The Fourth Science Fiction Megapack

by Isaac Asimov

  “Lunch isn’t ready in any case, Doctor.” The Industrialist turned once more to his son. “And talking about that, son, the reason for it is that something happened to the ingredients. Do you have anything to say?”

  “Sir?”

  “I hate to feel that I have to explain myself more fully. Why did you take the chopped meat?”

  “The chopped meat?”

  “The chopped meat.” He waited patiently.

  Red said, “Well, I was sort of—”

  “Hungry?” prompted his father. “For raw meat?”

  “No, sir. I just sort of needed it.”

  “For what exactly?”

  Red looked miserable and remained silent.

  The Astronomer broke in again. “If you don’t mind my putting in a few words—You’ll remember that just after breakfast my son came in to ask what animals ate.”

  “Oh, you’re right. How stupid of me to forget. Look here, Red, did you take it for an animal pet you’ve got?”

  Red recovered indignant breath. He said, “You mean Slim came in here and said I had an animal? He came in here and said that? He said I had an animal?”

  “No, he didn’t. He simply asked what animals ate. That’s all. Now if he promised he wouldn’t tell on you, he didn’t. It’s your own foolishness in trying to take something without permission that gave you away. That happened to be stealing. Now have you an animal? I ask you a direct question.”

  “Yes, sir.” It was a whisper so low as hardly to be heard.

  “All right, you’ll have to get rid of it. Do you understand?”

  Red’s mother intervened. “Do you mean to say you’re keeping a meat-eating animal, Red? It might bite you and give you blood-poison.”

  “They’re only small ones,” quavered Red. “They hardly budge if you touch them.”

  “They? How many do you have?”

  “Two.”

  “Where are they?”

  The Industrialist touched her arm. “Don’t chivvy the child any further,” he said, in a low voice. “If he says he’ll get rid of them, he will, and that’s punishment enough.”

  He dismissed the matter from his mind.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Lunch was half over when Slim dashed into the dining room. For a moment, he stood abashed, and then he said in what was almost hysteria, “I’ve got to speak to Red. I’ve got to say something.”

  Red looked up in fright, but the Astronomer said, “I don’t think, son, you’re being very polite. You’ve kept lunch waiting.”

  “I’m sorry, Father.”

  “Oh, don’t rate the lad,” said the Industrialist’s wife. “He can speak to Red if he wants to, and there was no damage done to the lunch.”

  “I’ve got to speak to Red alone,” Slim insisted.

  “Now that’s enough,” said the Astronomer with a kind of gentleness that was obviously manufactured for the benefit of strangers and which had beneath it an easily-recognized edge. “Take your seat.”

  Slim did so, but he ate only when someone looked directly upon him. Even then he was not very successful.

  Red caught his eyes. He made soundless words, “Did the animals get loose?”

  Slim shook his head slightly. He whispered, “No, it’s—”

  The Astronomer looked at him hard and Slim faltered to a stop.

  With lunch over, Red slipped out of the room, with a microscopic motion at Slim to follow.

  They walked in silence to the creek.

  Then Red turned fiercely upon his companion. “Look here, what’s the idea of telling my Dad we were feeding animals?”

  Slim said, “I didn’t. I asked what you feed animals. That’s not the same as saying we were doing it. Besides, it’s something else, Red.”

  But Red had not used up his grievances. “And where did you go anyway? I thought you were coming to the house. They acted like it was my fault you weren’t there.”

  “But I’m trying to tell you about that, if you’d only shutup a second and let me talk. You don’t give a fellow a chance.”

  “Well, go on and tell me if you’ve got so much to say.”

  “I’m trying to. I went back to the space-ship. The folks weren’t there anymore and I wanted to see what it was like.”

  “It isn’t a space-ship,” said Red, sullenly. He had nothing to lose.

  “It is, too. I looked inside. You could look through the ports and I looked inside and they were dead.” He looked sick. “They were dead.”

  “Who were dead.”

