NINE TOMORROWS Tales of the Near Future Page 14

  Devi-en felt the soft noise his tail made as it thumped slowly against the chair. He tried to stop it and failed. “What decision, your Height?”

  “To trap a large-primate from the planet’s surface. To kidnap one.”

  “A wild one?”

  “It’s the only kind that exists at the moment on the planet. Of course, a wild one.”

  “And what do you expect him to tell us?”

  “That doesn’t matter, Captain. As long as he says enough about anything, mentalic analysis will give us the answer.”

  Devi-en withdrew his head as far as he could into the space between his shoulder blades. The skin just under his armpits quivered with repulsion. A wild large-primate being! He tried to picture one, untouched by the stunning aftermath of nuclear war, unaltered by the civilizing influence of Human eugenic breeding.

  The Arch-administrator made no attempt to hide the fact that he shared the repulsion, but he said, “You will have to lead the trapping expedition, Captain. It is for the good of the Galaxy.”

  Devi-en had seen the planet a number of times before but each time a ship swung about the Moon and placed the world in his line of sight a wave of unbearable homesickness swept him.

  It was a beautiful planet, so like Hurria itself in dimensions and characteristics but wilder and grander. The sight of it, after the desolation of the Moon, was like a blow.

  How many other planets like it were on Hurrian master listings at this moment, he wondered. How many other planets were there concerning which meticulous observers had reported seasonal changes in appearance that could be interpreted only as being caused by artificial cultivation of food plants? How many times in the future would a day come when the radioactivity in the stratosphere of one of these planets would begin to climb; when colonizing squadrons would have to be sent out at once?

  —As they were to this planet.

  It was almost pathetic, the confidence with which the Hurrians had proceeded at first. Devi-en could have laughed as he read through those initial reports, if he weren’t trapped in this project himself now. The Hurrian scoutships had moved close to the planet to gather geographical information, to locate population centers. They were sighted, of course, but what did it matter? Any time, now, they thought, the final explosion.

  Any time—But useless years passed and the scoutships wondered if they ought not to be cautious. They moved back.

  Devi-en’s ship was cautious now. The crew was on edge because of the unpleasantness of the mission; not all Devi-en’s assurances that there was no harm intended to the large-primate could quite calm them. Even so, they could not hurry matters. It had to be over a fairly deserted and uncultivated tract of uneven ground that they hovered. They stayed at a height of ten miles for days, while the crew became edgier and only the ever-stolid Mauvs maintained calm.

  Then the scope showed them a creature, alone on the uneven ground, a long staff in one hand, a pack across the upper portion of his back.

  They lowered silently, supersonically. Devi-en himself, skin crawling, was at the controls.

  The creature was heard to say two definite things before he was taken, and they were the first comments recorded for use in mentalic computing.

  The first, when the large-primate caught sight of the ship almost upon him, was picked up by the direction telemike. It was, “My God! A flying saucer!”

  Devi-en understood the second phrase. That was a term for the Hurrian ships that had grown common among the large-primates those first careless years.

  The second remark was made when the wild creature was brought into the ship, struggling with amazing strength, but helpless in the iron grip of the unperturbed Mauvs.

  Devi-en, panting, with his fleshy nose quivering slightly, advanced to receive him, and the creature (whose unpleasantly hairless face had become oily with some sort of fluid secretion) yelled, “Holy Toledo, a monkey!”

  Again, Devi-en understood the second part. It was the word for little-primate in one of the chief languages of the planet.

  The wild creature was almost impossible to handle. He required infinite patience before he could be spoken to reasonably. At first, there was nothing but a series of crises. The creature realized almost at once that he was being taken off Earth, and what Devi-en thought might prove an exciting experience for him, proved nothing of the sort. He talked instead of his offspring and of a large-primate female.

  (They have wives and children, thought Devi-en, compassionately, and, in their way, love them, for all they are large-primate.)

  Then he had to be made to understand that the Mauvs who kept him under guard and who restrained him when his violence made that necessary would not hurt him, that he was not to be damaged in any way.

  (Devi-en was sickened at the thought that one intelligent being might be damaged by another. It was very difficult to discuss the subject, even if only to admit the possibility long enough to deny it. The creature from the planet treated the very hesitation with great suspicion. It was the way the large-primates were.)

  On the fifth day, when out of sheer exhaustion, perhaps, the creature remained quiet over a fairly extended period, they talked in Devi-en’s private quarters, and suddenly he grew angry again when the Human first explained, matter-of-factly, that they were waiting for a nuclear war,

  “Waiting!” cried the creature. “What makes you so sure there will be one?”

  Devi-en wasn’t sure, of course, but he said, “There is always a nuclear war. It is our purpose to help you afterward.”

  “Help us afterward.” His words grew incoherent. He waved his arms violently, and the Mauvs who flanked him had to restrain him gently once again and lead him away.

  Devi-en sighed. The creature’s remarks were building in quantity and perhaps mentalics could do something with them. His own unaided mind could make nothing of them.

