The Lost Master - The Collected Works

by Stanley G. Weinbaum

  "I—I—of course!" He was staring at the lidded eyes. "It must be. Listen!" He leaned forward and yelled, "Hello!" directly at the creature. "It'll answer."

  It did. "It isn't a tropism," it clicked in shrill but perfect English.

  "That's no echo!" gasped Pat. She backed away. "I'm scared," she whimpered, pulling at Ham's arm. "Come away—quick!"

  He thrust her behind him. "I'm just a timid Yankee," he grunted, "but I'm going to cross-question this living phonograph until I find out what—or who—makes it tick."

  "No! No, Ham! I'm scared!"

  "It doesn't look dangerous," he observed.

  "It isn't dangerous," remarked the thing on the ice. Ham gulped, and Pat gave a horrified little moan. "Who—who are you?" he faltered.

  There was no answer. The lidded eyes stared steadily at him.

  "What are you?" he tried again.

  Again no reply.

  "How do you know English?" he ventured.

  The clicking voice sounded: "I isn't know English."

  "Then—uh—then why do you speak English?"

  "You speak English," explained the mystery, logically enough.

  "I don't mean why. I mean how!"

  But Pat had overcome a part of her terrified astonishment, and her quick mind perceived a clue. "Ham," she whispered tensely, "it uses the words we use. It gets the meaning from us!"

  "I get the meaning from you," confirmed the thing ungrammatically.

  Light dawned on Ham. "Lord!" he gasped. "Then it's up to us to give it a vocabulary."

  "You speak, I speak," suggested the creature.

  "Sure! See, Pat? We can say just anything." He paused. "Let's see—"

  "When in the course of human events it—"

  "Shut up!" snapped Pat. "Yankee! You're on Crown territory now. To be or not to be; that is the question—"'

  Ham grinned and was silent. When she had exhausted her memory, he took up the task: "Once upon a time there were three bears—"

  And so it went. Suddenly the situation struck him as fantastically ridiculous—there was Pat carefully relating the story of Little Red Riding Hood to a humorless monstrosity of the night side of Venus! The girl cast him a perplexed glance as he roared into a gale of laughter.

  "Tell him the one about the traveling man and the farmer's daughter!" he said, choking. "See if you can get a smile from him!" She joined his laughter. "But it's really a serious matter," she concluded. "Imagine it, Ham! Intelligent life on the dark side! Or are you intelligent?" she asked suddenly of the thing on the ice.

  "I am intelligent," it assured her. "I am intelligently intelligent."

  "At least you're a marvelous linguist," said the girl. "Did you ever hear of learning English in half an hour, Ham? Think of that!" Apparently her fear of the creature had vanished.

  "Well, let's make use of it," suggested Ham. "What's your name, friend?"

  There was no reply.

  "Of course," put in Pat. "He can't tell us his name until we give it to him in English, and we can't do that because—Oh, well, let's call him Oscar, then. That'll serve."

  "Good enough. Oscar, what are you, anyway?"

  "Human, I'm a man."

  "Eh? I'll be damned if you are!"

  "Those are the words you've given me. To me I am a man to you."

  "Wait a moment. `To me I am—' I see, Pat. He means that the only words we have for what he considers himself are words like man and human. Well, what are your people, then?"

  "People."

  "I mean your race. What race do you belong to?" "Human."

  "Ow!" groaned Ham. "You try, Pat."

  "Oscar," said the girl, "you're human. Are you a mammal?"

  "To me man is a mammal to you."

  "Oh, good heavens!" She tried again. "Oscar, how does your race reproduce?"

  "I have not the words."

  "Are you born?"

  The queer face, or faceless body, of the creature changed slightly. Heavier lids dropped over the semitransparent ones that shielded its many eyes; it was almost as if the thing frowned in concentration.

  "We are not born," he clicked.

  "Then—seeds, spores, parthenogenesis? Or fissure?"

  "Spores," shrilled the mystery, "and fissure."

  "But—"

  She paused, nonplussed. In the momentary silence came the mocking hoot of a triops far to their left, and both turned involuntarily, stared, and recoiled aghast. At the very extremity of their beam one of the laughing demons had seized and was bearing away what was beyond doubt one of the creatures of the caves. And to add to the horror, all the rest squatted in utter indifference before their burrows.

