“I couldn’t live that long out of the sun,” she answered.
“How did you live on the Master’s ship?” I asked.
“They could bring the sunlight inside. You can’t.”
“Isn’t there any way we could keep you alive?” I asked.
She shook her head.
Which left nothing except my desperate plan.
* * * *
Burgess made the preparations I requested, without question, and I returned to Kohnke. It took me some time to get him in the frame I wanted. When he began to blubber, “I want to go home, I want to go home,” I led him from the ship.
The anamorph was outside, as I knew she would be. The men were all in the ship.
I bowed deeply to Kohnke and turned to the anamorph. “He would speak with you,” I said impressively.
Her eyes widened with apprehension. I was not concerned about her reading my thoughts now. What she read in Kohnke’s mind would be more believable to her.
“We must have fuel!” I shouted at Kohnke. “She can give it to us!” I pointed at the anamorph. “Command her!”
Kohnke concentrated his wild gaze on the girl and mouthed something inaudible.
The anamorph drew back. Her features seemed to lose their character, to be melting together.
This was the critical moment. “Tell her about your Father,” I commanded.
His lips writhed damply and he began again his inarticulate muttering.
The anamorph cried out plaintively and covered her face with her hands. I shifted my attention to the pile of soil I had asked Burgess to prepare.
It quivered, flattened…and hardened into six fuel ingots!
Twenty minutes later we were in space.
Our last glimpse of the anamorph was the dejected figure of a small girl, standing alone in the middle of the bubble.
She had had to obey Kohnke, of course. For she believed what she read in his mind.
And Kohnke thought he was the Son of God.
SPECIMEN
Originally published in If, August 1958.
As official reporter on the project I was in Srtes’ office when they brought the alien in. He was as tall as an average Zade, of pretty much the same color, and would have been able to pass as one of us except that he had no vestigial wings. It gave his shoulders an odd, flat, appearance, and somehow added to the abrupt awkwardness of every movement of his body. He might have had wires rather than muscles beneath his soft dark skin.
There were other minor differences of course. Hair grew not only on his head, but also on his body. Coarse, black hair. It could be seen on his hands and the exposed portions of his arms, and on his chest where his blouse was open at the neck. His eyes were brown and set wide apart, with long hairs on the lid edges. His nose had no hard upper ridge. The bone was covered only by the same flesh as the rest of his face.
He was accompanied by a Commander Leik, captain of the space ship that had brought him from Earth. When they entered Srtes rose and set the scroll he had been studying to one side. “I welcome you back,” he said to Leik, touching his cheek with the greeting finger of his left hand.
Leik respectfully returned the gesture. “I am once more content,” he replied.
“Has he been instructed in our language?” Srtes asked, after the brief formalities were over. He indicated the Earth native.
“He has become quite adept during the eight great tides since we left his world,” the Commander answered.
“It is well.” Srtes turned and eyed the Earth man searchingly.
The alien returned the gaze, not defiantly, yet not at all subserviently. I could tell that he was ill at ease. A fine sprinkling of perspiration dotted his forehead, and he breathed slowly and deeply, as though carefully timing each inhalation and exhalation.
“Do you have a name?” Srtes asked him.
He made a nodding motion with his head. “John Wilson,” he said. The words were clear enough, but spoken with a slurred, soft-palate, sound.
“You have two names?” The hairlines above Srtes’ eyes raised slightly.
“It is the custom on their world,” Leik supplied. “The surname has a clan connotation.”
“You understand your purpose here?” Srtes asked the outworlder.
“Yes.” He added nothing to the reply.
“You are aware that there are no restrictions on the study we may make of you?”
“Yes.”
“Even that we may dissect you or kill you, if we so desire?”
The alien’s complexion changed subtly, becoming slightly lighter, and his lips pressed firmly together. He made the bobbing motion with his head again.
“His nodding signifies an affirmative reply,” Leik interjected. “He volunteered to come with us, so he is quite familiar with the conditions.”
“Volunteered?”
“It is strange,” Leik agreed. “Yet when I offered to leave one of our men in return for a specimen of their race—so that mutual study might be made—I was firmly refused. It seems their culture has some absurd belief in inherent rights of its individual members. I was saved the inconvenience of abducting the necessary specimen when this one volunteered.”
Srtes had difficulty grasping the concept. His forehead creased in concentration for a moment before he said, “Perhaps it would be better if I read the report first. In the meantime, please escort him to our physiologists on the ground floor. They can begin their study immediately.”
* * * *
For seventeen days they examined the alien. As expected, they learned quickly that his body was intrinsically weak. His vital organs had no protective walls of cartilage, and he was extremely vulnerable to the thrust of any sharp or pointed weapon.
Our first opinion was that he would prove an innocuous foe.
However, as the tests continued, we began to have some doubts. Physically he was quite powerful. His reflexes were sharp, and he showed an aptness at learning that surprised us. And his intelligence was above average.
