He noticed the rapture with which she was regarding it. Was it possible, he wondered, that she knew its purpose?
He went across the room and touched her arm and she lifted her face to look at him and in her eyes he saw the gleam of happiness and excitement.
He made a questioning gesture toward the pyramid, trying to ask if she knew what it might be. But she did not understand him. Or perhaps she knew, but knew as well how impossible it would be to explain its purpose. She made that happy, fluttery motion with her hand again, indicating the table with its load of gadgets and she seemed to try to laugh—there was, at least, a sense of laughter in her face.
Just a kid, Enoch told himself, with a box heaped high with new and wondrous toys. Was that all it was to her? Was she happy and excited merely because she suddenly had become aware of all the beauty and the novelty of the things stacked there on the table?
He turned wearily and went back to the desk. He picked up the rifle and hung it on the pegs.
She should not be in the station. No human being other than himself should ever be inside the station. Bringing her here, he had broken that unspoken understanding he had with the aliens who had installed him as a keeper. Although, of all the humans he could have brought, Lucy was the one who could possibly be exempt from the understood restriction. For she could never tell the things that she had seen.
She could not remain, he knew. She must be taken home. For if she were not taken, there would be a massive hunt for her, a lost girl—a beautiful deaf-mute.
A story of a missing deaf-mute girl would bring in newspapermen in a day or two. It would be in all the papers and on television and on radio and the woods would be swarming with hundreds of searchers.
Hank Fisher would tell how he’d tried to break into the house and couldn’t and there’d be others who would try to break into the house and there’d be hell to pay.
Enoch sweated, thinking of it.
All the years of keeping out of people’s way, all the years of being unobtrusive would be for nothing then. This strange house upon a lonely ridge would become a mystery for the world, and a challenge and a target for all the crackpots of the world.
He went to the medicine cabinet, to get the healing ointment that had been included in the drug packet provided by Galactic Central.
He found it and opened the little box. More than half of it remained. He’d used it through the years, but sparingly. There was, in fact, little need to use a great deal of it.
He went across the room to where Lucy sat and stood back of the sofa. He showed her what he had and made motions to show her what it was for. She slid her dress off her shoulders and he bent to look at the slashes.
The bleeding had stopped, but the flesh was red and angry.
Gently he rubbed ointment into the stripes that the whip had made.
She had healed the butterfly, he thought; but she could not heal herself.
On the table in front of her the pyramid of spheres still was flashing and glinting, throwing a flickering shadow of color all about the room.
It was operating, but what could it be doing?
It was finally operating, but not a thing was happening as a result of that operation.
19
ULYSSES CAME as twilight was deepening into night.
Enoch and Lucy had just finished with their supper and were sitting at the table when Enoch heard his footsteps.
The alien stood in shadow and he looked, Enoch thought, more than ever like the cruel clown. His lithe, flowing body had the look of smoked, tanned buckskin. The patchwork color of his hide seemed to shine with a faint luminescence and the sharp, hard angles of his face, the smooth baldness of his head, the flat, pointed ears pasted tight against the skull lent him a vicious fearsomeness.
If one did not know him for the gentle character that he was, Enoch told himself, he would be enough to scare a man out of seven years of growth.
“We had been expecting you,” said Enoch. “The coffeepot is boiling.”
Ulysses took a slow step forward, then paused.
“You have another with you. A human, I would say.”
“There is no danger,” Enoch told him.
“Of another gender. A female, is it not? You have found a mate?”
“No,” said Enoch. “She is not my mate.”
“You have acted wisely through the years,” Ulysses told him. “In a position such as yours, a mate is not the best.”
“You need not worry. There is a malady upon her. She has no communication. She can neither hear nor speak.”
“A malady?”
“Yes, from the moment she was born. She has never heard or spoken. She can tell of nothing here.”
“Sign language?”
“She knows no sign language. She refused to learn it.”
“She is a friend of yours.”
“For some years,” said Enoch. “She came seeking my protection. Her father used a whip to beat her.”
“This father knows she’s here?”
“He thinks she is, but he cannot know.”
Ulysses came slowly out of the darkness and stood within the light.
Lucy was watching him, but there was no terror on her face. Her eyes were level and untroubled and she did not flinch.
“She takes me well,” Ulysses said. “She does not run or scream.”
“She could not scream,” said Enoch, “even if she wished.”
“I must be most repugnant,” Ulysses said, “at first sight to any human.”
“She does not see the outside only. She sees inside of you as well.”
“Would she be frightened if I made a human bow to her?”
“I think,” said Enoch, “she might be very pleased.”
Ulysses made his bow, formal and exaggerated, with one hand upon his leathery belly, bowing from the waist.
Lucy smiled and clapped her hands.
“You see,” Ulysses cried, delighted, “I think that she may like me.”
“Why don’t you sit down, then,” suggested Enoch, “and we all will have some coffee.”
