Nomad (1944)

by Wesley Long; George O. Smith

  The next panel showed a dimly-lighted landscape; a portrayal of Ertene without its synthetic sun. The luminous sky was beautiful in a nocturnal sort of way; to Guy it was slightly nostalgic for some unknown reason, at any rate it was the soul of sadness, that landscape.

  Charalas shook his head and then smiled. He led Guy to the next panel, and there was a portrait of an elderly man, quite a bit older than Charalas though the neurosurgeon was no young man. “Timalas,” said Charalas proudly. “He gave us the next panel.”

  The following panel was a similar scene to the dismal one, but now the same trees and buildings and hills and sky were illuminated by a sun. It was a cheerful, uplifting scene compared to the soul-clouding darkness.

  Ertene was a small sphere encircled by a band of peaceful black in a raving sky of fire and flame. Three planets fought in the death throes, using every conceivable weapon. Space was riven with blasting beams of energy and segregated into square areas by far-flung cutting planes. Raging energy consumed spots on each of the planets and the corners of the panel were tangled masses of broken machinery and burning wreckage, and the hapless images of trapped men. But Ertene passed through this holocaust unseen because of Timalas’ light-shield.

  “He saved us that, too,” said Charalas reverently. “We could not have hoped to survive in this. Our science was not up to theirs, though the aid of a derelict or two gave us most of their science of war. I doubt that Terra herself could have survived. We passed unseen, though we worried for a hundred years lest they find us.”

  A race of spiders overran four of the planets of the next panel. They were unintelligent, there was a questioning air to the panel, as though posing the query as to how this race of spiders had crossed the void. And the picture of an Ertinian dying because contact with one of the spiders indicated their reason for not remaining.

  The next panel showed a whole system with ammoniated atmosphere. “It was before the last panel,” said Charalas, “that Ertene became of age as far as the wanderlust went. We knew that we could survive. We wanted no system wherein Ertene would be alone. Of what use to civilization would a culture be if its people could never leave the home planet?”

  “No,” agreed Guy. “Once a race has conquered space, they must use it. It would restrict the knowledge of a race not to use space.”

  “So we decided never to accept a system wherein we could not travel freely to other planets. Who knows, but the pathway to the planets may be but the first, faltering step to the stars?”

  “We’d never have reached the planets if we’d never flown on the air,” agreed Guy.

  “We prefer company, too,” smiled Charalas, pointing out the next panels. One was of a normal system but in which the life was not quite ready for the fundamentals of science and therefore likely to become slave-subject to the Ertinian mastery. The next was a system in which the intelligent life had overrun the system and had evolved to a high degree—and Ertene might have been subject to them if they had remained. “Unfortunately we could learn nothing from them,” said the Ertinian. “It was similar to an ignorant savage trying to learn something from us.” Then they came to a panel in which there were ten planets. It was a strange collection of opposites all side by side. There were several races, some fighting others, some friendly with others. Plenty and poverty sat hand in hand, and in one place a minority controlled the lives of the majority while professing to be ruled by majority-rule. Men strived to perfect medicine and increase life-expectancy and other men fought and killed by the hundreds of thousands. A cold and forbidding planet was rich in essential ore, and populated by a semi-intelligent race of cold-blooded creatures. The protectors of these poor creatures were the denizens of a high civilization, who used them to fight their petty fights for them, under the name of unity. For their trouble, they took the essential ores to their home planet and exchanged items of dubious worth. The trespass of a human by the natives of a slightly populated moon caused the decimation of the natives, while the humans used them by the hundreds in vivisection since their anatomy was quite similar to the human’s.

  “Where is Ertene?” asked Guy.

  “Ertene is not yet placed,” said Charalas.

  “No?” asked Guy in wonder.

  “No,” said Charalas with a queer smile. “Ertene is still not sure of her position. You see. Guy, that system is Sol.”

  Guy Maynard stood silent, thinking. It was a blow to him, this picturization of the worlds of Sol as seen through the eyes of a totally alien race. His own feelings he analyzed briefly, and he knew that in his own heart, he was willing to shade any decisions concerning the civilization of Ertene in the Ertinian favor; had any dispute between Ertene and a mythical dissenter. Guy would have had his decision weighted in favor of the wanderer for one reason alone.

  Ertinians were human to the last classification!

  Guy smiled inwardly. “Blood is thicker than water,” he thought to himself, and he knew that while the old platitude was meant to cover blood-relations who clung together in spite of close bonds with friends not of blood relationship, it could very well be expanded to cover this situation. Obviously he as a Terran would tend to support a human race against a merely humanoid race. He would fight the Martians for Ertene just as he would fight them for Terra.

  Fighting Ertene itself was unthinkable. They were too human; Ertene was too Terran to think of strife between the two worlds. Being of like anatomy, they would and should cling together against the whole universe of alien bodies.

  But—

  He had spoken to Charalas, to the nurses, to the groundkeepers, and to the scientists who came to learn of him and from him. He had told them of Terra and of the Solar System. He had explained the other worlds in detail and his own interpretation of those other cultures.

