“Of all the ways in the world to commit suicide,” breathed Purci. Honey Lundquist began to sob.
“It isn’t suicide,” said Lorna. “It’s murder. And you murdered him.”
“Who?” I demanded. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” she flared, “you and all the rest of you. That poor little tyke never hurt anyone. You did the rottenest thing that can be done to a human being—you persecuted him for what he was, and not for anything he’d done. And now he proves himself man enough—human enough—to give his life for the mission we’ve all failed on.”
“If he went out there to get killed,” said Betty Ordway with icy logic, “it’s suicide, not murder. And if his going out there had anything to do with getting the crystals, I don’t see it.”
“I didn’t see you giving him a tumble,” said Honey smugly. Loma didn’t try to fight back. “I didn’t really know what he was until just now,” she said ashamedly, and went to her quarters.
“We ought to go out after him,” said Greaves. Everyone just let that remark lie there. Riggs said, “We blast off in eleven-point-three hours, whatever,” and went Into the chart room. The rest of us stood around trying not to look at one another, feeling, Maybe we were a little hard on the guy, and damn it, we never did him any harm, did we?
It hit all of us at the same second, I think, that after three days of incessant babbling and ground-thumping, it was deadly quiet outside. Everybody started to talk, and shut up after two syllables. And I think we all began to understand then what Loma had been driving at.
It was Purci who said it for us, softly, “He didn’t want to come back into this ship. He didn’t want to go back to Earth. He didn’t belong anywhere, because no one ever bothered to take him in. And I guess he just naturally got tired of that.”
I don’t think fifty words were spoken—outside the line of duty—in the next ten hours.
It couldn’t have been more than ninety minutes before blast-off when we heard the Gabblers coming back. Heads came up one by one.
“They want another bite to eat,” someone said. Someone else—one of the girls—swore abruptly.
I threw power into the screens. The underbrush was alive with Gabblers, swarming toward the ship. “Skipper!” I called “blast off, huh? And singe the scales off’n them.”
“You keep your big stupid fat mouth shut,” said Loma. It was barely a whisper, but I’ll swear you could hear it all over the ship. “They’re bringing back Slopes!”
She was right. She was so right. With his legs wrapped around the neck of a capering Gabbler, his face slightly blue because of a dwindling oxygen supply in his suit, and a wide grin, Slopes rode up to the ship, followed and surrounded by hundreds of the scaly horrors. The Gabbler he rode knelt, and Slopes climbed stiffly off. He waved his hand, and a full fifty of the creatures dropped to their haunches and began pounding the dirt with their fists. Slopes walked wearily toward the ship, and four Gabblers followed him, each carrying a bulky bundle on its head.
“Port open?” someone managed to say. I checked it. It was. There were heavy thumps in the port, and a nerve-rackingly close blast of Gobbler chatter. Then the red light went out and we heard the whine of the air-transfer pump.
At last the door slid open. We fell all over each other to get his helmet and suit off. “I’m hungry,” he said. “And I’m awful tired. And I swear I’ll be deaf for life.”
We rubbed him down and wrapped him up and fed him hot soup. He fell asleep before he was half finished. About then it was blast-off time. We secured him in his bunk and lashed his four big bundles down and, after a couple of short puffs to warn the Gabblers back, we reached for the stars.
In the four bundles were eight hundred and ninety-two perfect Venus crystals. And on the return trip we tried so hard to make up to Slopes for what he’d been through all his life that we actually began to be jealous of each other. And Slopes—he was no longer an Almost. He was very definitely an Altogether, with a ring to his voice with a spring to his step.
He worked like a slave on those crystals. “They’ve got to be synthesized,” was all he’d say at first. “Humanity and the Gabblers must be kept apart.” So—we helped him. And bit by bit the story came out. The nearer he got to analyzing the complex lattice of those crystals, the more he’d say. So before we reached Luna we found out what he’d done.