  Slim screeched, “Animals! like our animals! Only theyaren’t animals. They’re people-things from other planets.”

  For a moment Red might have been turned to stone. It didn’t occur to him to disbelieve Slim at this point. Slim looked too genuinely the bearer of just such tidings. He said, finally, “Oh, my.”

  “Well, what are we going to do? Golly, will we get a whopping if they find out?” He was shivering.

  “We better turn them loose,” said Red.

  “They’ll tell on us.”

  “They can’t talk our language. Not if they’re from another planet.”

  “Yes, they can. Because I remember my father talking about some stuff like that to my mother when he didn’t know I was in the room. He was talking about visitors who could talk with the mind. Telepathery or something. I thought he was making it up.”

  “Well, Holy Smokes. I mean—Holy Smokes.” Red looked up. “I tell you. My Dad said to get rid of them. Let’s sort of bury them somewhere or throw them in the creek.”

  “He told you to do that.”

  “He made me say I had animals and then he said, ‘Get rid of them.’ I got to do what he says. Holy Smokes, he’s my Dad.”

  Some of the panic left Slim’s heart. It was a thoroughly legalistic way out. “Well, let’s do it right now, then, before they find out. Oh, golly, if they find out, will we be in trouble!”

  They broke into a run toward the barn, unspeakable visions in their minds.

  CHAPTER IX

  It was different, looking at them as though they were “people.” As animals, they had been interesting; as “people,” horrible. Their eyes, which were neutral little objects before, now seemed to watch them with active malevolence.

  “They’re making noises,” said Slim, in a whisper which was barely audible.

  “I guess they’re talking or something,” said Red. Funny that those noises which they had heard before had not had significance earlier. He was making no move toward them. Neither was Slim.

  The canvas was off but they were just watching. The ground meat, Slim noticed, hadn’t been touched.

  Slim said, “Aren’t you going to do something?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “You found them.”

  “It’s your turn, now.”

  “No, it isn’t. You found them. It’s your fault, the whole thing. I was watching.”

  “You joined in, Slim. You know you did.”

  “I don’t care. You found them and that’s what I’ll say when they come here looking for us.”

  Red said, “All right for you.” But the thought of the consequences inspired him anyway, and he reached for the cage door.

  Slim said, “Wait!”

  Red was glad to. He said, “Now what’s biting you?”

  “One of them’s got something on him that looks like it might be iron or something.”

  “Where?”

  “Right there. I saw it before but I thought it was just part of him. But if he’s ‘people,’ maybe it’s a disintegrator gun.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I read about it in the books from Beforethewars. Mostly people with space-ships have disintegrator guns. They point them at you and you get disintegratored.”

  “They didn’t point it at us till now,” pointed out Red with his heart not quite in it.

  “I don’t care. I’m not hanging around here and getting disintegratored. I’m getting my father.”

&
nbsp; “Cowardy-cat. Yellow cowardy-cat.”

  “I don’t care. You can call all the names you want, but if you bother them now you’ll get disintegratored. You wait and see, and it’ll be all your fault.”

  He made for the narrow spiral stairs that led to the main floor of the barn, stopped at its head, then backed away.

  Red’s mother was moving up, panting a little with the exertion and smiling a tight smile for the benefit of Slim in his capacity as guest.

  “Red! You, Red! Are you up there? Now don’t try to hide. I know this is where you’re keeping them. Cook saw where you ran with the meat.”

  Red quavered, “Hello, ma!”

  “Now show me those nasty animals? I’m going to see to it that you get rid of them right away.”

  It was over! And despite the imminent corporal punishment, Red felt something like a load fall from him. At least the decision was out of his hands.

  “Right there, ma. I didn’t do anything to them, ma. I didn’t know. They just looked like little animals and I thought you’d let me keep them, ma. I wouldn’t have taken the meat only they wouldn’t eat grass or leaves and we couldn’t find good nuts or berries and cook never lets me have anything or I would have asked her and I didn’t know it was for lunch and—”

  He was speaking on the sheer momentum of terror and did not realize that his mother did not hear him but, with eyes frozen and popping at the cage, was screaming in thin, piercing tones.

