The Best of Hal Clement

by Hal Clement

  Their interstellar voyage had consumed, not four hundred days, but more nearly forty years. The greater part of the flight had been made at a speed near that of light; hours of ship’s time had been days outside. A similar period was certain to elapse on the return; and the ruler who had been defied would certainly have been succeeded by another. Talker and Boss could easily have passed themselves off as returning members of a legitimate interstellar expedition; even had they failed to do so, it is unlikely that they would have been punished for defying a ruler whose place their judge, as likely as not, would have inherited either by private assassination or conquest in war.

  Unfortunately, Talker’s race had no inkling of relativity, as their science was of the type which develops better guns and faster ships, without bothering too much with theory; and Kirk’s only acquaintance with the concept had been made through the pages of a classic novel on time travel—the only such work he had ever read, and one which had emphasized the fourth dimension rather than velocity-mass ratios.

  * * *

  When Kirk awoke, therefore, it was with a distinctly uncomfortable feeling connected with the day’s probable events. He rose, shivering in the biting cold of early morning, washed and ate, and broke camp. Whatever happened, he intended to head south that day, and he carefully made tent, blankets, and the other gear into a single large pack. This he cached near the campsite; then he picked up his rifle and took the trail over the hill into the next valley. He was fairly sure that the aliens could not harm him, except by landing their vessel on top of him, since they were without weapons and far inferior to him in physical strength.

  But why, he suddenly thought, should there be any trouble? He need not refuse to help; it was simple truth that he had not been able to solve the problem—he still had no idea of the identity of the substance they desired. He could keep to himself his opinion of their occupation. Kirk was sure that the words describing that opinion had not been used in any of his conversation with Talker, and the herald must by this time be accustomed to receiving untranslatable waves from the Earthman’s mind.

  Thus determined, Kirk now emerged from the forest to the bank of the arroyo where the interstellar flier lay. As usual at this time of day, none of the crew was visible; also as usual, Kirk attracted attention to the fact of his presence by sending a stone clattering against the outer hull.

  Talker, in spite of the ever-mounting fatigue that was threatening the lives of his party as much as any other single trouble, had also spent a portion of the night in thought. He had seen, more and more clearly in the last few days, that the chances of Kirk’s learning the name of the poison were microscopic. A practical chemist, given a sample of the substance, could have identified it without difficulty; but without even a milligram sample on board, it seemed doubtful whether anyone could tell what was needed. The natives of this planet had, and used, poison gases; Kirk had told him that much. In their case, however, it was necessary in general to use them outdoors, and special characteristics of density and effectiveness were thus required. Talker knew that his gas was about twice as dense as the air of this world, under the same conditions of temperature and pressure; but he had no idea of the extent of its toxic qualities on terrestrial life.

  The only chance, it seemed, if Kirk failed in his task, was to have him direct the voyagers to a place where someone skilled in chemistry, or warfare, or both, might be found. The herald had learned to communicate; the rest should not be difficult.

  So it came about that Talker answered the bell-like clang on the hull with his mind set to expect the worst, and prepared to do something about it. He noticed at once that the human being was carrying his rifle, which he had not done since the first day, and the alien partially interpreted the reason for the act. He flew to the bank, and squatted in front of Kirk, antennae alertly spread. The Earthling, his mind made up, wasted no time.

  “I have not solved the problem,” he stated flatly.

  “I am not surprised,” wrote Talker, “nor am I angered. There was no need to bring the weapon—you cannot be blamed for failure at a task where one better trained than you could probably have done no more. It would be childishly stupid to hold animosity against you, in spite of our disappointment.

  “But you can still help us. There must be, somewhere on this planet, individuals who are trained in such matters. You have mentioned your own need of getting out of this region before the onset of winter. We could easily transport you to your own place, and you in return can direct us to such a person as I have described. Are you willing?”

  The herald’s attitude at his failure had taken Kirk completely by surprise, and had added much to his opinion of the creature. The new suggestion found him unprepared, for his intended refusal seemed now even more unpleasant than before. Some inner guardian made him say simply, “I have left my equipment at the camp,” and then he turned and strode, as rapidly as he dared, into the forest and away from the danger of betraying the thoughts whirling about in his mind.

  A mile from the ship, Kirk stopped and tried to settle the recent happenings into his picture of the alien’s personality. He had felt friendship of a sort for Talker, even after deciding he was a pirate and unworthy of such feeling; the attitude the herald had shown, in the face of what must have been a bitter disappointment, had strengthened Kirk’s respect. Refusing to help was going more and more against the grain.

  He tried to argue down his feelings. It was evident, from Talker’s conversation, that the human-admired characteristics of altruism and sympathy were foreign to his makeup. He was perfectly selfish, and Kirk had no doubt that he would have seized any chance of saving his own neck, whether or not that chance also included the necks of his fellows. He looked on those others with tolerance, since they made life easier for him, but there was certainly no trace of fellowship in his feelings toward them. Kirk had repeatedly sensed the amusement in Talker’s mind as he spoke of Boss and others of the crew, and was reminded of the interested contempt with which he himself had sometimes watched a child building sand castles at the seashore.

