The Duplicators

by Murray Leinster

  Harl stared at him.

  “Sput! Y’sure?”

  “Quite sure,” said Link. “We solved the problem of the knife, but the raw material to make a duplied stun gun is rare everywhere. We haven’t got it and I wouldn’t know it if I saw it.”

  Harl said “Sput!” again, and began to pace up and down. After a minute and more he said bitterly:

  “I’m not goin’ to let my Household starve! So far’s I know no man has ever killed an ufft in a hundred years. They act crazy, but they can’t hold a spear to fight with, even if they could make ’em. So it’d be a disgrace to use a spear on them. But it’d be a disgrace to hang a man just because the uffts wanted him hung! And to let ’em search our houses any time they felt like it, just because they can’t fight! Anyhow I’m not goin’ to let my household go hungry because uffts say they’ve got to!”

  He stamped his feet. He ground his teeth. He started for the doorway. Link said:

  “Hold it, Harl! I’ve got an idea. You don’t want to use spears on uffts.”

  “I got to!”

  “No. And if you use the only stun gun on the planet, it’ll make them madder than ever.”

  “Can I help that?”

  “You don’t even want them to stop trading with your Household, greenstuff for beer.”

  “I want,” said Harl savagely, “for things to be like they was in the old days, when the old folks were polite to the uffts and the uffts to them! When humans didn’t need uffts and tools were good and knives were sharp.”

  “And everybody had beans for breakfast,” Link finished for him. “But I’ve got an idea, Harl. Uffts like speeches.” Harl scowled at him.

  “They like my speeches,” added Link.

  Harl’s scowl did not diminish.

  “I,” said Link, “will go out and make a speech to them. If they won’t listen, I’ll high-tail it back. But if they do listen I’ll gather them in a splendid public meeting with a program and orations about… oh, work hours and fringe benefits or something like that. I’ll organize them into committees. Then I’ll adjourn them to a more convenient place.”

  Harl said cagily, “Then what?”

  “They’ll have adjourned away from any place near your Household, and you and your forty or fifty unicorns can go guesting and come back with your food. And,” said Link, “meanwhile the uffts will be talking. And talking is thirsty work. That will be an urge toward negotiations by which the uffts can get themselves some beer.”

  Harl continued to frown, but not as deeply. After a time he said heavily, “It might fix things for now. But things are bad, Link, an’ they keep gettin’ worse. This’d be only for right now.”

  “Ah!” said Link briskly. “Just what I was coming to! In your guesting, Harl, you will talk to your hosts about the good old days. You’ll point out how superior they were to now. You’ll propose an assembly of Householders to organize for the bringing back of the Good Old Days. That, all by itself, is a complete program for a political party of wide and popular appeal!”

  “Mmmmmmh!” said Harl slowly. “It’s about time somebody started that!”

  “Just so,” said Link. “So if Thana will fix me up a light lunch—the uffts had no food for Thistlethwaite to eat—I’ll go out and try a little silver-tongued oratory. With all due modesty, I think I can sway a crowd. Of uffts.”

  Harl’s frown was not wholly gone, yet. But he said:

  “I like that idea of goin’ back to the good old days!”

  “If you’re allowed to define them,” agreed Link. “But in the meantime we’ll let the uffts talk themselves thirsty so they’ll have to bring in greenstuff to get beer to lubricate more talk.”

  Harl said, very heavily indeed, “We’ll try it. You got words, Link. I’ll get you a unicorn ready. That’s a good idea about the good old days.”

  He disappeared. Thana said, “You didn’t finish telling me about Imogene.”

  “Oh, she must be married to somebody else by now,” Link told her. “I’d wonder if she wasn’t. Anyhow—”

  “I’ll fix you a lunch,” said Thana. “I think you’re going to accomplish a lot on Sord Three, Link!”

  He looked startled.

  “Why?”

  “You,” said Thana, “look at things in such a practical way!”

