‘If you mean your finer feelings,’ she says, sarcastic, ‘I’ll spare them as soon as I find some!’
So I shut up. There’s no use trying to argue with a woman. We tramp on through the forest without a word. Presently we come on a nest-bush. It’s a pretty big one. There are a couple dozen nests on it, from the little-bitty bud ones no bigger than your fist, to the big ripe ones lined with soft stuff that have busted open and have got cacklebirds housekeeping in them now.
There are two cacklebirds sitting on a branch by the nest that is big enough to open up and have eggs laid in it, only it ain’t. The cacklebirds are making noises like they are cussing it and telling it to hurry up and open, because they are in a hurry.
‘That’s a nest-bush,’ I says. ‘It grows nests for the cacklebirds. The birds - uh - fertilize the ground around it. They’re sloppy feeders and drop a lot of stuff that rots and is fertilizer too. The nest-bush and the cacklebirds kind of cooperate. That’s the way evolution works on Moklin, like Brooks and me told you.’
She tosses that red head of hers and stamps on, not saying a word. So we get to the other trading post. And there she gets one of these slow-burning, long-lasting mads on that fill a guy like me with awe.
There’s only Moklins at the other trading post, as usual. They say the humans are off somewhere. They look at her admiring and polite. They show her their stock. It is practically identical with ours - only they admit that they’ve sold out of some items because their prices are low. They act most respectful and pleased to see her.
But she don’t learn a thing about where their stuff comes from or what company is homing in on Moklin trade. And she looks at their head clerk and she bums and bums.
When we get back, Brooks is sweating over memorandums he has made, getting another report ready for the next Company ship. Inspector Caldwell marches into the trade room and gives orders in a controlled, venomous voice. Then she marches right in on Brooks.
‘I have just ordered the Moklin sales force to cut the price on all items on sale by seventy-five per cent,’ she says, her voice trembling a little with fury. ‘I have also ordered the credit given for Moklin trade goods to be doubled. They want a trade war? They’ll get it!’
She is a lot madder than business would account for. Brooks says, tired, ‘I’d like to show you some facts. I’ve been over every inch of territory in thirty miles, looking for a place where a ship could land for that other post. There isn’t any: Does that mean anything to you?’
‘The post is there, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘And they have trade goods, haven’t they? And we have exclusive trading rights on Moklin, haven’t we? That’s enough for me. Our job is to drive them out of business!’
But she is a lot madder than business would account for. Brooks says, very weary, ‘There’s nearly a whole planet where they could have put another trading post. They could have set up shop on the other hemisphere and charged any price they pleased. But they set up shop right next to us? Does that make sense?’
‘Setting up close,’ she says, ‘would furnish them with customers already used to human trade goods. And it furnished them with Moklins trained to be interpreters and clerks! And— Then it come out, what she’s raging, boiling, steaming, burning up about. ‘And,’ she says, furious, it furnished them with a Moklin head-clerk who is a very handsome young man, Mr. Brooks! He not only resembles you in every feature, but he even has a good many of your mannerisms. You should be very proud!’
With this she slams out of the room. Brooks blinks.
‘She won’t believe anything,’ he says, sour, ‘except only that man is vile. Is that true about a Moklin who looks like me?’
I nod.
‘Funny his folks never showed him to me for a compliment-present!’ Then he stares at me, hard. ‘How good is the likeness?’
‘If he is wearing your clothes,’ I tell him, truthful, ‘I’d swear he is you.’
Then Brooks - slow, very slow - turns white. ‘Remember the time you went off with Deeth and his folks hunting? That was the time a Moklin got killed. You were wearing guest garments weren’t you?’
I feel queer inside, but I nod. Guest garments, for Moklins, are like the best bedroom and the drumstick of the chicken among humans. And a Moklin hunting party is something. They go hunting garlikthos, which you might as well call dragons, because they’ve got scales and they fly and they are tough babies.
The way to hunt them is you take along some cacklebirds that ain’t nesting - they are no good for anything while they’re honeymooning - and the cacklebirds go flapping around until a garlikthos comes after them, and then they go jet-streaking to where the hunters are, cackling a blue streak to say, ‘Here I come, boys! Hold everything until I get past!’ Then the garlikthos dives after them and the hunters get it as it dives.
