by Chad Oliver
It wasn’t easy to give life back to a dead land.
But Sandoval knew satisfaction. This land would come back, even as it had on a ruined Earth. One day it would be green again, deep with cool grasses, and the towns would return….
The ship glinted before him, silver in the afternoon sun. The sight brought mixed feelings to Tino Sandoval. For just a moment, his vision clouded, and the ship became another ship, a wooden ship on a sea of blue, its sails puffed with the wind. Sandoval was an Indian, and he remembered.
The face of Admiral Hurley was too much like the faces that stared proudly from the pages of history books. The hand that he had shaken was too much like the hand that had been red with Mexico’s blood.
(He had washed his hands thoroughly after he had shaken hands with the admiral. He had called himself a superstitious fool, but he had rubbed his hands on the towel until they hurt.)
And Evan Schaefer. A quiet man, a man easy to underestimate. Sandoval had known men like him before, men who could not be pushed, men who stood by your side when the chips were down. Men like Schaefer were rare in any age. He liked Evan Schaefer and his wife, but he knew he would never tell them so. He had found some late wildflowers in the valley, and he would put them in Lee’s cabin.
She would know who had given them to her, being the kind of woman she was. Sandoval had known many women, but never one like Lee. She made him sad for all the years that might have been.
He landed the copter by the ship.
He had not seen Schaefer for many months. He hoped Schaefer was doing all right….
Almost a year had passed since he had first glimpsed the town of the people, which they called Home-of-the-World, and Evan Schaefer knew now what he had to do.
The old priest Loquav, with his clear-sighted eyes and silver fur, had taught him many things besides the language of the people. He had taught him a religion that on one level was an erotic cast of harvest-goddesses and rain-gods, and on another level was a moving symbol of man’s ties to the land on which he lived, the air he breathed, and the sun that warmed him. He had taken him out into the streets of Home-of-the-World, and into the poor houses. There he had seen the suffering and privation he had not seen in the market square: the tired women, the empty-eyed men, the silent and hungry children. He had spoken to him of other times, when the people had been as the grass of the fields, and the granaries had been choked with food.
And old Loquav had done more than that. He had made Schaefer feel at home with the people. He had given him the warmth of friendship in a hard winter. He had looked at a being who was monstrous by his standards, and seen only the man who lived in that body. It was a trick than men of Earth often could not learn.
Loquav had said to him, “I know not if you are man or god or devil, but while we are together you are my brother.”
Schaefer had seen Marin twice, and they had talked, but it was a touchy business.
One night, when the red sun had just dipped below the far horizon and the long shadows were painting the adobe roofs with flat black fingers, Schaefer stepped out into the streets alone. He walked toward the market square, where he heard the night-music striking up for dancing.
That was when he saw it.
There, in the shadows.
A man who was too big to be of the people, and a thick voice muttering in English. “Come on, Baby, wrap those fine long arms around me. I’ve been away a long, long time….
A native girl, curious and afraid, not wishing to offend, standing with her back against an adobe house wall.
Schaefer felt a sickness in his stomach. He hurried on to the market square, where fires were burning brightly and drums were throbbing like heart-beats. He saw more of them, men from the ship, dancing with the girls.
And he saw men of the people, standing in the shadows, watching in silence.
Schaefer did not hesitate. He ran to his copter, climbed into the cabin, and took off into the twilight. There was a black fury raging inside him, and he pushed the copter as fast as it would go, toward the ship and Admiral Hurley.
V
Coming down past the great tower of the ship, he felt like a bug crawling down a flagpole. The copter hit with a puff of dust, and Schaefer was out and running almost before it was secured.
He went through the airlock, jerked his oxygen mask off gratefully, and walked straight to Hurley’s quarters, his heavy boots leaving a trail of dust behind him on the polished floors. He had been back to the ship twice to see Lee but Hurley came first this trip.
There was an officer outside Hurley’s door.
“Just a minute, sir,” the man said. “I have strict instructions—”
“Get out of my way, please.”
“Sir, the admiral said—”
“This is important. Just say in your report that I overpowered you.” Schaefer brushed past the man, while the officer muttered under his breath about civilians in general and Schaefer in particular.
Schaefer knocked on the door, hard.
It opened after a moment.
Schaefer swallowed the remark he had ready. It was Mrs. Hurley who stood before him, a gray-haired, motherly type, with a gentle face made to order for beaming over blueberry pie.
“Yes? Carl is taking a nap right now….”
“I’m very sorry to disturb you, but I must see him. Now.”
“Well, I don’t know. I do hope there hasn’t been any trouble? You must be that anthropologist person Carl told me about.”
“Yes, Mrs. Hurley. I’m that anthropologist person, fangs and all. Now, if you’ll just—”
“I’ll handle this, Martha.” Admiral Hurley stepped before her, fully dressed but with signs of sleep still in his eyes. “I’ll see you in my office, Schaefer. You know better than to come here.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Schaefer said. He nodded politely to Mrs. Hurley. “A pleasure, ma’am.”
