”

  Harl thought it over. His followers did not look very military in the starlight.

  “Wel-l-l-l,” said Harl, “I’m not sure what those words mean, Link, but I was thinkin’ we’d have a tough time gettin’ home, with uffts bitin’ the unicorns’ feet all the way. But you say we won’t. Or do you?”

  “Yes,” said Link. “I say we won’t. I guarantee it.”

  “Then we’ll try it,” said Harl heavily. “Uh… what’s this you gave me to hold?”

  “It’s a guest-gift for Thana,” said Link.

  Harl bellowed.

  “Come on, fellas! Back to home! We’re ridin’ through the ufft city! There’s a dinkus with maximum dispersion an’ minimum power that drove off the uffts just now, an’ we want to use it on them some more.”

  The cavalcade set out upon another long, shambling journey underneath the stars. It was some time before the unicorns reached the ufft city. It was not silent, even though all was darkness. There were shrill babblings everywhere. The agitated stories of uffts who’d experienced stun gun stings were being discussed by uffts who hadn’t experienced them. Those who’d felt the shocks couldn’t describe them, and those who hadn’t couldn’t believe them. The discussions tended to grow acrimonious. Then there were squealings that men were about to pass through the city. Those who hadn’t been shocked went valiantly to oppose the passage, or at least make it as unpleasant as possible by abuse.

  Link let the congregation of zestfully vituperative uffts grow very large and get very near. “Murderers!” and “Massacrers!” were the least of the epithets thrown at the men. “The world will hear of this massacre!” shouted an ufft. Another took it up, “They’ll know how many of our comrades you murdered tonight!” The unicorns picked their way onward in their loose-jointed, wobbling fashion. Voices found an easier word. “Killers!” they shouted from the darkness. “Killers! Killers!” Actually, and Link knew it, no ufft in all the city would be able to find so much as a spot on his hide that was pinker than the rest, come tomorrow morning.

  But now—Presently there was a huge, milling, madly galloping and wildly yelling barrier of uffts before the cavalcade. If the animals went into it, their feet would suffer. They’d be bitten. If they turned back, the uffts would be encouraged to follow and close in on them and again bite large splay feet.

  Harl bellowed a halt. The cavalcade came to a standstill. Link gave the running, tumbling aggregation of abusive creatures two more shots from the stun gun. Individuals suffered the equivalent of bee stings for the fraction of a second. They shrieked and ran away.

  The rest of the travel through the city was without incident, save that very occasionally very brave uffts squealed insults from not less than half a mile away, and then fled still farther from the shambling line of mounts and men.

  Then there were the undulating miles beyond, to where very faint and feeble lights showed through the darkness. And then eventually the houses of the village loomed up on either side.

  Thana welcomed Harl and Link, but she was inclined to be distressed that their dinner now had to be warmed over and was inferior in quality for that reason. They dined. Link presented Thana with the plastic can of beans. Harl asked what they were. When Link told him, he said absorbedly:

  “I’ve heard that there’s a Household over past Old Man Addison that has beans. But I never tasted ’em myself. We’ll duply some an’ have ’em for breakfast. Right?”

  And Link was ushered into a guest room, with a light consisting of a wick floating in a dish of oil. He slept soundly, until an hour after sunrise. Then he was waked by the sound of shoutings. He could see nothing from his window, so he dressed and went leisurely to see from the street.

  There were many villagers out-of-doors, staring at the distance. From time to time they shouted encouragement. Link saw what they shouted at.

  A small, hairy figure, chastely clad in a red-checked tablecloth around his middle, ran m
adly toward the Household. The figure was Thistlethwaite. The red-checked cloth had once been draped over a table in the Glamorgan’s mess room. Thistlethwaite ran like a deer and behind him came uffts yapping insults and trying to nip his heels.

  He reached safety and the uffts drew off, shouting “Traitor!” and “Murderer!” as the mildest of accusations. But now and then one roared shrilly at him, “Agent provocateur!”

  Chapter 7

  The situation developed in a strictly logical fashion. The uffts remained at a distance, shouting insults and abuse at all the humans in the village which was Harl’s Household. Hours passed. No small, ufft-drawn carts came in bringing loads of roots, barks, herbs, berries, blossoms and flowers. Normally they were brought in for the duplier to convert in part to beer, with added moisture, and in part into such items as slightly wormy apples, legumes like peas, and discouraged succulents like lettuce. There were all sorts of foodstuffs duplied with the same ufft-cart loads of material, of course. Wheat, and even flour, could be synthesized by the duplier from the assorted compounds in the vegetation the carts contained. Radishes could be multiplied. Every product of Thana’s garden could be increased indefinitely. But this morning no raw material for beer or victuals appeared. The uffts remained at a distance, shrilling insults.

  Thistlethwaite revealed the background events behind this development. He’d escaped from the Household, surrounded by a scurrying guard of uffts, while the political demonstration in the street was at its height. That tumult continued while he was hurried to the ufft city. There he was feted, but not fed. The uffts did not make use of human food. They were herbivorous and had no provisions for him. But they did make speeches about his escape.

  He stood it so long, but he was a business man. He wanted food and he wanted clothing and he wanted to get to Old Man Addison’s Household to proceed with his business deal to end all business deals. He did not think of it in such accurate terms. But he insisted on being taken first to the Glamorgan for food and clothing. He spoke with pride of his talent for business. The uffts mentioned, as business men, that the contract for his rescue and escort did not include food, clothing, or a trip west of the ufft city. There would be a slight extra charge. He was indignant, but he agreed.