The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works 1911-1987

by C. L. Moore

  Paw said, "Have a drink, Saunk."

  "Now, Paw, do shet up," I told him. "Have some respect fer your elders. I mean Grandpaw. Besides, how can I have a drink? You're 'way off in some other cell."

  "I got me a pipeline," Paw said. "I can give you a what-you-call-it, a transfusion. Teleportation, that's what it is. I just short-circuit space between your blood stream and mine and I can pump alcohol from my veins into your'n. Look, this is how I do it." He showed me how, in a sort of picture inside my haid. It looked easy enough. For a Hogben, I mean.

  I got mad. "Paw," I said, "don't make your loving son disrespect you more than natcheral, you runty old wood-shoat, you. I know you ain't got no book-larnin'. You're just picking them four-bit words out of somebody's skull."

  "Have a drink," Paw said, and then yelled. I heard Grandpaw chuckle.

  "Stealing the wisdom from men's minds, eh?" he said. "I, too, can do that. I have just rapidly cultured a migraine virus in my blood stream and teleported it to your brain—you gorbellied knave! A plague upon the varlet! Hearken to me, Saunk. Thy rascally sire will not trouble us bewhiles."

  "Yes, Grandpaw," I said. "Are you fit?"

  "Aye."

  "And the baby?"

  "Aye. But you must act. 'Tis your task, Saunk. The trouble lies in that—what is the word? That uranium pile."

  "So that's what it is," I said.

  "Who would have thought anyone in the world could recognize it? My own grandsire told me how to make it; they existed in his time. Indeed, 'twas through such things that we Hogbens became mutants. Faith, I must pick a brain myself to make this clear. There are men in the town where you are, Saunk, who know the words I need—let me see."

  He sort of shuffled through a few brains. Then he went on.

  "When my grandsire lived, men had begun to split the atom. There were—um—secondary radiations. They affected the genes and chromosomes of some men and women—a dominant mutation, with us Hogbens. So we are mutants."

  "That's what Roger Bacon said, wasn't it?" I asked.

  "Aye. But he was friendly and kept silence. Had men known our powers in those days, we'd have been burned. Even today, it would not be safe for us to reveal ourselves. Eventually—you know what we plan eventually, Saunk."

  "Yes, Grandpaw," I said, for I did know.

  "Well, here's the rub. It seems that men have split the atom again. Thus they were able to recognize this uranium pile. We must destroy it; we do not want men's eyes upon us. Yet we need power. Not much, but some. The uranium pile was the easiest way to get it, but we cannot use it now. Saunk, here is what you must do—so that enough energy will be supplied for the baby and for me."

  He told me what to do.

  Then I went and done it.

  When I sort of shift my eyes, I can see real purty things. Like them bars on the window, I mean. They get busted up into teeny-weeny little bits, all rushing around like they was crazy. I hear tell them is atoms. My, they look cheerful—all bustling like they was hurrying to git to meeting on a Sunday. 'Course it's easy to juggle 'em like blocks. You look real hard and make something come out of your eyes, and more teeny little fellers come busting out of your eyes and they all get together and it's mighty amusing. I made a mistake the first time and changed them iron bars into gold. Missed an atom, I expect. But after that I got it right and turned the bars into nothing much. I clomb out and turned 'em back into iron. First I'd made sure Mr. Armbruster was asleep. That was easy.

  We was seven stories up above the street, in a big building that was part the city hall and part jail. It was nighttime, so nobody noticed me. I flew away. Once an owl came past, figgering I couldn't see in the dark, and I spit on him. Hit him, too.

  I fixed that there uranium pile. There was guards around it with lights, but I hung up in the sky where they couldn't see me and got busy. First I hotted the thing up so the stuff Mr. Armbruster had called graphite turned into nothing and blew away. Then it was safe to handle the rest of the junk—Two-thirty-five, is it?—so I did, and I turned that into lead. The real crumbly kind. I made it so fearful crumbly it started to blow away. Soon there wasn't nothing left.

  Then I flew away up the crick. There was only a dollop of water in it, and Grandpaw said he needed more than that. I got way up in the mountains, but didn't have no luck. Grandpaw started to talk to me. He said the baby was crying. I guess I shouldn't have tore up the uranium pile till I'd made plumb certain of getting more power.

