Time to Come

by August Derleth (ed)

  The town, extremely rural and sparse in nature, had come to a standstill. Two or three hundred inhabitants seemed greatly interested in the Apollo-1, and were moving with rapid prancing steps about it. Once in awhile one hopped by using a suddenly-appearing third or fourth leg.

  “Definitely not humanoid,” stated Jorey, staring in fascination out of his fat enclosed eyes. “Insectoid maybe?- How about those projecting knobs? Communication, maybe. No, they’ve got mouths—and faces capable of expression. They’re beautiful, Markey!”

  “Please address me as ‘sir’ Mr. Jorey?” said Marker on a rising inflection. He felt his own irritation.

  “Yes, sir,” said Jorey, bowing and scraping. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes,' sir. And yes, sir.” Then he stopped that to point with a fatty forefinger. A wagon drawn by a quartet of multi-legged scarlet beasts plunged down the street. As the dust of its stopping cleared, one of the creatures, a sash of red and purple knotted from the neck and again from the waist, was seen ^o be standing on the seat and waving its arms rapidly toward the ship.

  “We’re in,” sighed Marker. “We’ll assume this is an official, perhaps the mayor. Follow me up, Mr. Jorey. We’re going to rush this thing through. I have the feeling we shall not be here long.”

  “There are many ways fate could interpret this, sir,” said the fat, humble Mr. Jorey, but Marker blandly brushed the wisecrack aside. He sniffed. The Apollo-l’s airlock was open. In the air was the smell of growing things. Memory of Earth stabbed at Marker again. But now there was the problem of communication. x

  He was to discover that communication was no problem at all. The moment the big sliding airlock door in the side of the Apollo-1 rumbled back to expose Marker and the crowding crewmen, the being of the wagon hopped to the moist dust of the street and approached with all eagerness. Marker went down the gangplank, painfully breathing air that had an Earth-tang, pleasantly experiencing a Sol-type warmth on his burly, uniformed shoulders.

  With many quick foot motions and lusty puffings, the creature stopped before Marker, its small flat eyes moving rapidly in the huge sockets. The puffing increased in tempo, whereupon a half-dozen slickly smooth stalks with milky white globes on the ends shot out.

  “He shoots ’em under mechanical air-pressure,” marveled Jorey out of the corner of his mouth. Marker nodded. Each stalk grew from a tightly stretched half-balloon which merged with the creature’s body. The mechanism contained an element of comedy, but Marker was only reminded of the blow-snake toys his children played with—except, he thought glumly, after three years they weren’t children anymore.

  Marker suspected the equivalent of a handshake when the milky white globes came in contact with his hands and head. He endured it for many minutes, while the populace, apparently much impressed, excitedly and accidentally blew out stalks of their own, or developed new legs or arms—to the accompaniment of eager puffing.

  Finally the creature’s stalks popped back into his body, the pouches contracting with a sigh of escaped air. The expressive, almost transparent face showed what Marker thought was delight. The rose-lips moved experimentally, making garbled sounds which gradually assumed the English equivalent.

  “At last!” the being cried, eagerly. “We are discovered! We have long suspected there was more to creation than our disagreeable world.”

  Marker refused to be dismayed. ‘This is true,” he agreed. “But your world is, on the contrary, a most agreeable one, being much like our own planet. But it needs developing. This is our reason for seeking you out.” He thereupon introduced himself and Jorey as well. The creature’s name, he learned, was Fashono, the planet itself was called “Lain,” which word was the equivalent of “dirt.” Marker had another pang. One could as well have called his own world “Dirt,” except for the unfortunate connotation of the word.

  Eagerly puffing, Fashono listened to Marker’s description of Earth, his eyes delighted as Marker glibly and vividly described how colonization of Earth would raise the Lainian living standard to a fantastic high. He,, hopped up and down on a leg which blew out of the lower part of his body under the intensity of his excitement. Marker then suggested that perhaps a quick conference could be had with the rulers of Lain—?

  “We shall have such a conference,” cried Fashono. “Immediately! This; is too glorious an opportunity for us to miss. But first! We must quarter you and your men! You are tired of being cooped up on your mighty ship!”

