Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000

by L. Ron Hubbard

  “The written equivalent in each case appears in the upper window and suitable pictures appear in the lower window.

  “You will pardon my humble pretensions of learnedness. All wisdom abides in the Governors of Psychlo and one of their major companies, the great and mighty Intergalactic Mining Company, on which let there be profit!”

  Jonnie centered the lever. He was breathing hard. The language was stilted, oddly pronounced, and many of the words he did not know. But he grasped it.

  He looked more closely at the object. He frowned, concentrating heavily. And then he grasped that it was a machine, a not-live thing. That meant that the insect had been not live either.

  Jonnie looked at the monster. Why was this thing doing this? What fresh dangers and privations did it have in mind? There was no kindness in those amber eyes. They were like a wolf’s eyes seen in firelight.

  The monster pointed toward the machine and Jonnie pulled the lever down to the left.

  “Excuse me,” it said, “but we will begin with the necessary alphabet. The first letter is A. Look at the upper window.” Jonnie did and saw the marks.

  “A . . . pronounced a. Its sound is also a as in ‘pat,’ a as in ‘pay,’ a as in ‘care,’ a as in ‘father.’ Look at it well, excuse me please, so you can always recognize it. The next letter of the alphabet is B. Look at the window. It always has the sound of b as in bat. . . .”

  The monster batted his hand up and opened the primer to the first page. It tapped a talon on A.

  Jonnie had already made the connection. Language could be written and read. And this machine was going to teach him how to do it. He centered the lever and pulled it down and there it was evidently spouting an alphabet in Psychlo. The little face in the lower window was showing mouth formations to say the sounds. He swung the lever over to the right and it was saying an alphabet in . . . Swedish?

  The monster stood up, looking the four feet down to Jonnie. It took two dead rats from its pocket and dangled them in front of Jonnie.

  What was this? A reward? It made Jonnie feel like a dog being trained. He didn’t take them.

  The monster made a sort of shrugging motion and said something. Jonnie couldn’t understand the words. But when the monster reached over to pick up the machine, he knew what they must have been. Something like, “Lesson’s over for the day.”

  Jonnie instantly pushed the arms away from the machine. He moved over defiantly and stood there, blocking the reach. He wasn’t sure what would happen, if he’d be batted halfway across the cage. But he stood there.

  So did the monster. Head on one side, then the other.

  The monster roared. Jonnie did not flinch. The monster roared some more and Jonnie divined, with relief, that it was laughing.

  The monster’s belt buckle, showing the clouds of smoke in the sky, was a few inches below Jonnie’s eyes. It connected with the ancient legend that told of the end of Jonnie’s race. The laughter beat at Jonnie’s ears, a growling thunder of mockery.

  The monster turned around and went out, still laughing as it locked the gate.

  There was bitterness and determination on Jonnie’s face. He had to know more. Much more. Then he could act.

  The machine was still on the table.

  Jonnie reached for the lever.

  7

  The summer heat dried out the mud.

  White clouds spotted the skies above the cage.

  But Jonnie had no time for them. His whole concentration was on the teaching machine.

  He had gotten the huge chair shifted around and by lifting the seat height with folded skins, he could hunch over the table, close facing the old Chinko who, in the picture, fawned in an agony of politeness as he taught.

  Mastering the alphabet in English was quite a trick. But mastering it in Psychlo was even worse. Far, far easier to trail game by its signs and know, almost to the minute, how long ago it had passed and what it was doing. These signs and symbols were fixed deathless on a screen and the meanings that they gave were unbelievably complex.

  In a week, he thought he had it. He had begun to hope. He had even commenced to believe that it was easy. “B is for Bats, Z is for Zoo, H is for Hats and Y is for You.” And by going over the same text in Psychlo, the Bats, Zoos, Hats and Yous became (a little incomprehensibly) Pens, Shovels, Kerbango and Females. But when he finally grasped, under the Chinko’s groveling tutelage, that Psychlo words for Hats, Zoos and Bats would start with different letters, he knew he had it.

  He at length could lie back and rattle off the alphabet in English. Then he could, with a bit of squinting, sit up and rattle off the Psychlo alphabet in Psychlo. And with all the different nuances of how they sounded.

  Jonnie knew he mustn’t take too long at this. The diet of raw meat would eventually do him in; he was close to semistarvation since he could barely bring himself to eat it.

  The monster would come and watch him a little while each day. While he was there, Jonnie was silent. He knew he must sound funny while he drilled. And the monster’s laughter made the back of his hair stand up. So he would be very quiet under that scrutiny from outside the cage.

  It was a mistake. The monster’s eyebones behind the breathe-mask plate were coming closer and closer together with a growing frown.

  The triumph of the alphabet was short-lived. At the end of it, the monster, one beautiful bright day, yanked open the door of the cage and came roaring in like a storm!

  It yelled at Jonnie for minutes on end, the cage bars shaking. Jonnie expected a cuff but he didn’t cringe when the monster’s paw snaked out.

  But it was reaching for the machine, not Jonnie. It yanked the lever down into a second stage that Jonnie had never suspected.

  A whole new set of pictures and sounds leaped out!