You give the cacklebirds its innards, and they sit around and eat, cackling to each other, zestful, like they’re bragging about the other times they done the same thing, only better.
‘You were wearing guest garments?’ repeats Brooks, grim.
I feel very queer inside, but I nod again. Moklin guest garments are mighty easy on the skin and feel mighty good. They ain’t exactly practical hunting clothes, but the Moklins feel bad if a human that’s their guest don’t wear them. And of course he has to shed his human clothes to wear them.
‘What’s the idea?’ I want to know. But I feel pretty unhappy inside.
‘You didn’t come back for one day, in the middle of the hunt, after tobacco and a bath?’
‘No,’ I says, beginning to get ratded. ‘We were way over at the Thunlib Hills. We buried the dead Moklin over there and had a hell of a time building a tomb over him. Why?’
‘During that week,’ says Brooks, grim, ‘and while you were off wearing Moklin guest garments, somebody came back wearing your clothes - and got some tobacco and passed the time of day and went off again. Joe, just like there’s a Moklin you say could pass for me, there’s one that could pass for you. In fact, he did. Nobody suspected either.’
I get panicky. ‘But what’d he do that for?’ I want to know. ‘He didn’t steal anything! Would he have done it just to brag to the other Moklins that he fooled you?’
‘He might,’ says Brooks, ‘have been checking to see if he could fool me. Or Captain Haney of the Palmyra. Or—’
He looks at me. I feel myself going numb. This can mean one hell of a mess!
‘I haven’t told you before/ says Brooks, ‘but I’ve been guessing at something like this. Moklins like to be human, and they get human kids - kids that look human, anyway. Maybe they can want to be smart like humans, and they are.’ He tries to grin, and can’t. ‘That rival trading post looked fishy to me right at the start. They’re practicing with that. It shouldn’t be there at all, but it is. You see?’
I feel weak and sick all over. This is a dangerous sort of thing! But I say quick, ‘If you mean they got Moklins that could pass for you and me, and they’re figuring to bump us off and take our places - I don’t believe that! Moklins like humans! They wouldn’t harm humans for anything!’
Brooks don’t pay any attention. He says, harsh, ‘I’ve been trying to persuade the Company that we’ve got to get out of here, fast! And they send this Inspector Caldwell who’s not only female, but a redhead to boot! All they think about is a competitive trading post! And all she sees is that we’re a bunch of lascivious scoundrels, and since she’s a woman there’s nothing that’ll convince her otherwise!’
Then something hits me. It looks hopeful.
‘She’s the first human woman to land on Moklin. And she has got red hair. It’s the first red hair the Moklins ever saw. Have we got time?’
He figures. Then he says, ‘With luck, it ought to turn up! You’ve hit it!’ And then his expression sort of softens. ‘If that happens - poor kid, she’s going to take it hard! Women hate to be wrong. Especially redheads! But that might be the saving of
- of humanity, when you think of i
t.’
I blink at him. He goes on, fierce, ‘Look, I’m. no Moklin! You know that. But if there’s a Moklin that looks enough like me to take my place … You see? We got to think of Inspector Caldwell, anyhow. If you ever see me cross my fingers, you wiggle your litde finger. Then I know it’s you. And the other way about. Get it? You swear you’ll watch over Inspector Caldwell?’
‘Sure!’ I say. ‘Of course!’
I wiggle my little finger. He crosses his. It’s a signal nobody but us two would know. I feel a lot better.
Brooks goes off next morning, grim, to visit the other trading post and see the Moklin that looks so much like him. Inspector Caldwell goes along, fierce, and I’m guessing it’s to see the fireworks when Brooks sees his Moklin double that she thinks is more than a coincidence. Which she is right, only not in the way she thinks.
Before they go, Brooks crosses his fingers and looks at me significant. I wiggle my little finger back at him. They go off.
