The Fall of the Families

by Phillip Mann

“Ha!” said Pawl. “Well, that explains it.” He turned to Peron and Paris. “You know, I wondered. I wondered when I first heard how ferocious the Hammer were, and how tough and how clever, why they would allow a puny little mine to stay on their planet. And that was the reason. They wanted to keep up with the language and they probably picked up bits of news too. Well, well.”

  Paris stood in the doorway, letting the water pour over his hard-muscled body. Peron and Pawl joined him. They all had dust sores in their wrinkles and the cold water eased the irritation. When they were clean, they pulled their wet clothes back on and went outside. The hot dry air felt balmy.

  The Hammer was waiting. In front of it was a low slate table on which were placed small chips of white and black stone. Pawl glanced at it casually and recognized with some surprise a Corfu board.

  The Hammer drummed softly. “Trader says be seated in front.”

  They did as they were bidden and the great beast hunkered lower. They found themselves looking straight over the table and into its mouth orifice. The stench of its breath as it puffed out made their stomachs clench.

  “I’m not sitting here,” said Paris. “Apart from the smell, it’s disgusting. I know it’s its mouth, but it looks like its arse and its breath smells like a fart.”

  A similar thought had occurred to Pawl but he had repressed it. Peron turned to Paris and said, “Remember that Trader speaks our language.” His politeness was studied. He was about to say more but when he opened his mouth he gagged. He jumped up and ran to the edge of the platform and there gave vent to his nausea.

  “We’re sorry,” said Pawl as the three of them arranged themselves to the side of the Hammer and upwind of him. The Hammer drummed.

  “Why sorry?” translated Lake. “Your bodies smell like dead birds to me but I don’t complain. All aliens smell. It is something you have to get used to if you want to expand your mind. Do you want I should hold my breath?”

  “I think we will be all right if we sit here,” said Pawl. He had noted a certain lightness in the Hammer’s words and this encouraged him. Peron smiled to himself and looked closely at the tall alien who was translating. He had observed that the alien spoke their language better when he was translating the Hammer’s speech than when he was speaking for himself. It was an observation only and Peron did not know what to make of it.

  Paris was glad to be out of the smell. He looked at the Hammer, trying to spot where it would be vulnerable. Right in its mouth, he thought.

  Lake stepped between the Hammer’s front two legs and squatted down. Two of the tentacles uncoiled from above him and rested themselves along his shoulders. Lake began to rock back and forth. He raised his masked face. “I am trancing,” he said. “Speaking easier when tranced.” His cowled head flopped forward and was supported by one of the tentacles.

  Trader drummed. “Shall we begin?” The voice came from Lake, but it was hard and deep and the nasality had almost disappeared. “Trader is busy and does not have time to squander. You have business, I will trade. Talk for a game. Do I have a deal?”

  “Game?” asked Pawl.

  “This,” said Trader. A tentacle reached out and tapped like a finger on the table. “I don’t know what name you have for it but it is a passion with me. Talk for a game. Do I have a deal?”

  “We call it Corfu,” said Pawl. “I have played the game once or twice but I am not a master.”

  “I believe you. I hope you will give me a stretch. Perhaps hold me to sixty-four moves.”

  “I’ll try. But no other conditions.” Pawl was cautious. The game of Corfu, avidly played on Lotus-and-Arcadia, had a sinister reputation. It was a game of skill and cunning and estates had been lost, and lives too, on an outcome. It was always a game of face and if you did not wish to court dishonour you did not play. On Terpsichore Corfu was taught to stimulate mental discipline.

  “No other conditions. A talk for a game.” The pointed tongue flicked from the mouth and a gobbet of saliva hit the ground in front of Pawl. Odin spoke in Pawl’s mind. “Return the gesture. It is a common way for those who have mouths to strike a bargain.”

  Pawl spat.

  The Hammer settled its huge body lower and drummed briefly. “Begin.”

  It was Peron who asked the first question. “Can you write your language?”