“Those Gabblers,” he said. “You had them figured wrong. That’s the damn thing about a human being—anything he doesn’t understand, he fears. That’s natural enough—but why does he have to assume that every emotion he causes in a strange animal means the animal is going to attack?
“Just suppose you’re a small animal—say a chipmunk. You’re hiding under a table eating cake crumbs and minding your own business. There’s a half-dozen humans in the room and one of them is droning on about a traveling farmer and a salesman’s daughter. He reaches the punch line and everybody laughs. But what about Mr. Chipmunk? All he knows is that there’s a great, explosive roar of animal sound. He all but turns himself inside out with fright.
“That’s exactly what happened with human beings and the Gabblers. Only the humans were the chipmunks, for a change.”
Someone exploded, “You mean those lizard-apes was laughing at us?”
“Listen to him,” said the New Slopes. “How indignant can you get? Yes, I mean exactly that. Human beings are the funniest things the Gabblers have ever seen in their lives. When I went out to them they carried me off to their village, called in neighbors for miles around, and had themselves a ball. I couldn’t do anything wrong. Wave my arm—they roared. Sit on the ground—they doubled up. Run and jump—they lay down and died.”
Suddenly he shoved aside his work and spoke from down deep inside himself. “That hurts, somehow, doesn’t it? Humans shouldn’t be laughable. They’ve got to be the kings of creation, all full of dignity and power. It’s inexcusable for a human being to be funny unless he tries to be. Well, let me tell you something—the Gabblers gave me something that no human being ever was able to give me—a sense of belonging to humanity. Because what you people went through when the Gabblers first rushed up to you, laughing, is what I’ve been going through all my life. And it’s never going to happen again. Not to me; for thanks to the Gabblers I know that all you superior joes are just as funny as I am.
“The Gabblers are gentle, grateful people. They enjoyed the show and they showered gifts on me. When I indicated that I liked crystals, they went out and got more crystals than I could carry.
“And I’m just as grateful, and that’s why these crystals are going to be manufactured so cheaply on earth that there will never be another Venus Expedition for them. Don’t you see? If mankind ever makes dose contact with a race that laughs at them on sight—mankind will exterminate that race.”
On second thought, maybe they shouldn’t nominate Slopes as Man of the Century. Maybe he wouldn’t like for the Gabblers to get that much publicity. And besides, he’s a stinker. He married my girl.
MEWHU’S JET
“We INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM TO ANNOUNCE—”
“Jack, don’t jump like that! And you’ve dropped ashes all over your—”
“Aw, Iris, honey, let me listen to—”
“—at first identified as a comet, the object is pursuing an erratic course through the stratosphere, occasionally dipping as low as—”
“You make me nervous, Jack. You’re an absolute slave to the radio. I wish you paid that much attention to me.”
“Darling, I’ll argue the point, or pay attention to you, or anything in the wide world you like when I’ve heard this announcement; but please, please let me listen!”
“—dents of the East Coast are warned to watch for the approach of this ob—”
“Iris, don’t—”
Click!
“Well, of all the selfish, inconsiderate, discourteous—”
“That will do, Jack Garry. It’s my radio as much as yours, and I have a right to turn it
off when I want to.”
“Might I ask why you find it necessary to turn it off at this moment?”
“Because I know the announcement will be repeated any number of times if it’s important, and you’ll shush me every time. Because I’m not interested in that kind of thing and don’t see why I should have it rammed down my throat. Because the only thing you ever want to listen to is something which couldn’t possibly affect us. But mostly because you yelled at me!”
“I did not yell at you!”
“You did! And you’re yelling now!”
“Mom! Daddy!”
“Oh, Molly, darling, we woke you up!”
“Poor bratlet. Hey, what about your slippers?”
“It isn’t cold tonight, Daddy. What was that on the radio?”
“Something buzzing around in the sky, darling. I didn’t hear it all.”
“A space ship, I betcha.”
“You see? You and your so-called science fiction!”