  "Oscar!" Pat screamed. "They got one of you!"

  She broke off suddenly at the crack of Ham's revolver, but it was a futile shot.

  "O-oh!" she gasped. "The devils! They got one!" There was no comment at all from the creature before them. "Oscar," she cried, "don't you care? They murdered one of you! Don't you understand?"

  "Yes."

  "But—doesn't it affect you at all?" The creatures had come, somehow, to hold a sort of human sympathy in Pat's mind. They could talk; they were more than beasts. "Don't you care at all?"

  "No."

  "But what are those devils to you? What do they do that you let them murder you?"

  "They eat us," said Oscar placidly.

  "Oh!" gasped Pat in horror. "But—but why don't—"

  She broke off; the creature was backing slowly and methodically into its burrow.

  "Wait!" she cried. "They can't come here! Our lights—" The clicking voice drifted out: "It is cold. I go because of the cold."

  There was silence.

  It was colder. The gusty underwind moaned more steadily now, and glancing along the ridge, Pat saw that every one of the cave creatures was slipping like Oscar into his burrow. She turned a helpless gaze on Ham.

  "Did I—dream this?" she whispered.

  `Then both of us dreamed it, Pat." He took her arm and drew her back toward the rocket, whose round ports glowed an invitation through the dusk.

  But once in the warm interior, with her clumsy outer garments removed, Pat drew her dainty legs under her, lighted a cigarette, and fell to more rational consideration of the mystery.

  "There's something we don't understand about this, Ham. Did you sense anything queer about Oscar's mind?"

  "It's a devilishly quick one!"

  "Yes; he's intelligent enough. Intelligence of the human level, or even"—she hesitated—"above the human. But it isn't a human mind. It's different, somehow—alien, strange. I can't quite express what I felt, but did you notice Oscar never asked a question? Not one!"

  "Why—he didn't, did he? That's queer!"

  "It's darn queer. Any human intelligence, meeting another thinking form of life, would ask plenty of questions. We did." She blew a thoughtful puff of smoke. "And that isn't all. That—that indifference of his when the triops attacked his fellow—was that human, or even earthly? I've seen a hunting spider snatch one fly from a swarm of them without disturbing the rest, but could that happen to intelligent creatures? It couldn't; not even to brains as undeveloped as those in a herd of deer, or a flock of sparrows. Kill one and you frighen all."

  "That's true, Pat. They're damn queer ducks, these fellow citizens of Oscar's. Queer animals."

  "Animals? Don't tell me you didn't notice, Ham!" "Notice what?"

  "Oscar's no animal. He's a plant—a warm-blooded, mobile vegetable! All the time we were talking to him he was rooting around below him with his—well, his root. And those things that looked like legs—they were pods. He didn't walk on them; he dragged himself on his root. And what's more he—"

  "What's more?"

  "What's more, Ham, those pods were the same sort as the ones that the triops threw at us in the canyon of the Mountains of Eternity, the ones that choked and smothered us so—"

  "The ones that laid you out so cold, you mean."

  "Anyway, I had wi
ts enough to notice them!" she retorted, flushing. "But there's part of the mystery, Ham. Oscar's mind is a vegetable mind!" She paused, puffing her cigarette as he packed his pipe.

  "Do you suppose," she asked suddenly, "that the presence of Oscar and his crew represents a menace to human occupancy of Venus? I know they're dark-side creatures, but what if mines are discovered here? What if there turns out to be a field for commercial exploitation? Humans can't live indefinitely away from sunlight, I know, but there might be a need for temporary colonies here, and what then?"

  "Well, what then?" rejoined Ham.

  "Yes; what then? Is there room on the same planet for two intelligent races? Won't there be a conflict of interests sooner or later?"

  "What of it?" he grunted. "Those things are primitive, Pat. They live in caves, without culture, without weapons. They're no danger to man."

  "But they're magnificently intelligent. How do you know that these we've seen aren't just a barbaric tribe and that somewhere on the vastness of the dark side there isn't a vegetable civilization? You know civilization isn't the personal prerogative of mankind, because look at the mighty decadent

  culture on Mars and the dead remnants on Titan. Man has simply happened to have the strongest brand of it, al least so far."