  For answer the giant tail extended over the Hammer’s head and began to inscribe quickly in the sand in front of it. Lines, dots, squiggles, wedge shapes and curves appeared in quick succession. These were followed by a brisk line drawing of a bearded face which they judged to be a portrait of Pawl since he had allowed his stubble to grow. “That is of course our technical language. There is no way to write our other language. It would take a lifetime to write a sentence and another lifetime to read it. So why bother? Do you have two lifetimes to waste? Do you have anything to say that is worth a lifetime?” The Hammer blew out gustily and erased the picture.

  “How many languages do you have?” asked Pawl.

  “Five.”

  “And can you speak all of them?”

  “No. I use four of them for flying kites and cooling stew.”

  Pause.

  “Could you say something to us in one of your other languages?”

  “No. It would be a sterile exercise. Come on quickly.”

  “Do you live in the city we saw as we approached?”

  “That is not a city. It is a school of sorts and I live far away from here.” The sting pointed vaguely in the direction of the distant hills. “I came only to play.”

  “This is a dry planet,” said Pawl. “Where does all the water come from?”

  “Underground and the mountains. In pipes.”

  “Do you have a source of energy?”

  “We live.”

  “Technol – ”

  “Lateral gravity. Inertia sinks. Come. Come. Come. Come.” The tail straightened and then banged down on the ground behind the Hammer sending up a cloud of dust and grit. “Your questions lack soul. They have no tease.”

  “What makes you happy?” asked Peron suddenly.

  The Hammer turned its head to him and then lowered until its throat wrinkled and its two eyes hung above him like black balls. Peron could have reached up and seized them.

  The roar of the tattoo as the white sounding tentacles burst into action almost bowled them over. Words poured in a torrent from the entranced Lake. “Making love in snow and forest. Turning in sand. Pulling down stars. Scratching where I itch. Playing. Cracking hard rocks together. Talking after mating. Jumping with all legs. Stinging.” It paused. “There is a joy you will never know. The coil and flex of the sting. The release and the calm as the body resurrects.” The Hammer settled back. “Next question.”

  “Have you often stung?” asked Paris.

  “Often.”

  “And killed?”

  “Always.”

  “You fight….”

  “We fight as we love as we breathe.”

  Pawl was alarmed to see the large leg muscles at the rear of the creature begin to bunch. The Hammer’s body was responding to the thought of battle. He changed the subject abruptly.

  “The people on my Homeworld have heard of the Hammer but never seen any live ones. Can I make a vivante of you?” He held up the small camera.

  “They will be terrified.”

  “But they are curious too.”

  The Hammer reached forward with one of its tentacles and lifted the camera from Pawl’s hand as neatly as an elephant picks up an apple core. It looked at it, explored it, and then began to take images of Pawl and Paris and Peron. “The expressions on your faces will certainly inspire curiosity.”

  It tossed the machine back to Pawl who caught it.

  “Record my sting for your children. Children like such things.”

  Pawl did as he was bidden. “Have you seen a vivante camera before?”

  “Seen? The Hammer invented it long ago and handed it to your first comers. We are clever at inve
nting. It is a useful toy.” Pawl did not know whether to believe this but decided to say nothing. The Hammer was speaking again. “Manipulation is not the start of intelligence but it helps. We have many hands – ” its tentacles writhed – “and so many ways of perceiving the world. You have come a long way considering your limitations and your vulnerability.”

  ”What is the first step in intelligence?” asked Peron.

  “Awareness of crisis.”

  “And the second step?”

  “Overcoming.”

  The mood of the Hammer seemed to have changed, to have calmed, and yet at the same time there was an intensity, a scrutiny.

  “What do we look like to you?” asked Peron.

  “Look like?” The Hammer paused. “Ah, eyes.” It began to sway its head back and forth as though weighing the question. “We look with these – ” a tentacle flicked out and pointed to its eyes –”but we also look with these.” A second tentacle snaked out and wrapped round Peron’s arm and drew him in towards the giant mouth.

  A warning voice in Pawl’s mind told him not to move, not to reach for his particle gun. This was a moment he had anticipated, the time when the Hammer would test their courage and trust.