  The old Chinko said, in English, “I am sorry, honored student and forgive my arrogance, but we will now begin the drill of progressive cross-association of objects, symbols and words.”

  And there was a new sequence of pictures! The sound for H, the picture of H began to follow one another at a slow interval. Then the Psychlo letter that had an H-like sound began to repeat, in sound and picture. And then they went faster and faster until they were an almost indistinguishable blur!

  Jonnie was so astonished he did not realize the monster had left.

  Here was a new thing. The lever was so big and resistive he had not realized that all this lurked just beyond another thrust of pressure.

  Well, if a little push DOWN would do that, what happened with a little push UP?

  He tried it.

  It almost blew his head off.

  It took him quite a space of travel of the sun-made bar shadows to get brave enough to try it again.

  Same thing!

  It almost knocked him off the chair.

  Holding back, he stared at the thing suspiciously.

  What was it that came out of it?

  Sunlight?

  He tried it again and let it hit his hand.

  Warm.

  Tingling.

  Carefully staying off to the side, he saw that pictures were appearing in the frames. And he heard, in the weirdest way, sort of with his head, not his ears, “Beneath the level of your consciousness, the alphabet will now go in. A, B, C . . .”

  What was this? Was he “hearing” through his hand? No, that couldn’t be! He wasn’t hearing at all except for that meadowlark.

  Soundless somethings were coming from the MACHINE!

  He moved a little further back. The impression was less. He moved closer: he felt that his brains were frying.

  “Now we will do the same sounds in Psychlo. . . .”

  Jonnie went over to the furthest extension of his chain and sat down against the wall.

  He thought and thought about it.

  He grasped at last that the cross-association drill of symbols, sounds and words was to get him very fast and then faster and faster so he did not have to grope for what he had been taught, but would
be able to use it without hesitation.

  But this shaft of “sunlight” coming out of the machine?

  He got braver. He went back and found a disk that must be very advanced and put it on. Bracing himself, he grimly pushed the lever all the way up.

  Suddenly he KNEW that if all three sides of a triangle were equal, all its enclosed three angles were also equal.

  He backed up. Never mind what a triangle was or an angle, he now KNEW.

  He went back and sat down against the wall. Suddenly he reached out with his finger and drew in the dust a three-pointed shape. He poked a finger at each inside bend. He said, wonderingly, “They’re equal.”

  Equal what?

  Equal each other.

  So what?

  Maybe it was valuable.

  Jonnie gazed at the machine. It could teach him in the ordinary way. It could teach him by speeding the lesson up. And it could teach him very smoothly and instantly with a beam of “sunlight.”

  Abruptly an unholy joy began to light his face.

  Alphabet? He had to learn the whole civilization of the Psychlos!

  Did that monster realize why he wanted it?

  Life became a long parade of disks, stacks of disks. Every hour not needed for sleep was spent at the table—with straight picture learning, with progressively speeding cross-association, with the piercing beams of “sunlight.”

  Half-starved, his sleep was restless. Nightmares of dead Psychlos were intertwined with raw rats chasing mechanical horses that flew. And the disks went round and round.

  But Jonnie kept on, kept on cramming years of education into weeks and months. There was so MUCH to know! He had to grasp it ALL!

  And with only one goal in mind: vengeance for the destruction of his race! Could he learn enough fast enough to accomplish his purpose?

  8

  Terl had felt smug right up to the moment he received the summons from the Planetary Director. He was nervous now, waiting for the appointment to occur.

  The weeks had fled on, the summer fading into the chill of autumn. The man-animal was doing well. Its every waking moment seemed to be spent crowded up against the Chinko language and technical instruction machine.

  It hadn’t begun to talk yet, but of course it was just an animal and stupid. It hadn’t even grasped the principle of progressive speed cross-association until it had been shown. And it didn’t even have enough sense to stand squarely in front of the instantaneous conceptual knowledge transmitter. Didn’t it realize you had to get the full wave impulse to get it through your skull bones? Stupid. It would take months at this rate to get an education! But what could you expect of an animal that lived on raw rat!

  Still, sometimes when he went in the cage, Terl had looked into those strange blue eyes and had seen danger. No matter. Terl had decided that if the animal proved dangerous, he could simply use it to get things started, and then at the first sign it was getting out of hand it could be vaporized fast enough. One button push on a hand-blaster. Zip-bang, no man-animal. Very easily handled.

  Yes, things had been going very well until this summons. Such things made one nervous. There was no telling what the Planetary Director might have found out, no telling what tales some employee might have carried to him. A security chief was ordinarily not much consulted. In fact, by a devious chain of command, a security chief was not directly under the Planetary Director on all points. This made Terl feel better. In fact, there had been cases where a security chief had removed a Planetary Director—cases involving corruption. But still, the Planetary Director remained the administrative head and was the one who filed reports, reports that could transfer one, or continue one on post.

  The summons had come late the night before and Terl had not slept very well. He had tumbled around in his bed, imagining conversations. At one time he had actually gotten up and combed through his office files wondering what he had on the Planetary Director, just in case. That he couldn’t recall or find anything depressed him. Terl only felt operational when he had big leverage in terms of potential blackmail.

