“Get the sled, Saunk,” Grandpaw said, very firm. “I got it all worked out. We’re gonna send these two gorillas right back through time, to a place they’ll really fit.”
“But Grandpaw!” I hollered, only inside my head this time. “Let’s talk this over. Lemme get Maw in on it anyhow. Paw’s right smart when he’s sober. Why not wait till he wakes up? I think we oughta get the Baby in on it too. I don’t think sending ’em back through time’s a good idea at all, Grandpaw.”
“The Baby’s asleep,” Grandpaw said. “You leave him be. He read himself to sleep over his Einstein, bless his little soul.”
I think the thing that worried me most was the way Grandpaw was talking plain English. He never does when he’s feeling normal. I thought maybe his old age had all caught up with him at one bank, and knocked all the sense outa his—so to speak—haid.
“Grandpaw,” I said, trying to keep calm. “Don’t you see? If we send ’em back through time and give ’em what we promised it’ll make everything a million times worse than before. You gonna strand ’em back there in the year one and break your promise to ’em?”
“Saunk!” Grandpaw said.
“I know. If we promised we’d make sure the Pugh line won’t die out, then we gotta make sure. But if we send ’em back to the year one that’ll mean all the time between then and now they’ll spend spreading out and spreading out. More Pughs every generation.
“Grandpaw, five seconds after they hit the year one, I’m liable to feel my two eyes rush together in my haid and my face go all fat and pasty like Junior. Grandpaw, everybody in the world may be Pughs if we give ’em that much time to spread out in!”
“Cease thy chirming, thou chilce dolt,” Grandpaw hollered. “Do my bidding, young fool!”
That made me feel a little better but not much. I went and dragged out the sled. Mister Pugh put up quite a argument about that.
“I ain’t rid on a sled since I was so high,” he said. “Why should I git on one now? This is some trick. I won’t do it.”
Junior tried to bite me.
“Now Mister Pugh,” I said, “you gotta cooperate or we won’t get nowheres. I know what I’m doing. Just step up here and set down. Junior, there’s room for you in front. That’s fine.”
If he hadn’t seen how worried I was I don’t think he’d a-done it. But I couldn’t hide how I was feeling.
“Where’s your Grandpaw?” he asked, uneasy. “You’re not going to do this whole trick by yourself, are you? Young ignorant feller like you? I don’t like it. Suppose you made a mistake?”
“We give our word,” I reminded him. “Now just kindly shut up and let me concentrate. Or maybe you don’t want the Pugh line to last forever?”
“That was the promise,” he says, settling himself down. “You gotta do it. Lemme know when you commence.”
“All right, Saunk,” Grandpaw says from the attic, right brisk. “Now you watch. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two. Look sharp. Focus your eyes down and pick out a gene. Any gene.”
Bad as I felt about the whole thing I couldn’t help being interested. When Grandpaw does a thing he does it up brown. Genes are mighty slippery little critters, spindle-shaped and awful teensy. They’re partners with some skinny guys called chromosomes, and the two of ’em show up everywhere you look, once you’ve got your eyes focused just right.
“A good dose of ultraviolet ought to do the trick,” Grandpaw muttered. “Saunk, you’re closer.”
I said, “All right, Grandpaw,” and sort of twiddled the light as it sifted down through the pines above the Pughs. Ultraviolet’s the color at the other end of the line, where the colors stop having names for most people.
Grandpaw said, “Thanks, son. Hold it for a minute.”
The genes began to twiddle right in time with the light waves. Junior said, “Paw, something’s tickling me.”
Ed Pugh said, “Shut up.”
Grandpaw was muttering to himself. I’m pretty sure he stole the words from that perfesser we keep in the bottle, but you can’t tell, with Grandpaw. Maybe he was the first person to make ’em up in the beginning.
“The euchromatin,” he kept muttering. “That ought to fix it. Ultraviolet gives us hereditary mutation and the euchromatin contains the genes that transmit heredity. Now that other stuff’s heterochromatin and that produces evolutionary change of the cataclysmic variety.
“Very good, very good. We can always use a new species. Hum-m-m. About six bursts of heterochromatinic activity ought to do it.” He was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “Ich am eldre and ek magti! Okay, Saunk, take it away.”
