Destiny Doll

by Clifford D. Simak

  "You know chemistry, captain?"

  I shook my head. "Not so you would notice."

  "The people who built this building didn't build the city. A more ancient people . . ."

  "We can't know that," I said. "There is no way of knowing how long the city's stood. It would take millions of years for it to show any wear or erosion—if it would ever show it."

  We sat in silence for a moment. I picked up a stick of wood and poked the sticks in the fire together. The fire blazed up.

  "Come morning, captain?" she asked.

  "What do you mean come morning?"

  "What do we do' then?"

  "We go on if the tree will let us. We have some footloose centaurs to find, to see if they have a braincase and if we can get the braincase . . ."

  She nodded her head in Smith's direction. "What of him?" she asked.

  "Maybe he'll come to by then. If not we sling him on a hobby. And if Tuck doesn't snap out of his trance by then, I'll kick him back to life."

  "But George was looking for something, too. And he has found what he was looking for."

  "Look," I said, "who was it that bought the, ship and paid the bill? Who brought Smith to this place? Don't tell me that you are ready to cave in and stop short of what you are looking for because a creep like Smith goes all of a sudden limp on us."

  "I don't know," she said. "If it hadn't been for him . . ."

  "All right, then." I said. "Let's just leave him here. If that is what he wants. If he's gotten to the place he was aiming for . . ."

  "Captain!" 'she gasped. "You wouldn't do a thing like that!"

  "What makes you think I wouldn't?"

  "There must be some humanity in you. You wouldn't turn your back . . ."

  "He's the one who is turning his back on us. He has what he wants . . ."

  "How do you know he has?"

  That's the trouble with women. No logic. She had told me that this silly Smith had gotten where he was going. But when I said the same thing, she was set to argue.

  "I don't know anything," I said. "Not for certain."

  "But you'll go ahead and make decisions."

  "Sure," I said. "Because if I don't we could sit here forever. And we're in no situation to be sitting still. We may have a long way to go and we've got to keep on moving."

  I got up and walked over to the door and stood there, looking out. There was no moon and the night was dark and there were no stars. A whiteness of the city was distinguishable in the darkness. A hazy and uncertain horizon led off beyond the city. There was nothing else that could be seen.

  The tree had stopped its bombing and with all the seeds duly gathered in, the ratlike creatures had gone back to wherever they had come from.

  Maybe, I thought, if we sneaked out right now we might be able to make it past the tree. But I somehow doubted it. I didn't think darkness made that much difference to the tree. It certainly didn't see us, for since when did trees have eyes. It must sense us in some other way. It had stopped the bombing, perhaps, because it figured it had us pinned down, knowing that it could start up again if we so much as tried to move, maybe even knowing somehow we'd not be apt to move at night.

  But even so the thought of trying for it in the dark had some attraction for me. But we'd be plunging headlong into terrain we knew nothing of, trying to follow a path that we could not see and had never traveled. And, besides, we were too beat out to try it. We needed a good night's rest.

  "Why are you here with us, captain?" asked Sara from the fire. "Even from the first you had no belief in the venture."

  I went back to the fire and sat down beside her.

  "You forgot," I said. "All that money that you shoved at me. That's why I'm doing it."

  "That's not all of it," she said. "The money would not have been enough. You were afraid you'd never get back into space again. You saw yourself cooped up on Earth forever and even that first day you landed, it was gnawing on you."

  "What you really want to know," I said, "is why I had to make the run for Earth, why I sought sanctuary. You're aching to know what sort of criminal you've been traveling with. How come you didn't get all the sordid details? You knew everything else, even to the minute I would land? I'd shake up that intelligence system of yours, if I were you. Your operatives failed."

  "There were a lot of stories," she said. "They couldn't all be true. There was no way of telling which one of them was true. But I'll say this much for you—you have space shook up. Tell me, Captain Ross, was it the swindle of all time?"

  "I don't know," I said. "I wasn't out to break a record, if that is what you mean."

