Yondering

by Robert Reginald (ed)

  “Isn’t it absolutely fantastic how much these creatures look like us? Those yellow apes that have invaded Beverly Hills this century look much stranger to us than these small Xiles!”

  Matt didn’t bother to disagree with the young man. Not that he was agog on the Japs in New York. Now they were in a wu forest, and in a wu forest you were supposed to keep quiet. Not even the high priests had enough power there.

  “Shut up, Jeff,” said Matt, stepping on it.

  The attack was a surprise. Dozens, maybe hundreds of small Xiles jumped straight down on their heads, putting them out of action by their weight. Matt kept cool—this was not their first encounter—but Jeff tried to use his disintegrator. He had hardly pointed it at an imposing old Xile who seemed to be some sort of chief and was the only one somehow dressed, when another ten Xiles, stripped to the waist, rocketed to his frightful weapon, despite the important character’s violent protests. “They’re defending someone,” Jeff thought, and fell to the ground almost stifled.

  The assailants vanished as unexpectedly as they had appeared. Jeff rose slowly to his feet, still stunned. But for the large patches of blood on the soil around them one would have said nothing had happened. The disintegrator was no use, and Matt didn’t seem to have reacted at all. Bored, he waited with his hands on the control sticks for the young navigator to pick himself up.

  They quickly inventoried everything. There was almost nothing missing, except a few trinkets—at least, that’s what Jeff thought: the field knives, the ignition keys, and a can opener.

  “They were looking for weapons,” Matt said. “They’ve taken everything that might serve their purpose.”

  “Then why didn’t they take this, too?” asked Jeff, pointing to the disintegrator.

  “Because they don’t know and will never know how to use it.”

  While trying to make contact using a spare cable, Matt filled the young novice in. It was Jeff’s first visit here, and back on Earth they hadn’t advertised the colonization of Azoya very much. Despite the fact that the Xiles looked human (and spiritually, they said, they were wholly Catholic), from a technological point of view they were next to nothing. They didn’t have any tools or weapons, because they were not able to make them. In fact, the zero influence level had been kept by a twelve-year-old Galactic law. Thus, if one broke a branch from a shrub and made it into a club, a Xile would feel like stealing it and using it as such. The same thing happened with the mountain axes, knives, pieces of glass, and other sharp objects. It would never have crossed their minds to break a branch themselves, let alone process metals.

  They saw the first native “houses,” a series of hovels dug straight into the frail soil. The settlement was too crowded for the few food resources in the area. The palace of Aznaya, the only building in the capital that the terrestrials had helped erect apart from the Mission, rose gloomily before them. At first, the Earthlings had intended to encourage the leading caste, ignoring the social realities of the planet. Originally, they had set up a “Gilda” launching battery which proved out of place in the first strange war against the southern tribes.

  When the Earthlings came to understand that it was not power that characterized each “ruler,” but a certain ability to feed the cult of suffering on Earth (serving himself as an example), it was their conviction that no oppressive measure would have been appropriate with the Xiles. On the contrary, joked one of the first diplomats to have returned from Azoya, considering the powerful cult of death and martyrdom, the worse a ruler governed there, the happier the population was. The American nation should follow the example of these wonderful Xiles!

  “What are you thinking about?” Matt finally asked wondering why Jeff, who enjoyed talking so much, had been silent for such a long time.

  “My head hurts. I wonder what they wanted from us.”

  “The knives, the can opener, the sharp-tipped ignition key. Don’t try to find a complex explanation.”

  “Did they want to harm us?”

  “Not us. Let’s say they wanted to harm themselves.…”

  * * * *

  The palace of Aznaya was a horrible mixture of colonial bad taste and lack of comfort. Even the parking lot was misplaced, about a mile off the main entrance. They secured the jeep, and checked whether there was any sharp object that might appeal to someone. The steering gear, with its sharp ends, had been taken down a long time ago by some zealous Xile.

