by Larry Niven
The priest spoke. "Why would they record this? Advisor, where was this found?"
"All tapes came from two sources, a building that displayed 83 of such, and one room of a dwelling. They're marked. Ah, this came from the dwelling."
The scene had shifted. Here was the same female and a different male, both covered. Not for long. Raztupisp-minz said, "I don't see how children could be born of this. Yet they seem to think they're mating . . . Ah, that seems more likely. Could we be viewing an instruction tape? Might humans need instruction on how to mate?"
"A ridiculous suggestion," the priest scoffed. "What animal does not know how to mate?"
"Entertainment," Siplisteph said. "So I was told by one who surrendered."
"You are certain?" Breaker-one asked.
"No. I know too little of their language."
Fistarteh-thuktun continued to stare at the screen. "I . . . I think there can be no good reason for such an entertainment."
The Herdmaster moved forward to join Siplisteph, It was irritating that his Advisor must here perform two functions at once. "You have been to Winterhome. You have seen thousands of humans, more than any of us. Have you formed opinions?"
"None. Nowhere in these tapes do humans act as I have seen them act. I wonder if they act the part of something other than humans. Not Predecessors, but . . . there are words, god and archetype."
"They could hardly pretend to be ready to mate. Show me the first one again," the Herdmaster said. And presently he asked, "Did we just witness a killing? Show that segment again."
Siplisteph did. An arm swung; the man in the strange chair mimed agony; the chair tilted and the man fell backward through the floor. "They never die so calmly," the new Advisor said. "They fight until they cannot."
"The neck is very vulnerable," Raztupisp-minz objected. "A nerve trunk could be cut-~but the fat one would then be a rogue. Why does the female associate with him? Could a pair of rogues form their own herd?"
"You are quiet, Fistarteh-thuktun. What do you believe of this?"
The priest splayed his digits wide. "Herdmaster, I learn. Later I will speak."
"You do not seem pleased"
There was no answer.
"A place of puzzles," Pastempeh-keph said. "They surrender and have not surrendered. Their tapes show rogues acting in collusion. They live neither in herds nor alone. What are they?"
"What do they believe themselves to be?" Fistarteh-thuktun asked. "Perhaps that is more important."
"An interesting question," Raztupisp-minz said quietly.
Pastempeh-keph bellowed, "1 want answers! I have enough interesting questions to keep me busy, thank you very much. Razwpisp-minz, bring them all. All humans, here, now."
"Herdmaster, is this wise? Bring just one. I want to keep them separate as we study-"
"Bring them!"
"At your orders, Herdmaster."
Raztupisp-minz waited. This is the moment, if there is to be any challenge.
There was none. Raztupisp-minz turned to the communications speaker on one wall.
* * *
Gary and Melissa were bounding around the cell in an elaborate game of tag. The rules weren't apparent, but it was obvious that the game couldn't have been played in normal gravity.
Jeri Wilson lay against the "down" wall and hugged her knees. She was wishing that the children would stop, and glad that they didn't. They were all right. Prisoners of monsters, far from home, falling endlessly: they were taking it well.
Stop feeling so damned sorry for yourself! Hell, if Gary can take it, you sure can. Next you'll be whimpering.
Jeri turned her head within her arms. No. We don't want Melissa to hear that. John Woodward lay near by. He's trying, but it's like he's fading out. Carrie's all that keeps him going.
It's the toilets. I could stand anything, if they'd just give us a decent toilet. We're not built to use a stupid pool of water, with everyone watching.
She heard the low-pitched hum that signaled the door was opening. By the time it was open, the tag game was over; by tacit agreement they were all together opposite the doorway.
Jeri recognized Tashayamp. Behind her was a full octuple of warriors, all armed. They don't bring guards unless they're taking us somewhere, Jeri thought. But they don't always bring them then, either. We've gone places with no one but Tashayamp or one of the other teachers. So why do they sometimes have armed guards? It's like Melissa's tag game. There are rules. I just don't know them.
