The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  Around the rail he ran. Berk followed him. On the second round Yig stopped. To his consternation the guards below were not moving. They stood cold in their tracks, spears uplifted, motionless. The invisible ray from Berk’s pistol had made temporary stone of them.

  Yig couldn’t get a motion out of them, for all his shouting. He bellowed like a wounded beast, then turned back upon Berk, charged at him with the knife—and ran into the paralysis ray. His muscles went rigid. The momentum carried him over the rail when Berk sidestepped him. He fell upon one of the upraised spears. There he hung, motionless, obviously without any feeling. He would never know that a spear had plunged through his heart. The frozen guard who had caught him wobbled off balance, and together they crashed to the ground.

  The long hush. The voice of Berk. “Kessa have mercy!”

  * * *

  The multitude across the plaza repeated the words of loyalty to Cog and Daunsa. They sang softly a song that applauded their two new leaders.

  Now the Dart of Fire had been destroyed with the stones that might have been hurled against the palace. The Kessa flowers barely murmured, and a faint column of smoke, visible by the light of three moons, was all that remained of the fire. Yet most of the crowd still lingered, watching, wondering, whispering. “Do you see the image in the smoke?” they asked each other. “It’s old Daunsog himself . . . Plain as day. See, he’s smiling to them—Cog and Daunsa. He has his hands on their shoulders. She sees. Her hands are reaching up to him . . . It’s a vision . . . Now it’s fading.”

  “Now it’s fading,” Berk repeated to himself, watching languidly. Then at the last he saw not Daunsog the man, but Daunsog the boy, the same as he had been years ago. The little fellow seemed to be waving a hand of farewell to Berk . . . And this was the image that lingered in Berk’s eyes as he walked alone through the desert dawn, across the miles of sand to his spaceship.

  SERPENT RIVER

  First published in Other Worlds, May, 1957

  The Code was rigid—no fraternization with the peoples of other planets! Earth wanted no “shotgun weddings” of the worlds of space!

  1.

  “Split” Campbell and I brought your ship down to a quiet landing on the summit of a mile-wide naked rock, and I turned to the telescope for a closer view of the strange thing we had come to see.

  It shone, eighteen or twenty miles away, in the light of the late afternoon sun. It was a long silvery serpent-like something that crawled slowly over the planet’s surface.

  There was no way of guessing how large it was, at this distance. It might have been a rope rolled into shape out of a mountain—or a chain of mountains. It might have been a river of bluish-gray dough that had shaped itself into a great cable. Its diameter? If it had been a hollow tube, cities could have flowed through it upright without bending their skyscrapers. It was, to the eye, an endless rope of cloud oozing along the surface of the land. No, not cloud, for it had the compactness of solid substance.

  We could see it at several points among the lo foothills. Even from this distance we could guess that it had been moving along its course for centuries. Moving like a sluggish snake. It followed a deep-worn path between the nearer hills and the high jagged mountains on the horizon.

  What was it?

  “Split” Campbell and I had been sent here to learn the answers. Our sponsor was the well-known “EGGWE” (the Earth-Galaxy Good Will Expeditions.) We were under the EGGWE Code. We were the first expedition to this planet, but we had come equipped with two important pieces of advance information. The Keynes-Roy roving cameras (unmanned) had brought back to the Earth choice items of fact about various parts of the universe. From these photos we knew (1) that man lived on this planet, a humanoid closely resembling the humans of the Earth; and (2) that a vast cylindrical “rope” crawled the surface of this land, continuously, endlessly.

  We had intentionally landed at what we guessed would be a safe distance from the rope. If it were a living thing, like a serpent, we preferred not to disturb it. If it gave off heat or poisonous gases or deadly vibrations, we meant to keep our distance. If, on the other hand, it proved to be some sort of vegetable—a vine of glacier proportions—or a river of some silvery, creamy substance—we would move in upon it gradually, gathering facts as we progressed. I could depend upon “Split” to record all observable phenomena with the accuracy of split-hairs.

  Split was working at the reports like a drudge at this very moment.

  I looked up from the telescope, expecting him to be waiting his turn eagerly. I misguessed. He didn’t even glance up from his books. Rare young Campbell! Always a man of duty, never a man of impulse!

  “Here Campbell, take a look at the ‘rope’.”

  “Before I finish the reports, sir? If I recall our Code, Section Two, Order of Duties upon Landing: A—”

  “Forget the Code. Take a look at the rope while the sun’s on it . . . See it?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Can you see it’s moving? See the little clouds of dust coming up from under its belly?”

  “Yes sir. An excellent view, Captain Linden.”

  “What do you think of it, Split? Ever see a sight like that before?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, what about it? Any comments?”

  Split answered me with an enthusiastic, “By gollies, sir!” Then, with restraint, “It’s precisely what I expected from the photographs, sir. Any orders, sir?”

