Star Ship on Saddle Mountain

by Richard Ackley

  They stopped abruptly before him. Now their thought impulses were slowing down, and Charlie began to understand them. One alien, seeming to hold more authority than the others, stood before him, his bright green eyes flashing. Charlie felt they were looking right through him now, reading his every thought. Then the alien sighed shortly, seeming to relax a little. His expression became less severe as he looked down at Charlie. Charlie got a fleeting thought, not directed at him, but seeming to be from this leader to the other aliens.

  "What has been done is done, the past is prologue," the tall alien seemed to shrug his shoulders, as if to get it over with, and Charlie thought he'd heard that impulse somewhere before.

  "You have," the alien replied briefly to his thought, then continued, "but since you are not yet fully grown, there is no use of further moralizing."

  About to tell the man he had almost reached his full height, a good height for an Earthman, Charlie thought better of it and said nothing. Instead, he tried to understand them as they talked to each other, tossing impulses back and forth. And to his surprise, he was gaining speed, for he caught some of what they said. Then the leader turned to him again.

  "We told you, Primitive, escape is not possible. To try further may only make it advisable for us to take the only course left. Any further interruption of our scheduled work, and you may possibly be destroyed."

  "Yes, sir," Charlie said, nodding. "I—I only wanted to get o u t ... to go home."

  "I understand," came the other's immediate impulse, "but that desire cannot be realized. You must accept the circumstance."

  Charlie was silent. No matter what, he couldn't agree not to try and escape. He would try, every chance he got. He would never go to Saturn—if he could possibly help it—to their homeland in the Barrier World.

  The aliens turned, rapidly exchanging thoughts between themselves, and Charlie once again found himself admiring them a little, and liking their strange and brilliant clothing. There were no mild tones of color. Their colors were all strong, clean-cut and bright. And as he watched them, Charlie felt for a fleeting moment, a mild friendliness for these fellow-humans, these strangers who had come from another world so far away. They were not monsters, and in

  spite of some of the wild suppositions he had read about, there was no reason to believe that beings from some other world could not be quite similar to ourselves. Given the same < conditions, they should be. As they stood talking by the cylinder panel doorway, Charlie felt suddenly a little embarrassed, as he noticed one alien off to the side looking at him. The fellow smiled quickly and winked at Charlie, as they entered the panel compartment, and Charlie realized that one alien at least must have been listening to his thought impulses concerning them.

  Charlie shrugged his shoulders as he turned back to Navajo. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to be at least halfway friendly toward them. It might even help him to escape. They hadn't been gone long when they returned. Charlie watched as they brought out several stacks of the black protective clothing and piled them on the deck. As the bright shafts of sunlight struck them now, he noticed, they wore a plastic-looking type of sandal-and-sock combination shoe, again reminding him of Mercury. But most of all, Charlie was dazzled by that shimmering blue cobalt cape that looked like the clearest sparkling blue-green ocean water he had ever seen. And with the gold border and its silver lining inside, Charlie thought the short cape was one part of their uniform he wouldn't mind having. And a pair of those track shorts, with the side cut. Then Charlie was aware that the alien leader was again repeating an impulse to him.

  "It is not called a uniform, Primitive. We are four thousand steps beyond the military era. These garments you see are the standard of the world, our world, with some variations.

  The blue predominant is the male dress. The female dress is the scarlet-bordered gold cloth, of this same type. You shall be furnished proper dress, whenever you—"

  "I don't want any other clothes!" Charlie replied quickly, resisting the seeming finality that the change of clothes implied, the last fading hope for escape. "I—I like the ones I have."

  The alien looked him over, as though for the first time, all the way from Uncle John's faded old khaki army shirt, down to the worn blue levis. The alien's eyes showed some interest as he looked closer at the star-wheeled silver spurs, with their turquoise mounting, on Charlie's battered riding boots. Charlie glanced down too, realizing how his tight, dusty levis must look to them in their bright, clean clothing. But he would not make further comparison.

  "You have, Primitive, the typical tribal philosophy, the view of a world that is too small for itself. However, there is time," said the alien leader's impulse, "whenever you desire more practical garments."

  Turning abruptly as Charlie glared at them, the aliens went across the deck to the panel door, their thoughts once more going into high gear. Charlie felt sore. Not only at the aliens, but at himself. For here and now, he was the only Earthman, the only one of his world, and these aliens had patronized him, treating him not only like a child but like a stupid one as well. Well, he'd show these aliens. Sure, maybe they were highly civilized and all that, but there were things on his world which were not on theirs. If there were not, they wouldn't have come here, Charlie reasoned to himself.

  What were they on the Earth for, if they hadn't come for something—something they wanted awfully bad, to come all the way from Saturn.

  "Tribal philosophy," Charlie said aloud. "Nav, I reckon maybe those aliens think we can't get out, huh. Well, let them think it, Nav. Just let them think we won't try again." |

  C H AP T E R S I X

  The Primate's Son

  As Charlie stood there alone with Navajo on the vast empty tier, he heard a noise—over in the direction of the cylinder compartment, where the aliens had gone. Something had just fallen, making a noisy clatter on the stairway inside the cylinder. For some moments there was dead silence. Then he saw the panel open slowly. There, standing alone, was an alien.