"All come," Tashayamp directed in the fithp tongue.
"Where?" Wes Dawson demanded.
"Come." Tashayamp turned to lead the way out. "Right," Jeri said. She uncurled, and dove across the pens. "Come on, Melissa."
The others followed, with Dawson bringing up the rear. Tashayamp led them through corridors toward We center of the ship.
They entered a large, nearly rectang~larroom, with huge steps around three sides. Machinery had been set up near the fourth wall. Four fithp watched them without comment.
Tashayamp followed them in. The eight fithp soldiers stayed in the corridor. Dawson moved up beside Jeri and said, "Theater. We've been here."
"No seats," Jeri said, then laughed at a mental picture of a fi' collapsing a beach chair. "Of course, no seats. What's. . . ah. That videotape machine must have come from Kansas."
"The one in the fancy harness, he's a priest or librarian or both. The one at the top of the stairs is the big boss. They call him the Herdmaster, something like that." Dawson imitated the flthp sound. "The other two are teachers. At least I call them that, they're supposed to teach us, but they don't always, so I'm not sure. Every, time I think I understand them, something else happens, and-"
The door opened again, to let in three men in coveralls. One had no legs, but it didn't seem to bother him.
Russians. That stocky one was on TV before the snouts came. I thought he was handsome—
"Arvid Rogachev, Dmitri something or another, and the one with no legs is Nikolai. I never heard them call him anything else," Dawson said. Rogachev. He looks even better in person. Wes Dawson is a bit of a wimp compared to him.
And what does that mean? Am I looking for a big strong man to take care of me?
Would that be such a bad idea?
"You will watch," Tashayamp said. She bellowed something in fithp.
The screen lit up. Jeri caught a glimpse of the lead-in.
DEEP THROAT
"What is this?" Jeri asked.
Carrie Woodward had a puzzled look. "John, didn't we hear something about that movie?"
The Russian Dawson had called Dmitri frowned. The other one seemed amused. "For this they have taken casualties?"
The screen raced past the titles to the sex scenes. Then it slowed to show Linda Lovelace doing her stuff in living color.
Carrie Wood ward watched just long enough to be sure of what she was seeing. "Gary! Melissa! Come here. You're not to watch this. Come—"
Gary Capehart went to her at once. Melissa looked doubtful. "You come here, young lady. Now." Carrie was insistent. Melissa looked to her mother for guidance.
O Lord. Now what?
"Melissa, do as she says." "Aw, Mom—"
"Now."
Carrie gathered the children to her ample bosom. "How dare you'?" she shouted. "Don't you critters have any sense of decency at all? No shame?'
The Herdmaster trumpeted something. Tashayamp replied.
Now what kind of trouble has she got us into?
"What is your difficulty?" Tashayamp demanded. "Why have you done this?'
"You know perfectly well it's not decent to show pictures like that."
"Mrs. Woodward," Dawson said. "They don't think the way we do—"
"And of course you've seen worse," Carrie said. She faced away from the screens, away from the Herdmaster. That left her facing the Russians. "I leave it to you, is this decent for children?" she demanded of them.
"Not at all," Arvid agreed. Dmitri said something h
arsh in Russian.
"Bad—worse," Tashayamp said. "What does it mean, `bad'? Why is this bad?"
"I think they really don't know, Mother," John Woodward said. His voice held wonder, "They really don't."
"I was trying to tell you," Dawson said.
"You keep out of it. You don't know either," John Woodward said. "Your kind never did."
All of the snouts were talking at once until the Herdmaster trumpeted. They fell silent instantly.
"I keep telling you they don't see things as we do," Dawson said. His voice rang loudly in the silence. "John, they didn't make these movies. They found them in Kansas, Remember that." John Woodward interrupted him, then Canie started to say something—
One of the teachers trumpeted, "Raztupisp-minz commands that you speak one at a time," Tashayamp said.
"There are many meanings of good and bad," Dawson began. The teacher said something else.