  Whereupon he turned and spoke in rapid garble to the puffing populace. They instantly dispersed and with rapid motions disappeared inside their mistily blue, crazily leaning homes. Moments later they emerged, many carrying small children, some, loaded with possessions. Then fully half the village population melted away into the extensive jungle shrubbery bordering the village.

  Marker was nettled. “We have no wish to make your people uncomfortable,” he said, squirming. “We are comfortable enough in our ship—”

  But Fashono was insistent. “You are sorry for these people? How? They are nothing. Let them sleep in the woods and make out as best they can. Some of them may be attacked by the s/or-beasts, but this is, of course, unimportant.” “No?” thought Marker grimly. Now that he had come into contact with these simple people, he felt guilty and supremely sympathetic. After all, they couldn’t be much different in thought, feeling, and desire from his own kind. It was one thing to consider destroying a civilization from a distant point in space, and quite another from close at hand. Obviously these people were oppressed by their rulers. Marker’s conscience began to clear. Ordinarily, human colonization distorted alien cultures. Colonization of Lain would lift the inhabitants from slavery.

  Reluctantly, Marker let himself be swayed, and dispersed his sizable crew to their new, individual quarters. Marker found his own house clean, gorgeously furnished with hangings and padded spindly chairs. Searching around, he was utterly surprised to note a complete absence of the use of metals. Yet tests had proved the planet abounded in such natural resources.

  The conference took place an hour later, in Marker’s house. Fashono listened greedily to Marker’s proposals, and enthusiastically threw out his diaphanous arms.

  “We shall welcome you,” he cried. “You may have the planet to do as you wish. A new era has come to our stupid peoples. How i have longed for this day!”

  Marker said cautiously, “But do you represent all the other ruling officials of Lain?”

  Whereupon Fashono explained that he was all the other officials of Lain. “Not that I myself am,” he explained hastily. “But we are—how shall I put the thought—together. We are —in communication. They think as I do. And how could it be otherwise? Such a glorious opportunity!”

  Fashono, to show what he meant, blew out several stalks which he placed against .Marker’s head. And Marker understood. He found himself touching the minds of at least seven hundred Lainians. They came from readily differentiated directions, were various in personality, and were officials. They were definitely not Fashono. Marker- nodded. These people had amazing thought-powers; by evidence, they were able to pluck a new language out of a person’s head.

  “Very well,” he said. “I’m satisfied. We then have your unqualified permission to bring our technologists to Lain. We can make plans to bring millions of Earth beings here to live side by side with your peoples so that we can raise your civilization to our level.”

  “Unqualified!” insisted Fashono, tiny, looping eyes glittering. “You would like to inform your Office of this fact?” “Yes,” said Marker determinedly, and removed himself to the Apollo-1 and the Leaper, which, by means of seven different sub-photonic particles which virtually leap-frogged over each other in ascending orders of speed down a light-beam, made instantaneous interstellar communication possible. Whitsey looked startled, disbelieving, and considerably put out.

  “I’m suspicious,” he growled. “Better watch out They’re too eager.”

  ‘That’s their nature,” Marker said belligerently. “
Don’t try to mess me up, Whitsey. You’d like to keep me out here another year. It bothers you to. know I’ve got the planet sewed up—and by fair means; at that.”

  Whitsey rubbed speculatively at his pointed chin. He ,said casually, “You were hit pretty hard by those Lainians being forced from their homes, weren’t you? But think a minute, Commander. Did you ever hear of a psychological quirk people have called ‘identifying’?”

  “I am interested,” said Marker pugnaciously, “only in securing a planet for the Colonial Survey Corporation, Co-ordinator Whitsey! I am not interested in your attempts to sidetrack me from that aim for your own personal benefit.” “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Whitsey commented mildly. A taunting smile played around his lips. “You have my permission to go ahead with the papers, Commander. Looks like you’re having excellent sailing.'. All hick.” He signed off with a half smirk. Marker buoyantly returned to his house, only slightly disturbed by Whitsey’s remarks. Fortunately, he was astute enough to see through Whitsey’s hypocrisy.