  She vanished, in her turn. Link spread out his hands in a gesture there was nobody around to see. He heard a faint, faint noise. He pricked up his ears. He went to an open door and listened. A shrill ululation came from somewhere beyond the village. It was the high-pitched voices of uffts. A rhythm established itself. The uffts were chanting:

  “Death… to… men! Death to men! Death to men!”

  Chapter 8

  An hour later, Link went streaking away from the Household, urging his unicorn to the utmost, while Harl led shouts of anger and irritation among the houses. Another rider came after Link. His mount had been carefully selected, and it had no chance at all of overtaking Link. Then came two other riders, one shortly after another, and then a knot of nearly a dozen, as if pursuit of Link had begun as fast as men could get unicorns saddled for the chase. They rushed after Link with seeming fury. But he had a faster mount, a distinctly, prearrangedly faster animal.

  But it was not the most comfortable of all animals to ride. Unicorns jolted. They put down their large and tender feet with lavish and ungainly motions, the object of which seemed to be to shake their riders’ livers loose. The faster they traveled, the more lavish the leg-motions and the more violent the jarring of the man riding them. The drooping fleshy appendages which dangled from their foreheads flapped and bumped as they ran.

  Link’s pursuers seemed to strive desperately to overtake him. They shook fists and spears at him as he increased his lead. He topped a hillside half a mile from the Household, went down its farther slope, and squealed insults from uffts’ throats seemed to give the Household posse pause. When Link was out of sight the voices of invisible uffts hurled epithets at his pursuers. The chase-party slackened speed and finally halted. They seemed to confer. Uffts shouted at them. “Murderers!” was a mild word. “Assassins!” was more frequent. “Shame! Shame! Shame!” was commonplace.

  The men from the Household, as if reluctantly, turned their mounts homeward, and uffts came scuttling across the uneven ground to shout, “Cowards!” after them, and more elaborately, “Scared to fight! Yah! Yah! Yah!” As the riders pressed their mounts, the uffts became more daring. Rotund small animals almost caught up with the retreating spear bearers, yapping at their unicorns’ heels and shouting every insult an ufftish mind could conceive.

  When the mounted men reentered the village, however, the uffts went racing and bounding to see what had happened to Link. The painted message on the Glamorgan’s fin had represented him as pro-ufft, while Thistlethwaite was represented as having villainous intentions toward them. And Link had made them a noble speech, presenting a problem that could be argued about indefinitely. The important thing, though, was that he had fled from the Household, with pursuers hot on his trail. If the humans of the Household disliked him enough to chase him, uffts were practically ready to make him an honorary member of their race.

  He kept up his headlong flight for a full mile. Then he gradually slackened speed, as repeated glances to the rear showed no sign of his pursuers. Presently he ceased altogether to urge the unicorn he rode, and proceeded at a leisurely, bumpy walk.

  He became aware that uffts trotted or galloped on parallel courses to see what he would do. At first they did not show themselves, and he only caught fugitive glimpses of one or two at a time. But there were evidently some hundreds of them, staying out of sight but keeping pace with him on either side.

  He reined in and waited.

  Uffts’ voices murmured. There were even squabblings in low tones, as if uffts behind boulders and just behind hilltops were arguing with each other over who should go out into plain view and open a conversation. The buzzing voices became almost angry. Then Link
let his unicorn move very slowly to one side while voices mumbled indignantly. “Who’s afraid of him?” “You are, that’s who.” “That’s a lie! You’re the scared one!” “… Then if you aren’t scared, go out and talk to him!” “You do it!… Huh! I dare you to go out and talk to him!” “But I double-dare you!” “I triple-dare you… I quadruple-dare—”

  Then Link’s head appeared above a hilltop, and the uffts knew that he could see a close-packed mass of them trying to insult each other into making the first contact with him.

  “My friends!” said Link in a carrying voice. “I put myself in your hands! I ask political asylum from the Householders and tyrants who are your enemies no less than the enemies of every person in favor of your being favored!”

  Every ufft gazed at him. Those nearest him tended to look scared. But Link waved his arms.

