by Jerry
He clambered along the upthrown earth and rock that formed a motionless sculptured wave around the egg to the front, the end that he would have expected to have received the most of the damage. There the smooth line of the hull was surprisingly unbroken. He worked his way right round to the rear of the egg and reached the windward side of the gash in the hull where he caught a wisp of the cloudy whiteness from inside. It reeked of ammonia and something else . . .
“Wake up, Chan! Wake up! Please. Wake up . . .” The voice in Chandrill’s ears grew louder and more insistent and at last he had to relinquish sleep and return to the ice and the cold green sky. Sinoon was bending over him and the sight of the scared, tear-streaked mask that was her face brought him back to reality.
“What’s the matter?” Chandrill sat up. The inside of his mouth was parched.
“He’s here,” she said, pulling at his arms. “It’s Minnatose. He’s on the other side of the hill. I’m afraid. Get up.” She shook him violently, overflowing with nervous panic. Chandrill wondered what Minnatose had done to change her former admiration to this. He got to his feet unsteadily and blinked as it came to him that if he had received a larger dose of the gas he would not have come out of it at all.
They ran from the silent egg towards one of the larger clumps of briars and dropped down behind it. Lying down, Chandrill saw through the stalks that the ground was so heavily scattered with rock and earth that they had left no trail to their hiding place. Just at that moment Minnatose appeared on the skyline.
Chandrill’s hope that he would not need a weapon faded out for Minnatose was carrying one of the long, heavy knives used for cutting down bread canes. He was standing stock still at the top of the hill staring down the slope at the gleaming machine. His thigh was clumsily bandaged. Minnatose started walking down the hill.
Chandrill felt Sinoon begin to tremble and a sudden flood of guilt and responsibility sent him looking around for something that he could use for fighting. There were lots of stone splinters nearby but nothing that looked nearly heavy enough, and he sent his gaze further out. About thirty yards from him he saw something rather peculiar lying in the lee of the huge rock. It was an almost perfectly round piece of metal about a foot in diameter. It looked very heavy and Chandrill wondered if he could reach it before Minnatose could stop him.
“Keep quiet and lie still,” he whispered to Sinoon. He pressed his stomach up from the ground and poised, ready to spring forward with all the strength he could muster.
It was in that moment of supreme concentration on it that the round object moved, It rolled over revealing that, on the side which had been turned away from Chandrill, it was partly made of transparent stuff through which could be seen a swirling gaseous movement reminiscent of the gas in the egg.
The shock of the event, coming just at that vulnerable instant, drove the air from his lungs and brought with it a flood of reactive weakness. He dropped back onto the ground beside Sinoon. She was staring at him, slowly getting more afraid as his own fear leaked through to her by way of his eyes.
Chandrill examined the object and realised that he had not seen it properly the first time. A trick of matching colours had prevented him from seeing that the object was not a complete, separate entity.
It was, in fact, the helmetted head of something sprawled on the ground.
Something wearing a white one piece garment that completely covered its body. The realisation in some way relieved Chandrill for the idea of an alien creature lying there in the snow was more acceptable to his mind than the one of a curious looking sphere which could move of its own accord. He watched the alien for a full minute in which it made no further move, then he decided that it must be nearly dead.
“Try and get this, Sin,” he whispered. “It’s difficult to grasp but try to get it anyway.” He told her his theory about the egg and about the alien in white lying nearby, then snapped, “Don’t move or make a noise!”
She lay very still for a long time then said, “Where is it?”
Chandrill turned round to face the alien and pointed to it. The alien was lying in the same place and in the same position except for one thing. The helmet was now lifted a few inches clear of the ground and the transparent window was facing directly towards where Chandrill and Sinoon lay.
Long cold seconds rolled over Chandrill as he realised that the alien had seen them and that he did not know what to do about it. On his left was the ruined space craft with Minnatose out of sight now on the far side of it. On his right was the silent, sentient alien in white, perhaps dying perhaps ready to spring into ferocious and deadly action. There was no way for Chandrill to tell.
The wind rolling in from the dark ice and down the line of the hills was loud and then quiet in his ears. The green sky seemed to be pressing down on everything, holding it still.
Quite suddenly over a distance of thirty yards, the alien seemed to reach out an invisible hand which passed through Chandrill’s skull and took hold of his brain. The sensation paralysed him. Then the alien spoke. As Chandrill felt it, the process was not so much one of speaking as of writing the words directly onto the surface of his brain with the finger of an invisible hand.
Being, it said, I can feel the fear in you and your companion and I can feel the blind kill-longing in the other one which is near my ship. I have an aversion for these things and will not tolerate them near me. You shall explain your circumstances to me so that l may decide what to do. Prepare your report and project it to me thus . . .
Chandrill received a wordless description of how to gather his thoughts, poise and launch them from his mind. He was not sure that he could do it and he knew that unless the instructions were constantly reiterated in the same way he would forget them in ten minutes. As well as that he received a faint disturbing inkling of just how far the alien would go to preserve its peace of mind.