I let the ultraviolet go back where it came from.
“The year one, Grandpaw?” I asked, very doubtful.
“That’s close enough,” he said. “Wite thou the way?”
“Oh yes, Grandpaw,” I said. And I bent over and give them the necessary push.
The last thing I heard was Mister Pugh’s howl.
“What’s that you’re doin’?” he hollered at me. “What’s the idea? Look out, there, young Hogben or—what’s this? Where we goin’? Young Saunk, I warn you, if this is some trick I’ll set Junior on you! I’ll send you such a hex as even you-u…”
Then the howl got real thin and small and far away until it wasn’t no more than the noise a mosquito makes. After that it was mighty quiet in the dooryard.
I stood there all braced, ready to stop myself from turning into a Pugh if I could. Them little genes is tricky fellers.
I knowed Grandpaw had made a turrible mistake.
The minute them Pughs hit the year one and started to bounce back through time toward now I knowed what would happen.
I ain’t sure how long ago the year one was, but there was plenty of time for the Pughs to populate the whole planet. I put two fingers against my nose to keep my eyes from banging each other when they started to rush together in the middle like all us Pughs’ eyes do—
“You ain’t a Pugh yet, son,” Grandpaw said, chuckling. “Kin ye see ’em?”
“No,” I said. “What’s happening?”
“The sled’s starting to slow down,” he said. “Now it’s stopped. Yep, it’s the year one, all right. Look at all them men and women flockin’ outa the caves to greet their new company! My, my, what great big shoulders the men have got. Bigger even than Paw Pugh’s.
“An’ ugh—just look at the women! I declare, little Junior’s positively handsome alongside them folks! He won’t have no trouble finding a wife when the time comes.”
“But Grandpaw, that’s turrible!” I said.
“Don’t sass your elders, Saunk,” Grandpaw chuckled. “Looka there now. Junior’s just pulled a hex. Another little child fell over flat on his ugly face. Now the little child’s mother is knocking Junior endwise. Now his pappy’s sailing into Paw Pugh. Look at that fight! Just look at it! Oh, I guess the Pugh family’s well took care of, Saunk.”
“But what about our family?” I said, almost wailing.
“Don’t you worry,” Grandpaw said. “Time’ll take care of that. Wait a minute, let me watch. Hm-m. A generation don’t take long when you know how to look. My, my, what ugly little critters the ten baby Pughs was! They was just like their pappy and their grandpappy.
“I wish Lily Lou Mutz could see her grandbabies. I shorely do. Well, now, ain’t that cute? Every one of them babies growed up in a flash, seems like, and each of ’em has got ten babies of their own. I like to see my promises working out, Saunk. I said I’d do this, and I done it.”
I just moaned.
“All right,” Grandpaw said. “Let’s jump ahead a couple of centuries. Yep, still there and spreading like crazy. Family likeness is still strong, too. Hum-m, Another thousand years and—well, I declare! If it ain’t Ancient Greece! Hasn’t changed a bit, neither. What do you know, Saunk!” He cackled right out, tickled pink.
“Remember what I said once about Lily Lou putting me in mind of an old friend of mine named Gorgon? No wonder! Perfect
ly natural. You ought to see Lily Lou’s great-great-great-grandbabies! No, on second thought, it’s lucky you can’t. Well, well, this is shore interesting.”
He was still about three minutes. Then I heard him laugh.
“Bang,” he said. “First heterochromatinic burst. Now the changes start.”
“What changes, Grandpaw?” I asked, feeling pretty miserable.
“The changes,” he said, “that show your old Grandpaw ain’t such a fool as you thought. I know what I’m doing. They go fast, once they start. Look there now, that’s the second change. Look at them little genes mutate!”
“You mean,” I said, “I ain’t gonna turn into a Pugh after all? But Grandpaw, I thought we’d promised the Pughs their line wouldn’t die out.”
“I’m keeping my promise,” Grandpaw said, dignified. “The genes will carry the Pugh likeness right on to the toot of the judgment horn, just like I said. And the hex power goes right along with it.”
Then he laughed.