  Only thing to do was to make it rain.

  There are several ways to do that, but I friz a cloud, sort of. Had to land and build a gadget fast and then fly way up where there was clouds; it took time, but pretty soon there was a thunderstorm coming up, and then it rained. But the water didn't go down the crick. I searched for a while, till I found a place where the whole crick bottom had fell out. Seems like there was caves underneath. I did some rapid plugging. No wonder there hadn't been no water to speak of in the crick for so long. I fixed that.

  Grandpaw wanted a steady supply, though, and I smelled around till I located some big springs. I opened them up. By that time it was raining oncommon rapid. I went back to see Grandpaw.

  Them men who was on guard had gone home, I guess. Grandpaw said the baby had plumb upset them when he started crying. They all stuck their fingers in their ears and screamed and run off. I looked over the water wheel, like Grandpaw told me, and done a few repairs. There warn't much needed. They built purty good a hundred years ago—and the wood had got seasoned, too. I admired that wheel, turning and turning as the water piled up in the crick—crick, nothing! It was a river now.

  But Grandpaw said I oughta of seen the Appian Way when it was being set up.

  I fixed him and the baby up nice and comfortable, and then I flew back to Piperville. It was coming on dawn, and I didn't want nobody to see me flying. This time I spit on a pigeon.

  There was a rumpus going on in the city hall. Seems like Maw and Paw and Lemuel had plumb vanished. There was people running around remarkable upset, and there was great confusion. I knowed what had happened, though. Maw spoke to me, in my haid, and told me to come up to the cell at the end of the block, which was spacious. They was all there. Invisible, though.

  I fergot to say I'd made myself invisible too, after I'd snuck in, seen Mr. Armbruster was still asleep, and noticed the excitement.

  "Grandpaw told me what was happening," Maw said. "I figgered we'd better stay out'n the way for a while. Raining hard, ain't it?"

  "Shore is," I said. "What's everybody so excited about?"

  "They cain't figger out what become of us," Maw told me. "Soon as the ruckus quiets down, we'll all go home. You fixed it, I guess."

  "I done what Grandpaw said," I explained, and then there was sudden yells from down the corridor. A little old fat coon came trundling in, carrying a bundle of sticks. He come right along till he got to the bars in front of where we was. Then he sot himself down and begun arranging the sticks to make a fire. He had that dazed look in his eyes, so I knew Lemuel must of hypnotized him.

  People came crowding around outside. They couldn't see us, natcherally, but they were watching that there little old coon. I watched too, on account of I never was able to figger out how Lemuel could get the critter skun. I seen them build fires before—Lemuel could make 'em do that—but I just never happened to be around when one of his coons stripped down and skun hisself. That I wanted to see.

  Just before the coon got started, though, a policeman put him in a bag and took him away, so I never did know. It was light by then. I kept hearing bellers from somewheres, and once I heard a voice I knew sing out.

  "Maw," I said, "that sounds like Mr. Armbruster. I better go see what they're doing to the pore little guy."

  "Time we was going home," she said. "We got to dig up Grandpaw and the baby. You say the water wheel's turning?"

  "Yes, Maw," I said. "There's plenty electric power now."

  She reached around till she found Paw and whammed him.
"Wake up," she said.

  "Have a drink," Paw said.

  But she roused him and said we was going home. Ain't nobody can wake up Lemuel, though. Finally Maw and Paw took Lemuel between them and flew out through the window, after I fixed the bars so they could get through. They stayed invisible, on account of there was a crowd down below. It was raining, but Maw said they warn't made of sugar nor salt, and I'd better come along or I'd get my britches tanned.

  "Yes, Maw," I said, but I wasn't going to. I stayed behind. I was going to find out what they were doing to Mr. Armbruster.

  They had him in that big room with the lights on. Mr. Gandy was standing by the window, looking real mean, and they had Mr. Armbruster's sleeve rolled up and was going to stick a sort of glass needle into his hide. Well! Right away I made myself get visible again.

  "You better not do that," I said.

  "It's the Hogben kid!" somebody yelled. "Grab him!"

  They grabbed me. I let 'em. Pretty soon I was sitting in a chair with my sleeve rolled up, and Mr. Gandy was grinning at me like a wolf.