Wondering just why he felt it SO important to get everything just right he began to prepare his explanation. He tried to compress the history of the tribes into one compact, cohesive mass. He thought of the dark futility of the eternal trek round the world and of the original aims of the Philosophy Sled, and its failure. He sketched in his own life, the struggles with the others to make them accept his beliefs, the struggles with himself to act on them. Chandrill thought of the recent events; the light in the sky, the destruction of the Pass and the flight from the cousin who needed to kill him . . .
He fixed his eyes on the dark window with its sluggish movement of mist inside then, praying that he could do it right, launched his message. The alien made a hoarse pain sound and clapped what might have been two arms, made shapeless with the white covering, over its helmet. From the far side of the sky-craft came the sound of a stone as though dislodged by a sudden movement.
Before Chandrill had time to wonder what had happened the words began forming inside his head. Such strength, they said, I did not expect such strength. A mistake on my part. I have very little time—the being you call Minnatose, the one with the dark shadow over his mind, has seen me and is coming. Listen. Inside my ship there are millions of books on microfilm. I see that your knowledge of optics is sufficient for you to develop a way to read them. There are aids to deciphering also. There is yet a chance for your people because the engine of the ship is not destroyed and has manual controls. . . .
Wild hope surged up in Chandrill.
No. The ship will never fly again, so you cannot leave this world on it nor could you even reach the poles. But with the engine whole . . .
What had the alien meant?
“A chance for your people . . .” the alien had said. What chance?”
Silently, and moving with incredible speed in spite of his wounded leg, Minnatose tore across the space which separated the sky craft and the alien. He had the cane knife at the ready as he tore through the briars in front of where the alien lay. Chandrill was dimly aware of Sinoon burying her face in her arms. It was impossible for him to know if Minnatose realised bef
ore he made his dive that it was not Chandrill he was tackling.
Chandrill watched his cousin crash down through the briars onto the alien and there was a sudden silent upheaval as the two bodies met. The alien seemed to enfold Minnatose and it became horribly apparent that it possessed more than four limbs, more than six, and all of them in the white garment whose purpose Chandrill was beginning faintly to understand.
The struggle was short and sharp. Chandrill saw fleetingly the cane knife raised in Minnatose’s hand then there was a loud hissing explosion. A cloud of the white mist which had been inside the hull of the ship stood out around the fighters—and the contest was over. All movement ceased in the tangled mass and the cloud was ripped away by the wind bringing the stench of ammonia to Chandrill’s nostrils.
He pulled Sinoon to her feet and ran with her towards the egg out of the way of the gas and brought her round to the engine end. She sat down wordlessly when he told her to. Chandrill climbed up onto the metal of the ship and looked at the engine.
What had the alien meant?
On top of the squat casing was a long graduated slot with a knob at one end of it which looked as though it was intended to be pulled along. Chandrill moved it a little and nothing happened so he moved it back to its original position. He stared hopelessly around the tangle of wreckage. What was the use of the ruined hulk if it would never fly again? The certainty of imminent death bore down on him, worse this time because it had been preceded by hope of life.
“A chance for your people . . .” the alien had said. What chance? Chandrill began to think back to all that the alien had told him about the engine. First, that it was whole . . . The concept that the alien had projected when it meant “engine” was very complex. He began to examine the fast-fading mental symbol that had been imprinted on his brain. The word “radioactive” was strongly connected with it. Chandrill had a faint understanding of what that meant for there were caves in several parts of the foothills which always shone with a faint radiance.
Suddenly he understood the engine a little. He pushed the knob far up the slot to the very end of its run and depressed two buttons above it. This time when he moved the knob only a fraction of an inch the scattered snow and ice behind the egg hissed and melted. There was a faintly luminous beam reaching out from the engine to the hill where the steam was rising. And this had happened when he had moved the knob only a hundredth of its full distance.
This tremendous energy was made available by moving the tiny knob and Chandrill knew that it would last a long, long time. This was the power which could hurl the egg to the stars but which now spent itself in heat because the converter which changed that power to lift was destroyed. But the power would always be there, and with the engine mounted on a hilltop it could spread its heat for miles. It would be a huge eternal hearth for the tribes to gather around and settle. A hearth that would be warm all through the long night.
With a stationary culture not drained of time and energy by the necessity to keep moving his people could begin to do something. Then the tribes would begin their real destiny—one with a future.
Chandrill jumped down onto the ground and smiled as he saw Sinoon standing near the boulder off to one side. She had had a bad time recently and it would take a lot of work to get her back to normal, but she should be all right.
“Come on, sleepy,” he called out to her. “There’s work to be started. By the time we get all the way back to the Pass, spread this news and get them out here with all their food and sleds for building you’ll really be tired.” Chandrill walked over to Sinoon. He could not help noticing as he went that the hill with its natural shelter would be a pretty good site for the first town that his world had seen in a long, long time.
DEATH BETWEEN THE STARS
Marion Zimmer Bradley
Sympathy may or may not be an invention of the human mind. But in the gulfs between the stars it is likely to work a miracle.