  “On a previous occasion,” he said splendidly, “I spoke to you of the galaxy-wide admiration of your intellect, and presented to you a problem the logicians and metaphysicians of other worlds have found unsolvable, though some solution must exist. At that time I did not realize that the sociological-economic conditions of your life had driven you to revolt. I was not aware that you were actually and unthinkably expected to earn the beer so necessary to the higher functions of the intellect. I did not know that you, the most brilliant race in the galaxy, were frustrated by a caste system of which you were less than the highest grade. But I began to suspect it last night, when you made a political demonstration in the Household streets. I confirmed it this morning. And when I expressed my indignation that uffts, here—uffts, my friends!—were not gladly supported by the humans who should listen to them with reverence, when I learned of the unbelievable withholding of the subservience due you—”

  Link listened interestedly to himself. A man who doesn’t believe too firmly in his own importance can often overhear remarkable things if he simply starts to talk and then leans back to listen. One’s mouth, allowed to say what it pleases, sometimes astonishes its owner. Of course, it sometimes gets him into trouble, too.

  Link found himself waving his arms splendidly while he passed from mere flattery to exhortation, and from exhortation to the outlining of a plan of action. He didn’t like to disappoint anybody, and the uffts were capable of disappointment.

  A part of his mind said wryly that he was making a fool of himself when all he needed was to get the uffts to move off so Harl could get away with a pack-train of unicorns and return with some unicorn-loads of groceries. But another part of his mind went on grandly, not disappointing the uffts.

  “Your revolution,” he told them eloquently, “has the sympathy of every lover of liberty, of license, and of uffts! I look to see the spontaneous uprising you have already made become the pattern for a planet-wide defiance! I look to see committees formed for correspondence with uffts on all this world! A committee to coordinate the publicity which will draw all uffts to your standards! I look to see committees for the organization of revolutionary units! Every talent possessed by uffts must be thrown into the struggle! Why not a committee of poets, to phrase in deathless words the aspirations of the ufftian race? My friends, I ask you! Who favors a committee of correspondence, to inform the whole planet of your intolerable grievances! Who favors it?”

  There was some cheering. Nearby uffts cheered raggedly. Those farther away cheered because those nearer cheered. Those quite beyond the reach of Link’s voice cheered because there was cheering going on. But those far away ones were not following developments closely. A more-than-usually-fanatical ufft cried shrilly, “Death to all humans!”

  “Splendid!” shouted Link valorously. “Now, who favors a committee to form revolutionary units for the liberation of the uffts?”

  Those nearby cheered more loudly. Again, from the fringes of the gathering, there came bloodthirsty outcries.

  “The ayes have it!” Link cried triumphantly. “Who’s for a propaganda organization to stimulate the patriotism and the resolution of all uffts, everywhere?”

  There were more cheers.

  “Who volunteers for the Ufftian Revolutionary Council, to determine the policies which are to make uffts independent of all humans and raise them to their proper, inalienable position of superiority?”

  Cheers. Yells. Uproar.

  “My friends!” roared Link. “It is not befitting the glorious traditions of ufftdom that the Ufftian Provisional Government meet on the edge of a human Household, spied upon by humans! Let us march to some strictly ufftian area where the ufftian world capital will presently appear! Let us plan this metropolis! Let us organize our revolt! Let us march forward, shouting the slogans of ufftian freedom! Who marches?”

  There was an uproar of cheering which was distinctly heard and unfavorably reacted upon in the Household from which Link had seemingly fled a short time before.

  With a grandiose gesture, Link set his unicorn in motion, headed in a distinctly general direction. There was a stirring, and presently innumerable plump animals, with pinkish skin showing through the sparse hairiness, came trotting and galloping to be close to him. He leaned in his saddle and addressed those nearest him on the right.

  “Will someone volunteer to lead the cadence of the march?” he asked. “We should have marching units, chanting the principles of this splendid revolt. Leaders, please!”