  "Use the truth serum on him," he said. "No need to ask that tramp questions now."

  Kind of dazed, Mr. Armbruster kept saying, "I don't know what happened to Saunk! I wouldn't tell you if I knew—"

  They whammed him.

  Mr. Gandy stuck his face right into mine.

  "We'll get the truth about that uranium pile now," he told me. "One shot of this and you'll answer our questions. Understand?"

  So they stuck the needle in my arm and squirted the stuff into me. It tickled.

  Then they asked me questions. I said I didn't know nothing. Mr. Gandy said to give me another shot. They done it.

  It tickled worse than ever.

  Right then somebody ran into the room and started yelling.

  "The dam's busted!" he bellered. "The Gandy Dam! It's flooded out half the farms in the south valley!"

  Mr. Gandy rared back and squalled. "You're crazy!" he told everybody. "It's impossible! There's been no water in Big Bear River for a hundred years!"

  Then they all got together and started whispering. Something about samples. And a big mob downstairs.

  "You've got to calm 'em down," somebody told Mr. Gandy. "They're boiling mad. All the crops ruined—"

  "I'll calm 'em down," Mr. Gandy said. "There's no proof. And only a week before election!"

  He rushed out of the room and everybody ran out after him. I got up out of my chair and scratched. That stuff they pumped into me itched fearful inside my skin. I was kind of mad at Mr. Gandy.

  "Quick!" Mr. Armbruster said. "Let's sneak out. Now's our chance."

  We snuck out the back way. It was easy. We circled around to the front, and there was a big mob standing there in the rain. Up on the court-house steps was Mr. Gandy, mean as ever, facing a big, husky feller who was waving a chunk of rock.

  "Every dam has its breaking point," Mr. Gandy said, but the big feller roared and shook the rock over his haid.

  "I know good concrete from bad!" he bellered. "This stuff's all sand. That dam wouldn't hold a gallon of water backed up behind it!"

  Mr. Gandy shook his haid.

  "Outrageous!" he said. "I'm just as shocked as you are. Of course we gave out the contracts in all good faith. If the Ajax Construction Company used shoddy material, we'll certainly sue them."

  At that point I got so tired of itching that I decided to do something about it. So I did.

  The husky feller stepped back a pace and pointed his finger at Mr. Gandy. "Listen," he said. "There's a rumor around that you own the Ajax Construction Company. Do you?"

  Mr. Gandy opened his mouth and closed it. He shivered a little.

  "Yes," he said. "Yes, I own it."

  You should of heard the roar that went up from that mob.

  The big feller sort of gasped.

  "You admit it? Maybe you'll admit that you knew the dam was no good, too, huh? How much did you make out of the deal?"

  "Eleven thousand dollars," Mr. Gandy said. "That was net, after I'd paid off the sheriff, the aldermen, and—"

  But at that point the crowd sort of moved up the steps, and there wasn't no more heard from Mr. Gandy.

  "Well, well," said Mr. Armbruster. "Now I've seen everything. Know what this means, Saunk? Gandy's gone crazy. He must have. But the reform administration will go in, they'll throw out all the crooks, and I will have a pleasant life in Piperville once more. Until I move south, that is. Come winter, I always move south. By a strange happenstance, I find I have a few coins in my pocket. Will you join me in a drink, Saunk?"

  "No, thanks," I said. "Maw'll be wondering where I got to. Won't there be no more trouble, Mr. Armbruster?"

  "Eventually," he said. "But not for quite awhile. They're carrying old Gandy into the jail, see? For his own protection, probably. I must celebrate this, Saunk. Sure you won't—Saunk! Where are you?"

  But I had went invisible.

  Well, that was all there was to it. I didn't itch no more, so I flew back home and helped rig up the electric current from the water wheel. After a time the flood had died down, but we got a steady flow down the crick thereafter, because of the way I'd arranged things upstream. We settled down to the sort of quiet life we Hogbens like. It's safest, for us.

  Grandpaw said it was quite a flood. It reminded him of something his Grandpaw had told him. Seems like when Grandpaw's Grandpaw was alive, they had uranium piles and a lot more, and pretty soon the things got out of hand and they had a real flood. Grandpaw's Grandpaw had to move out of the country right fast. Ain't nothing been heard of the place from that day to this. I gather everybody in Atlantis got drowned daid. But they was only furriners.