  He explained to Fashono that he now had official permission for the drawing up of the necessary paper, upon which Fashono begged Marker to come to his home for the evening meal. Marker complied reluctantly, taking Jorey with him. He and the waddling navigation officer followed after the prancing Fashono.

  “Say,” Jorey said, pointing. “Isn’t that Fashono’s house, across the street?”

  Marker observed that it was. “Then,” asked Jorey, “why are we walking toward the other end of the village, on this side of the street, to get there?”

  Marker, lost in pleasant thoughts of his reunion with his family on Earth, shrugged indifferently. “Some custom,” he explained. “Let us not be concerned with small matters, Mr. Jorey, when large matters are to be taken care of.”,

  “How stupid of me,” murmured the self-pitying Mr. Jorey. “And I had thought a cutting knife to be made-of molecules.” With which he glumly subsided.

  As Marker strode through the un-vacated half of the village, he was jolted out of his abstraction. A lightly puffing native sat before a plot of earth, delicately loosening the dirt around a flower so huge and brilliantly decorative that Marker’s eyes bugged. He uttered a sound of admiration so abrupt that it was harsh. Fashono’s glittery eyes turned on the tended flower. .

  “It offends you?” he asked, then made a blowing^ sound of contempt. “A mere weed, Commander, which, fortunately, is virtually extinct 1 Our stupid peoples are sometimes discovered tending it as if it were a deity!”

  He kicked at the plant, uprooting it. The native submissively lowered his head. Marker felt an instant, unreasoning anger. He scooped up the gorgeous blossom, staring into the purple cavern of the calyx where seed pods had burst from the blow of Fashono’s foot. The flower was six petaled, long stemmed, and of such deep thickly velvet perfection that Marker disbelieved his eyes. His anger began to blend with an aching nostalgia.

  “Surely, Fashono,” he said acidly, “you have some regard for beauty?”

  “Beauty?” Fashono puffed his bewilderment. “But where is beauty except in advancement? We of Lain need your science, your machines, your great buildings, your books. Until then, we are nothing.”

  Marker held the flower out to arm’s length, studying it. “Nonetheless,” he said stiffly, “it may be to your benefit to know that Earth will bring beauty to you—if we come at all. To give you some idea of what part beauty plays in our lives, I must begin by insisting that, this plant be protected and cultivated wherever it grows. It is, of course, a small request.” Fashono’s rose-lips pursed. “Very well,” he said with equal stiffness. “I had thought there were to be no qualifications in your offer to help us. Perhaps it is just as well, Commander. I have an equally small request to make of you. Come.” Whereupon he crossed the street, and then pranced in a return direction to his own home.

  As they entered, Jorey said sotto voce to Marker, “Commander, let us not be concerned with the small matters, when larger matters are to be taken care of, eh?” Upon which Marker merely glared him down. For a reason he could hardly put his/ finger on, the preservation of a nearly extinct species of plant seemed of highest importance to him.

  In his. home, Fashono’s several wives and small children kept discreetly in the background. Fashono drew out a large scroll-map and unrolled it. He breathed lustily. Several extra finger stalks popped out of his bulging knuckles. He traced along the map, outlining a diamond-shaped territory, which Marker figured was several hundred miles in its long dimension.

  “This is the home of our ancestors,” Fashono explained reverently. “As nearly as we can determine, our species had its origin there. This park, our Holy Land, covered with _great stands of the towering, the splendid, the majestic pibber-trees, is inviolate by law, because of the existence of certain historic' shrines. However—” his eyes flashed angrily “—it h^s been invaded. Thousands of irreligious Lainians live there, build their villages in the shadow of the shrines, and will not leave no matter how often we cite the laws.

  “If we but had weapons! But no, no, we have none—and perhaps will be supplied with none until your glorious machines arrive. But you, Commander Marker, do have weapons.

  We beg you, as a small favor, to clean these vermin out of our sacred park.”

  Marker felt his stomach turn over. But he was quiet for a few seconds, thinking the thing out. Then he explained to Fashono some of the democratic principles of Earth. “These people have a right to their happiness,” he said. “Historic shrines, while of importance, do not outweigh the importance of people. Perhaps this is some thing that will be taught you when our sociologists arrive. If,” he added, smoothly throwing in a threat, “we come at all.”

