by Don Wilcox
Some were forging metals, some were tailoring clothes to the bodies of their customers, several were hurrying along with wooden baskets toward the little markets that were cut in the perpendicular walls like so many arched alcoves.
Little streams of water slipped along crooked courses in the cavern bottoms. Where they came from or where they went was a mystery. We and our eleven escorts stopped for a drink. I was sure this sweet cool water had never touched the muddy swamps of the uplands.
The party came to a halt. I had lost all sense of direction, but was certain we had been circling to the left all through our tour of the city. Now I was looking at the same blue space ship from a new angle. For the first time I read the name on its proud slender nose.
THE BRIDGE
“Our language again!” Hi whispered. That was the thing that had given him confidence in our excursion.
“Funny name for a ship,” Skinny muttered.
Within a few yards of the big cargo door in the ship’s side I noticed that huge blotches of white were swinging through the air with a swift graceful motion. My first thought was, what efficient, noiseless cranes they must have for unloading those bales of cotton.
Then I saw. The bales of cotton were the big padded shoes of a seventy-five foot man. He was walking around the blue space ship. Glowing light reflected off his vast red shirt and breech-cloth with the brightness of fire.
His head, huge and well shaped, was covered with a mass of crisp black hair that hung almost to his shoulders. Which is to say, it was several feet long and probably as strong as rope. But it was clipped evenly and bound with a wide red band, adding to his immaculate appearance.
At the moment he was busy helping some of the smaller men with the job of turning The Bridge around.
Suddenly he noticed us sandwiched within the eleven stairsteps. He straightened up.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said.
Skinny grabbed Hi and me by the arms. The big voice had almost knocked us over.
“Good morning,” Hi Turner said, and he said it naturally. Under the conditions I would have shouted.
“Look out, now,” Skinny whispered to me. “Here’s where we get picked up and hurled against the wall.”
“Wait, Skinny, don’t go—”
But Skinny Davis was not a man to forget he had a pair of legs. He jumped out of rank. Four of the smaller stairsteps meant to stop him, but he cleared them like a bee-stung calf, and raced down the path.
I don’t know where he thought he would go. At an insignificant distance of fifty yards he came to a dead end wall and stopped. He stood there, staring up at the big red-shirted seventy-five footer and looking foolish.
The big man paid no attention to Skinny’s fright—nor to mine. The fact is, I might have joined the chase if Hi Turner hadn’t kept a grip on my arm.
“We don’t often have visitors.” The seventy-five footer’s voice was as big as a boiler factory and as gentle as the low note of a marimba. “Rumors have been flying that there were strangers in our midst. Just now my space ship party, returning from abroad, has reported that there is a new solar ship in our midst. The Sky Cat, I believe.”
“Yes,” said Hi. “We came in it.”
“I’m glad to welcome you,” and by George, the strapping giant dropped right down on his haunches beside us, and his face was as congenial as a Thanksgiving dinner.
The eleven stair-steps bowed deeply and marched off, leaving us at the seventy-five footer’s mercy. Skinny came back cautiously, and as the stair-steps retreated past him he waved at the cute little five-footer.
By this time Seventy-five was down on the floor with his big handsome head propped up from his elbows.
Right away we fell into an easy conversation about the weather and the perils of space travel. Two hours later, by the time space ship workers had finished up for the day and had trotted on to another part of the city, the four of us were discussing the ins and outs of the universe like four long lost brothers.
CHAPTER X
Brains and Bulk
Hi Turner was never the sort to hold back anything if he took a notion to trust someone. And for some reason he sized up this red-shirted Seventy-five to be worthy of our best confidences.
You might think that a bit surprising. I thought the same, and I puzzled over it at the time. How did Hi know this big fellow wasn’t just putting up a friendly front, with the idea of stealing anything we had to offer? What were the symptoms of his integrity, if any?
I quizzed Hi about this matter later and he pointed out that in the first place the prepared reception from the eleven stair-steps had been carried out in such a way that we were free to come or run away. That looked good. Next there were the times when Skinny got scared and did start to run away. It was significant, Hi said, that the big man chose to ignore these demonstrations of fear. “If you’ll notice,” said Hi, “a man who wants to fleece you, or harm you, will almost instinctively snatch his little advantages when you leave an opening. But Seventy-five didn’t.”
But over and above those little things, I knew there was the big fact that Hi was determined to gamble on the mercy of these sub-swamp people. After all, our ship was sinking in quicksand. When you think of Captain Redfife, we were worse than sunk. And we knew those blue and green swamp fiends were bestial killers.
On the other hand these sub-swamp people talked our language. And as Hi Turner put it, “If you can talk a man’s tongue, you can make him hold his fire.”
And so, in the course of our curiously chummy communion with this big red-shirted giant, Hi Turner explained very, frankly all about the interplanetary competition that had brought us here. He told how Captain Redfife had bogged down with a bad case of inertia, and how the ship was losing a battle against the swamp.
“They’ll never get it up” Seventy-five had commented. “I know that ground.”