  The main staircase was about two hundred feet high and significant for the Xilean mentality. It had once had stone banisters, but the natives had almost pulled them down, so now everyone could slip down into the chasm during rush hour. Few of the Christianized Xiles would have willingly jumped, but such an opportunity should never be missed. “Mha-hunha is waiting for you up there, Mha-hunha means happiness, only Death can bring perfection and peace,” was a verse from the traditional saga, N’varunha-Gna-hunha, which the more recent editions of the Bible had included.

  Along the extremely narrow and high staircase, hundreds of natives climbed up and down at the same time. The staircase looked like a restless ant hill.

  “One can make big money here,” Matt said. “These little knives bring in a fair return.”

  “But why don’t we bring them more weapons? If they need them so badly, why don’t we bring them more?”

  “We’d throw them out of balance. Too many natives would die, and they’d do it too fast. These creatures here kick the bucket at an amazing speed. And for one thing, we don’t want prices to go low. It’s true that some of them sell too cheap. A poor knife costs three grand. A small, twentieth-century eight-bullet gun would successfully replace at least eight knives, so can you imagine how much we could get for one?”

  They went straight into the great hall, full of guests of all colors. Of course, the Japanese were there, too, having a corner all to themselves. To the right, Jeff noticed a large group of Earthlings who seemed to be enjoying themselves. Matt and Jeff joined them. Presently, they found themselves with full glasses in their hands. Jeff jostled someone.

  “Sorry, I hope nothing’s spilled,” he said and turned around.

  “I like you,” the person next to him admitted frankly, an absolutely genuine red-haired young woman, judging by the ecological badge on her left sleeve. “Are you new here?”

  “I’m an intern. Just passing through. I’m in the eighth year at Clayton University, and want to pay my respects to the king.”

  “The Governor, you mean. That won’t be the case, honey. I don’t know if Matt has already warned you, but these creatures here are only interested in coming to blows. The only thing they do properly, and we should do likewise, is breeding. If you know a little bit of history, they have something in common with the last century’s hippie communities. They submit to fatality, even cause it, and have a frighteningly disgraceful cult of blood. Here Jack the Ripper would be a trade union leader!”

  Jeff thought it right to burst out laughing, the more so as his babitt dose had proved sufficient. The young woman went away with the babitt bottle in her hand.

  “Hey, what’s your name?” he shouted.

  “Rea,” she said and vanished in the motley crowd of silent Xiles who seemed to be getting bored looking far away within themselves.

  * * * *

  The aliens were having fun. Around the joy container, the atmosphere had become animated. For a moment, there was a confused murmur: someone had announced that His Excellency the Governor of Azoya was arriving, and the newcomers (Jeff included) crowded to see him. But when the Xilean Governor arrived, everyone’s interest was elsewhere. A plump Texan was throwing camp knives at a wooden target, much to the amusement of the Earthling audience. Even the Japs looked amused at the thrower’s clumsiness, and Jeff noticed for the first time a special interest in the Xiles’ eyes. Though dressed and looking somewhat neat, they stared greedily at the object-that-brings-death. Rea appeared unexpectedly in a magnificent lace suit without anything important underneath. M
ost of the audience, the women in particular, thought it quite out of place, considering the camp conditions.

  The Xiles were eating in silence without any noticeable pleasure. The “high society” ones stood out by their red and white striped togas. Several priests in violet habits passed through the groups, looking critically at the Earthlings who had somehow gone over the line. Another Earthling had drawn his knife and was now trying to hit the target. A few natives had closed in courageously, staring at the flying knife. Suddenly, one of the Xiles collapsed, dropping his tin cup. Joy brightened up the Xiles’ eyes when a handsome Xile bent over the fallen one and said in maloo:

  “He’s been poisoned, no doubt. He had a real friend.”

  Jeff, who had the lowest grades at hitu and couldn’t understand maloo at all, didn’t grasp exactly what the Governor meant by that.