  No, Talker was not an ideal character from a human point of view; but Kirk still felt attracted to him. Could he go back and tell the alien that it was useless to ask him for further aid? The man shrank from the thought; and yet what else could he do? Nothing. Slowly the human being finished the walk to his former campsite, shouldered the heavy pack, and turned back toward the ship. He walked sturdily, but the morning sunlight filtered through the leaves onto a face that looked far older than Kirk’s twenty years would demand.

  Talker was still waiting on the bank, both his great yellow eyes fixed upon the opening of the trail. He saw Kirk coming with his burden, and at once turned and flew to the airlock, disappearing within. Kirk saw him go, and called; the herald’s head and antennae reappeared at the portal. The man dropped his pack to the ground, and stood motionless and silent, looking at the mothman and trying to find words in which to express the thing he had to make clear. He couldn’t do it.

  The thoughts were enough. Talker spread his wings and, concealing the frightful effort the act cost him, returned to the place where Kirk was standing. He still carried the writing materials, and, as the Earthling commenced to realize the extent to which he had been analyzed, he began writing.

  “What is it that we have done to offend your customs?” asked the herald. “What possible interest can you have in those of my kind whom you have never seen, of whom you would never have heard except for me?”

  Kirk tried to explain his attitude on the subject of piracy, but failed signally. To the alien, raiding and looting were the natural means of making a living; his ideas of right and wrong simply did not match those of human civilization, any more than could be expected. It was Talker who finally decided that further effort in that direction was useless.

  “When I first discovered you,” he said, “it took some time for me to realize that the waves you radiated represented a pattern of intelligence. Your behavior even
tually showed the truth, and with much effort I learned to interpret, to a certain extent, those thought waves. I fear that we are up against the same problem here. Just as it took me some time to comprehend that my thoughts were not the only possible kind, I am just beginning to understand that my behavior pattern is not the only possible one. With time, perhaps I may understand yours; I must, if to do so lies within the powers of intelligence. Therefore, I invite you to come with us, anyway, to the southern regions from which you say you have come. On the way, you will tell me more about your people, as I have told you of mine. Perhaps, with that background, I shall begin to appreciate your point of view and find a means of persuading you to help us. In any case, the knowledge will be of great interest for its own sake.

  “Until I do have some understanding of your reasons for refusal, I shall not repeat our request; nor shall I inform the commander of what has occurred. The less he knows, the better for both of us, as well as himself. He could never appreciate what I am now trying to do, and he has no understanding of how a mind can seek pure knowledge without some immediate use for it—curiosity and imagination are unknown to him.

  “Come, then; we will travel southward slowly, and converse as we fly. Some time at least will be saved; and we do not dare spend more than a few more days on this planet. We would not have enough of the crew left to man the engines—there are few enough of us now who remain able.”

  * * *

  Kirk accepted, though never thereafter could he account for his reasons for doing so. Unconsciously, he wanted to give the creature a chance to justify itself; more and more the idea was winning ground that a being so generally reasonable and so utterly imperturbable in the face of telling disappointment could not be a criminal on any code. Such a belief, of course, is unreasonable and unjustifiable even when considered with respect to a single culture. Applied by a member of one civilization to a creature of another, such an emotional attitude is sheer lunacy. Logic alone stands a chance, and even that is likely to be badly crippled for lack of data.

  Earthman and alien entered the airlock, and closed both doors—for nearly the last time on Earth, the herald hoped. Talker relaxed for a moment in the corridor, fervently vowing never again to spread his wings on a world where he couldn’t fly without stimulants; then he crawled forward and up the ramp to the control room, Kirk following.

  They found themselves alone in the control chamber, for it was still early morning. Talker sounded the signal intended to let Boss know he was wanted, and the oddly assorted pair waited in silence. Several repetitions of the call were necessary before Boss finally appeared from below. His attitude was even more domineering than usual, partly because he had just been awakened by the signal, and partly because he never missed an opportunity to try to impress the native with his importance; he never fully appreciated the fact that the human being could neither “hear” his speech nor interpret his bodily attitude.

  Talker told him to get the ship into the air, and cruise slowly toward the equator of the planet until ocean was reached. Boss promptly began asking questions about the state of progress in locating the object of their search; and the herald replied that at the moment no progress was being made because the individual who should be working was talking instead. That silenced the captain, and he moved to the control board to call the engineers to their stations. Talker took his place at the commander’s side, ready to transmit more detailed instructions if and when necessary. The signal board was a sufficiently versatile affair to transmit the relatively simple commands involved in raising the ship, however; as a matter of fact, the actual takeoff, as would be expected, was handled from the control room, and orders were given merely to start the proper generators below.