  CHAPTER X

  The Astronomer was saying, “A quiet burial is all we can do. There is no point in any publicity now,” when they heard the screams.

  She had not entirely recovered by the time she reached them, running and running. It was minutes before her husband could extract sense from her.

  She was saying, finally, “I tell you they’re in the barn. I don’t know what they are. No, no—”

  She barred the Industrialist’s quick movement in that direction. She said, “Don’tyou go. Send one of the hands with a shotgun. I tell you I never saw anything like it. Little horrible beasts with—with—I can’t describe it. To think that Red was touching them and trying to feed them. He was holding them, and feeding them meat.”

  Red began, “I only—”

  And Slim said, “It was not—”

  The Industrialist said, quickly, “Now you boys have done enough harm today. March! Into the house! And not a word; not one word! I’m not interested in anything you have to say. After this is all over, I’ll hear you out and as for you, Red, I’ll see that you’re properly punished.”

  He turned to his wife. “Now whatever the animals are, we’ll have them killed.” He added quietly once the youngsters were out of hearing, “Come, come. The children aren’t hurt and, after all, they haven’t done anything really terrible. They’ve just found a new pet.”

  The Astronomer spoke with difficulty. “Pardon me, ma’am, but can you describe these animals?”

  She shook her head. She was quite beyond words.

  “Can you just tell me if they—”

  “I’m sorry,” said the Industrialist, apologetically, “but I think I had better take care of her. Will you excuse me?”

  “A moment. Please. One moment. She said she had never seen such animals before. Surely it is not usual to find animals that are completely unique on an estate such as this.”

  “I’m sorry. Let’s not discuss that now.”

  “Except that unique animals might have landed during the night.”

  The Industrialist stepped away from his wife. “What are you implying?”

  “I think we had better go to the barn, sir!”

  The Industrialist stared a moment, turned and suddenly and quite uncharacteristically began running. The Astronomer followed and the woman’s wail rose unheeded behind them.

  CHAPTER XI

  The Industrialist stared, looked at the Astronomer, turned to stare again.

  “Those?”

  “Those,” said the Astronomer. “I have no doubt we appear strange and repulsive to them.”

  “What do they say?”

  “Why, that they are uncomfortable and tired and even a little sick, but that they are not seriously damaged, and that the youngsters treated them well.”

  “Treated them well! Scooping them up, keeping them in a cage, giving them grass and raw meat to eat? Tell me how to speak to them.”

  “It may take a little time. Think at them. Try to listen. It will come to you, but perhaps not right away.”

  The Industrialist tried. He grimaced with the effort of it, thinking over and over again, “The youngsters were ignorant of your identity.”

  And the thought was suddenly in his mind: “We were quite aware of it and because we knew they meant well by us according to their own view of the matter, we did not attempt to attack them.”

  “Attack them?” thought the Industrialist, and said it aloud in his concentration.

  “Why, yes,” came the answering thought. “We are armed.”

  One of the revolting little creatures in the cage lifted a metal object and there was a sudden hole in the top of the cage and another in the roof of the barn, each hole rimmed with charred wood.

  “We hope,” the creatures thought, “it will not be too difficult to make repairs.”

  The Industrialist found it impossible to organize himself to the point of directed thought. He turned to the Astronomer. “And with that weapon in their possession they let themselves be handled and caged? I don’t understand it.”

  But the calm thought came, “We would not harm the young of an intelligent species.”

  CHAPTER XII

  It was twilight. The Industrialist had entirely missed the evening meal and remained unaware of the fact.

  He said, “Do you really think the ship will fly?”

  “If they say so,” said the Astronomer, “I’m sure it will. They’ll be back, I hope, before too long.”