  His first doubts passed quickly as Charlie stared back at the slim figure in the doorway, an alien somewhat smaller than the others. This one was no bigger or taller than he was, Charlie quickly observed, and he seemed much younger than the others. But as Charlie looked at the young alien, wondering what he wanted, the fellow smiled a little. Then the mild impulse he had heard before came to Charlie.

  "I am Dondee. I am the Primate's son," Charlie interpreted the mild-mannered mental impulse. The young alien walked toward him. "I talked with you, last night."

  "I—I’m sure glad to meet you. Dondee—that's your name?"

  "Yes," came the eager impulse, somewhat bolder now. "I remembered what you said about wanting to meet me. I wanted to see you too. What is your name?"

  "I’m Charles Holt, Dondee. Just Charlie is okay. Slang for Charles! Everybody calls me that."

  "If you recall, Charles, I cannot use slang in the Interplanetary tongue. At least, not in routine conversation. You of course can say it, since you make sound with your voice as well as send the impulse with your mental gland waves. You remember I told you I couldn't?"

  "Sure," Charlie said with a quick grin, "I remember now."

  "I like the proper name of Charles very much."

  "Okay," Charlie said, "shake!"

  The alien boy looked at his outstretched hand, frowning a little. Then he smiled happily. "Oh—it, it's one of your world's customs!" and Dondee took the offered hand and shook hands vigorously.

  "Now we're friends officially!"

  "In my world," said Dondee, "it is the polite custom to greet a stranger by holding his face between your hands for a little time, as you give your first thoughts of greeting." He demonstrated.

  "It sure is different from our world, here," Charlie said, a little uncomfortably, "and sort of—well, more personal."

  "Your world's shaking of hands, Charles, that is a fine custom."

  "Can't you talk with your mouth, Dondee? I mean, make a sound when you send the wav
e impulse out?"

  "Oh, some people can. But usually, we prefer the higher form of speech. Speaking in the more physical language is a thing most of our world has grown away from, Charles. You see, we can talk for days on the higher mental level, while those who would use the purely physical sound voice should tire very easily in a far shorter time."

  "Did your world ever talk with mouths, Dondee?"

  "Oh yes. It was our most ancient form of communication. But as we became more civilized, we also became lazy and took advantage of the higher and easier means of exchanging thought. You see, Charles, civilization has faults, too! But we did use the more primitive way of speaking, far back in our history."

  "I don't see anything so primitive about talking with your mouth. Making sound and all. What's the matter with using just plain words?"

  "They are too difficult to speak, Charles, to interchange among the many world islands, on which there are still dozens more variations among languages. That is why the Barrier World, my Saturn, does like most of the other more civilized worlds. It is not conformity for conformity's sake, Charles, but for reasons of convenient exchange of thought for broader knowledge, that we use the Interplanetary tongue."

  "But I still like to hear myself, when I talk," Charlie said with a grin, "even if I can understand your telepathy. Besides, it's kind of hard to do."

  "You only need practice, Charles," came the quick response. "Also, Charles, your own physical tongue could never possibly form the words in the high speed exchange that the mental language does."

  "One thing I like about it, Dondee. You can laugh or just keep your mouth shut, and still talk fast! It makes it pretty easy. At least, it looks easy for you."

  "It is easy, Charles. I shall be glad to teach you the Interplanetary tongue, give you some speed up, if you will tell me things about your world, Charles."

  Charlie was smiling, then he laughed as Dondee's thoughts came to him. The alien boy frowned.

  "Why do you feel amused?"

  "I was just figuring, about your face, Dondee! It's kind of long. The shape of it, I mean. You remind me a little bit of my horse, Navajo—" and Charlie pointed to the old horse over at the panoramic view.

  Charlie's face straightened and the smile faded away as he saw the angry flash, the sparks of gold in the alien boy's eyes. The big green pupils were very bright. Charlie also got the tumbling thought impulses. Then a second later the alien boy's arms were up swinging, and Charlie staggered back— taken by surprise. Then they were fighting hard, as Charlie got on his guard! In another minute Charlie landed on the deck of the empty tier, punching back as he fought off Dondee's wild attack. Swinging hard, he was able to regain his feet again. Then he caught Dondee off guard. The alien

  boy staggered as he got up from the floor. Dondee stood there, dazed, as Charlie held back the intended punch. Feeling his jaw tenderly, Dondee looked again, his eyes very wide, as he stared at Charlie's clenched fist.

  Apparently more curious than afraid, he looked at Charlie's face again, then pointed at his fist. Wide-eyed with surprise, Charlie too looked at his own fist as he lowered it. He then realized that the alien boy had not known about fighting with his fists closed, and using them to pound an opponent. He had fought Charlie with an open-handed, slashing blow, something like judo wrestlers used.

  "Is—is that the way," Dondee's impulse came to Charlie as the alien boy breathed hard, "—the way your world fights?"