I sit down in the shade of Sally and try to think things out. I am all churned up inside, and scared as hell. It’s near two weeks to landing time, when the old Palmyra ought to come bulging down out of the sky with a load of new trade goods. I think wistful about how swell everything has been on Moklin up to now, and how Moklins admire humans, and how friendly everything has been, and how it’s a great compliment for Moklins to want to be like humans and to get like them, and how no Moklin would ever dream of hurting a human and how they imitate humans joyous and reverent and happy. Nice people, Moklins. But—
The end of things is in sight. Liking humans has made Moklins smart, but now there’s been a slip-up. Moklins will do anything to produce kids that look like humans. That’s a compliment. But no human ever sees a Moklin that’s four or five years old and all grown up and looks so much like him that nobody can tell them apart. That ain’t scheming. It’s just that Moklins like humans, but They’re scared the humans might not like to see themselves in a sort of Moklin mirror. So if they did that at all, they’d maybe keep it a secret, like children keep secrets from grownups.
Moklins are a lot like kids. You can’t help liking them. But a human can get plenty panicky if he thinks what would happen if Moklins get to passing for humans among humans, and want their kids to have top-grade brains, and top-grade talents, and so on …
I sweat, sitting there. I can see the whole picture. Brooks is worrying about Moklins loose among humans, outsmarting them as their kids grow up, being the big politicians, the bosses, the planetary pioneers, the prettiest girls and the handsomest guys in the Galaxy - everything humans want to be themselves. Just thinking about it is enough to make any human feel like he’s going nuts. But Brooks is also worrying about Inspector Caldwell, who is five foot three and redheaded and cute as a bug’s ear and riding for a bad fall.
They come back from the trip to the other trading post. Inspector Caldwell is baffled and mad. Brooks is sweating and scared. He slips me the signal and I wiggle my little finger back at him, just so I’ll know he didn’t get substituted for without Inspector Caldwell knowing it, and so he knows nothing happened to me while he was gone. They didn’t see the Moklin that looks like Brooks. They didn’t get a bit of information we didn’t have before - which is just about none at all.
Things go on. Brooks and me are sweating it out until the Palmyra lets down out of the sky again, meanwhile praying for Inspector Caldwell to get her ears pinned back so proper steps can be taken, and every morning he crosses his fingers at me, and I wiggle my little finger back at him … And he watches over Inspector Caldwell tender.
The other trading post goes on placid. They sell their stuff at half the price we sell ours for. So, on Inspector Caldwell’s orders, we cut ours again to half what they sell theirs for. So they sell theirs for half what we sell ours for, so we sell ours for half what they sell theirs for. And so on. Meanwhile we sweat.
Three days before the Palmyra is due, our goods are marked at just exactly one per cent of what they was marked a month before, and the other trading post is selling them at half that. It looks like we are going to have to pay a bonus to Moklins to take goods away for us to compete with the other trading post.
Otherwise, everything looks normal on the surface. Moklins hang around as usual, friendly and admiring. They’ll hang around a couple of days just to get a look at Inspector Caldwell, and they regard her respectful.
Brooks looks grim. He is head over heels crazy about her now and she knows it, and she rides him hard. She snaps at him, and he answers her patient and gende - because he knows that when what he hopes is going to happen, she is going to need him to comfort her. She has about wiped out our stock, throwing bargain sales. Our shelves are almost bare. But the other trading post still has plenty of stock.
‘Mr. Brooks,’ says Inspector Caldwell, bitter, at breakfast, ‘we’ll have to take most of the Palmyra’s cargo to fill up our inventory.’
!Maybe,’ he says, tender, ‘and maybe not.’
‘But we’ve got to drive that other post out of business!’ she says, desperate. Then she breaks down. ‘This - this is my first independent assignment. I’ve got to handle it successfully!’
He hesitates. But just then Deeth comes in. He beams friendly at Inspector Caldwell.
‘A compliment for you, ma’am. Three of them.’
She goggles at him. Brooks says, gentle, ‘It’s all right. Deeth, show them in and get some presents.’
Inspector Caldwell splutters incredulous, ‘But - but—’
‘Don’t be angry,’ says Brooks. ‘They mean it as a compliment. It is, actually, you know.’