At which point, something like a giant’s fist clouted off the two-room top story of the seaside cottage and scattered it down the beach. The lights winked out, and outside the whole waterfront lit up with a brief, shattering blue glare.
“Jacky darling, are you hurt?”
“Mom, he’s bleedin’!”
“Jack, honey, say something. Please say something.”
“Urrrrgh,” said Jack Garry obediently, sitting up with a soft clatter of pieces of falling lath and plaster. He put his hands gently on the sides of his head and whistled. “Something hit the house.”
His red-headed wife laughed half-hysterically. “Not really, darling.” She put her arms around him, whisked some dust out of his hair, and began stroking his neck. “I’m...frightened Jack.”
“You’re frightened!” He looked around shakily in the dim moonlight that filtered in. Radiance from an unfamiliar place caught his bleary gaze, and he clutched Iris’ arm. “Upstairs...it’s gone!” he said hoarsely, struggling to his feet. “Molly’s room...Molly—”
“I’m here, Daddy. Hey, you’re squeezin’!”
“Happy little family,” said Iris, her voice trembling. “Vacationing in a quiet little cottage by the sea, so Daddy can write technical articles while Mummy regains her good disposition—without a phone, without movies within miles, and living in a place where the roof flies away. Jack—what hit us?”
“One of those things you were talking about,” said Jack sardonically. “One of the things you refuse to be interested in that couldn’t possibly affect us. Remember?”
“The thing the radio was talking about?”
“I ‘wouldn’t be surprised. We’d better get out of here. This place may fall in on us, or burn, or something.”
“An’ we’ll all be kilt,” crooned Molly.
“Shut up, Molly. Iris, I’m going to poke around. Better go on out and pick us a place to pitch the tent—if I can find the tent.”
“Tent?” Iris gasped.
“Boy oh boy,” said Molly.
“Jack Garry, I’m not going to go to bed in a tent. Do you realize that this place will be swarming with people in no time flat?”
“O.K., O.K. Only get out from under what’s left of the house. Go for a swim. Take a walk. Or g’wan to bed in Molly’s room.”
I’m not going out there by myself.”
Jack sighed. “I should’ve asked you to stay in here,” he muttered. “If you’re not the contrariest woman ever to—Be quiet Molly.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Meeew-w-w!
“Aren’t you doing that caterwauling?”
“No, Daddy, truly.”
Iris said, “I’d say a cat was caught in the wreckage except that cats are smart and no cat would ever come near this place.”
W un-wuh-wuh-meeee-ew-w-w!
“What a dismal sound!”
“Jack, that isn’t a cat.”
Mmmmmew. Mmm—m-m-m.
“Whatever it is,” Jack said, “it can’t be big enough to be afraid of and make a funny little noise like that. He squeezed Iris’ arm and, stepping carefully over the rubble, began peering in and around it. Molly scrambled beside him. He was about to caution her against making so much noise, and then thought better of it. What difference would a little racket make?
The noise was not repeated, and five minutes’ searching elicited nothing. Garry went back to his wife, who was fumbling around the shambles of a living room, pointlessly setting chairs and coffee tables back on their legs.
“I didn’t find anyth—”
“Yipe!”
“Molly! What is it?”
Molly was just outside, in the shrubbery. “Daddy, you better come quick!”
Spurred by the urgency of her tone, he went crashing outside. He found Molly standing rigid, trying to cram both her fists in her mouth at the same time. And at her feet was a man with silver-gray skin and a broken arm, who mewed at him.
“—Guard and Navy Department have withdrawn their warnings. The pilot of a Pan-American transport has reported that the object disappeared into the zenith. It was last seen eighteen miles east of Normandy Beach, New Jersey. Reports from the vicinity describe it as traveling very slowly, with a hissing noise. Although it reached within a few feet of the ground several times, no damage has been reported. Inves—”
“Think of that,” said Iris, switching off the little three-way portable. “No damage.”
