He checked around to make sure he had no more work to do and put his desk in order for the end of day.
Terl went over to a cabinet and took out the smallest blast gun he could find. He put a charge cartridge in it and set it to minimum power.
He took some rags and cleaned up his face mask and put a new cartridge in it.
Then he went outside.
Not a hundred yards north of the compound he saw his first rat. With the accuracy that had won him an honored place on his school shoot team, even though the thing was in streaking motion, he blew its head off.
Fifty feet farther, another rat leaped out of a culvert and he decapitated it in midair. He paced off the distance. Forty-two Psychlo paces. No, he hadn't lost his touch. Silly things to be hunting, but it still took a master's touch.
Two. That would be good enough to start with.
Terl looked around at the hateful day. Yellow, blue, and green. Well, he'd get quit of this.
Feeling very cheerful, he rumbled up the hill to the old zoo.
His mouthbones stretched in a grin. There was the man-thing crouched down at the far side of the cage, glaring at him. Glaring at him? Yes, it was true. It was the first time Terl had noticed it had emotions.
And what else had it been doing?
It had gotten to the packs– he remembered the thing clutching at them when he had returned it to the cage yesterday– and it was now sitting on them. It had been doing something else. It had been looking down at a couple of books. Books? Now where the crap nebula had it gotten books? Didn't seem possible it could have gotten into the old Chinko quarters. The collar, the rope were all secure. He'd investigate that in due course. The thing was still here, which was what was important.
Terl advanced, smiling behind his mask. He held up the two dead rats and then tossed them to the man-thing.
It didn't jump hungrily at them. It seemed to withdraw. Well, gratitude wasn't something you found in animals. No matter. Terl wasn't after gratitude from this thing.
Terl went over to the old cement bear pool. It didn't seem to be cracked. He traced the piping. The piping seemed to be all right.
He went outside the cage and fumbled around in the undergrowth, looking for the valves, and finally found one. He turned it. Hard to do with a valve that old. He was afraid his great strength would just twist the top off.
From the nearby garage he got some penetrating oil and went back and worked the valve over. Finally he got it open. Nothing happened.
Terl traced the old water system to a tank the Chinkos had built. He shook his head over the crudity of it. It had a pump but the charge cartridge was long expended. He freed up the pump and put a new cartridge in it. Intergalactic was never one for innovations, thank the stars. The cartridges the pump needed were the same ones still in use.
He got the pump whirring but no water came. Finally he found the pond. The old pipe was simply not in the water, so with one stamp of his boot he put it back in.
Up at the tank the water began to run in. And down in the cage the pool began to fill swiftly. Terl grinned to himself. A mining man could always handle fluids. And here too he hadn't lost his touch.
He went back into the cage. The big center pool was filling rapidly. It was muddy and swirling since it had been full of sand. But it was wet water!
The pool filled up to the top and slopped over, spilling across the floor of the cage.
The man-thing was hastily picking up its things and jamming them into the bars to escape the inundation.
Terl went back outside and shut off the valve. He let the tank on the hill fill and then shut that off.
The cage was practically awash. But the water was draining off through the bars. Good enough.
Terl slopped over to the man-thing. It was clinging to the bars to keep out of the water. It had the hides way up, jammed over the cross braces. To keep them dry?
It was holding on to the books with one hand.
Terl looked around. Everything was in order now. So he had better look into these books.
He started to take them out of its hand but it held on. With some impatience, Terl smashed at its wrist and caught the two books as they fell.
They were man-books.
Puzzled, Terl leafed through them. Now where could this thing have picked up man-books? He drew his eyebones together, thinking.
Ah, the Chinko guidebook! There had been a library in that town. Well, maybe this animal had lived in that town.
But books? This was better and better. Maybe, like the Chinkos had said, these animals could grasp meaning. Terl could not read the man-characters but they obviously were readable.
This first one here must be a child's primer. The other one was some kind of child's story. Beginner books.
The animal was looking stoically away in another direction. It was useless, of course, to try to talk to it-
Terl halted his thought in mid-blink. Better and better for his plans! It had been talking! He remembered now. What he had thought were growls and squawks like you get from any animal had been reminiscent of words!
And here were books!
He made the thing look at him by turning its head. Terl pointed to the book and then at the thing's head.
It gave no sign of understanding.
Terl pushed the book up close to its face and pointed at its mouth. No sign of recognition occurred in the eyes.
It either wasn't going to read or it couldn't read.
He experimented some more. If these things could actually talk and read, then his plans were sure winners. He turned the pages in front of its face. No, no sign of recognition.
But it had books in its possession. It had books, but it couldn't read. Maybe it had them for the pictures. Ah, success. Terl showed it a picture of a bee and there was a flicker of interest and recognition. He showed it the picture of the fox and again that flick of recognition. He took the other book with pages of solid print. No sign of recognition.
Got it. He put the small books in his breast pocket.