  And still they depicted Terra in no central light. Terra did not dominate the panel. It vied with the other nine planets and their satellites for the prominence it should have held.

  What was wrong?

  Knowing that he would have favored Ertene for the anatomical reasons alone, Guy worried. Had his word-picture been so poor that Ertene gave the other planets their place in the panel in spite of the natural longing to place their own kind above the rest?

  “I should think—” he started haltingly, but Charalas stopped him.

  “Guy Maynard, you must understand that Ertene is neutral. Perhaps the first neutral you’ve ever seen. Believe that, Guy, and be warned that Ertene is capable of making her own, very discerning decision.”

  Guy did not answer. He knew something else, now. Ertene was not going to be easily convinced that Sol was the place for them.- She was neutral, yes, but there was something else.

  Ertene had the wanderlust!

  For eons, Ertene had passed in her unseen way through the galaxy. She had seen system after system, and the lust for travel was upon her. Travel was her life, and had been for hundreds of generations.

  Her children had been born and bred in a closed system, free from stellar bonds. Their history was a vast storehouse of experience such as no other planet had ever had. Every generation brought them to another star and each succeeding generation added to the wisdom of Ertene as it extracted or tried to extract some bit of knowledge from each system through which Ertene passed.

  With travel her natural life, the wandering planet would be loath to cease her transient existence.

  Like a man who has spent too many years in bachelorhood, flitting like a butterfly from lip to lip, Ertene had become inured to a single life. It would take a definite attraction to swerve her from her self-sufficiency.

  These things came to Maynard as he stood in thought. He knew then that his was no easy job. Not the simple proposition of asking Ertene to join her own kind in an orbit about Sol. Not the mere signing of a pact would serve. Not the Terran-shaded history of the worlds of Sol with the Terran egotism that did not admit that Terra could possibly be wrong.

  Ertene must be made to see the attractiveness
of living in Maynard’s little universe. It must be made more attractive than the interesting possibilities offered by the unknown worlds that lie ahead on her course through the galaxy.

  All this plus the natural reticence of Ertene to become involved in a system that ran rife with war. The attractiveness of Sol must be so great that Ertene would remain in spite of war and alien hatred.

  And Maynard knew in his heart that he was not the one to sway them easily. Part of his mind felt akin to their desire to roam. Even knowing that he would not live on Ertene to see the next star he wanted to go with them in order that his children might see it.

  And yet his honor was directed at the service of Terra. His sacred oath had been given to support and strive to the best interest of Terra and Sol.

  He put away the desire to roam with Ertene and thought once more of the studying he must do to convince Ertene of the absolute foolishness of continuing in their search for a more suitable star than Sol about which to establish a residence.

  Maynard turned to Charalas and saw that the elderly doctor had been watching him intently. Before he could speak, the Ertinian said: “It is a hard nut to crack, lad. Many have tried but none have succeeded. Like most things that are best for people, they are the least exciting and the most formal, and people do not react cheerfully to a formal diet.”

  Maynard shook his head. “But unlike a man with ulcers, I cannot prescribe a diet of milk lest he die. Ertene will go on living no matter whether I speak and sway them or whether I never say another word. I am asked to convince an entire world against their will. I can not tell them that it is the slightest, bit dangerous to go on as they have. In fact, it may be dangerous for them to remain. In all honesty, I must admit that Terra is not without her battle scars.”

  Charalas said, thoughtfully: “Who knows what is best for civilization? We do not, for we are civilization. We do as we think best, and if it is not best, we die and another civilization replaces us in Nature’s long-time program to find the real survivor.”

  He faced the panel and said, partly to himself and partly to Guy:

  “Is it best for Ertene to go on through time experimenting? Gathering the fruits of a million civilizations bound forever to their stellar homes because of the awful abyss between the stars? For the planets all to become wanderers would be chaos.

  “Therefore is it Nature’s plan that Ertene be the one planet to gather unto herself the fruit of all knowledge and ultimately lie barren because of the sterility of her culture? Are we to be the sponge for all thought? If so, where must it end? What good is it? Is this some great master plan? Will we, after a million galactic years, reach a state where we may disseminate the knowledge we have gained, or are we merely greedy, taking all and giving nothing?

  “What are we learning? And, above all, are we certain that Ertene’s culture is best for civilization? How may we tell? The Strong and best adapted survive, and since we are no longer striving against the lesser forces of Nature on our planet, and indeed, are no longer striving against those of antisocial thought among our own people—against whom or what do we fight?

  “Guy Maynard, you are young and intelligent. Perhaps by some whimsy of fate you may be the deciding factor in Ertene’s aimlessness. We are here, Guy. We are at the gates to the future. My real reason for bringing you to the Center of Ertene is to have you present your case to the Council.”

  He took Guy’s arm and led him through the door at the end of the corridor. They went into the gilt-and-ivory room with the vast hemispherical dome and as the door slowly closed behind them, Guy Maynard, Terran, and Charalas, Ertiniau, stood facing a quarter-circle of ornate desks behind which sat the Council.

  Obviously, they had been waiting.

  IV.

