Another Rib

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Another Rib Marion Zimmer Bradley and John Jay Wells [Juanita Coulson] The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, June 1963

  Introduction to John Jay Wells' and Marion Zimmer Bradleys ANOTHER RIB We do not know if either of the co-authors of this story were familiar with the Cabbalistic teaching that Adam Cadmon, or Primal Man, was androgynous; or with the far from notional statement of the great Biblical Commentator, Rashi, that the word translated as "rib" in Genesis I, xxi, actually means "side," and that the operation in fact -- by removing the feminine "side of Adam Androgyne -- transformed our bisexual Ancestor into our monosexual ancestors. Familiar or not, they have taken an admittedly daring theme and dealt with it in good sense and good taste. Marion Zimmer Bradley, whose first major sale was CENTAURUS CHANGELING (F&SF, April 1954), hails from "a somewhat Lovecraftian farm in upstate New York," now lives in Texas with her husband and twelve year old son. She has published many stories and books in many different fields under many different names, but says that Science Fiction is her first love and the only fiction that she consistently writes under her own name. Mrs. Bradley also describes herself as "a nut on circus acrobatics, carnivals, Italian opera, and folksinging." If any of these interests are shared by John Jay Wells, we cannot say. In fact, we can say very little about him. His real name is known only to his collaborator, who describes him as in amateur journalism, and having some reputation, additionally, as a promising artist. And now suppose you read their story? It is a strange one, and it occurs under the strange stars of a strange world . . .

  "Remember, you requested it," Fanu murmured. The little alien's pronunciation was as toneless, as flat as ever, and yet, somehow, it carried sympathy and distress. "I am sorry, John."

  John Everett slumped before the film viewer. At last, reluctantly, he leaned forward and underlined his shock with a second view. "When -- when did you take this?" he asked.

  "A -- I do not know your words for it -- a revolution ago. Do you wish for a current view, my friend?"

  "No. God, no! This is bad enough. You're -- sure of your identification?"

  Fanu's three-fingered hand riffled expertly for a sheet of co-ordinates. Shaking, forcing his eyes and mind to activity, Everett checked the data, glancing back now and then at the viewer to verify. There was no doubt. That was Sol -- that had been the Sun -- that vast incandescent swirl covering . . . oh God, covering a range well beyond Pluto!

  He became aware that he had been sitting quite still for man long minutes, stiff muscles and sluggish circulation forcing themselves, at last, even through the numbness of his brain. Fanu was waiting.

  Fanu was always waiting. The alien had waited aeons. Not Fanu himself, of course, but his kind. Waiting; always waiting for other life forms, other intelligences, new civilizations -- new enthusiasms. They had waited too long. There weren't many left.

  "Looks like we've joined you," Everett muttered, bitterly, at last.

  "I do not quite understand -- ?"

  "You said -- " he paused, groping for a kind word, "that your people are becoming exinct. Look like mine are -- already."

  "Survivors -- "

  He got to his feet so quickly he knocked over the chair, and spent fumbling minutes setting it right. "But there are no survivors. We were the first probe. Out to the stars. All the way to Proxima Centauri. For what? An Earth-type planet. Fine, we found one -- but for what? For whom? Oh, God, for whom!"

  "John," softly, a three-fingered hand falling on his shoulder. "You are not alone, not as I am. You have your friends, your -- your crew."

  Everett walked over to the window, and stared out at the valley, dotted with the tiny huts of the expedition. "For now, yes. Siexteen men -- a good crew. But we're mortal, Fanu. Human life is pitifully short, compared with yours. We're mortal -- and we're all male. By your standards, we're -- here today and gone tomorrow."

  "Are you quite sure that need be, John?"

  Everett turned to look into the alien's large green eyes, cursing the inevitable semantic differences, the inability to get a point across in a hurry. Suddenly the shock, the numbness broke into start horror. He couldn't stand here painstakingly explaining the differences in the word men and the word male to a friendly alien, when he'd just found out . . . found out . . . his voice strangled. "Just take my word for it, Fanu," he said thickly, "in fifty years, homo sapiens will be a lot more extinct than your people. Now I've got to go and -- and tell them -- "

  He stumbled blindly away and fumbled for the door, conscious of the big green eyes still fixed compassionately on his back.

  He had managed to calm himself and speak quietly, but the men were as shocked as he had been, first numb in silent horror, then moving close together as if to draw comfort from their group, their solidity.

  "There's -- no mistake, Cap'n?" Chord asked timidly. He always spoke timidly; incongruous for such a giant.

  "I've seen the plates myself, and the co-ordinates, Chord. And I have no reason to doubt Fanu's -- the alien's -- data. From what I've been able to gather, it must have happened about six months after we left. His equipment's superior to ours, but pretty soon we'll be able to see it for ourselves."

  Somewhere in the back row of the group of men, there was a muffled sob. He could see the anguish on the other faces, men struggling with the idea of a future that was no future at all. Young Latimer from the drive room -- the one they all called Tip -- had bent over and buried his face in his hands. It was Tsen, the young navigator, who finally managed the question on all their minds.