“You better brace yourself, Saunk,” he said. “When Paw Pugh went sailing off into the year one seems like he uttered a hex threat, didn’t he? Well, he wasn’t fooling. It’s a-coming at you right now.”
“Oh, Lordy!” I said. “There’ll be a million of ’em by the time they get here! Grandpaw! What’ll I do?”
“Just brace yourself,” Grandpaw said, real unsympathetic. “A million, you think? Oh, no, lots more than a million.”
“How many?” I asked him.
He started in to tell me. You may not believe it but he’s still telling me. It takes that long. There’s that many of ’em.
You see, it was like with that there Jukes family that lived down south of here. The bad ones was always a mite worse than their children and the same dang thing happened to Gene Chromosome and his kin, so to speak. The Pughs stayed Pughs and they kept the hex power—and I guess you might say the Pughs conquered the whole world, after all.
But it could of been worse. The Pughs could of stayed the same size down through the generations. Instead they got smaller—a whole lot smaller. When I knowed ’em they was bigger than most folks—Paw Pugh, anyhow.
But by the time they’d done filtering the generations from the year one, they’d shrunk so much them little pale fellers in the blood was about their size. And many a knock-down drag-out fight they have with ’em, too.
Them Pugh genes took such a beating from the heterochromatinic bursts Grandpaw told me about that they got whopped all outa their proper form. You might call ’em a virus now—and of course a virus is exactly the same thing as a gene, except the virus is friskier. But heavens above, that’s like saying the Jukes boys is exactly the same as George Washington!
The hex hit me—hard.
I sneezed something turrible. Then I heard Uncle Lem sneezing in his sleep, lying back there in the yaller car. Grandpaw was still droning on about how many Pughs was a-coming at me right that minute, so there wasn’t no use asking questions. I fixed my eyes different and looked right down into the middle of that sneeze to see what had tickled me—
Well, you never seen so many Junior Pughs in all your born days! It was the hex, all right. Likewise, them Pughs is still busy, hexing everybody on earth, off and on. They’ll do it for quite a time, too, since the Pugh line has got to go on forever, account of Grandpaw’s promise.
They tell me even the microscopes ain’t never yet got a good look at certain viruses. The scientists are sure in for a surprise someday when they focus down real close and see all them pasty-faced little devils, ugly as sin, with their eyes set real close together, wiggling around hexing everybody in sight.
It took a long time—since the year one, that is—but Gene Chromosome fixed it up, with Grandpaw’s help. So Junior Pugh ain’t a pain in the neck no more, so to speak.
But I got to admit he’s an awful cold in the haid.
Or Else
Miguel and Fernandez were shooting inaccurately at each other across the valley when the flying saucer landed. They wasted a few bullets on the strange airship. The pilot appeared and began to walk across the valley and up the slope toward Miguel, who lay in the uncertain shade of a cholla, swearing and working the bolt of his rifle as rapidly as he could. His aim, never good, grew worse as the stranger approached. Finally, at the last minute, Miguel dropped his rifle, seized the machete beside him, and sprang to his feet.
“Die then,” he said, and swung the blade. The steel blazed in the hot Mexican sun. The machete rebounded elastically from the stranger’s neck and flew high in the air, while Miguel’s arm tingled as though from an electric shock. A bullet came from across the valley, making the kind of sound a wasp’s sting might make if you heard it instead of feeling it. Miguel dropped and rolled into the shelter of a large rock. Another bullet shrieked thinly, and a brief blue flash sparkled on the stranger’s left shoulder.
“Estoy perdido,” Miguel said, giving himself up for lost. Flat on his stomach, he lifted his head and snarled at his enemy.
The stranger, however, made no inimical moves. Moreover, he seemed to be unarmed. Miguel’s sharp eyes searched him. The man was unusually dressed. He wore a cap made of short, shiny blue feathers. Under it his face was hard, ascetic and intolerant. He was very thin, and nearly seven feet tall. But he did seem to be unarmed. That gave Miguel courage. He wondered where his machete had fallen. He did not see it, but his rifle was only a few feet away.
The stranger came and stood above Miguel.
“Stand up,” he said. “Let us talk.”