  "But a planet was involved. That is what I heard and it made sense because you were a planet hunter. Was it as good as they said it was?"

  "Miss Foster," I said, "it was a beauty. It was the kind of planet Earth was before the Ice Age hit."

  "Then what went wrong? There were all sorts of stories. One said there was a virus of some sort. Another said the climate was erratic. One said there wasn't any planet."

  I grinned at her. I don't know why I grinned. It was no grinning matter. "There was only one thing wrong," I said. "Such a little thing. It already was inhabited by intelligences."

  "But you would have known . . ."

  "Not necessarily," I said. "There weren't many of them. And they were hard to spot. What do you look for when you search a planet for intelligence?"

  "Why, I don't know," she said.

  "Nor do I" I said.

  "But you . . ."

  "I hunted planets. I did not survey them. No planet hunter is equipped to survey a planet. He can get an idea of what it's like, of course. But he hasn't got the gadgets or the manpower or the savvy to dig deeply into it. A survey made by the man who finds it would have no legal standing. Understandably, there might be certain bias. A planet must be certified . . ."

  "But certainly you had it certified. You could not have sold it until it was certified."

  I nodded. "A certified survey," I said. "By a reputable surveying firm. It came out completely clean and I was in business. I made just one mistake. I paid a bonus for them to pile in their equipment and their crews and get the job done fast. A dozen realty firms were bidding for the property and I was afraid that someone else might turn up another planet that would be competitive."

  "That would have been most unlikely, wouldn't it?"

  "Yes, I suppose so. But you must understand that a man could hunt ten lifetimes and never come in smelling distance of a planet half as good. When something like that happens you fall victim to all sorts of fantasies. You wake up sweating at night at the imaginings that build up in your mind. You know you'll never hit again. You know this is your one and only chance to make it really big. You can't bear the thought that something might come along and snatch it all away."

  "I think I understand. You were in a hurry."

  "You're damned right I was," I said. "And the surveyors were in a hurry, too, so they could earn the bonus. I don't say they were sloppy, but they might have been. But let's be fair with them. The intelligent life forms lived in a rather restricted stretch of jungle and they weren't very bright. A million years ago Earth might have been surveyed and not a single human have turned up. These life forms were on about the same level, let us say, as Pithecanthropus. And Pithecanthropus would not have made a splash in any survey of the Earth at the time he lived. There weren't many of him and, for good reason, he would have stayed out of sight, and he wasn't building anything that you could notice."

  "Then it was just a big mistake."

  "Yeah," I said. "Just a big mistake."

  "Well, wasn't it?"

  "Oh, sure. But try to tell that to a million settlers who had moved in almost overnight and had laid out their farms and surveyed their little towns and been given time enough to really appreciate this new world of theirs. Try to tell it to a realty firm with those million settlers howling for their money back and filing damage claims. And there was, of course, th
e matter of the bonus."

  "You mean it was taken for a bribe."

  "Miss Foster," I said, "you have hit it exactly on the head."

  "But was it? Was it a bribe, I mean?"

  "I don't know," I told her. "I don't think so. I'm fairly sure that when I offered it and, later, paid it, I didn't think of it as a bribe. It was simply a bonus to do a good job fast. Although I suppose, unconsciously, that the company might have been disposed to do a little better for me than they would have done for someone else who didn't pay a bonus, that they might even be inclined to shut their eyes to a thing or two."

  "But you banked your money on Earth. In a numbered account. You'd been doing that for years. That doesn't sound too honest."

  "That's nothing," I said, "that a man can be hanged for. With a lot of operators out in space it's just standard operating procedure. It's the only planet that allows numbered accounts and Earth's banking setup is the safest one there is. A draft on Earth is honored anywhere, which is more than you can say for many of the other planets."

  She smiled at me across the fire. "I don't know," she said. "There are so many things I like about you, so many things I hate. What are you going to do with George when we're able to leave?"