  And meanwhile the creature was not thriving. His body was almost completely hairless, a fact that long-distance observation had not revealed owing to the artificial skins worn by them. This was either for warmth or because of an instinctive repulsion even on the part of these particular large-primates themselves for hairless skin. (It might be an interesting subject to take up. Mentalics computation could make as much out of one set of remarks as another.)

  Strangely enough, the creature’s face had begun to sprout hair; more, in fact, than the Hurrian face had, and of a darker color.

  But still, the central fact was that he was not thriving. He had grown thinner because he was eating poorly, and if he was kept too long, his health might suffer. Devi-en had no wish to feel responsible for that.

  On the next day, the large-primate seemed quite calm. He talked almost eagerly, bringing the subject around to nuclear warfare almost at once. (It had a terrible attraction for the large-primate mind, Devi-en thought.)

  The creature said, “You said nuclear wars always happen? Does that mean there are other people than yours and mine—and theirs?” He indicated the near-by Mauvs.

  “There are thousands of intelligent species, living on thousands of worlds. Many thousands,” said Devi-en.

  “And they all have nuclear wars?”

  “All who have reached a certain stage of technology. All but us. We were different. We lacked competitiveness. We had the co-operative instinct.”

  “You mean you know that nuclear wars will happen and you do nothing about it?”

  “We do” said Devi-en, pained. “Of course, we do. We try to help. In the early history of my people, when we first developed space-travel, we did not understand large-primates. They repelled our attempts at friendship and we stopped trying. Then we found worlds in radioactive ruins. Finally, we found one world actually in the process of a nuclear war. We were horrified, but could do nothing. Slowly, we learned. We are ready, now, at every world we discover to be at the nuclear stage. We are ready with decontamination equipment and eugenic analyzers.”

  “What are eugenic analyzers?”

  Devi-
en had manufactured the phrase by analogy with what he knew of the wild one’s language. Now he said carefully, “We direct matings and sterilizations to remove, as far as possible, the competitive element in the remnant of the survivors.”

  For a moment, he thought the creature would grow violent again.

  Instead, the other said in a monotone, “You make them docile, you mean, like these things?” Once again he indicated the Mauvs.

  “No. No. These are different. We simply make it possible for the remnants to be content with a peaceful, nonexpanding, nonaggressive society under our guidance. Without this, they destroyed themselves, you see, and without it, they would destroy themselves again.”

  “What do you get out of it?”

  Devi-en stared at the creature dubiously. Was it really necessary to explain the basic pleasure of life? He said, “Don’t you enjoy helping someone?”

  “Come on. Besides that. What’s in it for you?”

  “Of course, there are contributions to Hurria.”

  “Ha.”

  “Payment for saving a species is only fair,” protested Devi-en, “and there are expenses to be covered. The contribution is not much and is adjusted to the nature of the world. It may be an annual supply of wood from a forested world; manganese salts from another. The world of these Mauvs is poor in physical resources and they themselves offered to supply us with a number of individuals to use as personal assistants. They are extremely powerful even for large-primates and we treat them painlessly with anticerebral drugs—”

  “To make zombies out of them!”

  Devi-en guessed at the meaning of the noun and said indignantly, “Not at all. Merely to make them content with their role as personal servant and forgetful of their homes. We would not want them to be unhappy. They are intelligent beings!”

  “And what would you do with Earth if we had a war?”

  “We have had fifteen years to decide that,” said Devi-en. “Your world is very rich in iron and has developed a fine steel technology. Steel, I think, would be your contribution.” He sighed, “But the contribution would not make up for our expense in this case, I think. We have overwaited now by ten years at least.”

  The large-primate said, “How many races do you tax in this way?”

  “I do not know the exact number. Certainly more than a thousand.”

  “Then you’re the little landlords of the Galaxy, are you? A thousand worlds destroy themselves in order to contribute to your welfare. You’re something else, too, you know.” The wild one’s voice was rising, growing shrill. “You’re vultures.”

  “Vultures?” said Devi-en, trying to place the word.

  “Carrion-eaters. Birds that wait for some poor creature to die of thirst in the desert and then come down to eat the body.”

  Devi-en felt himself turn faint and sick at the picture conjured up for him. He said weakly, “No, no, we help the species.”

  “You wait for the war to happen like vultures. If you want to help, prevent the war. Don’t save the remnants. Save them all.”

  Devi-en’s tail twitched with sudden excitement. “How do we prevent a war? Will you tell me that?” (What was prevention of war but the reverse of bringing about a war? Learn one process and surely the other would be obvious.)

  But the wild one faltered. He said finally, “Get down there. Explain the situation.”

  Devi-en felt keen disappointment. That didn’t help. Besides— He said, “Land among you? Quite impossible.”

  His skin quivered in half a dozen places at the thought of mingling with the wild ones in their untamed billions.

  Perhaps the sick look on Devi-en’s face was so pronounced and unmistakable that the wild one could recognize it for what it was even across the barrier of species. He tried to fling himself at the Hurrian and had to be caught virtually in mid-air by one of the Mauvs, who held him immobile with an effortless constriction of biceps.

  The wild one screamed. “No. Just sit here and wait! Vulture! Vulture! Vulture!”