  “Relax, Split! That’s the order. Relax!”

  “Thanks—thanks, Cap!” That was his effort to sound informal, though coming from him it was strained. His training had given him an exaggerated notion of the importance of dignity and discipline.

  He was naturally so conscientious it was painful. And to top it all, his scientific habit of thought made him want to stop and weigh his words even when speaking of casual things such as how much sugar he required in his coffee.

  Needless to say, I had kidded him unmercifully over these traits. Across the millions of miles of space that we had recently traveled (our first voyage together) I had amused myself at his expense. I had sworn that he would find, in time, that he couldn’t even trim his fingernails without calipers, or comb his hair without actually physically splitting the hairs that cropped up in the middle of the part. That was when I had nicknamed him “Split”—and the wide ears that stuck out from his stubble-cut blond hair had glowed with the pink of self-consciousness. Plainly, he liked the kidding. But if I thought I could rescue him from the weight of dignity and duty, I was mistaken.

  Now he had turned the telescope for a view far to the right. He paused.

  “What do you see?” I asked.

  “I cannot say definitely. The exact scientific classification of the object I am observing would call for more detailed scrutiny—”

  “You’re seeing some sort of object?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “What sort of object?”

  “A living creature, sir—upright, wearing clothes—”

  “A man?”

  “To all appearances, sir—”

  “You bounder, give me that telescope!”

  2.

  If you have explored the weird life of many a planet, as I have, you can appreciate the deep sense of excitement that comes over me when, looking out at a new world for the first time, I see a man-like animal.

  Walking upright!

  Wearing adornments in the nature of clothing!

  I gazed, and my lungs filled with the breath of wonderment. A man! Across millions of miles of space—a man, like the men of the Earth.

  Six times before in my life of exploration I had gazed at new realms within the approachable parts of our universe, but never before had the living creatures borne such wonderful resemblance to the human life of our Earth.

  A man!

  He might have been creeping on all fours.

  He might have been skulking like a lesser animal.

  He might have been entirely
naked.

  He was none of these—and at the very first moment of viewing him I felt a kinship toward him. Oh, he was primitive in appearance—but had my ancestors not been the same? Was this not a mirror of my own race a million years or so ago? I sensed that my own stream of life had somehow crossed with his in ages gone by. How? Who can ever know? By what faded charts of the movements through the sky will man ever be able to retrace relationships of forms of life among planets?

  “Get ready to go out and meet him, Campbell,” I said. “He’s a friend.”

  Split Campbell gave me a look as if to say, Sir, you don’t even know what sort of animal he is, actually, much less whether he’s friendly or murderous.

  “There are some things I can sense on first sight, Campbell. Take my word for it, he’s a friend.”

  “I didn’t say anything, sir.”

  “Good. Don’t. Just get ready.”

  “We’re going to go out—?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Orders.”

  “And meet both of them?” Split was at the telescope.

  “Both?” I took the instrument from him. Both! “Well!”

  “They seem to be coming out of the ground,” Split said. “I see no signs of habitation, but apparently we’ve landed on top of an underground city—though I hasten to add that this is only an hypothesis.”

  “One’s a male and the other’s a female,” I said.

  “Another hypothesis,” said Split.

  The late evening sunshine gave us a clear view of our two “friends.” They were fully a mile away. Split was certain they had not seen our ship, and to this conclusion I was in agreement. They had apparently come up out of the barren rock hillside to view the sunset. I studied them through the telescope while Split checked over equipment for a hike.

  The man’s walk was unhurried. He moved thoughtfully, one might guess. His bare chest and legs showed him to be statuesque in mold, cleanly muscled, fine of bone. His skin was almost the color of the cream-colored robe which flowed from his back, whipping lightly in the breeze. He wore a brilliant red sash about his middle, and this was matched by a red headdress that came down over his shoulders as a circular mantle.

  The girl stood several yards distant, watching him. This was some sort of ritual, no doubt. He was not concerned with her, but with the setting sun. Its rays were almost horizontal, knifing through a break in the distant mountain skyline. He went through some routine motions, his moving arms highlighted by the lemon-colored light of evening.

  The girl approached him. Two other persons appeared from somewhere back of her. . . Three . . . Four . . . Five . . .

  “Where do they come from?” Split had paused in the act of checking equipment to take his turn at the telescope. If he had not done so, I might not have made a discovery. The landscape was moving.

  The long shadows that I had not noticed through the telescope were a prominent part of the picture I saw through the ship’s window when I looked out across the scene with the naked eye. The shadows were moving.

  They were tree shadows. They were moving toward the clearing where the crowd gathered. And the reason for their movement was that their trees themselves were moving.

  “Notice anything?” I asked Split.

  “The crowd is growing. We’ve certainly landed on top of a city.” He gazed. “They’re coming from underground.”