  "If he continues the way he is," I said, "we may bury him. He can't go on living too long without food or water. And I'm not an expert on force feeding. Perhaps you are."

  She shook her head a little angrily. "What about the ship?" she asked, changing the subject.

  "Well, what about it?"

  "Maybe, instead of leaving the city, we should have gone back to the field."

  "To do what? To bang a little on the hull? Try to bust it open with a sledge? And who has got a sledge?"

  "We'll need it later on."

  "Maybe," I said. "Maybe not. We may know more then. Pick up an angle, maybe. Don't you think that if a ship, once covered by that goo, could be cracked open by main force and awkwardness someone else would have done it long ago?"

  "Maybe they have. Maybe someone cracked their ship and took off. How can you know they haven't?"

  "I can't, of course. But if this vibration business is true, the city is no place to hang around."

  "So we're going off without even trying to get into the ship?"

  "Miss Foster," I said, "we're finally on the trail of Lawrence Arlen Knight. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, of course. But the ship . . .

  "Make up your mind," I said. "Just what in hell do you want to do?"

  She looked at me levelly. "Find Knight," she said.

  SEVEN

  Just before dawn she shook me awake.

  "George is gone!" she shouted at me. "He was there just a minute ago. Then when I looked again, he wasn't there."

  I came to my feet. I was still half asleep, but there was an alarming urgency in her voice and I forced myself into something like alertness.

  The place was dark. She had let the fire burn low and the light from it extended out for only a little distance. George was gone. The place where he had been propped against the wall was empty. The shell of Roscoe still leaned grotesquely and a heap of supplies were piled to one side.

  "Maybe he woke up," I said, "and had to go . . ."

  "No," she screamed at me. "You forget. The man is blind. He'd called for Tuck to lead him. And he didn't call. He didn't move, either. I would have heard him. I was sitting right here, by the fire, looking toward the door. It had been only a moment before that I had looked at George and he was there and when I looked back he wasn't and . . ."

  "Now, just a second," I said. There was hysteria in her voice and I was afraid that if she went on, she'd become more and more unstuck. "Let's just hold up a minute. Where is Tuck?"

  "He's over there. Asleep." She pointed and I saw the huddle of the man at the firelight's edge. Beyond him were the humped shapes of the hobbies. They probably weren't sleeping, I told myself, rather stupidly; they undoubtedly never slept. They just stood there, watching.

  There was no sign of Hoot.

  What she had said was right. If Smith had awakened from his coma and had wanted something—a drink of water or to go to the can or something of that sort—he'd have done nothing by himself. He would have set up a squall for Tuck, his ever-watchful, ever-loving Tuck. And she would have heard him if he'd made any movement, for the place was silent with that booming quietness that fills an empty building when everyone had left. A dropped pin, the scratching of a match, the hiss and rustle of clothing rubbing against stone—any of these could have been heard with alarming clarity.

  "All right, then." I said. "He's gone. You didn't hear him. He didn't call for Tuck. We'll look for him. We'll keep our heads. We won't go charging off."

  I felt cold and all knotted up. I didn't give a damn for Smith. If he were gone, all right; if we never found him that would be all right, too. He was a goddamned nuisance. But I still was cold with a terrible kind of cold, a cold that began inside of me and worked out to the surface, and I found myself holding myself tight and rigid so I wouldn't shiver with the cold.

  "I'm frightened, Mike," she said.

  I stepped away from the fire and walked the few strides to where Tuck lay sleeping.

  Bending over him, I saw that he slept like no honest man. He was curled up in a fetal position, with his brown robe wrapped snugly about him and in the huddling place formed by his knees and chest, and with his arms clutching it, was that silly doll. Sleeping with the thing like a three-year-old might sleep with a Teddy Bear or a Raggedy Ann in the fenced-in security of the crib.

  I put out my hand to shake him, then hesitated. It seemed a shame to wake that huddled thing, safe in the depths of sleep, to the nightmare coldness of this emptied building on an alien planet that made no sort of sense.