  "That's true enough, Pat," he agreed. "But if Oscar's fellows aren't any more pugnacious than they were toward that murderous triops, then they aren't much of a menace."

  She shuddered. "I can't understand that at all. I wonder if—" She paused, frowning.

  "If what?"

  "I—don't know. I had an idea—a rather horrible idea." She looked up suddenly. "Ham, tomorrow I'm going to find out exactly how intelligent Oscar really is. Exactly how intelligent—if I can."

  There were certain difficulties, however. When Ham and Pat approached the ice ridge, plodding across the fantastic terrain, they found themselves in utter perplexity as to which of the row of caves was the one before which they had stood in conversation with Oscar. In the glittering reflections from their lamps each opening appeared exactly like every other, and the creatures at their mouths stared at them with lidded eyes in which there was no readable expression.

  "Well," said Pat in puzzlement, "we'll just have to try. You there, are you Oscar?"

  The clicking voice sounded: "Yes."

  "I don't believe it," objected Ham. "He was over more to the right. Hey! Are you Oscar?"

  Another voice clicked: "Yes."

  "You can't both be Oscar!"

  Pat's choice responded: "We are all Oscar."

  "Oh, never mind," cut in Pat, forestalling Ham's protests. "Apparently what one knows they all know, so it doesn't make any difference which we choose. Oscar, you said yesterday you were intelligent. Are you more intelligent than I am?"

  "Yes. Much more intelligent."

  "Rah!" snickered Ham. "Take that, Pat!"

  She sniffed. "Well, that puts him miles above you. Yankee! Oscar, do you ever lie?"

  Opaque lips dropped over translucent ones. "Lie," repeated the shrill voice. "Lie. No. There is no need."

  "Well, do you—" She broke off suddenly at the sound of a dull pop. "What's that? Oh! Look, Ham, one of his pods burst!" She drew back.

  A sharply pungent odor assailed them, reminiscent of that dangerous hour in the canyon, but not strong enough this time to set Ham choking or send the girl reeling into unconsciousness. Sharp, acrid, and yet not entirely unpleasant.

  "What's that for, Oscar?"

  "It is so we—" The voice cut short.

  "Reproduce?" suggested Pat.

  "Yes. Reproduce. The wind carries our spores to each other. We live where the wind is not steady."

  "But yesterday you said fissure was your method."

  "Yes. The spores lodge against our bodies and there is a—" Again the voice died.

  "A fertilization?" suggested the girl.

  "No."

  "Well, a—I know! An irritation!"

  "Yes."

  "That causes a tumorous growth?'

  "Yes. When the growth is complete, we split."

  "Ugh!" snorted Ham. "A tumor!"

  "Shut up!" snapped the girl. "That's all a baby is—a normal tumor."

  "A normal— Well, I'm glad I'm not a biologist! Or a woman!"

  "So'm I," said Pat demurely. "Oscar, how much do you know?"

  "Everything."

  "Do you know where my people come from?"

  "From beyond the light."

  "Yes; but before that?"

  "No."

  "We come from another planet," said the girl impressively. At Oscar's silence she said: "Do you know what a planet is?"

  "Yes."

  "But did you know before I said the word?"

  "Yes. Long before."

  "But how? Do you know what machinery is? Do you know what weapons are? Do you know how to make them?"

  "Yes."

  "Then—why don't you?"

  "There is no need."

  "No need!" she gasped. "With light—even with fire—you could keep the triopses—trioptes, I mean—away. You could keep them from eating you!"

  "There is no need."

  She turned helplessly to Ham.

  "The thing's lying," he suggested.

  "I—don't think so," she murmured. "It's something else—something we don't understand. Oscar, how do you know all those things?"

  "Intelligence."

  At the next cave another pod popped sullenly.

  "But how? Tell me how you discover facts."

  "From any fact," clicked the creature on the ice, "intelligence can build a picture of the—" There was silence. "Universe?" she suggested.