Three Moklin girls come in, giggling. They are not bad-looking at all. They look as human as Deeth, but one of them has a long, droopy mustache like a mate of the Palmyra - that’s because they hadn’t even seen a human woman before Inspector Caldwell come along. They sure have admired her, though! And Moldin kids get bom fast. Very fast.
They show her what they are holding so proud and happy in their arms. They have got three little Moklin kids, one apiece. And every one of them has red hair, just like Inspector Caldwell, and every one of them is a girl that is the spit and image of her. You would swear they are human babies, and you’d swear they are hers. But of course they ain’t. They make kid noises and wave their little fists.
Inspector Caldwell is just plain paralyzed. She stares at them, and goes red as fire and white as chalk, and she is speechless. So Brooks has to do the honors. He admires the kids extravagant, and the Moklin girls giggle, and take the compliment presents Deeth brings in, and they go out happy. When the door closes, Inspector Caldwell wilts.
‘Oh-h!’ she wails. ‘It’s true! You didn’t - you haven’t - they can make their babies look like anybody they want!’
Brooks puts his arms around her and she begins to cry against his shoulder. He pats her and says, ‘They’ve got a queer sort of evolution on Moklin, darling. Babies here inherit desired characteristics. Not acquired characteristics, but desired ones! And what could be more desirable than you?’
I am blinking at them. He says to me, cold, ‘Will you kindly get the hell out of here and stay out?’
I come to. I says. ‘Just one precaution.’
I wiggle my little finger. He crosses his fingers at me.
‘Then,’ I says, ‘since there’s no chance of a mistake, I’ll leave you two together.’
And I do.
The Palmyra booms down out of the sky two days later. We are all packed up. Inspector Caldwell is shaky, on the porch of the post, when Moklins come hollering and waving friendly over from the landing field pulling a freight-truck with Cap Haney on it. I see the other festive groups around members of the crew that - this being a scheduled stop - have been given ship-leave for a couple hours to visit their Moklin friends.
‘I’ve got the usual cargo—’ begins Cap Haney.
‘Don’t discharge it,’ says Inspector Caldwell, firm. ‘We are abandoning this post. I have authority and Mr. Br
ooks has convinced me of the necessity for it. Please get our baggage to the ship.’
He gapes at her.‘The Company don’t like to give in to competition—’
‘There isn’t any competition,’ says Inspector Caldwell. She gulps. ^Darling, you tell him,’ she says to Brooks.
He says, lucid, sShe’s right, Captain. The other trading post is purely a Moklin enterprise. They like to do everything that humans do. Since humans were running a trading post, they opened one too. They bought goods from us and pretended to sell them at half price, and we cut our prices, and they bought more goods from us and pretended to sell at half the new prices. … Some Moklin or other must’ve thought it would be nice to be a smart businessman, so his kids would be smart businessmen. Too smart! We close up this post before Moklins think of other things …’
He means, of course, that if Moklins get loose from their home planet and pass as humans, their kids can maybe take over human civilization. Human nature couldn’t take that! But it is something to be passed on to the high brass, and not told around general.
‘Better sound the emergency recall signal,’ says Inspector Caldwell, brisk.
We go over to the ship and the Palmyra lets go that wailing siren that’ll carry twenty miles. Any crew member in hearing is going to beat it back to the ship full-speed. They come running from every which way, where they been visiting their Moklin friends. And then, all of a sudden, here comes a fellow wearing Moklin guest garments, yelling, “Hey! Wait! I ain’t got my clothes—5
And then there is what you might call a dead silence. Because lined up for checkoff is another guy that comes running at the recall signal, and he is wearing ship’s clothes, and you can see that him and the guy in Moklin guest garments are just exactly alike. Twins. Identical. The spit and image of each other. And it is for sure that one of them is a Moklin. But which?
Cap Haney’s eyes start to pop out of his head. But then the guy in Palmyra uniform grins and says, ‘Okay, I’m a Moklin. But us Moklins like humans so much, I thought it would be nice to make a trip to earth and see more humans. My parents planned it five years ago, made me look like this wonderful human, and hid me for this moment But we would not want to make any difficulties for humans, so I have confessed and I will leave the ship.’
Murray Leinster Page 18