  Behind me Sara asked, "What's the matter, captain?"

  "Not a thing," I said.

  I gripped Tuck's scrawny shoulder and shook him awake.

  He came up out of sleep drugged and slow. With one hand he rubbed at his eyes, with the other he clutched that hideous doll more closely to him.

  "Smith is gone," I said. "We'll have to hunt for him."

  He sat up slowly. He still was rubbing at his eyes. He didn't seem to understand what I had told him.

  "Don't you understand?" I asked. "Smith is gone."

  He shook his head. "I don't think that he is gone," he said. "I think he has been taken."

  "Taken!" I yelled. "Who the hell would take him? What would want him?"

  He looked at me, a condescending look for which I gladly could have strangled hint. "You don't understand," he said. "You have never understood. You'll never understand. You don't feel it, do you? With it all around us, you don't feel a thing. You're too crass and materialistic. Brute force and bombast are the only things that mean anything to you. Even here . . ."

  I grabbed his robe and twisted it to pull it tight around him and then rose to my feet, dragging him along with me. The doll fell from his grasp as he raised his hands to try to loosen my hold upon the robe. I kicked it to one side, clattering, out into the darkness.

  "Now," I yelled, "what is all of this? What is going on that I don't see or feel, that I don't understand?"

  I shook him so hard that his hands flopped away and hung down at his side; his head bobbed back and forth and his teeth chattered.

  Sara was at my side, tugging at my arm.

  "Leave him alone," she screamed at me.

  I let loose of him and he staggered a bit before he got his feet well under him.

  "What did he do?" Sara demanded. "What did he say to you?"

  "You heard," I said. "You must have heard. He said Smith had been taken. Taken by what is what I want to know. Taken where? And why?"

  "So would I," said Sara.

  And, so help me, for once she was on my side. And just a while before she had called me Mike instead of captain.

  He backed away from us, whimpering. Then suddenly he made a break, scuttli
ng out into the darkness.

  "Hey, there!" 1 shouted, starting after him.

  But before I could reach him, he stopped and stooped, scooping up that ridiculous doll of his.

  I turned about, disgusted, and went stalking back to the fire. I took a stick of wood off the stack of fuel and pushed the burning embers together, found three or four small sticks of wood and laid them upon the coals. Flames immediately began to lick up about them.

  Squatting by the fire, I watched Sara and Tuck walking back toward me. I waited for them to come up and stayed there, squatting, looking up at them.

  They stopped and stood there, looking at me. Finally Sara spoke.

  "Are we going to look for George?"

  "Where do we look?" I asked.

  "Why, here," she said, with a wave of her arm indicating the dark interior of the building.

  "You didn't hear him leave," I said. "You saw him, just as he had been all night, then a moment later when you looked back, he wasn't there. You didn't hear him move. If he had moved, you would have heard him. He couldn't just get up and tiptoe away. He didn't have the time to do it and he was blind and he couldn't have known where he was. If he had awakened, he would have been confused and called out."

  I said to Tuck, "What do you know about this? What was it you tried to tell me?"

  He shook his head, like a sulky child.

  "You must believe me," Sara said. "I didn't go to sleep. I didn't doze. After you woke me to get some sleep yourself, I kept faithful watch. It was exactly as I told you."

  "I believe you," I said. "I never doubted you. That leaves it up to Tuck. If he knows something, let us hear it now before we go rushing off."

  Neither Sara nor I said a word. We waited for him and finally he spoke. "You know about the voice. The voice of the person George thought of as a friend. And here he found his friend. Right here. In this very place."

  "And you think," I said, "he was taken by this friend of his?"

  Tuck nodded. "I don't know how," he said, "but I hope that I am right. George deserved it. He had something good coming after all the years. You never liked him. There were a lot of people who never liked him. He grated on them. But he had a beautiful soul. He was a gentle sort of person."