The twentieth day I was ordered to report to Srtes’ office. I found the other seven members of the council already conferring with Srtes when I entered.
“We have been unable to arrive at any definite conclusion thus far,” Srtes was saying. “Therefore it becomes necessary to try him in the Big Run.” He paused and frowned in annoyance as I made some slight disturbance. Hurriedly I took my place. I moved among these men only by sufferance.
“One of the crewmen on the space ship that brought him here,” Srtes resumed, “a Zade named Ctvar, clashed with the alien several times during the voyage. He was restrained from violence by the captain. This Ctvar should prove an apt instrument for driving our hostage to the proper desperation for the Big Run.”
Srtes switched on the large visi-screen that blanketed the front wall of his office. “The alien has been wandering through the streets for the past several hours,” he said. “If we are fortunate, Ctvar should put in his appearance soon.”
The visi-screen flickered once, cleared, and exposed an outside street. At the far end the alien—John Wilson, as he called himself—walked slowly, with his head down, and his hands in the pockets of the outlandish jacket he had brought with him. He proceeded aimlessly, with a peculiar jerky movement of his limbs. Perhaps he was lonesome for his home world, and uncertain of what awaited him.
A party of Zade men left a drinking place just ahead of him. They were quarreling—without any particular rancor—and one of them was loudly keening a verse of hunting song. At their forefront strode a burly Zade with a bush of red-orange hair.
“The big one is the crewman I mentioned,” Srtes pointed out.
The burly Zade spied the alien and a pleased burst of laughter rumbled up from his chest. “Our unwinged friend from Earth!” he shouted. It was a deadly insult.
As the alien stopped uncertainly, Ctvar and his friends crowded around him. “Are all Earthlings wingless freaks?” one of them asked in a loud voice. The others laughed.
I expected the alien to show some fight, but he only stood silently.
The party of Zades showed their contempt by increasing the tempo of their insults. Still the Earthling did nothing.
Finally Ctvar became disgusted with the other’s spinelessness and spat in his face, at the same time reaching out to grab him.
I heard several gasps from those around me as the alien moved. His actions the next moment were almost too swift for us to follow. He spread his legs slightly, as Ctvar reached for him, and swung his right fist. An instant later Ctvar lay on the ground. One leg made a continuous kicking motion, but it was only a reflex action. Ctvar had been knocked unconscious!
The shouting of the other Zades quieted to an ugly murmur, and they surged forward. The Earthling set his back against the building behind him and struck out at his attackers, but they overwhelmed him by sheer numbers and dragged him to the ground.
They beat him and stamped several times on his body before a squad of sentinels appeared and broke them up.
“A fine start,” Srtes said.
“Unless he is already dead.”
“I don’t believe he is,” Srtes answered. “But if he is no more hardy than that, there will be no necessity for us to learn more.”
* * * *
The Earthling proved to be much hardier. And more stubborn.
The sentinels, of course, gave him no further help. They would not have stopped the fight, except that they had orders from Srtes to save our visitor from any disabling injury, if at all possible.
The Earthling lay on the ground for only a short while before he pulled himself to a sitting position. His face was bruised, blood ran from his nose, and one eye was swollen and closed. With the other he followed the progress of Ctvar and his party as they went on to the next drinking place.
When he climbed to his feet his left leg buckled but he limped about on it for a few minutes until he could walk. He strode purposefully toward the drinking place Ctvar’s party had entered, and pushed his way inside.
Someone behind me muttered angrily. There was no pick-up in the drinking place and we could only watch the exterior of the building.
We did not have long to wait. The sound of commotion inside reached us soon after the alien entered. A short time later he tumbled out through the doorway. His body was limp as it landed in the dirt street. He lay motionless. A few minutes later we caught another view of Ctvar. He and two of his friends were carried from the drinking place.
The alien did not recover so quickly this time. His first movement was a slow rocking of his head. At each motion a low groan came from his lips. He made several attempts to regain his feet, but his legs would not hold him. At last he began crawling toward his room a few blocks away. He left a small trail of blood behind him.
It took him almost an hour of crawling, between rests, to reach his room.
I left Srtes’ office with the council members. There would be little to observe for some days, and that little I could watch on the screen in my own cubicle.
* * * *
All the next day the alien lay on his sleeping rug. He rose only in response to his nature calls, and once to fix himself a bowl of porridge. However, the following afternoon, though he was obviously still not at all physically fit, he dressed and left his room.
It took me a few minutes after he reached the street to realize that he was heading for the Building Administrates. Undoubtedly to complain to Srtes of the treatment he had received at the hands of Ctvar and his party. And just when I was beginning to have some small amount of respect for the out-worlder.
I switched hurriedly to Srtes and informed him of the imminent visit. At the same time I requested permission to cover the interview. The request was granted.
Srtes’ visitor surprised us by making no complaint against Ctvar, and requesting no protection.
He declined the hassocks Srtes offered him, and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve heard nothing from you for some time now,” he said. “Does that mean your examiners are finished with me?”