  The threat had the desired effect. Fashono stammered, begged, apologized, then sagged hopelessly. “But what,” he cried, “is to be done with these invading people?”

  “They shall be protected,” declared Marker. “This is the way things are done on Earth. Therefore, we shall enact Earth laws, declaring your Holy Land what may be called a Planetary Park, protected in perpetuum against sill human destruction or interference. Your own laws shall stand as they are, with the exception that the inhabitants of the area are to live their lives in peace.”

  Besides, Marker thought hollowly, there are the pibber-trees. They must be a lot like the Sequoia, the Douglas fir—; can’t have human beings getting in there and going commercial.

  Fashono was most unhappy. “Very well;” he sighed. “And you insist also on preserving and caring for the gtao-flower wherever it grows?”

  “That too.”

  “You are foolish,” sighed Fashono; but he brightened. “But come, we must not waste time expressing our differences. In time, they will be smoothed out. In the meantime, can we not let the drawing up of the agreement wait until tomorrow? There is our evening meal to be eaten; there is entertainment afterward!”

  He was considerably crestfallen when Marker ^insisted on the agreement being drawn on the spot. He drew the form out of his pocket, placing it oh an anvil-shaped table which served as Fashono’s desk. Fashono puffed forlornly, then brightened again. He apparently decided to match Marker’s desire /or haste, for, using Marker’s pen, he wrote with such blurring speed that he covered a page of the form with writing in less than a minute.

  He then appeared to fall into a deep trance. Approximately seven-hundred different signatures rapidly appeared in microscopic precision. Then Fashono handed the paper to Marker.

  Marker’s eyes bugged at the precision of handwriting—in English. They bugged still more when he read the agreement, which he had first intended to draw up himself. The agreement was without loopholes. It gave Colonial Planetary Survey Corporation exclusive ownership of an entire planet. It also mentioned the Gitso-flower and the Lainian Holy Land, leaving no doubt that iron-clad agreements had been made unprovisionally protecting the existence of both. In his wildest dreams, Marker could not have hoped for such success. He casually p
ocketed the document, as casually thanked Fashono, and then, with Jorey, followed the Lainian to a cool shaded porch where he went through the amenities of eating a tasteless, vegetable meal. And as soon as he could, escaped back to the ship.

  Whitsey raised his sleek head after reading the phototic copy of the agreement Marker sent over the Leaper. “Very good,’’ he said a bit vaguely. “A remarkable document. But I am quite unable to see the reason for your enthusiasm over these gitso-flowers, Commander.” There was a sly, poking note of sarcasm which Marker decided to ignore.

  Marker frowned. Yes, he knew the answer now. “It’s a gold mine for the Corporation,” he said ambitiously. “These gitso-flowers outshine the orchid. Beautiful-deep violet colors such as you never saw. If we can get the plant to flourishing properly, the Office Will be able to add to the list of future profit-ables. For instance, put a full-color portrait of the gitso-flower on the Sales Folio for Lain—-”

  “Never mind,’? said Whitsey humorlessly. “Leave that to the Sales and Advertising Department. Now how about this Park? You fully realize that it covers a sixteenth of the area of Lain, according to the latitude and longitude boundaries noted in the agreement?”

  “What of it? There are things that are sacred, Whitsey—or would you know?” Marker was irritated. “I’ve got a planet. I’m coming back to Earth as fast as I can and I’m going to stay there—in the seat you’re sitting in.”

  Whitsey shrugged. “Very well, - Commander. You understand that I must send a copy of this agreement to each member of the Board for their approval.”

  “They’ll approve.”

  “I agree that they will. But you must also bear in mind that once the agreement is approved, it will then be in full force in all details. To rescind the agreement or any portion of the agreement will be air expensive, time-wasting proposition.”

  “It won’t be rescinded.”

  Whitsey shrugged again, and, at Marker’s insistence, agreed to rush word back to Mas Apollo-1 the minute the approvals came in. He was as good as his word. Several hours later he called. -