  Guy Maynard looked reproachfully at Charalas. He felt that he had been tricked, that Charalas had kicked the bottom out of his argument and then had forced him into the debate with but an impromptu defense. He wondered how this discussion was to be conducted, and while he was striving to collect a lucid story, part of his mind heard Charalas going through the usual procedure for recording purposes. “Who is this man?”

  “He is Junior Executive Guy Maynard of the Terran Space Patrol.”

  “Explain his title.”

  “It is a rank of official sendee. It denotes certain abilities and responsibilities.”

  “Can you explain the position of his rank with respect to other ratings of more or less responsibility?” Charalas counted off on his fingers. “From the lowest rank upward, the following titles are used: Junior Aide, Senior Aide, Junior Executive, Senior Executive, Sector Commander, Patrol Marshal, Sector Marshal, and Space Marshal.” “These are the commissioned officers? Are there other ratings?” “Yes, shall I name them?” “Prepare them for the record. There is no need of recounting the noncommissioned officials.”

  “I understand.”

  “How did Guy Maynard come to Ertene?”

  “Maynard was rescued from a derelict spaceship.”

  “By whom?”

  “Thomakein.”

  “Am I to assume that Thomakein brought him to Ertene for study?” “That assumption is correct.” “The knowledge of the system of Sol is complete?”

  “Between the information furnished by Guy Maynard and the observations made by Thomakein, the knowledge of Sol’s planets is sufficient. More may be learned before Ertene loses contact, but for the time, it is adequate.”

  “And Guy Maynard is present for the purpose of explaining the Terran wishes in the question of whether Ertene is to remain here?” “Correct.”

  The councilor who sat in the center of the group smiled at Guy and said: “Guy Maynard, this is an informal meeting. You are to rest assured we will not attempt to goad you into saying something you do not mean. If you are unprepared to answer a given question, ask for time to think. We will understand. However, we ask that you do not try to shade your answers in such a manner as to convey erring impressions. This is not a court of law; procedure is not important. Speak when and as you desire and understand that you will not be called to account for slight breaches of etiquette, since we all know that formality is a deterrent to the real point in argument.”

  Charalas added: “Absolute formality in argument usually ends in the decision going to the best orator. This is not desirable, since some of the more learned men are poor orators, while some of the best orators must rely upon the information furnished them by the learned.”

  The center councilor arose and called the other six councilors by name in introduction. This was slightly redundant since their names were all present in little bronze signs on the desks. It was a pleasantry aimed at putting the Terran at ease and offering him the right to call them by name.

  “Now,” said Terokar, the center one, “we shall begin. Everything we have said has been recorded for the records. But, Guy, we will remove anything from the record that would be detrimental to the integrity of any of us. We will play it back before you leave and you may censor it.”

  “Thank you,” said Guy. “Knowing that records are to be kept as spoken will often deter honest expression.”

  “Quite true. That is why we permit censoring. Now, Guy, your wishes concerning Ertene’s alliance with Sol.”

  “I invite Ertene to join the Solar System.”

  “Your invitation is appreciated. Please understand that the acceptance of such an invitation will change Ertene’s social structure forever, and that it is not to be taken lightly.”

  “I realize that the invitation is not one to accept lightly. It is a large decision.”

  “Then what has Sol to offer?” “A stable existence. The commerce of an entire system and the friendship of another world of similar type in almost every respect. The opportunity to partake in a veritable twinship between Ertene and Sol, with all the ramifications that such a brotherhood would offer.”

  “Ertene’s existence is stable, Guy. Let us consider that point first.” “How can any wandering prog
ram be considered stable?”

  “We are born, we live, and we die. Whether we are fated to spend our lives on a nomad planet or ultimately become the very center of the universe about which everything revolves, making Ertene the most stable planet of them all, Ertinians will continue living. When nomadism includes the entire resources of a planet, it can not be instable.” “Granted. But do you hope to go on forever?”

  “How old is your history, Guy?” “From the earliest of established dates, taken from the stones of Assyria and the artifacts of Maya, some seven thousand years.” Charalas added a lengthy discussion setting the length of a Terran year.

  “Ertinian history is perhaps a bit longer.” said Terokar. “And so who can say ‘forever’?”

  “No comment,” said Guy with a slight laugh. “But my statements concerning stability are not to be construed as the same type of instability suffered by an itinerant human. He has no roots, and few friends, and he gains nothing nor does he offer anything to-society. No, I am wrong. It is the same thing. Ertene goes on through the eons of wandering. She has no friends and no roots and while she may gain experience and knowledge of the universe just as the tramp will, her ultimate gain is poor and her offering to civilization is zero.” “I dispute that. Ertene’s life has become better for the experience she has gained and the knowledge, too.” “Perhaps. But her offering to civilization?”

  “We are not a dead world. Perhaps some day we may be able to offer the storehouses of our knowledge to some system that will need it. Perhaps we are destined to become the nucleus of a great, galactic civilization.”

  “Such a civilization will never work as long as men are restrained as to speed of transportation. Could any pact be sustained between planets a hundred light-years apart? Indeed, could any pact be agreed upon?”