“That is correct,” Srtes answered courteously.
“What comes next?” he asked.
“Next?” Srtes repeated. “Why, that is your own decision. My interest in you ceased the day our study was complete. You are free now to do as you wish.”
The alien thought that over for a time. “You do not intend to return me to Earth?” he asked.
“Is there any reason why you should expect us to?” Srtes replied.
“To me it seems there is,” he said. “I fulfilled my part of the contract. Shouldn’t I expect you, as a fair return, to see that I got back to Earth?”
Srtes’ expression betrayed a mild irritation. “We had no contract,” he said. “You were given to us to do with as we wished. Now that our study is completed, we owe you nothing.”
“I expected as much,” the alien said, almost without interest. “Will you tell me then, what I can do to help myself? I presume you do not intend to furnish me with food and shelter indefinitely.”
“You will be permitted to keep your room until you find new quarters. The rest is your own responsibility.”
He considered that for a long moment. “Do you have any suggestions as to how I might go about earning my living?” he asked.
“If you have any serviceable skill, you will probably be able to find employment for it. If not—” Srtes shrugged.
“How would I know what skills would be useful here? I know practically nothing about you.”
“I’m afraid that’s your own problem,” Srtes said. “If you are unable to adapt, you will not survive. It is the natural law.”
The alien’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to be holding in check a cold anger. “Tell me,” he said. “Do you consider yourselves just?” Srtes’ hair bristled until his head appeared twice its normal size. He half rose from his hassock, then slowly resumed his seat. I admired his self-restraint.
“We consider ourselves extremely fair,” he said carefully. “Only the strong have the right to survive, and the fact that they do survive proves their strength. What you are determines your end. We are demanding nothing more from you than we expect from our own citizens. Weaklings and inefficients are perishing every day on the ragged confines of our civilization. In simple justice I can offer you nothing more.”
The Earthling’s shoulders had gradually drooped as Srtes spoke. “Yours is a harsh philosophy,” he mumbled at the end.
“It is our means of being certain that we maintain our race’s fitness,” Srtes explained patiently. “On this world only the strong and their progeny survive. As long as that natural struggle continues the strength of each generation will become greater.”
The alien seemed to recognize Srtes’ sincerity. He rose tiredly. “Thanks, for the explanation at least,” he said, as he left the office.
* * * *
The next step would be mine. During the rest of the afternoon, as I watched on the visi-screen, the Earthling kept to his room. Most of the day he lay on his sleeping rug, with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The rest of the time he paced aimlessly. The next morning he ate the last of his porridge, and as the day progressed I recognized that much of his unrest must be prompted by hunger. Yet his battered body needed the rest he was giving it.
He napped shortly after dusk, but only for a short time. When he awoke he put on his jacket and went outside. On the screen I followed his forlorn wanderings about the city.
After several hours he stopped and leaned against a wooden building. The night breeze had risen to its near-gale intensity by this time, and he pulled his jacket closer about him. It was only a few degrees below freezing, and he should have been warm enough, but I understood his race was unable to withstand any great degree of cold. And he was sore and hungry.
I received my call from Srtes then. He and the council had decided that the alien had reached the proper depth of misery and hopelessness. I was to contact him—and set him
for the Big Run.
I found him still leaning against the same wooden building. He looked up at me from under his heavy brows as I neared him. I kept a safe distance between us. I remembered Ctvar. “Will you allow me to buy you something to eat?” I asked, deciding to use a direct approach.
I liked the way he did not ask any questions. He merely regarded me for a moment longer, then made his nodding motion.
All through the meal in the public eating place he remained silent. He ate hungrily but without haste and only when he’d finished did he speak again. “Why?” he asked.
“I do not understand what you mean,” I evaded.
“I haven’t learned much about you Zades since I’ve been here,” he said, “but I have learned that you do nothing out of kindness. What do you want from me?”
I forced myself to smile. “You are right, of course,” I said. “I do want something from you. Information about your world. In return for your cooperation I will see that you continue to be well fed.”
“I thought Srtes was through with me,” he said.
“My interest is strictly personal,” I answered. “I am what you would call a reporter. We give out our news on disseminators similar to your television.”
I had caught his interest. I suppose he was eager to learn anything that he might use to make his way. “I’ve seen no signs of television,” he said.
“This is one of our smaller cities,” I improvised quickly. “There are only a few receiving sets here. Most of them are in the main halls of the various clans.”
The explanation satisfied him. “Just what do you want to know?” he asked.
“Anything about your Earth that you think might be of interest to my listeners.”
“Couldn’t you get that from Srtes and his sve taff?”
“Their supply of information is limited. You should be able to give me much more.”
He was actually eager to talk. It probably relieved his homesickness. We returned to his room, and our conversation took up most of the rest of the night. Toward morning he began questioning me.
“I’ve given you all the information you asked for,” he said. “Now I’d like some in return. Can you suggest any way I can make a living on this world of yours?”
The 19th Golden Age of Science Fiction Page 5