He walked up to Hurley’s office, seated himself, and waited.
The admiral let him stew for ten minutes and then came in and sat down behind his desk. His balding head gleamed in the light. His lean, sharp-featured face was expressionless, but his green eyes were cold as ice.
“Well, Mr. Schaefer?”
Schaefer forced himself to be calm. He fished out his pipe and tobacco that he had picked up in his copter and puffed on it until he could taste the fragrant smoke. The admiral had kept him waiting and he was determined to repay the compliment. He blew a lazy smoke-ring at the ceiling.
“Well, Mr. Schaefer? I’m not accustomed to—”
“Neither am I,” Schaefer snapped.
The admiral shrugged. “No personalities, please. I assume you have something you want to say to me?”
Schaefer leaned forward, his pipe clamped in his teeth. “You know why I’m here, Hurley.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Your men are in the town.”
Hurley waved his hand impatiently. “Oh, that. Yes, of course. They have my permission.”
Schaefer stood up. “You’ve got to get them back here.”
“I give the orders to my men, Mr. Schaefer. Please remember where you are.”
“Dammit, man, this is important! You don’t know those people over there. They are very proud. This could ruin everything. If they don’t get out, there’ll be trouble.”
Hurley smiled. “You don’t know my men, Mr. Schaefer. Men are men. They always know when there are women within ten light-years.”
“You don’t understand, Admiral. If they’re that eager, stick ’em in the icebox until we get through here.”
Hurley shook his head. “Can’t do that. Regulations specify that a ship landed on alien soil must maintain its crew in constant readiness.”
Schaefer felt a chill of despair. Talking to Hurley was like ramming your head against a block of cement. “The people won’t stand for it, Hurley.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Listen, Hurley—�
�
“No, you listen, Mr. Schaefer.” The admiral paused, holding himself under control. “I am in command of this ship. I’ll give the orders that pertain to the morale and welfare of my men. It is not my will that has kept us on this planet for almost a year. It is not my responsibility that your party took up space that might have been used for other men’s wives. You evidently thought it necessary to bring your wife along, and I do not condemn you for it. We will leave this planet whenever you inform me that our mission has been accomplished. Until that time, I have a crew of men to handle. We are doing a lot for those savages, Mr. Schaefer, and it’s costing a lot of money. They can spare a few native women. I know the type; they’re all the same.”
“You’ve never even been over to look at them. Is that all they are to you—savages?”
Hurley shrugged.
“Answer me!”
“You are the ones who make the definitions, Mr. Schaefer. The rest of us have work to do. No one is forcing the natives to do anything. If they are overflowing with virtue, they will conduct themselves accordingly.”
“With a gang of sex-hungry crewmen? You know better than that, Hurley.”
The admiral got to his feet. “Was there anything else you wished to see me about?”
Schaefer was suddenly conscious that his fists were clenched at his sides, clenched so tightly that his fingers ached. Oh, to take just one swing at that damned supercilious jaw!
He forced himself to calm down.
“There’s going to be trouble. You’ve been warned, Hurley, and I’ll hold you personally responsible for whatever happens.”
“Thank you for your warning,” the admiral said evenly. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Schaefer turned and left
The thing had started now, and there would be no stopping it.
Hurry, hurry!
He found Lee in their cabin. She was pale and thinner than before, but she was OK. He knew she would always be OK, and that he never had to worry about her again. He stayed with her for two hours, and told her what had happened.
Then, he got back in his copter and flew off to find Sandy.
Hurry, hurry!
It was three days before he could return to Home-of-the-World.
Deep beneath the walled town, in the dark temple of the people, Marin the priest-king stood straight and still, his dark eyes burning like the lamps that ringed the chamber walls. His long arms were hidden beneath the folds of his robe and his canine teeth flashed in the light when he spoke.
“You told me long ago that you came as a friend to help my people, Schaefer. I took your words for truth, for no man lies to his friend. My people have taken you in, fed you through a hard winter when the sun was pale, taught you our tongue. Now men of your own kind descend on the people like a plague. They take our women in the shadows and mock our Home-of-the-World. This must not be, this cannot be. Speak, Schaefer, for you have many things to explain.”
Schaefer felt the weight of a city on his back, doubly heavy because Home-of-the-World was his home now, just as the men of the ship were men who might have been his brothers. A man caught in the middle was seldom lucky, he thought, despite the old joke. “All my words to you have been true words, Marin. In your heart you know this. There are many men in my tribe and I cannot control them all. You must endure those of my kind who make a mockery of your people and your traditions. You must tolerate them. There is no other way.”
“And why must I do these things?”
“If there is trouble, my friend, I cannot help you. You must believe me when I say that my people are very powerful. It is better to let them alone.”
The priest-king shook his head. “They do not let us alone,” he pointed out, “and you have not helped me yet, Schaefer.”