Then we told of Dr. Blyman’s preoccupation with dissecting the green man’s skull. At this point, Skinny Davis added that the doctor was in considerable frenzy when last seen.
The big man shook his head, more gravely, I thought, than at any time before.
“I can appreciate your doctor’s zeal,” he said. “But I fear for him. He may soon find himself in a desperate dilemma. I hope he is a man of very strong moral fiber.”
“Unfortunately,” said Hi, and I was astounded by this sudden revelation, “our Dr. Blyman, though a splendid scientist, has been involved in some shameless medical scandals in time past. I was unable to prevent his being chosen for this trip. But I had hoped he would be able to clean up the slate of the past.”
“Not at all easy,” said Seventy-five. “What of this lifeboat trip you mentioned?”
Skinny was the one to furnish this information. He explained that the pilot had been expected to come looking for Hi and me at sunset and again at sunrise, but that the captain had blasted that plan—and indeed had refused to let anyone come out to apprise us of the fact that the lost members had returned. The captain’s interests ran in different channels: He had put the pilot aboard the life boat and sent him back to pick up something, nobody was sure what.
“You never saw a captain act so sly about a space boat errand,” said Skinny Davis. “You’d have thought he was sendin’ that pilot back to pick up his Martian brunette—though of course there wouldn’t be time to go all the way to Mars and back before the deadline on the competition.”
“Maybe,” I suggested, “he sent word that he’s got the prize clinched, but he’ll need a new boat to get back.”
The big man shook his head gravely. “I can’t see why you don’t put your captain in irons, Mr. Turner, and take the reins over yourself. You’re perfectly competent.”
“A rule stands in the way,” said Hi. “Too bad. I predict the party will end in anarchy unless something is done.”
“It’s already begun,” said Skinny. “When I slipped away from the ship the engineers were doin’ their best to keep everybody busy, but
Doc Blyman was tryin’ to organize a squad for some business of his own, and there was considerable gee-hawin’.”
“Dr. Blyman? What did he need men for?”
“Darned if I know.”
By that time I could see that Hi felt very uncomfortable over’ the way things must be going back at the ship. Somehow we’d been so eager to get down to these lower regions and see what brand of humans made all the voices and shadows, that we’d failed to press Skinny for all the news of troubles back at home base. But now they were coming out, and they multiplied our worries over a sinking ship.
The whole business must have looked sinister to our big red-shirted host by this time, for he was growing uneasy too. He questioned us some more about the rules of the competition.
“No,” said Hi, “there’s no way of exchanging captains. Nothing short of a fatal accident could alter the present arrangement.”
“Mr. Turner, have you gentlemen come to me to ask me to perpetrate a fatal accident?”
Seventy-five’s manner of putting this harsh suggestion was altogether puzzling. I felt a surge of defensive anger, and I wanted to retort something hot. Skinny, on the other hand, had raised his eyebrows with a hint of hope as if the suggestion wasn’t half bad. “Would you?” he gasped, half under his breath.
But Hi Turner gave no sign either of eagerness or of irritation. He replied, “No prize in the world would be worth that sort of strategy.”
We all fell silent.
It took me a few minutes to realize that this big boy had just put the three of us to a test, and that Hi Turner was the only one who had passed with honors.
We were served a most delightful lunch. The eleven stair-steps brought in the four trays. The big fellow, still sprawling down on the floor beside us, said he would eat to be sociable, though he wasn’t really hungry. He nibbled at one of the peculiar sandwiches which, incidentally, was about half as big as his thumb nail.
“You men will have to look around down here,” he said casually. “Nice living. You’d probably learn to like it, if you weren’t rushed with getting out and exploring for valuable discoveries.” It was at this point that he put his sandwich down half-finished and began talking in a very earnest manner.
“It just occurs to me, gentlemen, that there might be some bit of knowledge down here in these chasms that would help out. If you see anything that strikes you as curious or remarkable, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
To say that the innocence of this statement virtually paralyzed the three of us is to put it mildly. I saw Skinny swallow his sandwich like an ostrich swallowing an orange.
“If I can’t answer your questions,” said the seventy-five footer, “I could take you to our celebrated sage. It would be an hour’s walk, but perhaps you wouldn’t mind. You see, he doesn’t get around at all, owing to the handicap of too much wisdom. By your customary linear measure he has attained a height of five hundred and fifty feet.” It must have been embarrassing to our host the way we all remained speechless. The seventy-five footer looked a trifle disappointed, wondering if we had failed to understand his statement. For the moment not even Hi Turner could rise to the occasion with more than a loud gulp.
“Ug—er—ah.” The senseless sounds came from Skinny Davis. He handed the two photos to our big man, who smiled eagerly.
“Yes, that’s the one I’m talking about,” said Seventy-five. “Have you run across him already?”
Skinny and I shook our heads. Then Hi Turner recovered his speech.
“Did—did you say he was five hundred and—”
“Five hundred and fifty feet tall, that’s right.”
“Because he—”
“Because he’s so very wise. You know the invariable Swampy Satellite principle—one’s height always keeps step with his mental activity.”