  "Then it's -- just us, sir?"

  "Just us." Everett waited a moment, then turned away, dismissing them with his back. It wasn't a thing you could make speeches about. One way or another, they'd have to come to terms with it, every man for himself.

  He heard the rustle of Fanu's garments, and turned to smile a greeting. The two stood side by side on the hilltop, looking down at the men working in the little valley. "What is it to be?" Fanu finally inquired.

  "It's -- " Everett could not suppress an amused smile, "a hospital for you -- and Garrett, the pharmacist's mate."

  "Oh?" Fanu's features could not duplicate a smile, but his eyes blinked rapidly with pleasure. "That is most kind. Most kind."

  "Hardly. It just takes care of one problem. The two of you can keep us in good health, I'm sure."

  "Your race is so strong!" Fanu's toneless voice gave, nevertheless, an impression of amazement and awe. "My own people, under such a sentence as yours, gave themselves over to despair."

  "You think we didn't?" Everett's jaw tightened, remembering the first few weeks; the dazed men, Garrett stopped in the very act of slsahing his wrists. Then he straightened his back. "We've found that hard work is a remedy for despair, or at least -- a good defense against it."

  "I see," remarked the alien. "Or at least -- I understand that it might be so. But how long can you work? Will you fill the valley with your superbly constructed buildings? For sixteen of your race?"

  Everett shook his head, bitterly. "We'd all be dead before we can fill the valley. But at least we'll make ourselves comfortable, before we -- go."

  "There is no need to die."

  He swung around to face the alien. "You've been hinting that and hinting that for the last two months! If there's one thing worse than despair it's false hope! Even if your people were immortal, and they're not -- "

  "I did not mean to anger you, John." The strange little paw uplifted in apology.

  "Then quit hinting and say something."

  "Mammals -- " Fanu began, then halted, obviously groping for the proper teminology.

  "Yes, we're mammals, technically," Everett snorted, "the mammalian characteristic perished with our solar system, though."r />
  "That is not true -- or it need not be true."

  Everett stared at the alien, wishing for the thousandth time that he could read that dark expression. Fanu went on, "I have observed your race in undress, compared with the information from your study reels -- from your ship -- the material you brought to me so graciously -- I cannot thank you -- "

  "Yes, yes!" he broke in. Fanu was so damned polite. He liked the alien, but the only one of the Earthmen who really got along with him perfectly was Tsen, who was used to all this overdone courtesy.

  "Forgive me, what I mean is your . . . two sexual groups are so close together . . ."

  Everett's eyes widened. Then he laughed, embarrassed. "You just lost me. I mean, I don't understand your statement, Fanu."

  "Your two sexual types are so exceptionally similar -- "

  "Oh, lord, vive la difference!" Everett laughed aloud, and some of the men in the valley glanced up, curious, pleased to see their captain laughing with the omnipotent, knowing alien. "If you mean our -- females had two arms, two legs, and a head, yes, we were very similar, but --"

  Fanu regarded John with compassion. "No, not that. I mean that, compared to our race, your own sexual differences seem minute. It would be a relatively simple matter to convert one to the other. I recall in the tapes several instances in which this sort of change occurred naturally, and others in which the changes were brought about medically."

  Everett knew his eyes were bulging, and he felt the anger rising in his throat. He beat it down. Fanu wouldn't know. He could read about the taboos of another race without fully appreciating . . . in spite of his revulsion, Everett gave a sputtering laugh. "Yes, yes, I see your point, Fanu. It's an interesting theory, but even if it would work, it, well, it wouldn't work that way."

  "Why?"

  "Well, it's a matter of -- my men wouldn't stand for it. We're not guinea pigs," he finished, testily.

  "No." The voice was compassionate again. "You are a race doomed to extinction, with a possible way out. My race had no such second chance."

  Fanu glided away toward the laboratory and Everett stared after him, one thought drumming in his mind. "My God! He wasn't theorizing! He -- he meant it!"

  The slight noise finally made him look up. He hadn't heard anyone come in, and started involuntarily at seeing Chord's great hulk before him.

  "Sorry to disturb you, Cap'n."

  "That isn't necessary, Chord. What can I do for you?"

  The big man smiled sheepishly. "Hard to break habits, sir. Guess I never will." Despite his size and demeanor, Chord was not stupid, though hampered by poor education and embarrassment for his giant clumsy body. Now he shifted uneasily from foot to foot as he mumbled. "I -- guess I've been picked out as a representative, sir. For -- for the men."

  "Gripe committee? Look, I'm not really your superior any more, Chord. We're all together now."

  "Yes, sir, but -- you're still Captain."

  Everett sighed, waited for the big man to continue. "Some -- some of us would like to build private quarters, sir. I mean -- not fights, or anything like that, we just -- we'd like some privacy -- you know -- homes, sir, like -- "

  "Like back on Earth?" Chord nodded dumbly and Everett said, "Well, I see no objection to that. You didn't need to consult me."