"Not to begin with you," Tashayamp said. She pointed to the Russians. "What is bad about this?"
"Filth. Typical capitalist garbage for the mind," Dmitri said. "Why does this surprise anyone? The capitalist system caters to anyone with money, and inevitably produces decadence."
"It's freedom of speech!" Dawson shouted. "I don't like it, but I don't have to. If we start shutting people's mouths, where—"
"Not we," Carrie Woodward said. `We'd lock up the people that peddle that filth if it wasn't for you federal people. We had a nice, decent town until your judges and your laws came."
The two teachers were both speaking at once until the Herdmaster intervened. Tashayamp spoke at length, obviously trailslating since she used several human words. What can they make of this? What do 1 make of it? Jeri wondered.
"You believe this bad," Tashayamp said. "You, all, show digits extended if you believe bad."
The Woodwards showed palms up held at arm's length. Then the Russians. Jeri held her hand out. What do! believe? I don't really want Melissa watching this stuff. She might get the wrong idea about what men and women are supposed to do. Women aren't toys. Free speech and all that, but, yes, I guess I'd be happier if they still had laws against pornography. Less ammunition for perverts. . .
Dawson was the only holdout. Finally he raised his own hand.
"You agree this is bad?' Tashayamp asked.
"I do, for children," Dawson said. "I just don't think we have the right to stop it."
"Why bad for children?"
"It's filth," Carrie Woodward protested. "Not fit for anyone."
"You do not—do these things?' Tashayamp asked.
Jeri smothered a laugh. Came Woodward's face turned beet red. "My Lord, no, we don't do that, no one really does that."
Well, in your world, maybe. My turn to blush . . .
"This is true? No one does these things?"
"Some do," John Woodward admitted. "Decent people don't. They sure don't put it on film!"
"The word. Decent. Means what?" Tashayamp demanded.
"Means right-thinking people," Carrie Woodward said. "People who think and act like they're supposed to, not like some people I know."
Tashayamp translated. There was more discussion among the fithp.
"We've got to be careful," Wes Dawson said. "Lord knows what ideas they're getting—"
"None they shouldn't have, Congressman," Carrie Woodward said firmly.
"They don't think like us. You've seen the toilets, haven't you? Look, we all have to give them the same story," Dawson insisted.
"Say little." Dmitri said in Russian. Jeri was surprised that she could still understand. It has been a long time . . .
Evidently Dawson had understood that, too. "Right. Best they don't find out too much."
Find out what? That we don't act the way we want to? That's the very definition of human—
"You explain this," Tashayamp demanded. "How many humans do bad things?"
"All of them," Jeri blurted.
"Capitalists," Dmitri said.
"Commies," Woodward retorted.
"All humans do bad things?" Tashayainp demanded. "All do what they know they must not do? Tell me this."
They all began speaking at once.
* * *
Jeri sat against the wall with Melissa. She wasn't really part of the discussion Wes Dawson was having with the Russians, but she was too close to ignore it.
"Perhaps we have told them too much," Dmitri said.
Dawson said, "It's better if they understand us—"
"What you call understanding a military man would call intelligence information," Arvid Rogachev said.
"What can it hurt? Arvid, you've been helping them with their maps!"
"They show me maps and globes. I nod my head, and tell them names for places. This is not your concern."
"It's my concern if you side with the fithp. Look, Arvid, you've seen what they've done. Destruction and murder—"
"I understand war. I—"
"But do you understand what they could have done? They came here with a mucking great asteroid, and we're still moored to it. Suppose they'd come with the same size asteroid, but a metal one. Hundreds of billions of dollars worth of metals. Now they negotiate. Trade metals for land, for concessions, for information, anything they want. They could buy themselves a country. If we won't play, even if we buy the metals and don't pay their bills, they've still got their mucking great asteroid to drop!"
Dmitri Grushin was nodding, grinning. "What a pity. They don't understand money. They are not capitalists. That's your complaint, Dawson."