Terl knew what to do. He knew every piece of everything in the old Chinko quarters and that included man-language discs. They had never written up what man ate but they had gone to enormous trouble with man-language. Typically Chinko. Miss the essentials and soar off into the stratosphere.
He knew tomorrow's program. Better and better.
Terl checked the collar, checked the rope, securely locked up the cage, and left.
Chapter 6
It had been a damp, cold, thoroughly miserable night.
Jonnie had clung to the bars for hours, loath to sit down or even step down. Mud was everywhere. The gush of water had taken the sand and dirt in the pool and spread it all over the cage and the dirt of the floor had avidly soaked it up. The mud became ankle deep.
But at last, exhausted, he had given in and slept lying in the mud.
Midmorning sun was drying it somewhat. The two dead rats had floated away out of reach and Jonnie didn't care.
Already dehydrated from his previous experience, he felt the hot sun increase his thirst. He looked at the muddy pool, contaminated with slime from the cage. He could not bring himself to drink it.
He was sitting miserably against the bars when the monster appeared.
It stopped outside the door and looked in. It was carrying some metallic object in its paws. It looked at the mud and for the moment Jonnie thought it might realize he couldn't go on sitting and sleeping in the mud.
It went away.
Just as Jonnie believed it would not come back, it reappeared. This time it was still carrying the metal object, but it was also carrying a huge rickety table and an enormous chair.
The thing made tricky work getting through the door with all that load, a door too small for it in the first place. But it came on in and put the table down. Then it put the metal object on the table.
Jonnie had at first believed that the huge chair was for him. But he was quickly disabused. The monster put the
chair down at the side of the table and sat down on it: the legs of it sunk perilously into the mud.
It indicated the mysterious object. Then it took the two books out of its pocket and threw them on the table. Jonnie reached for them. He had not thought he would ever see them again and he had begun to make out of them a kind of sense.
The monster cuffed his hand and pointed at the object. It waved a paw across the top of the books in a kind of negative motion and pointed again at the object.
There was a sack on the back of the object and it had discs in it about the diameter of two hands.
The monster took out one of the discs and looked at it. It had a hole in the middle with squiggles around it. The monster put the disc on top of the machine. There was a rod there that fitted into the middle of the disc.
Jonnie was extremely suspicious, his hand bruised from the cuff. Anything this monster was up to would be devious, treacherous, and dangerous. That had been adequately proved. The game was to bide one's time, watch, and learn– and out of that possibly wrest freedom.
The monster now pointed to two windows on the front of the object. Then it pointed to a single lever that stuck out from the front of it.
The monster pushed the lever down.
Jonnie's eyes went round. He backed up.
The object talked!
Clear as a bell, it had said, “Excuse me...”
The monster pulled the lever up and it stopped talking.
Jonnie drew back further. The monster clouted him between the shoulder blades and drove him up to the table so hard the edge hit his throat. The monster raised a cautionary finger at him.
It shoved the lever up, and by standing on tiptoe Jonnie could see that the disc went backward from the way it had gone.
The monster pulled the lever down again. The object said, “Excuse me, but I am...” The monster centered the lever and the machine stopped. Then it pushed the lever up and the machine went backward again.
Jonnie tried to look under the machine and back of it. The thing wasn't alive, surely. It didn't have ears or a nose or a mouth. Yes, it did have a mouth. A circle low down in front of it. But the mouth didn't move. Sound just came out of it. And it was talking Jonnie's language!
The monster pushed the lever down again and the object said, “Excuse me, but I am your...” This time Jonnie saw that some odd squiggles had been showing up in the top window and a strange face in the lower window.
Once more the monster pushed the lever up and the disc on top went backward. Then the monster centered the lever. It pointed a talon at Jonnie's head and then at the object.
Jonnie noticed then that the monster had been moving the lever off center, all positions to the left. The monster now moved the lever all the way over to the right and down, and different squiggles appeared but the same picture showed, and the machine said something in some strange tongue.
The monster backed it up and put the lever in the left-right center and down. Different squiggles, same lower picture, but an entirely different set of sounds.
Behind the face mask the monster seemed to smile. It repeated the last maneuver again and pointed to itself.
Jonnie suddenly understood that that was the monster's language.
Jonnie's interest was immediate, intense, and flaming.
He reached up and pushed the monster's paw away. It was hard to reach because the table was so high and big, but Jonnie made nothing of that.
He moved the lever up and to the left.
Then he moved it down. The machine said, “Excuse me, but I am your instructor....” Then Jonnie did the same operation in the right-hand position and it said something that was language but strange. Then he did it in the center position and it spoke again in the language of the Psychlos.
The monster was looking at him closely, even suspiciously. It bent way over and peered back into Jonnie's face. The flickering, amber eyes slitted. Then it made a doubtful motion toward the machine as though it would pick it up and carry it off.
Jonnie slapped the huge hands away and fastened again on the lever. He put it in the left track and let it roll.
“Excuse me,” the machine said, “but I am your instructor if you will forgive such arrogance. I do not have the honor to be a Psychlo. I am but a lowly Chinko." The face in the bottom window bowed twice and put a hand over its eyes.