Schaefer took a deep breath. It was now or never. Marin would not be put off much longer with promises, not with strange men walking the streets of Home-of-the-World.
“Will you come with me, Marin? Will you let me take you into the sky in my machine? Will you let me show you how we have helped you, if you no longer accept my word?”
The priest-king hesitated and seemed to withdraw into the shadows of the vault. “This would not be a good time to leave my people.”
“Marin is not afraid?”
The priest-king drew himself up proudly.
“I will go with you,” he said. “When do we leave?”
“Right now.”
“Let it be so.”
Side by side, the two men walked out of Marin’s chamber, into the large cavern with its hundreds of lamps burning, its black altar waiting in the alcove, its little rings of dark woodpecker-scalps hanging on the walls. Then up through the long winding corridor, and out into the dazzling sunlight.
The copter was waiting for them under the open sky.
Spring had come again to the land of the people, a powder of green sprinkled across the plains, a scattering of tiny spots of red and blue and yellow that were flowers in the sun. It was not a spring as Marin had seen it in his youth, when he had run barefoot with the other boys through dew-wet grasses and swung with them on the strong forest branches that laced the roof of the world, but it was a better spring than he had seen these later years, and a spring he had feared he might never see again.
It marked a turning point. That was the important thing.
Marin stared down at the rolling plains, cool with the fresh delicate green of new grass. His quick dark eyes caught the sparkle of fresh water in the streams, not the yellow-brown floods of mud that roared to the river, but living water to give the world a drink.
The copter had not impressed him much; it was alien magic.
The miracle he saw below him did impress him. This was a magic worth knowing.
“The land is coming back,” he said simply.
“Yes. Next year it will be better still.”
“How have you done this thing, Schaefer?”
“That’s what I’m going to try to show you. It will not be easy for you.”
“My people will do anything. When the land dies, the people follow. I have looked long at our children, and wondered.”
Schaefer landed in a valley where a young forest had been planted. Even with their artificial growth techniques, the trees were little more than shrubs. But they were growing.
He led Marin up a winding trail to where green shoots were searching for life in the ruins of a fire-blackened growth of dead conifers. New flowers covered the forest floor and there was a hum of insects in the air.
There was another sound, too, cutting through the silence like a million hammers.
Woodpeckers.
Schaefer ripped away a chunk of dead black bark. A horde of beetles scrabbled for cover in the riddled wood underneath. A brave woodpecker buzzed past his face, eager to get at the bugs before they vanished under the bark.
Schaefer found a stump and sat down. Marin stood watching the woodpecker a moment, then he sat down beside Schaefer.
“You talk,” he said. “I will listen.”
Schaefer groped for eloquence in a foreign tongue. He told Marin as best he could what had happened to the ghost of a forest they saw around them. It had been a combination of many things, but he simplified the story to get his point across. It only took a little thing to kill the land. A tiny thing, an insignificant thing.
Like a woodpecker.
The people hunted woodpeckers, because they valued their black scalps as a wealth symbol. Every house had some woodpecker scalps; without them, a man was a pauper. The temple had thousands of them hanging in circles on the walls. Under ordinary circumstances, this wouldn’t have mattered. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred nothing would happen.
But it had happened this time.
Nature was a living fabric, a neatly balanced system in which every organism had a job to do. The woodpecker’s job was to drill into the bark of trees to get the beetles that lived there. Not all of th
em, of course. Just enough to keep the beetle population down to where the living tree could handle it.
Take some woodpeckers away. Take them away in a bad year, when the remaining woodpeckers fail to rebuild the forest woodpecker families. A tree falls in a windstorm, and then another. Their roots are broken, their sap runs weakly. The remaining woodpeckers cannot reach the beetles that attack the tree where it lies on the ground.
The beetles breed and thrive and multiply.
Other trees become riddled with the bugs, and they die and fall. They lie on the ground, and they dry out. Dead dry wood, waiting—
A storm. Dark clouds massed in a turbulent sky. A flash of lightning, a crash of thunder. Another stab of lightning, another—
The dry wood is ignited.
The forest is in flames. The winds blow, and carry the flames to other trees. An entire watershed is destroyed, and this happens in many places.
The snow falls in the winter, piling up in drifts. With the spring sun it melts, and there is nothing to hold it. It rushes down the mountains in torrents, across the plains in a flood, into the rivers that rage toward the sea in a yellow-brown torrent of land-destroying fury—
The land dies. The grasses and animals disappear. There is no life-giving water in the soil. The winds blow, and the dust swirls in ugly clouds through the deserted towns where the people once lived and laughed and hoped….
There was a long silence, broken only by the hum of insects and the rat-tat-tat of the woodpeckers.
“It is hard to believe,” Marin said finally. “All that from a few woodpeckers.”
“There were other things. The woodpecker, as it happens, was critical here.”
“But the woodpecker scalp is wealth to us.” Marin spread his hands, his long arms outstretched. “You know how men are.”