  No such voice spoke to Paris. His hand dropped to his side, but before he could touch his gun, a tentacle writhed like a breaking rope and slapped him across the chest and sent him tumbling backwards. He sat up with his arms round his chest, fighting for breath.

  “Put your gun on the floor,” said Pawl softly, filtering any anxiety from his voice. “We have no advantage here.” Paris did as he was bid but his face showed the burning anger of humiliation.

  The tentacle held Peron firmly while other feelers ran over his body with quick feathery movements. They explored his face and paid great attention to his hands. Then, with its examination complete, the Hammer let him go. Red weals showed on Peron’s arm where the Hammer had held him. Peron staggered back and drew in gulps of air.

  “Thank you,” he said to the Hammer. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

  The Hammer drummed loudly. “I am laughing,” explained Lake in a monotone.

  The drumming subsided to a murmur of conversation. “Kill you? Why would I kill you? I want to learn too and what can you learn from something that you have killed? Now if I’d wanted to eat you….” The tongue licked out.

  It is joking with us, thought Pawl.

  “However, I can also see you with this.” The sting arched forward and opened and closed like a parrot’s beak. “I can smell you. When you were coming here like little lizards, I could smell you. I could smell your fear. Richest of all is your breath, because that comes from inside your belly and that tells me a great deal.” The Hammer’s head turned and nodded to Peron. “You are interesting because you are least afraid.”

  “I’m very afraid,” said Peron.

  “Not where it counts,” replied the Hammer. It turned to Pawl. “You are interesting because I can learn least from you.” A tentacle licked out and touched Pawl lightly on the nose. “You carry something inside you, some movement. There is more than you in you. A purpose.”

  Odin’s voice awoke in Pawl’s mind. “Do not be alarmed. The Hammer are great gamesters. It is guessing. Say nothing.” The tentacle drew back.

  “What about me?” asked Paris. He had crept back to his former position. The Hammer glanced at him. “Who are you?” it asked and raised its head. Paris did not reply.

  Pawl was aware that in a subtle way roles had changed and that it was now the Hammer that was conducting the interview. Perhaps it had been this way from the very beginning.

  “Ask the Hammer about the alien war,” prompted Odin.

  Pawl looked at the Hammer. It looked such an unlikely candidate for space travel, so large and ungainly. And yet he had seen it run, watched its delicacy, and there were hints a-plenty of advanced technology despite the barren appearance of the planet. The creature’s intelligence was not in question.

  “Have you ever travelled to the stars?”

  “Ah, the stars. They are a memory in all of us. I have never left this rough planet but long ago we did. You know that. You keep us here. But one day we will return, whether in peace or war. Luck has favoured your soft bodies and we are very patient.”

  “What do you mean, we keep you here?”

  “Your satellites.” The sting pointed to the sky.

  “Surely with your inventiveness you could overcome an obstacle like that?”

  “We could. But what would be the use? We are few and though we fight well we would be swept back and perhaps the end would be worse than the beginning. Perhaps there would be no more Hammer. Perhaps you think that would be no bad thing.”

  “Not at all,” said Pawl. “I’m just surprised that you were left alive at all.” “I think we were forgotten.”

  “How were you defeated?”

  “They came to us. One of your families. The Wong. We were to talk. We like talking. They sent men with bombs sewn inside them. Special bombs which contained disease. The disease spread. It turned our sinews to rubber and we could not walk. We became easy prey. But some survived. Now we are strong but still so few.”

  “Would you like revenge?”

  “Revenge would be sweet. But we are peaceful now. We have learned our lesson. We will not bother your kind again.”

  Pawl thought, It’s lying. Given half a chance the Hammer’d come bursting out of here and there ‘d be no stopping them. They wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  The Hammer drummed like the humming of bees. “The meeting is coming to an end. You may ask one last question and then the game.”

  “Would you travel to my Homeworld if I invited you?” asked Pawl.

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “Yes.”