“I am Joga Stenko, Junior Assistant Language Slave in the Language Division of the Department of Culture and Ethnology, Planet Earth.” Squiggles were running rapidly in the upper window.
“Forgive my presumption, but this is a course of study in reading and speaking the man-languages of
English and Swedish.
“On the left-hand track of the record, I hope you will have no trouble in finding English. On the right-hand track you will find the same text in Swedish. On the center track the same text is in Psychlo, the Noble Language of Conquerors.
“The written equivalent in each case appears in the upper window and suitable pictures appear in the lower window.
“You will pardon my humble pretensions of learnedness. All wisdom abides in the Governors of Psychlo and one of their major companies, the great and mighty Intergalactic Mining Company, on which let there be profit!”
Jonnie centered the lever. He was breathing hard. The language was stilted, oddly pronounced, and many of the words he did not know. But he grasped it.
He looked more closely at the object. He frowned, concentrating heavily. And then he grasped that it was a machine, a not-live thing. That meant that the insect had been not live either.
Jonnie looked at the monster. Why was this thing doing this? What fresh dangers and privations did it have in mind? There was no kindness in those amber eyes. They were like a wolf's eyes seen in firelight.
The monster pointed toward the machine and Jonnie pulled the lever down to the left.
“Excuse me,” it said, “but we will begin with the necessary alphabet. The first letter is A. Look at the upper window.” Jonnie did and saw the marks.
"A...pronounced ay. Its sound is also a as in 'pat,' ay as in ‘pay’ ay as in 'care,' ah as in 'father.' Look at it well, excuse me please, so you can always recognize it. The next letter of the alphabet is B. Look at the window. It always has the sound of bas in bat....”
The monster batted his hand up and opened the primer to the first page. It tapped a talon on A.
Jonnie had already made the connection. Language could be written and read. And this machine was going to teach him how to do it. He centered the lever and pulled it down and there it was evidently spouting an alphabet in Psychlo. The little face in the lower window was showing mouth formations to say the sounds. He swung the lever over to the right and it was saying an alphabet in...Swedish?
The monster stood up, looking the four feet down to Jonnie. It took two dead rats from its pocket and dangled them in front of Jonnie.
What was this? A reward? It made Jonnie feel like a dog being trained. He didn't take them.
The monster made a sort of shrugging motion and said something. Jonnie couldn't understand the words. But when the monster reached over to pick up the machine, he knew what they must have been. Something like,
“Lesson's over for the day.”
Jonnie instantly pushed the arms away from the machine. He moved over defiantly and stood there, blocking the reach. He wasn't sure what would happen, if he'd be batted halfway across the cage. But he stood there.
So did the monster. Head on one side, then the other.
The monster roared. Jonnie did not flinch. The monster roared some more and Jonnie divined, with relief, that it was laughing.
The monster's belt buckle, showing the clouds of smoke in the sky, was a few inches below Jonnie's eyes. It connected with the ancient legend that told of the end of Jonnie's race. The laughter beat at Jonnie's ears, a growling thunder of mockery.
The monster turned around and went out, still laughing as it locked the gate.
There
was bitterness and determination on Jonnie's face. He had to know more. Much more. Then he could act.
The machine was still on the table. Jonnie reached for the lever.
Chapter 7
The summer heat dried out the mud.
White clouds spotted the skies above the cage.
But Jonnie had no time for them. His whole concentration was on the teaching machine.
He had gotten the huge chair shifted around and by lifting the seat height with folded skins, he could hunch over the table, close facing the old Chinko who, in the picture, fawned in an agony of politeness as he taught.
Mastering the alphabet in English was quite a trick. But mastering it in Psychlo was even worse. Far far easier to trail game by its signs and know, almost to the minute, how long ago it had passed and what it was doing. These signs and symbols were fixed deathless on a screen and the meanings that they gave were unbelievably complex.
In a week, he thought he had it. He had begun to hope. He had even commenced to believe that it was easy. "B is for Bats, Z is for Zoo, H is for Hats and Y is for You.” And by going over the same text in Psychlo, the Bats, Zoos, Hats and Yous became (a little incomprehensibly) Pens, Shovels, Kerbango and Females. But when he finally grasped, under the Chinko's groveling tutelage, that Psychlo words for Hats, Zoos and Bats would start with different letters, he knew he had it.
He at length could lie back and rattle off the alphabet in English. Then he could, with a bit of squinting, sit up and rattle off the Psychlo alphabet in Psychlo. And with all the different nuances of how they sounded.
Jonnie knew he mustn't take too long at this. The diet of raw meat would eventually do him in; he was close to semi-starvation since he could barely bring himself to eat it.
The monster would come and watch him a little while each day. While he was there, Jonnie was silent. He knew he must sound funny while he drilled. And the monster's laughter made the back of his hair stand up. So he would be very quiet under that scrutiny from outside the cage.
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