  "It sure is!" Charlie replied, getting over his momentary surprise and once more on his guard. "If you think I can't—"

  "No, Charles," came the somewhat analytical impulse from Dondee, "I am not concerned as to which of us can, through brute force, settle the point of order. Or, as your mind's picture sends it, beat up the other. In fact, Charles, I am quite sorry that I lost my control and acted in so primitive a manner."

  Charlie was a little startled with the apology, or what seemed like it, for Dondee had by no means lost the fight. He was a tough character to come up against. Charlie quickly tagged his opponent. But he couldn't back down since Dondee had started the fight.

  "Primitive—just what do you mean by that crack—"

  "All temporary loss of reason is primitive, Charles. But it was because you said I looked like the animal—your horse."

  Charlie grinned suddenly, understanding now for the first time why Dondee had attacked him.

  "I get it, Dondee. You thought I meant it in a bad way. j But I didn't, Dondee. Honest."

  "I realize that now, Charles. Again I am very sorry for my attack upon your person."

  "I'm kind of sorry too," Charlie said. "I only said that about your face, because it is a little bit longer than mine. Besides, your face is good-looking, Dondee, or I wouldn't of said you looked a little bit like Navajo. Nav is my best friend, so that ought to prove that I don't think you're a bad guy."

  Dondee looked again at Navajo, considering for a moment, then back to Charlie. He stretched out his hand.

  "Charles," he said, "shake!"

  Charlie shook hands gladly.

  "See, Charles, I can do one thing of your world already— one of your customs."

  "I guess we're friends again, Dondee ... if you want to be."

  "I—" came the impulse, then Dondee paused, frowning. He glanced up at the ceiling of the tier as he tried to find the right words. Then he looked back quickly at Charlie, smiling happily.

  "I sure do, Charles!"

  "Doggone your hide—I almost felt as if that impulse meant I sure do, Dondee—the way I got it."

  The alien boy nodded. "It did! But it is still difficult for me to use any of the higher mental level informal speech, and get it into clear thought, Charles. I am surprised that you were able to distinguish too, that I used your colloquialism."

  "Thanks," Charlie said.

  "Your mind is amazingly receptive for a prim—"

  Dondee's face showed a momentary flush of embarrassment, then he grinned quickly at Charlie, and Charlie got the impulse, "Well, you know what I mean!"

  "Oh go ahead," Charlie said, "Go on and say it! I don't mind. You were going to say primitive, weren't you?"

  Dondee nodded slightly, and seeing that Charlie understood that it was hard for him to break the habit of using the word and was amused by his use of it, Dondee laughed suddenly.

  "Your thought impulses are very clear, Charles, even though you speak at the same time."

  "Thanks, Dondee. And I promise not to get sore about it, if you slip up any time and call me a primitive. I figure you're pretty much used to saying it on your world, so it's hard to stop doing it right off."

  "Thanks, Charles. But I'll try not to forget."

  The morning sped by, and the desert sun was high and brilliant everywhere outside the star ship. But inside, on the lower dome tier, Charlie and Dondee talked on, bringing each other up to date on things of each other's world and things they liked and disliked. They found that, no matter where humans come from, boys have about the same hopes

  and ambitions for the future, and the same love for adventure. And as for Charlie, talking to Dondee did a lot to brush away the last traces of the fears and suspicions he had built up about the aliens, these men on a star ship from another planet. He no longer believed that at any moment they might destroy him. But to his most important question concerning his freedom, Dondee could give him no real answer.

  "It will probably be whatever the commanding navigator has ordered, Charles. I am fairly sure that he will not do anything with you here, on your world. That will wait for the return journey to the Barrier World. The capture of you, Charles, after you discovered us, was necessary. I doubt if the navigator will permit you to leave the flagship again, before we return to the Capitol City."

  For a fleeting moment, Charlie let his thoughts dwell on the bright sunshine outside, and the idea that the giant in between the Saddle Mountain peaks was sure to be spotted before the day was over. But Dondee caught the brief thought, beckoning Charlie to
follow him over to the broad sweep of panoramic view. He did.

  "See, Charles—this ship could not likely be detected."

  As Charlie looked, he lost his last small hope of what he felt sure the ship's presence, shining brilliantly in the daytime, would do. The star ship's once-bright surface now had taken on the rust and crevice-line look—exactly like the surface of Saddle Mountain! It was as good a job of camouflage as any chameleon he had ever seen.

  "Since they won't let me go, do you think they might let me go outside, just for a little while with Navajo, before we take off?"

  "No, Charles. That wouldn't be possible now. The discus flagship—this ship we're in I mean, was sealed last night. The last job of the exploratory mission was completed this morning."

  "It's all over?"

  "Yes, Charles. The next free air you breathe will be on my own world, Charles, in the eternal mists of the Blue Mountain country where I live, under the Barrier that hides us from the beauty of the Sun."

  Numbed by the full impact of Dondee's impulse, Charlie was also aware that the alien boy felt sorry for him. He felt sure, too, that if there were any way Dondee could help he would be glad to do it. Possibly even to helping him escape. At this thought, Dondee looked at him again, nodding his agreement.