  The Hammer looked at him for many seconds until Pawl began to feel uncomfortable. Finally it drummed.

  “Perhaps,” Lake translated. “And now the game. You are familiar with the rules?”

  Pawl nodded. He was the only one of them who had ever played Corfu. Though he had been a passably good player, his heart had never been in the game. Beyond skill, Corfu was a game of will and concentration in which victory invariably went to the uncompromising intellect. “This may take quite a while,” he said to Paris and Peron. “On Lotus-and-Arcadia I once watched a game that lasted for over a week. I suggest you rest.”

  “You may move first,” drummed the Hammer. “After which Trader says no more talking.” The Hammer released Lake, who slumped to the floor and shook his head. He toppled forward and lay still for a few moments, face down: then he crawled out from between the Hammer’s legs. Odin glided to Lake and supported him as he tottered to his feet. Both creatures entered the cave. “Play well, Master Pawl,” whispered Odin.

  Pawl opened with a traditional gambit which the Hammer studied carefully. It countered with an aggressive move which, at this stage of the game, made it vulnerable.

  Pawl pressed his advantage. He tried to build an attack but within five moves found himself neutralized.

  Within ten moves it was obvious that he was facing a master and that the opening moves had been merely to test his psychology. The Hammer began to play more quickly. Pawl felt his advantage slip before its relentless power. The Hammer seemed to have five lines of attack to Pawl’s two. The intervals between Pawl’s moves grew longer and longer. The Hammer showed no impatience but it moved its own pieces with speed and assurance as though it had already foreseen the entire game. The pressure never let up.

  After eighteen moves Pawl was facing defeat. His attack was in disarray and his pieces falling. On the twenty-second move it was all over.

  The Hammer swept the pieces from the low table with a flick from one tentacle. Then it raised its bulk on its four rear legs. It stretched, towering above them, and then lowered back down. They had to dive away to avoid being crushed. It entered the cave hole without offering a single drum beat.

  The wat
er hissed down, sluicing over its jointed back and the high arch of its tail. Then it was gone.

  Lake and Odin emerged hurriedly from the cave. Lake seemed to have recovered completely.

  “What was wrong with it?” asked Pawl. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “I think Trader felt cheated,” said Lake. “He had looked forward to the game so much.”

  With the giant Hammer gone there seemed little reason to stay. The world seemed suddenly more ominous and lonely. From the distant hill came a steady grumble of drumming.

  Slowly they made their way back, and this time not a single Hammer paid attention. It was as though they were too insignificant to inspire curiosity.

  Pawl felt guilty, as though he had let the side down. The meeting had offered so much … and there was obviously so much more to learn.

  “I tried,” said Pawl to Peron as they passed the place where they had first met Trader eating the small lizard. “And I never said I was an expert at the damned game.”

  “You did your best,” said Peron, and trudged on. He was clearly disappointed.

  *

  Eventually they scrambled down the last slope and came in sight of the shimmering perimeter fence. Evening was falling and the sun of Forge was a blood red disk low on the hills. The driven sand pattered against them and infiltrated under their gowns.

  The fence suddenly blanked out and there stood Milligan and beside him the smaller shape of Laurel. They ran to greet them, obviously relieved, and when the small party had crossed the perimeter the fence leaped up behind them.

  “We were getting worried,” said Laurel. “Mr Milligan was getting together a search party.”

  “Well we’re all right. A bit sore. A bit bruised. Nothing a particle shower won’t fix,” said Pawl.

  “Did you see any Hammer?” asked Milligan. “Did you get an eyeful?”

  “We saw plenty.”

  “And …?”

  “And I played Corfu with one of them.”

  Milligan looked at Pawl. His eyes crinkled. He wasn’t sure whether Pawl was joking or not. And then he started to laugh. He laughed all the way back to the mess hut.

  Later that night, Laurel lay in Pawl’s arms, enjoying the quiet before sleep. They were in one of the domed inflatable huts that were used to protect delicate machinery and Milligan and his men had worked all day trying to get the place cleaned up for them.