  "Yes. The universe. I start with one fact and I reason from it. I build a picture of the universe. I start with another fact. I reason from it. I find that the universe I picture is the same as the first. I know that the picture is true."

  Both listeners stared in awe at the creature. "Say!" gulped Ham. "If that's true we could find out anything from Oscar! Oscar, can you tell us secrets that we don't know?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "You must first have the words to give me. I cannot tell you that for which you have no words."

  "It's true!" whispered Pat. "But Oscar, I have the words time and space and energy and matter and law and cause. Tell me the ultimate law of the universe?"

  "It is the law of—" Silence.

  "Conservation of energy or matter? Gravitation?"

  "No."

  "Of-of God?"

  "No."

  "Of—life?"

  "No. Life is of no importance."

  "Of—what? I can't think of another word."

  "There's a chance," said Ham tensely, "that there is no word!"

  "Yes," clicked Oscar. "It is the law of chance. Those other words are different sides of the law of chance."

  "Good Heaven!" breathed Pat. "Oscar, do you know what I mean by stars, suns, constellations, planets, nebulae, and atoms, protons, and electrons?"

  "Yes."

  "But—how? Have you ever seen the stars that are above these eternal clouds? Or the Sun there beyond the barrier?"

  "No. Reason is enough, because there is only one possible way in which the universe could exist. Only what is possible is real; what is not real is also not possible:"

  "That—that seems to mean something," murmured Pat. "I don't see exactly what. But Oscar, why—why don't you use your knowledge to protect yourselves from your enemies?"

  "There is no need. There is no need to do anything. In a hundred years we shall be—" Silence.

  "Safe?"

  "Yes—no."

  "What?" A horrible thought struck her. "Do you mean—extinct?"

  "Yes."

  "But—oh, Oscar! Don't you want to live? Don't your people want to survive?"

  "Want," shrilled Oscar. "Want—want—want. That word means nothing."

  "It means—it means desire, need."

  "Desire means nothing. Ne
ed—need. No. My people do not need to survive."

  "Oh," said Pat faintly. "Then why do you reproduce?"

  As if in answer, a bursting pod sent its pungent dust over them. "Because we must," clicked Oscar. "When the spores strike us, we must."

  "I—see," murmured Pat slowly. "Ham, I think I've got it. I think I understand. Let's get back to the ship."

  Without farewell she turned away and he followed her thoughtfully. A strange listlessness oppressed him.

  They had one slight mishap. A stone flung by some stray trioptes sheltered behind the ridge shattered the left lamp in Pat's helmet. It seemed hardly to disturb the girl; she glanced briefly aside and plodded on. But all the way back, in the gloom to their left now illumined only by his own lamps, hoots and shrieks and mocking laughter pursued them.

  Within the rocket Pat swung her specimen bag wearily to the table and sat down without removing her heavy outer garment. Nor did Ham; despite the oppressive warmth of it, he, too, dropped listlessly to a seat on the bunk.

  "I'm tired," said the girl, "but not too tired to realize what hat mystery out there means."

  "Then let's hear it."

  "Ham," she said, "what's the big difference between plant and animal life?"

  "Why—plants derive their sustenance directly from soil and air. Animals need plants or other animals as food."

  "That isn't entirely true, Ham. Some plants are parasitic, and prey on other life. Think of the Hotlands, or think, even, of some terrestrial plants—the fungi, the pitcher plant, the Dionaea that trap flies."

  "Well, animals move, then, and plants don't."

  "That's not true, either. Look at microbes; they're plants, but they swim about in search of food."

  "Then what is the difference?"

  "Sometimes it's hard to say," she murmured, "but I think I see it now. It's this: Animals have desire and plants necessity. Do you understand?"

  "Not a damn bit."

  "Listen, then. A plant—even a moving one—acts the way it does because it must, because it's made so. An animal acts because it wants to, or because it's made so that it wants to."

  "What's the difference?"

  "There is a difference. An animal has will, a plant hasn't. Do you see now? Oscar has all the magnificent intelligence of an animal but he hasn't the will of a worm. He has reactions, but no desire. When the wind is warm he comes out and feeds; when it's cold he crawls back into the cave melted by his body seat. But that isn't will; it's just a reaction. He has no desires!"