  “And when they do,” said the Industrialist, energetically, “I will keep my part of the agreement. What is more I will move sky and earth to have the world accept them. I was entirely wrong, Doctor. Creatures that would refuse to harm children, under such provocation as they received, are admirable. But you know—I almost hate to say this—”

  “Say what?”

  “The kids. Yours and mine. I’m almost proud of them. Imagine seizing these creatures, feeding them or trying to, and keeping them hidden. The amazing gall of it. Red told me it was his idea to get a job in a circus on the strength of them. Imagine!”

  The Astronomer said, “Youth!”

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Merchant said, “Will we be taking off soon?”

  “Half an hour,” said the Explorer.

  It was going to be a lonely trip back. All the remaining seventeen of the crew were dead and their ashes were to be left on a strange planet. Back they would go with a limping ship and the burden of the controls entirely on himself.

  The Merchant said, “It was a good business stroke, not harming the young ones. We will get very good terms; verygood terms.”

  The Explorer thought: Business!

  The Merchant then said, “They’ve lined up to see us off. All of them. You don’t think they’re too close, do you? It would be bad to burn any of them with the rocket blast at this stage of the game.”

  “They’re safe.”

  “Horrible-looking things, aren’t they?”

  “Pleasant enough, inside. Their thoughts are perfectly friendly.”

  “You wouldn’t believe it of them. That immature one, the one that first picked us up—”

  “They call him Red,” provided the Explorer.

  “That’s a queer name for a monster. Makes me laugh. He actually feels bad that we’re leaving. Only I can’t make out exactly why. The nearest I can come to it is something about a lost opportunity with some organization or other that I can’t quite interpret.”

  “A circus,” said the Explorer, briefly.

  “What? Wh
y, the impertinent monstrosity.”

  “Why not? What would you have done if you had foundhim wandering on your native world; found him sleeping on a field on Earth, red tentacles, six legs, pseudopods and all?”

  CHAPTER XIV

  Red watched the ship leave. His red tentacles, which gave him his nickname, quivered their regret at lost opportunity to the very last, and the eyes at their tips filled with drifting yellowish crystals that were the equivalent of Earthly tears.

  ANTHEM, by Ayn Rand

  CHAPTER ONE

  It is a sin to write this. It is a sin to think words no others think and to put them down upon a paper no others are to see. It is base and evil. It is as if we were speaking alone to no ears but our own. And we know well that there is no transgression blacker than to do or think alone. We have broken the laws. The laws say that men may not write unless the Council of Vocations bid them so. May we be forgiven!

  But this is not the only sin upon us. We have committed a greater crime, and for this crime there is no name. What punishment awaits us if it be discovered we know not, for no such crime has come in the memory of men and there are no laws to provide for it.

  It is dark here. The flame of the candle stands still in the air. Nothing moves in this tunnel save our hand on the paper. We are alone here under the earth. It is a fearful word, alone. The laws say that none among men may be alone, ever and at any time, for this is the great transgression and the root of all evil. But we have broken many laws. And now there is nothing here save our one body, and it is strange to see only two legs stretched on the ground, and on the wall before us the shadow of our one head.

  The walls are cracked and water runs upon them in thin threads without sound, black and glistening as blood. We stole the candle from the larder of the Home of the Street Sweepers. We shall be sentenced to ten years in the Palace of Corrective Detention if it be discovered. But this matters not. It matters only that the light is precious and we should not waste it to write when we need it for that work which is our crime. Nothing matters save the work, our secret, our evil, our precious work. Still, we must also write, for—may the Council have mercy upon us!—we wish to speak for once to no ears but our own.

  Our name is Equality 7-2521, as it is written on the iron bracelet which all men wear on their left wrists with their names upon it. We are twenty-one years old. We are six feet tall, and this is a burden, for there are not many men who are six feet tall. Ever have the Teachers and the Leaders pointed to us and frowned and said: “There is evil in your bones, Equality 7-2521, for your body has grown beyond the bodies of your brothers.” But we cannot change our bones nor our body.