  "It's just -- well, sir, some of the guys thought you might get the wrong idea, sir."

  "Wrong idea?" Everett asked stupidly, startled by Chord's red face.

  "Well, you know, a couple of men living alone. It's nothing like that, sir. Honest."

  He waited until Chord left before he permitted the embarrassed amusement to boil over into his face; and knew that the amusement covered some strange unease that was almost fear.

  "He actually worried about it," he laughed, telling Fanu later.

  "Shouldn't he?" Fanu inquired gently. "John, don't stare. I'm not sure of the word in your tongue, but I think your people sense that the -- the last person to approve of such a matter would be yourself."

  Everett got to his feet, angrily. "Are you implying that my men would actually -- "

  "You said they were free agents. You said that they were not your men."

  Everett turned away, rubbing a tired hand across his eyes. "Yes, so I did. Habit."

  "Habit in morals too, John?"

  "Fanu! Look, I appreciate that you don't know our taboos, probably they're idiotic, but -- they're ours. As for the men -- "

  "Do you know them, John?"

  "Of course."

  "How long did you expect to be here?"

  He opened his mouth, then paused to consider, mentally counting. "Six months on planet, eight months coming, eight months back."

  "How long have you been here now?"

  "Eighteen -- months." His face worked, remembering some of the material on those cursed tape reels. "Fanu, you're my friend, but what you're suggesting is ridiculous. You haven't known Earthmen long enough to make an adequate appraisal."

  Fanu shook his head solemnly. "There is a folk saying on your tapes -- we have a similar one -- that one may be too close to the forest to see the trees." He gestured John to the window and pointed. "Count them, John. Seven small huts, and three are smaller than the others. Why?"

  Trying to swallow the horror in his throat, the suspicion that both frightened and sickened him, he shook his head in denial. "They're friends. You wouldn't understand."

  "No?" The voice sounded very sad. "Don't you think we had friends among our own? But you are blessed with bodies that will permit friends to become mates."

  "Stop it!" Everett felt like screaming the words; he held a picture of a large whitewashed wall disintegrating before his eyes, of himself trying to hold it together with his bare hands, of his men standing by, staring at him. Fanu was gesturing again. Unwillingly, his eyes followed the pointing paw. The men had organized an impromptu ball game of some sort, rough house, much laughing, shouting, pushing and tussling. Two of them stumbled and fell together. They were slow in getting up and they moved apart with both reluctance and a touch of conscious guilt.

  He jerked away from the window, trying to blot out the sight. The wall had large holes in it, the ravages of inevitability. His mind worked feverishly with brush and plaster; children, horseplaying, a reversion to adolescence --

  "Put the question to your men!" For the first time, Fanu's tones were tense with the beginnings of anger. "You have a second chance, John! They have the right to choose for themselves if they want to die! You can't decide for them all! Put it to you men, or -- " he swung around, to see that the little alien was actually trembling, "or I shall do so on my own initiative."

  Everett felt a sour taste in his mouth. "All right," he shouted, "I'll put it to them -- but don't blame me if they tear you to pieces afterward!"

  The looks on their faces had been enough. The men knew Fanu, certainly. He was one of them now. They knew the tragic history of his people, respected his knowledge, even loved him. But he was an outsider, and he'd proved it. He didn't understand mankind.

  The knock on the doorframe went through him like a shock.

  It was Chord, and another man. Everett blinked in the half light, trying to pick him out. Young Latimer -- the apprentice, the one they called Tip -- just a kid -- my God! Under his nose, right under his nose!

  "Cap'n -- " Chord began, then trailed off. The big man looked sick, stricken, and Everett became aware that his own expression must be one of outright condemnation. He -- the mighty tolerant, benevolent skipper. We're all together now, eh? In a pig's eye! Did he think he was God? Everett suddenly hated his own guts, and struggled to bring his face to order. With a new humility, he said, "Come in, Chord. You too, Lat- -- Tip. What can I do for you?"

  "About -- about what you said, a couple of days ago. You know, about . . . the . . . about what Dr. Fanu said. Did he mean it?"

  "Really mean it?" Tip added. Everett shifted his glance. Young, yes; but there was nothing simpering about him. Clear eyes, unashamed, he met the Ca
ptain's eyes; a good-looking kid, the athletic, All-Academy type, but not too good-looking. Calloused hands. A faint residue of old acne scars along his jawline.

  "Well," Everett said slowly, trying to keep his voice impersonal, "he says he means it."

  "Dr. Fanu doesn't strike me as a joker," the boy continued. The alien had become "Doctor" to them after repairing several broken ribs and a fractured knee or ankle in the last few months.

  "No, I don't think he was joking."

  "How does he -- I mean -- "

  "I didn't get the details," Everett cut in quickly. "But if he says he can -- his race is advanced enough, biologically -- he may be able to do what he says. Let us reproduce."