THEY ASKED ME about it, of course, before I boarded the starship. All through the Western sector of the Galaxy few rules are stricter than the one dividing human from nonhuman, and the little Captain of the Vesta—he was Terran, too, and proud in the black leather of the Empire’s merchant-man forces—hemmed and hawed about it, as much as was consistent with a spaceman’s dignity.
“You see, Miss Vargas,” he explained, not once but as often as I would listen to him, “this is not, strictly speaking, a passenger ship at all. Our charter is only to carry cargo. But, under the terms of our franchise, we are required to transport an occasional passenger, from the more isolated planets where there is no regular passenger service. Our rules simply don’t permit us to discriminate, and the Theradin reserved a place on this ship for our last voyage.”
He paused, and re-emphasized, “We have only the one passenger cabin, you see. We’re a cargo ship and we are not allowed to make any discrimination between our passengers.”
He looked angry about it. Unfortunately, I’d run up against that attitude before. Some Terrans won’t travel on the same ship with nonhumans even when they’re isolated in separate ends of the ship.
I understood his predicament, better than he thought. The Theradin seldom travel in space. No one could have foreseen that Haalvordhen, the Theradin from Samarra, who had lived on the forsaken planet of Deneb for eighteen of its cycles, would have chosen this particular flight to go back to its own world.
At the same time, I had no choice. I had to get back to an Empire planet—any planet—where I could take a starship for Terra. With war about to explode in the Procyon sector, I had to get home before communications were knocked out altogether. Otherwise—well, a Galactic war can last up to eight hundred years. By the time regular transport service was reestablished, I wouldn’t be worrying about getting home.
The Vesta could take me well out of the dangerous sector, and all the way to Samarra—Sirius Seven—which was, figuratively speaking, just across the street from the Solar System and Terra. Still, it was a questionable solution. The rules about segregation are strict, the anti-discriminatory laws are stricter, and the Theradin had made a prior reservation.
The captain of the Vesta couldn’t have refused him transportation, even if fifty human, Terran women had been left stranded on Deneb IV. And sharing a cabin with the Theradin was ethically, morally and socially out of the question. Haalvordhen was a nonhuman telepath; and no human in his right senses will get any closer than necessary even to a human telepath. As for a nonhuman one—
And yet, what other way was there?
The captain said tentatively, “We might be able to squeeze you into the crewmen’s quarters—” he paused uneasily, and glanced up at me.
I bit my lip, frowning. That was worse yet. “I understand,” I said slowly, “that this Theradin—Haalvordhen—has offered to allow me to share its quarters.”
“That’s right. But, Miss Vargas—”
I made up my mind in a rush. “I’ll do it,” I said. “It’s the best way, all around.”
At the sight of his scandalized face, I almost regretted my decision. It was going to cause an interplanetary scandal, I thought wryly, a human woman—and a Terran citizen—spending forty days in space and sharing a cabin with a nonhuman!
The Theradin, although male in form, had no single attribute which one could remotely refer to as sex. But of course that wasn’t the problem. The nonhuman were specifically prohibited from mingling with the human races. Terran custom and taboo were binding, and I faced, resolutely, the knowledge that by the time I got to Terra, the planet might be made too hot to hold me.
Still, I told myself defiantly, it was a big Galaxy. And conditions weren’t normal just now and that made a big difference. I signed a substantial check for my transportation, and made arrangements for the shipping and stowing of what few possessions I could safely transship across space.
But I still felt uneasy when I went aboard the next day—so uneasy that I tried to bolster up my flagging spirits with all sort
s of minor comforts. Fortunately the Theradin were oxygen-breathers, so I knew there would be no trouble about atmosphere-mixtures, or the air pressure to be maintained in the cabin. And the Theradin were Type Two nonhumans, which meant that the acceleration of a hyperspeed ship would knock my shipmate into complete prostration without special drugs. In fact, he would probably stay drugged in his skyhook during most of the trip.
The single cabin was far up toward the nose of the starship. It was a queer little spherical cubbyhole, a nest. The walls were foam-padded all around the sphere, for passengers never develop a spaceman’s skill at maneuvering their bodies in free-fall, and cabins had to be designed so that an occupant, moving unguardedly, would not dash out his or her brains against an unpadded surface. Spaced at random on the inside of the sphere were three skyhooks—nested cradles on swinging pivots—into which the passenger was snugged during blastoff in shock-absorbing foam and a complicated Garensen pressure-apparatus and was thus enabled to sleep secure without floating away.
A few screw-down doors were marked LUGGAGE. I immediately unscrewed one door and stowed my personal belongings in the bin. Then I screwed the top down securely and carefully fastened the padding over it. Finally, I climbed around the small cubbyhole, seeking to familiarize myself with it before my unusual roommate arrived.
It was about fourteen feet in diameter. A sphincter lock opened from the narrow corridor to cargo bays and crewmen’s quarters, while a second led into the cabin’s functional equivalent of a bathroom. Planet-bound men and women are always surprised and a little shocked when they see the sanitary arrangements on a spaceship. But once they’ve tried to perform normal bodily functions in free-fall, they understand the peculiar equipment very well.