CHAPTER XI
The Sleeper
“Bulk signifies brains. That combination is a great blessing to our civilization here,” the big man went on. “It might not work everywhere, but in the few generations that this society has been going—since the Antlock expedition, you know—everyone has gotten used to the system.
“But as I was saying, the Sleeper—that’s what we call our sage because he spends so much time resting—the Sleeper has the handicap of too much wisdom. A few years ago it accumulated until he got down with it, and he seldom tries to get up.
“You see, once he got down the wisdom grew on him by leaps and bounds. There he was, looking comfortable and generally pretty wideawake, and full of all the good advice and information that anyone might want to know. So people came to him.
“They came to talk over their troubles—and the more they came to talk and counsel with him, the larger he became. Being wise he never betrayed anyone’s confidences. But the sum total of his knowledge about people and their problems became quite considerable.
“That’s why I advise you,” our big friend continued, “that if you happen onto anything down in this realm that excites your curiosity, just go to the Sleeper and he’ll help you out.”
Suddenly the three of us broke out laughing. If ever in our lives we had bumped into anything that excited curiosity, this variation in size was it. Even as we sat there trying to find words to explain our amusement, the eleven pairs of dough-like shoes swished along the trail and the eleven handsome stairsteps came up to wait upon our host and us.
They gathered up the luncheon trays—the smaller ones doing the picking up and passing the stuff right up the steps until it was all in the hands of the tallest four men and women.
Skinny won another interested look from the flashy eyes of that cute little five-footer. At the same time I shuddered to discover that the eleven-foot female near the end was trying to smile at me.
Our big host, paying no attention, went on with his discussion of our needs.
“Now if I were exploring your planets—and to tell the truth I used to get around some before I grew too large for space travel—it wouldn’t take me long to pick up something remarkable. That is, remarkable to us here. On Mars or Jupiter, the Earth, or Efde-Aurus, for example—”
“What,” said I, “do you think you would choose?”
“My choice—please don’t take any personal offense, gentlemen—my choice of a remarkable fact would be the deception that nature plays upon man in those parts of the universe.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps my experience on the Swampy Satellites is responsible. But to me the apparent uniformity among men in your part of the universe is the most outrageous deception that nature ever worked.”
“Uniformity? You mean in size?” said Hi.
“Exactly. Take the first half dozen men of the same height that you meet on the street. Line them up together. There they stand, each one six feet tall, and with only minor differences in weight and build and muscle. One of those men may not have the capacity to read and write. Could you pick him out?”
Skinny jumped to the answer.
“Sure you could, as quick as a wink.”
“Perhaps, Mr. Davis, but suppose you have left five men all of whom can read and write. Can you, without the benefit of your famed intelligence and aptitude tests, tell which one might outweigh the others by a hundred to one—mentally?”
“You might if you studied them a little and thought the matter over.”
“Exactly my point. The likeness of size tends to throw you off the track, as far as their actual mental development is concerned. And so your society places burdens on some mentalities—burdens that such persons aren’t capable of performing. Others may have superior mentalities which are allowed to go to waste. The whole effect of the physical uniformity is to encourage a mental uniformity. Am I right, Mr. Davis?”
“I don’t exactly get it,” said Skinny. “But I see Hi Turner sittin’ there noddin’ his head, so I reckon there must be somethin’ in what you say.”
“Getting back to our proposed visit to our sage,” said the big man ha
stily, “I wonder if some of the others of your party wouldn’t like to come with us? Not all—from what I gather of your situation—would be appreciative; but perhaps a few.”
It was a pretty swell offer. Our host explained that he could escort us all three back to our ship for a minute to pick up our choice of the others.
We were on the verge of starting, when the cunning little five-footer, having stepped out of the stair-steps to play messenger girl, came swishing along the trail signalling to our host that she had a written message for him.
The seventy-five footer bent down to accept the letter—an official one, as I later learned. He straightened up sharply, and a flicker of worry showed in his eyes. Then he re-read the message, but did not divulge its contents, even though the messenger girl hinted her own curiosity.
“Gentlemen, we’ll make a slight change in our plans,” he said shortly. “If you, Mr. Turner, will give me the names of the others you wish to join you, I’ll see that they arrive here—safely.”
There was an ominous implication to that word “safely.” He concluded, “Meanwhile, you will go ahead without me. Dorothy, will you take these gentlemen in charge? Dorothy is one of our immigrants still serving her apprenticeship as a new citizen. But you will find her very alert.”
Dorothy took us in charge.
By the time she had conducted us through the city, what we hadn’t inquired about the place wasn’t worth inquiring.
I can’t say that I digested all the answers. That chemical process for manufacturing synthetic foods went right over my head. And I was amazed by the engineering feats that had protected these radio-active chasms from the upper swamps.
But out of the complexity of information I modestly admit that I absorbed far more than Skinny did. He would ask the same question over as many as four times, and gaze at Dorothy with a moonstruck lack of comprehension while she answered.
His favorite query was, “Gee, how’d you happen to come to this place anyhow?”