  The victim was a felela, as Matt would cold-heartedly have said, who indeed was imperturbably taking care of his babitt, at the same time watching that stupid flying-knife game. As a newcomer on the planet, he looked a bit impressed by such shows.

  “Is it…bad?” asked Jeff.

  The Governor looked up politely at the inexperienced visitor.

  “He’s finally joined his people.” That was the sentence Jeff would hear again and again. “Anyone would be happy to have the honor…,” the Governor went on smiling.

  “Your Excellency, your destiny has been ordained,” said a priest dressed in violet, gently placing his hand on his shoulders.

  Two Xiles dragged the body outside quickly for fear the Earthlings might get upset. Jeff felt a fiery touch on his back, even though he had his isothermal suit on.

  “Someday you might understand it. Even if you don’t entirely accept it,” Rea said.

  * * * *

  “We’ll plan the hunting for tomorrow, for the enjoyment of our guests,” said the Governor for the second time.

  They were all standing in the shadow of a little secret room which the settlers had once built for their meat stocks. The three high officials and the Great Priest, this time dressed in a white toga himself, bowed their heads.

  “Each of us would like the same thing,” said Bostes. “Why should the Chosen Governor go Beyond before us, who have already reached an old age? Are we again using an acquired right at the cost of the sacred right of our race?”

  The Governor did not stand the insolence.

  “Thus I have decided and thus it shall be. Tomorrow, one of you shall help me pass Beyond.”

  “You’ve got no right to take your own life,” said the Great Priest. “The Bible forbids it utterly!”

  “The Bible!” the ruler laughed. “That’s an alien invention. Rulers have always passed Beyond as soon as they left a descendant behind.”

  One could still hear the noises of the party.

  “Your Excellency, you’ve got to protect yourself,” said the second counselor. “You’ve been accepted by the aliens as a go-between, and without them we wouldn’t have the metals, we wouldn’t have the tools that help us pass Beyond. God wanted us to be born with the thought of Death, and we wish nothing more than to put an end to the tortures of our poor existence. But Your Excellency, you have to live because you are the Chosen one. Tomorrow you’ll have to step out before the crowd and sentence to death a few of them, at random. The people will worship you. You can’t die. You are immune to poisons, and your skin has been impenetrable since that Earthly ship landed so near and the radiations, as they call them, touched you.”

  “I’m very much aware I’ve got a vulnerable spot. It’s a place where the magic rays couldn’t penetrate because of that small Earthly creature that had jumped upon my back to protect me.”

  The dog couldn’t survive the radiations that proved beneficial to the Governor.

  “I’m tired. It’s high time I started the Great Rest,” said the ruler. “Tomorrow, while hunting.…”

  * * * *

  “Some time ago,” said Matt, locking the jeep, “traveling these roads was quite a problem. All the Xiles used to throw themselves like hares blinded by the headlights under the tracks of the cars. We could hardly advance. But their priests finally forbade it. It hampered their trade with us too much.”

  They climbed up several short backstairs. Matt let the young one enter first.

  “And how did they do it?”

  “The Bible!”

  “I see.”

  The corridor narrowed abruptly.

  “This is your cabin, Jeff. You can find me…well, you can’t find me, but I’ll turn up at the right moment.”

  The cubicle looked fairly comfortable, and Jeff enjoyed the thought of being left alone. It was, in fact, his first day on Azoya, and it had definitely been a hard one.

  “I’ll take a nap,” he said and Matt left. The door closed behind him with a click that said the biological protection screen was working.

  The buzz awoke him—someone was playing with the alarm system.

  “Who is it?” he asked, frightened.

  “Rea!”

  Even if the young man hadn’t known her name, her sweet voice would have made him open even a castle gate.

  “It’s men that usually make the first move,” she said, climbing upon the heavy table and dangling her feet like a child. “Are you normal?”

  “You can see for yourself,” answered the young man modestly. “I don’t want you to think of me as rude, but since I first saw you.…”

  She had already mounted him and started struggling impatiently with the adhesive on his space suit. The climate microcircuit within was set in the washing-mode, rubbing and scenting his body. She laughed as she unwrapped him, as though he were a present.