And who cares? They're going to smash the Earth. At least they decided they wouldn't make the children watch Deep Throat and those other tapes.
Jeri recalled going to a theater to see Deep Throat. Stupid. But they've put us all together, and now there are three more men to watch me use the toilet. John and Carrie Woodward stayed near Jeri, as far from the Russians as possible, but it wasn't far enough. They could still hear. They kept Gary with them.
They've got a problem. But we're going to have to get along with the Russkis—
Jeri said, "Carrie, did you notice that you and John sounded a lot like the Russians?" "Yeah," John Woodward said. "I noticed. They're for decency. Not like Dawson. He'd excuse anything—'
"No, he wouldn't."
"There are things people can do, and things they can't do," Carrie Woodward said. "Isn't that what insanity means? Can't tell right from wrong?"
"No." Alice was across the room, far enough away that they'd nearly forgotten her. "It wasn't why I was in Menninger's."
"Why were you there?"
"None of your business. I was afraid all the time."
"Of what?' Carrie Woodward asked.
Alice looked away.
Dawson looked over at them. The Woodwards wouldn't meet his eyes. Carrie continued to talk to Jeri as if Dawson were not there.
"Don't tell me you never wanted to be better than you are," Carrie Woodward said. "Everyone wants to be better than they are. Jt's what it means to be human."
"Maybe you're right," Jeri said. "We don't do the things we think we should, and we do things we're ashamed of-what was it, in the Book of Common Prayer? `We have done those things we ought not to have done, and we have left undone those things we ought to have done, and there is no health in us.' People have wanted to do the right thing for most of history."
"But nobody really knows what right and wrong are," Dawson protested.
"Sure they do," Jeri said. "C. S. Lewis saw that well enough. Most of us know what's the right thing, at least most of the time. The problem is we don't do it. That's how we're different from rocks. They don't have any choice about obeying the laws. They do what they have to do. We do what we want. We sound like an undergraduate bull session."
"Perhaps this is true," Arvid said. "But we would not say laws, but—"
"Moral principle," Dmitri said firmly. "Established by Marxist science."
"Commies don't have morals," Carrie Woodward protested
.
"This is unfair. It is also not true," Arvid said. "Come, we do not so much disagree, you and I. It is your leader, your congressman who protests."
Carrie looked to her husband. They didn't say anything.
* * *
An hour later they were summoned to the theater again. This time the fithp stood in formal arrays, Herdmaster and mate at the top, others on steps below him, most with mates. Tashayamp stood near him. She trumpeted for silence.
The Herdmaster spoke at length.
Finally Tashayamp translated. "You are a race of rogues. You say you wish to live by your laws, but you do not do it. You say you have always wanted to live by your rules and you do not. Now you will. You will become part of Traveler Herd, live as fithp live, but under your rules. This we will give you. This we promise.
"You will teach us your laws. Then you will live by them.
"You go now."
27
THE PHONY WAR
"Let us remember," Lord Tweedsmuir had told a wartime audience in a ringing phrase, "that in this fight we arc God's chivalry"
The British people, far from remembering they were God's chivalry began to show such a detachment from what was variously called the Bore or the Phoney War that the government became seriously worried.
—LAURENCE THOMPSON, 1940
COUNTDOWN: ONE WEEK TO FOOTFALL
THREE WEEKS AFTER THE JAYHAWK WARS
High fleecy clouds hung over the San Fernando Valley. The temperature stretched toward a hundred degrees, with a hot wind sweeping down to shrivel any vegetation not protected from it,
Ken Dutton carefully closed the door to his greenhouse. Once inside he dipped water from a bucket and threw it around, wetting down the lush growth. Then he hastened outside to turn the handle on the makeshift fan, drawing fresh hot dry air through the greenhouse.
When that was done, he went inside. The house had thick walls and cooled rapidly at night, so that it was tolerable in the daytime. Dutton lifted the phone and listened.
There was a dial tone. There often was. He took a list from the telephone drawer and began to make his calls.