“I had forgotten of the coffee. The sight of this other human drove coffee from my mind.”
He sat down at the place where the third cup had been set and waiting for him. Enoch started around the table, but Lucy rose and went to get the coffee.
“She understands?” Ulysses asked.
Enoch shook his head. “You sat down by the cup and the cup was empty.”
She poured the coffee, then went over to the sofa.
“She will not stay with us?” Ulysses asked.
“She’s intrigued by that tableful of trinkets. She set one of them to going.”
“You plan to keep her here?”
“I can’t keep her,” Enoch said. “There’ll be a hunt for her. I’ll have to take her home.”
“I do not like it,” Ulysses said.
“Nor do I. Let’s admit at once that I should not have brought her here. But at the time it seemed the only thing to do. I had no time to think it out.”
“You’ve done no wrong,” said Ulysses softly.
“She cannot harm us,” said Enoch. “Without communication . . .”
“It’s not that,” Ulysses told him. “She’s just a complication and I do not like further complications. I came tonight to tell you, Enoch, that we are in trouble.”
“Trouble? But there’s not been any trouble.”
Ulysses lifted his coffee cup and took a long drink of it.
“That is good,” he said. “I carry back the bean and make it at my home. But it does not taste the same.”
“This trouble?”
“You remember the Vegan that died here several of your years ago.”
Enoch nodded. “The Hazer.”
“
The being has a proper name . . .”
Enoch laughed. “You don’t like our nicknames.”
“It is not our way,” Ulysses said.
“My name for them,” said Enoch, “is a mark of my affection.”
“You buried this Vegan.”
“In my family plot,” said Enoch. “As if he were my own. I read a verse above him.”
“That is well and good,” Ulysses said. “That is as it should be. You did very well. But the body’s gone.”
“Gone! It can’t be gone!” cried Enoch.
“It has been taken from the grave.”
“But you can’t know,” protested Enoch. “How could you know?”
“Not I. It’s the Vegans. The Vegans are the ones who know.”
“But they’re light-years distant . . .”
And then he was not too sure. For on that night the wise old one had died and he’d messaged Galactic Central, he had been told that the Vegans had known the moment he had died. And there had been no need for a death certificate, for they knew of what he died.
It seemed impossible, of course, but there were too many impossibilities in the galaxy which turned out, after all, to be entirely possible for a man to ever know when he stood on solid ground.
Was it possible, he wondered, that each Vegan had some sort of mental contact with every other Vegan? Or that some central census bureau (to give a human designation to something that was scarcely understandable) might have some sort of official linkage with every living Vegan, knowing where it was and how it was and what it might be doing?
Something of the sort, Enoch admitted, might indeed be possible. It was not beyond the astounding capabilities that one found on every hand throughout the galaxy. But to maintain a similar contact with the Vegan dead was something else again.
“The body’s gone,” Ulysses said. “I can tell you that and know it is the truth. You’re held accountable.”
“By the Vegans?”
“By the Vegans, yes. And the galaxy.”
“I did what I could,” said Enoch hotly. “I did what was required. I filled the letter of the Vegan law. I paid the dead my honor and the honor of my planet. It is not right that the responsibility should go on forever. Not that I can believe the body can be really gone. There is no one who would take it. No one who knew of it.”
“By human logic,” Ulysses told him, “you, of course, are right. But not by Vegan logic. And in this case Galactic Central would tend to support the Vegans.”
“The Vegans,” Enoch said testily, “happen to be friends of mine. I have never met a one of them that I didn’t like or couldn’t get along with. I can work it out with them.”
“If only the Vegans were concerned,” said Ulysses, “I am quite sure you could. I would have no worry. But the situation gets complicated as you go along. On the surface it seems a rather simple happening, but there are many factors. The Vegans, for example, have known for some time that the body had been taken and they were disturbed, of course. But out of certain considerations, they had kept their silence.”
“They needn’t have. They could have come to me. I don’t know what could have been done . . .”
“Silent not because of you. Because of something else.”
Ulysses finished off his coffee and poured himself another cup. He filled Enoch’s half-filled cup and set the pot aside.
Enoch waited.
“You may not have been aware of it,” said Ulysses, “but at the time this station was established, there was considerable opposition to it from a number of races in the galaxy. There were many reasons cited, as is the case in all such situations, but the underlying reason, when you get down to basics, rests squarely on the continual contest for racial or regional advantage. A situation akin, I would imagine, to the continual bickering and maneuvering which you find here upon the Earth to gain an economic advantage for one group or another, or one nation and another. In the galaxy, of course, the economic considerations only occasionally are the underlying factors. There are many other factors than the economic.”
Enoch nodded. “I had gained a hint of this. Nothing recently. But I hadn’t paid too much attention to it.”