  Mr. Gandy went to jail. Nobody ever knew what made him confess the way he did; maybe he got an attack of conscience. I don't suppose it could of been because of me. 'Tain't likely. Still—

  Remember that trick Paw showed me about making a short-circuit in space and pumping the corn likker from his blood into mine? Well, I got tired of itching where I couldn't scratch it, so I used that trick myself. That stuff they'd squirted into me was making me itch, whatever it was. I just twisted space around a mite and pumped it right into Mr. Gandy's blood, up where he was standing on them court-house steps. After that I stopped itching, but Mr. Gandy must have been itching real bad. Served him right, though.

  Wonder if it could have plumb itched him into telling the truth?

  -

  SEE YOU LATER

  Hogben 03

  Thrilling Wonder Stories - June 1949

  Old Yancey was just about the meanest man in the world. I never seen a feller so downright, sot-in-his ways, shortsighted, plain, ornery mean. What happened to him reminded me of what another feller told me oncet, quite a spell ago. Fergit exactly who it was—name of Louis, maybe, or could be Tamerlane—but one time he said he wished the whole world had only one haid, so's he could chop it off.

  Trouble with Yancey, he got to the point where he figgered everybody in the world was again' him, and blamed if he warn't right. That was a real spell of trouble, even for us Hogbens.

  Oh, Yancey was a regular stinker, all right. The whole Tarbell family was bad-eyed, but Yancey made even them plumb disgusted. He lived up in a little one-room shanty back of the Tarbell place, and wouldn't let nobody near, except to push vittles through the cut-out moon in the door.

  Seems like some ten years back there was a new survey or something and the way it worked out, through some funny legal business, Yancey had to prove he'd got squatter's rights on his land. He had to prove it by living there for a year or something. 'Bout then he had an argument with his wife and moved out to the little shack, which was across the property line, and said he was a-gonna let the land go right back to the government, for all he cared, and that'd show the whole family. He knew his wife sot store by her turnip patch and was afraid the government would take it away.

  The way it turned out, nobody wanted the land anyhow. It was all up and down
and had too many rocks in it, but Yancey's wife kept on worriting and begging Yancey to come back, which he was just too mean to do.

  Yancey Tarbell couldn't have been oncommon comfortable up in that little shack, but he was shortsighted as he was mean. After a spell Mrs. Tarbell died of being hit on the haid with a stone she was throwing up the slope at the shack, and it bounced back at her. So that left only the eight Tarbell boys and Yancey. He stayed right where he was, though.

  He might have stayed there till he shriveled up and went to glory, except the Tarbells started feuding with us. We stood it as long as we could, on account of they couldn't hurt us. Uncle Les, who was visiting us, got skittery, though, and said he was tired of flying up like a quail, two or three miles in the air, every time a gun went off behind a bush. The holes in his hide closed up easy enough, but he said it made him dizzy, on account of the air being thinned out that high up.

  This went on for a while, leastwise, and nobody got hurt, which seemed to rile the eight Tarbell boys. So one night they all come over in a bunch with their shooting irons and busted their way in. We didn't want no trouble.

  Uncle Lem—who's Uncle Les's twin except they was born quite a spell apart—he was asleep for the whiter, off in a holler tree somewheres, so he was out of it. But the baby, bless his heart, is gitting kind of awkward to shift around, being as how he's four hunnerd years old and big for his age—'bout three hunnerd pounds, I guess.

  We could of all hid out or gone down to Piperville in the valley for a mite, but then there was Grandpaw in the attic, and I'd got sort of fond of the little Perfesser feller we keep in a bottle. Didn't want to leave him on account of the bottle might of got smashed in the ruckus, if the eight Tarbell boys was likkered up enough.

  The Perfesser's cute—even though he never did have much sense. Used to say we was mutants, whatever they are, and kept shooting off his mouth about some people he knowed called chromosomes. Seems like they got mixed up with what the Perfesser called hard radiations and had some young 'uns which was either dominant mutations or Hogbens, but I allus got it mixed up with the Roundhead plot, back when we was living in the old country. 'Course I don't mean the real old country. That got sunk.