  “Well, well. You smell so good!” she stroked him with her fingers and leaned to kiss him.

  “Don’t bite or scratch me,” he warned her with what was left of his surviving instinct. “Jesus, I’ve never enjoyed living so much.”

  It didn’t last long, but the result was satisfying for both. Jeff hadn’t done it for a long time, one of the reasons her well-shaped body seemed so extraordinary. His sudden exhaustion made him feel embarrassed.

  “Will you help me?” she said. “Promise you’ll help me.”

  “Help you do what?”

  “I won’t say, but promise, anyway. Or are you afraid?”

  * * * *

  No. He wasn’t afraid. With his help Rea managed to get into the power plant more easily and take a Tokanaga counter.

  “Don’t be afraid. We’ll put it back.”

  The dark corridor, dug deep into the rock, opened smoothly at her signal. A quiet Xile pulled back the heavy stone door behind them. From somewhere, as if he’d been waiting, appeared the Governor of the province, followed by the Great Priest dressed in white. The fourth Xile, a sad-looking youth, was wearing a cherry-colored toga, like all the Xiles of noble descent.

  “He shall be elected in my place,” said the Governor. “You’ll always have an ear to listen and an eye to see your needs.”

  The Governor took off his toga, and Rea started running her fingers over the keys of the device while Jeff moved the counter along His Excellency’s body.

  “…here,” said Rea.

  “Are you sure?” the Governor said, his eyes shining with joy for maybe the first time.

  The girl acknowledged in a trembling voice, and the Xile who had ushered them in drew a cross with tincture iodine on the ruler’s left shoulder.

  “Here the skin is very elastic. It’s a cold area, unprotected and near a vital center.”

  “Thank you both. You’ll be rewarded. Bostes, you try it now.”

  “Your Excellency,” cut in the priest, “let’s wait until tomorrow, at least. During the chase, your subjects will think it’s been a mere assassination.”

  In hitu, “assassination” had a different meaning.

  “All right then. Make a sign on the toga so he can hit exactly there.”

  * * * *

  “Did you r
eally do that?” the young man shuddered when they stepped into the hall.

  “What do you know about the laws of this world? From time to time, the zebroses from the south rush here, starting what the Governor would call ‘terrible wars.’ They seize the weapons, and feed the dying by force in spite of the latter’s wish to starve. In short, they do them the most terrible harm imagined here—they don’t let them die. All their ancient spirituality, on which the religion of the Catholic priests has been exquisitely implanted, is meant to worship and love Death. It’s an attempt dating from ancient times, to survive an overcrowded planet lacking natural resources, whose secrets they can’t find yet.”

  “And why don’t we help them?”

  “The Non-Intervention Law. The stupid law passed in 2165 without one dissenting vote in the Galactic Council.”

  * * * *

  The chieftains stood there around the Governor. The Earthlings had taken it seriously. A hundred years before, the Xilean kings had been strong and hunting had meant killing people. The colonists had changed a lot of the customs, though.

  Matt had joined the other Earthlings winding through the dwindling trees which could hide nothing, a sort of forest that stretched as far as the green horizon.

  “Let’s go, Jeff,” said Rea. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. Let’s go to the Mission.”

  “But I want to see it!” said Jeff angrily. “You can’t see a real hunting of real cofans every day.”

  They’d already been surrounded by several guards, polite but determined.

  “I hope you haven’t made any mistake this time,” said the Governor, smiling threateningly. “I’m very keen on the sign having been correctly marked.”

  “What’s he talking about?” asked Jeff.

  “Well, for the time being, we’re welcome,” sighed Rea, looking around for some colonist.

  Her anxiety didn’t escape the attention of those around them. Suddenly the only armed male poised his spear and thrust it into the sign on the white toga. Another Xile swiftly pulled the knife from Jeff’s sheath and cut the “killer’s” head off at one go.