  It was days before Devi-en could bring himself to see the wild one again. He was almost brought to disrespect of the Arch-administrator when the latter insisted that he lacked sufficient data for a complete analysis of the mental make-up of these wild ones.

  Devi-en said boldly, “Surely, there is enough to give some solution to our question.”

  The Arch-administrator’s nose quivered and his pink tongue passed over it meditatively. “A solution of a kind, perhaps. I can’t trust this solution. We are facing a very unusual species. We know that already. We can’t afford to make mistakes.—One thing, at least. We have happened upon a highly intelligent one. Unless—unless he is at his race’s norm.” The Arch-administrator seemed upset at that thought.

  Devi-en said, “The creature brought up the horrible picture of that—that bird—that—”

  “Vulture,” said the Arch-administrator.

  “It put our entire mission into such a distorted light. I have not been able to eat properly since, or sleep. In fact, I am afraid I will have to ask to be relieved—”

  “Not before we have completed what we have set out to do,” said the Arch-administrator firmly. “Do you think I enjoy the picture of—of carrion-eat—You must collect more data.”

  Devi-en nodded finally. He understood, of course. The Arch-administrator was no more anxious to cause a nuclear war than any Hurrian would be. He was putting off the moment of decision as long as possible.

  Devi-en settled himself for one more interview with the wild one. It turned out to be a completely unbearable one, and the last.

  The wild one had a bruise across his cheek as though he had been resisting the Mauvs again. In fact, it was certain he had. He had done so numerous times before, and the Mauvs, despite their most earnest attempts to do no harm, could not help but bruise him on occasion. One would expect the wild one to see how intensely they tried not to hurt him and to quiet his behavior as a result. Instead, it was as though the conviction of safety spurred him on to additional resistance.

  (These large-primate species were vicious, vicious, thought Devi-en sadly.)

  For over an hour, the interview hovered over useless small talk and then the wild one said with sudden belligerence, “How long did you say you things have been here?”

  “Fifteen of your years,” said Devi-en.

  “That figures. The first flying saucers were sighted just after World War II. How much longer before the nuclear war?”

  With automatic truth, Devi-en said, “We wish we knew,” and stopped suddenly.

  The wild one said, “I thought nuclear war was inevitable. Last time you said you overstayed ten years. You expected the war ten years ago, didn’t you?”

  Devi-en said, “I can’t discuss this subject.”

  “No?” The wild one was screaming. “What are you going to do about it? How long will you wait? Why not nudge it a little? Don’t just wait, vulture. Start one.”

  Devi-en jumped to his feet. “What are you saying?”

  “Why else are you waiting, you dirty—” He choked on a completely incomprehensible expletive, then continued, breathlessly, “Isn’t that what vultures do when some poor miserable animal, or man, maybe, is taking too long to die? They can’t wait. They come swirling down and peck out his eyes. They wait till he’s helpless and just hurry him along the last step.”

  Devi-en ordered him away quickly and retired to his sleeping room, where he was sick for hours. Nor did he sleep then or that night. The word “vulture” screamed in his ears and that final picture danced before his eyes.

  Devi-en said firmly, “Your Height, I can speak with the wild one no more. If you need still more data, I cannot help you.”

  The Arch-administrator looked haggard. “I know. This vulture business—Very difficult to take. Yet you notice the thought didn’t affect him. Large-primates are immune to such things, hardened, calloused. It is part of their way of thinking. Horrible.”

  “I can get you no more data.�
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  “It’s all right. I understand.—Besides, each additional item only strengthens the preliminary answer; the answer I thought was only provisional; that I hoped earnestly was only provisional.” He buried his head in his grizzled arms. “We have a way to start their nuclear war for them.”

  “Oh? What need be done?”

  “It is something very direct, very simple. It is something I could never have thought of. Nor you.”

  “What is it, your Height?” He felt an anticipatory dread.

  “What keeps them at peace now is that neither of two nearly equal sides dares take the responsibility of starting a war. If one side did, however, the other—well, let’s be blunt about it—would retaliate in full.”

  Devi-en nodded.

  The Arch-administrator went on. “If a single nuclear bomb fell on the territory of either of the two sides, the victims would at once assume the other side had launched it. They would feel they could not wait for further attacks. Retaliation in full would follow within hours; the other side would retaliate in its turn. Within weeks it would be over.”

  “But how do we make one of them drop that first bomb?”

  “We don’t, Captain. That is the point. We drop the first bomb ourselves.”

  “What?” Devi-en swayed.

  “That is it. Compute a large-primate’s mind and that answer thrusts itself at you.”

  “But how can we?”

  “We assemble a bomb. That is easy enough. We send it down by ship and drop it over some inhabited locality—”

  “Inhabited?”

  The Arch-administrator looked away and said uneasily, “The effect is lost otherwise.”

  “I see,” said Devi-en. He was picturing vultures; he couldn’t help it. He visualized them as large, scaled bird (like the small harmless flying creatures on Hurria, but immensely large), with rubber-skinned wings and long razor-bills, circling down, pecking at dying eyes.

  His hands covered his eyes. He said shakily, “Who will pilot the ship? Who will launch the bomb?”