He spoke excellent Spanish, except that his voice seemed to be coming from inside Miguel’s head.
“I will not stand up,” Miguel said. “If I stand up, Fernandez will shoot me. He is a very bad shot, but I would be a fool to take such a chance. Besides, this is very unfair. How much is Fernandez paying you?”
The stranger looked austerely at Miguel.
“Do you know where I came from?” he asked.
“I don’t care a centavo where you came from,” Miguel said, wiping sweat from his forehead. He glanced toward a nearby rock where he had cached a goatskin of wine. “From los estados unidos, no doubt, you and your machine of flight. The Mexican government will hear of this.”
“Does the Mexican government approve of murder?”
“This is a private matter,” Miguel said. “A matter of water rights, which are very important. Besides, it is self-defense. That cabrón across the valley is trying to kill me. And you are his hired assassin. God will punish you both.” A new thought came to him. “How much will you take to kill Fernandez?” he inquired. “I will give you three pesos and a fine kid.”
“There will be no more fighting at all,” the stranger said. “Do you hear that?”
“Then go and tell Fernandez,” Miguel said. “Inform him that the water rights are mine. I will gladly allow him to go in peace.” His neck ached from staring up at the tall man. He moved a little, and a bullet shrieked through the still, hot air and dug with a vicious splash into a nearby cactus.
The stranger smoothed the blue feathers on his head.
“First I will finish talking with you. Listen to me, Miguel.”
“How do you know my name?” Miguel demanded, rolling over and sitting up cautiously behind the rock. “It is as I thought. Fernandez has hired you to assassinate me.”
“I know your name because I can read your mind a little. Not much, because it is so cloudy.”
“Your mother was a dog,” Miguel said.
The stranger’s nostrils pinched together slightly, but he ignored the remark. “I come from another world,” he said. “My name is—” In Miguel’s mind it sounded like Quetzalcoatl.
“Quetzalcoatl?” Miguel repeated, with fine irony. “Oh, I have no doubt of that. And mine is Saint Peter, who has the keys to heaven.”
Quetzalcoatl’s thin, pale face flushed slightly, but his voice was determinedly calm. “Listen, Miguel. Look at my lips. They are not moving. I am speaking inside your head,
by telepathy, and you translate my thoughts into words that have meaning to you. Evidently my name is too difficult for you. Your own mind has translated it as Quetzalcoatl. That is not my real name at all.”
“De veras,” Miguel said. “It is not your name at all, and you do not come from another world. I would not believe a norteamericano if he swore on the bones of ten thousand highly placed saints.”
Quetzalcoatl’s long, austere face flushed again.
“I am here to give orders,” he said. “Not to bandy words with—Look here, Miguel. Why do you suppose you couldn’t kill me with your machete? Why can’t bullets touch me?”
“Why does your machine of flight fly?” Miguel riposted. He took out a sack of tobacco and began to roll a cigarette. He squinted around the rock. “Fernandez is probably trying to creep up on me. I had better get my rifle.”
“Leave it alone,” Quetzalcoatl said. “Fernandez will not harm you.”
Miguel laughed harshly.
“And you must not harm him,” Quetzalcoatl added firmly.
“I will, then, turn the other cheek,” Miguel said, “so that he can shoot me through the side of my head. I will believe Fernandez wishes peace, Señor Quetzalcoatl, when I see him walking across the valley with his hands over his head. Even then I will not let him come close, because of the knife he wears down his back.”
Quetzalcoatl smoothed his blue steel feathers again. His bony face was frowning.
“You must stop fighting forever, both of you,” he said. “My race polices the universe and our responsibility is to bring peace to every planet we visit.”
“It is as I thought,” Miguel said with satisfaction. “You come from los estados unidos. Why do you not bring peace to your own country? I have seen los señores Humphrey Bogart and Edward Robinson in las películas. Why, all over Nueva York gangsters shoot at each other from one skyscraper to another. And what do you do about it? You dance all over the place with la señora Betty Grable. Ah yes, I understand very well. First you will bring peace, and then you will take our oil and our precious minerals.”
The Best of C.L. Moore & Henry Kuttner Page 76