“Yeah. And if no one saw the thing hit, no one will be out here to investigate. So you can retire to your downy couch in the tent without fear of being interviewed.”
“Go to sleep? Are you mad? Sleep in that flimsy tent with that mewing monster lying there?”
“Oh, heck, Mom, he’s sick! He wouldn’t hurt anybody.”
They sat around a cheerful fire, fed by roof shingles. Jack had set up the tent without much trouble. The silver-gray man was stretched out in the shadows, sleeping lightly and emitting an occasional moan.
Jack smiled at Iris. “Y’know, I love your silly chatter, darling. The way you turned to and set his arm was a pleasure to watch. You didn’t think of him as a monster while you were tending to him.”
“Didn’t I, though? Maybe monster was the wrong word to use. Jack, he has only one bone in his forearm!”
“He-has what? Oh, nonsense, honey! ‘Tain’t scientific. He’d have to have a ball-and-socket joint in his wrist.”
“He has a ball-and-socket joint in his wrist.”
“This I have to see,” Jack muttered. He picked up a flash lantern and went over to the long prone figure.
Silver eyes blinked up at the light. There was something queer about them. He turned the beam closer. The pupils were not black in that light, but dark green. They all but closed—from the sides, like a cat’s. Jack’s breath wheezed out. He ran the light over the man’s body. It was clad in a bright-blue roomy bathrobe effect, with a yellow sash. The sash had a buckle which apparently consisted of two pieces of yellow metal; there seemed to be nothing to keep them together. They just stayed. When the man had fainted, just as they found him, it had taken almost all Jack’s strength to pull them apart.
“Iris.”
She got up and came over to him. “Let the poor devil sleep.” “Iris, what color was his robe?”
“Red, with a...but it’s blue!”
“Is now. Iris, what on earth have we got here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. Some poor thing that escaped from an institution for—for—”
“For what?”
“How should I know?” she snapped. “There must be some place where they send creatures that get born like that.”
“Creatures don’t get born like that, he isn’t deformed. He’s just different.”
“I see what you mean. I don’t know why I see what you mean, but I’ll tell you something.” She stopped, and was quiet for so long that he turned to her, surprised. She said slowly, “I ought to be afraid of him, because he’s strange, and ugly, but�
�I’m not.”
“Me too.”
“Molly, go back to bed.”
“He’s a leprechaun.”
“Maybe you’re right. Go on to bed. chicken, and in the morning you can ask him where he keeps his crock of gold.”
“Gee.” She went off a little way and stood on one foot, drawing a small circle in the sand with the other. “Daddy?”
“Yes, Molly-m’love.”
“Can I sleep in the tent tomorrow, too?”
“If you’re good.”
“Daddy obviously means,” said Iris acidly, “that if you’re not good he’ll have a roof on the house by tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be good.” She disappeared into the tent.
The gray man mewed.
“Well, old guy, what is it?”
The man reached over and fumbled at his splinted arm.
“It hurts him,” said Iris. She knelt beside him and, taking the wrist of his good arm, lifted it away from the splint, where he was clawing. The man did not resist, but lay and looked at her with pain-filled, slitted eyes.
“He has six fingers,” Jack said. “See?” He knelt beside his wife and gently took the man’s wrist. He whistled. “It is a ball-and-socket.”
“Give him some aspirin.”
“That’s a good...wait.” Jack stood pulling his lip in puzzlement. “Do you think we should?”
“Why not?”
“We don’t know where he comes from. We know nothing of his body chemistry, or what any of our medicines might do to him.”
“He...what do you mean, where he comes from?”
“Iris, will you open up your mind just a little? In the face of evidence like this, are you going to even attempt to cling to the idea that this man comes from anywhere on this earth?” Jack said with annoyance. “You know your anatomy. Don’t tell me you ever saw a human freak with skin and bones like that! That belt buckle, that material in his clothes...come on, now. Drop your prejudices and give your brains a chance.
“You’re suggesting things that simply don’t happen!”
A Way Home Page 8