“It’s largely a matter of direction,” Ulysses said. “When Galactic Central began its expansion into this spiral arm, it meant there was no time or effort available for expansions in other directions. There is one large group of races which has held a dream for many centuries of expanding into some of the nearby globular clusters. It does make a dim sort of sense, of course. With the techniques that we have, the longer jump across space to some of the closer clusters is entirely possible. Another thing—the clusters seem to be extraordinarily free of dust and gas, so that once we got there we could expand more rapidly throughout the cluster than we can in many parts of the galaxy. But at best, it’s a speculative business, for we don’t know what we’ll find there. After we’ve made all the effort and spent all the time we may find little or nothing, except possibly some more real estate. And we have plenty of that in the galaxy. But the clusters have a vast appeal for certain types of minds.”
Enoch nodded. “I can see that. It would be the first venturing out of the galaxy itself. It might be the first short step on the route that could lead us to other galaxies.”
Ulysses peered at him. “You, too,” he said. “I might have known.”
Enoch said smugly: “I am that type of mind.”
“Well, anyhow, there was this globular-cluster faction—I suppose you’d call it that—which contended bitterly when we began our move in this direction. You understand—certainly you do—that we’ve barely begun the expansion into this neighborhood. We have less than a dozen stations and we’ll need a hundred. It will take centuries before the network is complete.”
“So this faction is still contending,” Enoch said. “There still is time to stop this spiral-arm project.”
“That is right. And that’s what worries me. For the faction is set to use this incident of the missing body as an emotion-charged argument against the extension of this network. It is being joined by other groups that are concerned with certain special interests. And these special interest groups see a better chance of getting what they want if they can wreck this project.”
“Wreck it?”
“Yes, wreck it. They will start screaming, as soon as the body incident becomes open knowledge, that a planet so barbaric as the Earth is no fit location for a station. They will insist that this station be abandoned.”
“But they can’t do that!”
“They can,” Ulysses said. “They will say it is degrading and unsafe to maintain a station so barbaric that even graves are rifled, on a planet where the honored dead cannot rest in peace. It is the kind of highly emotional argument that will gain wide acceptance and support in some sections of the galaxy. The Vegans tried their best. They tried to hush it up, for the sake of the project. They have never done a thing like that before. They are a proud people and they feel a slight to honor—perhaps more deeply than many other races—and yet, for the greater good, they were willing to accept dishonor. And would have if they could have kept it quiet. But the story leaked out somehow—by good espionage, no doubt. And they cannot stand the loss of face in advertised dishonor. The Vegan who will be arriving here this evening is an official representative charged with delivering an official protest.”
“To me?”
“To you, and through you, to the Earth.”
“But the Earth is not concerned. The Earth doesn’t even know.”
“Of course it doesn’t. So far as Galactic Central is concerned, you are the Earth. You represent the Earth.”
Enoch shook his head. It was a crazy way of thinking. But, he told himself, he should not be surprised. It was the kind of thinking he should have expected. He was too hidebound, he thought, too narrow. He had been trained in
the human way of thinking and, even after all these years, that way of thought persisted. Persisted to a point where any way of thought that conflicted with it must automatically seem wrong.
This talk of abandoning Earth station was wrong, too. It made no sort of sense. For abandoning of the station would not wreck the project. Although, more than likely, it would wreck whatever hope he’d held for the human race.
“But even if you have to abandon Earth,” he said, “you could go out to Mars. You could build a station there. If it’s necessary to have a station in this solar system there are other planets.”
“You don’t understand,” Ulysses told him. “This station is just one point of attack. It is no more than a toehold, just a bare beginning. The aim is to wreck the project, to free the time and effort that is expended here for some other project. If they can force us to abandon one station, then we stand discredited. Then all our motives and our judgment come up for review.”
“But even if the project should be wrecked,” Enoch pointed out, “there is no surety that any group would gain. It would only throw the question of where the time and energy should be used into an open debate. You say that there are many special interest factions banding together to carry on the fight against us. Suppose that they do win. Then they must turn around and start fighting among themselves.”
“Of course that’s the case,” Ulysses admitted, “but then each of them has a chance to get what they want, or think they have a chance. The way it is they have no chance at all. Before any of them has a chance this project must go down the drain. There is one group on the far side of the galaxy that wants to move out into the thinly populated sections of one particular section of the rim. They still believe in an ancient legend which says that their race arose as the result of immigrants from another galaxy who landed on the rim and worked their way inward over many galactic years. They think that if they can get out to the rim they can turn that legend into history to their greater glory. Another group wants to go into a small spiral arm because of an obscure record that many eons ago their ancestors picked up some virtually undecipherable messages which they believed came from that direction. Through the years the story has grown, until today they are convinced a race of intellectual giants will be found in that spiral arm. And there is always the pressure, naturally, to probe deeper into the galactic core. You must realize that we have only started, that the galaxy still is largely unexplored, that the thousands of races who form Galactic Central still are pioneers. And as a result, Galactic Central is continually subjected to all sorts of pressures.”
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