  It was almost with relief that he saw the appointment time arrive and he rumbled into the office of the top Psychlo.

  Numph, Planetary Director of Earth, was old. Rumor had it that he was a discard from the Central Company Directorate. Not for corruption, but just for bumbling incompetence. And he had been sent as far away as they could send him. An unimportant post, a rim star in a remote galaxy, a perfect place to send someone and forget him.

  Numph was sitting at his upholstered desk, looking out through the pressure dome at the distant transshipment center. He was gnawing absently on a corner of a file folder.

  Terl approached watchfully. Numph’s executive uniform was neat. His fur, turning blue, was impeccably combed and in place. He didn’t look particularly upset, though his amber eyes were introverted.

  Numph didn’t look up. “Sit down,” he said absently.

  “I come in response to your summons, Your Planetship.”

  The old Psychlo turned to his desk. He looked wearily at Terl. “That’s obvious.” He didn’t much care for Terl, but he didn’t dislike him either. It was the same with all these executives, definitely not first team. Not like the old days, other planets, other posts, better staffs.

  “We’re not showing a profit,” said Numph. He threw the folder down on his desk. Two kerbango saucepans rattled, but he did not offer any.

  “I should imagine this planet is getting mined out,” said Terl.

  “That’s not it. There’s plenty of deep-down ore to keep us going for centuries. Besides, that’s the concern of the engineers, not security.”

  Terl didn’t care to feel rebuked. “I’ve heard that there’s an economic depression in a lot of the company’s markets, that prices are down.”

  “That could be. But that’s the concern of the economics department at the home office, not security.”

  This second rebuke made Terl a bit restless. His chair groaned alarmingly under his bulk.

  Numph pulled the folder to him and fiddled with it. Then he looked wearily at Terl.

  “It’s costs,” said Numph.

  “Costs,” said Terl, getting his own back a bit, “has to do with accounting, not security.”

  Numph looked at him for several seconds. He couldn’t make up his mind whether Terl was being insolent. He decided to ignore it. He threw the folder back down.

  “Mutiny is,” said Numph.

  Terl stiffened. “Where’s the mutiny?” Not the slightest rumor of it had reached him. What was going on here? Did Numph have his own intelligence system that bypassed Terl?

  “It hasn’t occurred yet,” said Numph. “But when I announce the pay cuts and drop all bonuses, there’s liable to be one.”

  Terl shuddered and leaned forward. This affected him in more ways than one.

  Numph tossed the folder at him. “Personnel costs. We have 3,719 employees on this planet scattered over five active minesites and three exploratory sites. That includes landing field personnel, freighter crews and the transshipment force. At an average pay of thirty thousand Galactic credits a year, that’s C111,570,000. Food, quarters and breathe-gas is averaged at fifteen thousand credits each; comes to C55,785,000. The total is C167,355,000. Add to that the bonuses and transport and we have nearly exceeded the value of our output. That doesn’t count wear and tear, and it doesn’t count expansion.”

  Terl had been dimly aware of this and in fact had used it as an argument—a false one—in furthering his own personal plan.

  He did not think the time was ripe to spring his project. But he had not anticipated that the powerful and rich Intergalactic Company would go so far as to cut pay and wipe out bonuses. While this affected him directly, he was far more interested in his own plan of personal wealth and power.

  Was it time to open up a new phase in his own scheme? The animal was actually doing pretty well. It probably could be trained for the elementary digging venture. It could be used t
o recruit other animals. He was pretty well convinced it could do the necessary mining, dangerous though it was.

  Stripping that vein out of the blizzard-torn, sheer cliff would be quite a trick and might be fatal to some of the animals involved. But who cared about that? Besides, the moment the stuff was gotten out, the animals would have to be vaporized so the secret could never leak.

  “We could increase our output,” said Terl, fencing in toward his target.

  “No, no, no,” said Numph. “That’s pretty impossible.” He sighed. “We’re limited on personnel.”

  That was cream to Terl’s earbones.

  “You’re right,” said Terl, heading Numph further into the trap. “Unless we solve it, it will lead straight into mutiny.”

  Numph nodded glumly.

  “In a mutiny,” said Terl, “the first ones the workers vaporize are the executives.”

  Again Numph nodded, but this time there was a flicker of fear in the depths of his amber eyes.

  “I’m working on it,” said Terl. It was premature and he hadn’t intended to spring it, but the time was now. “If we could give them hope that the cuts weren’t permanent and if we imported no new personnel, the threat of mutiny would be reduced.”

  “True, true,” said Numph. “We are already not bringing in any additional or new personnel. But at the same time our installations are working very hard, and there’s already some grumbling.”

  “Agreed,” said Terl. He plunged. “But what would you say if I told you that right this minute I was working on a project to halve our work force within two years?”

  “I’d say it would be a miracle.”

  That was what Terl liked to hear. Plaudits from one and all in the home office would be his yet.

  Numph was looking almost eager.

  “No Psychlo,” said Terl, “likes this planet. We can’t go outside without wearing masks—”

  “Which increases costs in breathe-gas,” said Numph.

  “—and what we need is a work force of air-breathers that can do elementary machine operation.”