  Kirk laid his pack on the floor beside the captain and sat on it, thus bringing his head down to within about two feet of the other’s. The glass ports, larger than any others in the ship, permitted him to see in all directions forward, while a periscope, which he quickly noticed, gave a partial view backward, leaving the lower rear the vessel’s only blind spot. The periscope eyepiece was made to accommodate the huge optics of the ship’s owners, and transmitted a decidedly distorted image to Kirk’s eyes, as he found by experiment. The field of view could not be shifted, and its lower half was occupied by the hull. The man turned his attention to the great port which gave a clear view of what lay below and in front.

  He settled himself more solidly as the ground slid smoothly away from him. There was no takeoff run; the vessel rose straight for two thousand feet, turned the streamlined bow southward, and followed its nose. Boss relaxed at his post as soon as they were on course, and merely kept his eyes on a row of dials supposed to indicate the behavior of the generators. An engineer was watching a duplicate set below, and it made little difference whether or not Boss stuck to his job—though he would not have admitted that fact to Kirk had he been able to speak to him.

  * * *

  The human being and the herald watched and commented upon the terrain below, as it drifted sternward. Talker drew attention to the deserted appearance of the forest, and compared it to the similar vast, uninhabited regions of his own planet. This, as intended, drew from Kirk a description of the more densely populated countries, of the different peoples who inhabited them, and the various relationships existing between them. On this last point he was a fair lecturer, for he had spent a good deal of time on sociology. The herald kept him talking, asking questions whenever the man seemed to be running down, and in general doing everything which was likely to result in the production of any information that might be of use.

  Their pace was only moderately rapid. The sound of the ship’s passage through the air could not have been heard on the ground, and was inaudible through the double hulls; whatever power drove and supported them was efficient enough to be soundless, as well.

  They came in sight of the sea and a small settlement at almost the same instant. The town was not large, but possessed several docks and a fair-sized fleet of fishing boats. Kirk recognized it—it was the town where he had landed upon his arrival at the beginning of the summer, and where he had recently turned in his report of the season’s progress. It was now late afternoon, and a glance at his watch and a moment’s calculation informed Kirk that the ship could not have been traveling more than thirty miles an hour, for they had left the base of his operations only slightly after noon. Five hours in the low control chamber had left the man rather cramped; he flung a query at Talker, and was informed that the main corridor was probably the only room on the ship spacious enough to permit him to stretch, even lying down. Kirk’s memory of the gun rooms suggested that the herald was right, so he sent his pack sliding down the ramp, followed it, detached a blanket, and stretched out on the corridor floor, to the considerable astonishment of a pair of soldiers who emerged from their rooms at that moment. He had brought no food, but did not feel particularly hungry. After a few minutes, he propped himself up with the pack as a pillow, and stared off down the hallway. The door at the far end was now open, and faint sounds came from below. Kirk considered investigating, but thought better of it and relaxed on his blanket.

  A very faint trembling of the floor roused him a few minutes later. He stood up—too suddenly, for his head impinged sharply on the metal ceiling—and turned toward the control-room ramp once more. Something appeared to be happening. He started up the incline, but did not reach the top, for as his head attained the level of the floor above he saw Talker starting down, and retreated before him.

  Boss followed the herald into the main corridor, and Kirk walked behind the pair to the airlock. Evidently the ship had landed. The man brushed Talker’s wing tip with a finger to get his attention, and asked, “What is the matter? Why have you come down so soon? I know of none around here who could give you help.”

  “Your words do not agree with your thoughts of a few moments ago,” returned Talker, who still carried the paper and pencil. “I hoped, when I asked you aboard after your avowal of
enmity toward us, that your mind would betray some knowledge of value. It has done that; you are not accustomed to having your thoughts read, and have surprisingly little control over them. Had I not been delayed through having to learn your system of mental symbology, we would have had long ago the information we needed, without the necessity of asking your consent. When the settlement near which we are now landed came into view, your mind gave out word patterns of all sorts—the name of the place, which means nothing to us, the fact that the individual who directs your work resides therein, and—the fact that there is stored somewhere in that town a supply of chemical to be used for poisoning insects. Your master is an expert on such matters; he must be, to hold the position. It is possible that the chemical will prove to be what we require; if not, I have learned to read human minds from you, and I can pry the knowledge from the one who directs you.”

  “Then you asked me aboard solely in the hope of tricking me?” asked Kirk. “There was no friendship, as I had believed? No sincere attempt to understand my point of view, as you claimed?”

  “It would indeed be interesting to understand your peculiar ways of thought,” replied the herald, “but I have spent all too much time in satisfying idle curiosity; and I see no practical value to be derived from the understanding you mentioned. You are like the others on this ship—easily swayed by stereotyped patterns of thought; I can see no other possible reason for your refusal to aid us. I bear you no enmity, since I have almost achieved my goal in spite of you; but it would be truly idiotic to expect me to feel friendly toward you. None the less, it would be interesting to know—” the strangely shaped hand abruptly ceased writing, and its owner turned toward the airlock, where Boss was waiting impatiently.

  * * *