  Voices clamored to be appointed. He appointed them all, with definitely non-specific wavings of his hand. He gave them a march cadence chant. They tried it as a group and almost instantly abandoned the group to lead other groupings. Link knew by intuition that anybody who wants to talk like the uffts, would want to lead others of his kind. It seemed that immediately there were half a dozen assemblages of uffts gathered about voluble, self-appointed leaders, giving out a rhythmic outcry:

  “Brackety-ax, co-ax, co-ax! Onward, onward, uffts! Brackety-ax, co-ax, co-ax! Onward, onward, uffts!”

  “That for the right wing of the Army of Liberation,” he observed profoundly to those on his left. “Chant leaders? Who will lead the chants?”

  Uffts by dozens vociferously demanded to be appointed. He appointed them all. He furnished them with slogans. Shortly there were bands of the pig-like creatures swarming over the countryside shrilling:

  “Uffts triumphant! Uffts supreme! Uffts are now a single team!” There was another, “Uffts have risen up to fight! Tremble, tremble at their might!” A simpler one was still more successful, “Uffts, uffts, on our way! Uffts, uffts, rise and slay!”

  The aboriginal population of Sord Three—the uffts—spread over an astonishing area as they scrambled up hillsides and flowed down the descending slopes. Those with satisfactory slogans to chant tended to stay more closely together, and to shout more loudly. Link’s inventiveness gave out, and he appointed a Committee for Marching Recitatives to create other slogans and to pass on words of genius devised by anybody who happened to consider himself a genius.

  There was much squabbling, and some remarkably bloodthirsty marching chants were devised, but the committee throve.

  With a fine disregard for practicality but a completely sound estimate of the voluble mind, Link established all committees in an admirably vague state so any ufft who wanted to belong to any committee ex officio became a member. He tossed off committee titles with abandon. The Committee on Logistics for the Army of Liberation. The Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Strategy Council of the Ufftian Army. The Committee for Propaganda. The Committee on the Ufftian National Constitution. The Committee of Committeemen for the Coordination of the War Effort…

  There were hills in the distance, and Link more or less headed for them. The afternoon sun was hot. The ground was only thinly covered with vegetation. It was probably a good idea to head for an area where herbivorous creatures like the uffts could find something to eat. The hills looked green. And they might be cooler.

  He set the marching pace at a comfortable strolling rate. He was leading the uffts who earlier had been besieging Harl’s household and
shouting insults at its inhabitants. He was creating the diversion needed for Harl to take a pack-train to a neighbor’s Household and stock up with foodstuffs to endure a siege.

  He found his role congenial. He liked novelty. He liked excitement. On occasion he enjoyed tumult. The present situation supplied all three. He was almost regretful that it wouldn’t last. He considered it certain that when the Ufftian Army of Liberation got tired of walking, it would sit down on its haunches as quadrupeds do, and rest, and get discouraged, and eventually go home. Meanwhile, though, he was a generalissimo of a strictly improvised army.

  There were troops of uffts scrambling up hillsides and down again, shrilling, “Brackety-ax, co-ax, co-ax! Uffts! Uffts! Uffts!”

  The original marching slogan had been modified. Link admitted to himself that it was improved. His Committee for Marching Recitatives had, astonishingly, turned out some others. As time passed they began to appear spontaneously in ever-forming and ever-re-forming groups of uffts. They continued to appear in new forms as the afternoon wore on. There were other signs of initiative. Uffts came galloping to his side to identify themselves as—self-appointed—commanders of the rear guard, the scouts, the Undefeatable Reserves, the Ufftian Commandos, the Rangers, the Guerillas and other military groups, and to tell him that all went well with their commands. They went away with their appointments confirmed by his acceptance of their reports. In some cases they simply went off to form the units they had just designed for themselves.

  Sunset approached. The hills grew higher and steeper. The vegetation grew less sparse. Link began to be astonished by the persistence of the uffts in what he’d thought would be not much more than an hour or so of dramatic make-believe. He began, indeed, to worry a little.