  Looking through the telescope, obviously he didn’t catch the view of the moving trees.

  “Notice anything else unusual?” I persisted.

  “Yes. The females—I’m speaking hypothetically—but they must be females—are all wearing puffy white fur ornaments around their elbows. I wonder why?”

  “You haven’t noticed the trees?”

  “The females are quite attractive,” said Split.

  I forgot about the moving trees, then, and took over the telescope. Mobile trees were not new to me. I had seen similar vegetation on other planets—“sponge trees”—which possessed a sort of muscular quality. If these were similar, they were no doubt feeding along the surface of the slope below the rocky plateau. The people in the clearing beyond paid no attention to them.

  I studied the crowd of people. Only the leader wore the brilliant garb. The others were more scantily clothed. All were handsome of build. The lemon-tinted sunlight glanced off the muscular shoulders of the males and the soft curves of the females.

  “Those furry elbow ornaments on the females,” I said to Split, “they’re for protection. The caves they live in must be narrow, so they pad their elbows.”

  “Why don’t they pad their shoulders? They don’t have anything on their shoulders.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  We became fascinated in watching, from the seclusion of our ship. If we were to walk out, or make any sounds, we might have interrupted their meeting. Here they were in their native ritual of sunset, not knowing that people from another world watched. The tall leader must be making a speech. They sat around him in little huddles. He moved his arms in calm, graceful gestures.

  “They’d better break it up!” Split said suddenly. “The jungles are moving in on them.”

  “They’re spellbound,” I said. “They’re used to spongetrees. Didn’t you ever see moving trees?”

  Split said sharply. “Those trees are marching! They’re an army under cover. Look!”

  I saw, then. The whole line of advancing vegetation was camouflage for a sneak attack. And all those natives sitting around in meeting were as innocent as a flock of sitting ducks. Split Campbell’s voice was edged with alarm. “Captain! Those worshippers—how can we warn them? Oh-oh! Too late. Look!” All at once the advancing sponge trees were tossed back over the heads of the savage band concealed within. They were warriors—fifty or more of them—with painted naked bodies. They dashed forward in a wide semicircle, swinging crude weapons, bent on slaughter.

  3.

  They were waving short clubs or whips with stones tied to the ends.

  They charged up the slope, about sixty yards, swinging their weird clubs with a threat of death.

  Wild disorder suddenly struck the audience. Campbell and I believed we were about to witness a massacre.

  “Captain—Jim! You’re not going to let this happen!”

  Our sympathies had gone to the first groups, the peaceable ones. I had the same impulse as Campbell—to do something—anything! Yet here we sat in our ship, more than half a mile from our thirty-five or forty “friends” in danger.

  Our friends were panicked. But they didn’t take flight. They didn’t duck for the holes in the rocky hilltop. Instead, they rallied and packed themselves around their tall leader. They stood, a defiant wall.

  “Can we shoot a ray, Jim?”

  I didn’t answer. Later I would recall that Split could drop his dignity under excitement—his “Captain Linden” and “sir.” Just now he wanted any sort of splitsecond order.

  We saw the naked warriors run out in a wide circle. They spun and weaved, they twirled their deadly clubs, they danced grotesquely. They were closing in. Closer and closer. It was all their party.

  “Jim, can we shoot?”

  “Hit number sixteen, Campbell” Split touched the number sixteen signal.

  The ship’s siren wailed out over the land.

  You could tell when the sound struck them. The circle of savage ones suddenly fell apart. The dancing broke into the wildest contortions you ever saw. As if they’d been spanked by a wave of electricity. The siren scream must have sounded like an animal cry from an unknown world. The attackers ran for the sponge trees. The rootless jungle came to life. It jerked and jumped spasmodically down the slope. And our siren kept right on singing.

  “Ready for that hike, Campbell? Give me my equipment coat.” I got into it. I looked back to the telescope. The tall man of the party had behaved with exceptional calmness. He had turned to stare in our direction from the instant the siren sounded. He could no doubt make out the lines of our silvery ship i
n the shadows. Slowly, deliberately, he marched over the hilltop toward us.

  Most of his party now scampered back to the safety of their hiding places in the ground. But a few—the brave ones, perhaps, or the officials of his group—came with him.

  “He needs a stronger guard than that,” Campbell grumbled.

  Sixteen was still wailing. “Set it for ten minutes and come on,” I said. Together we descended from the ship.

  We took into our nostrils the tangy air, breathing fiercely, at first. We slogged along over the rock surface feeling our weight to be one-and-a-third times normal. We glanced down the slope apprehensively. We didn’t want any footraces. The trees, however, were still retreating. Our siren would sing on for another eight minutes. And in case of further danger, we were equipped with the standard pocket arsenal of special purpose capsule bombs.

  Soon we came face to face with the tall, stately old leader in the cream-and-red cloak.

  Split and I stood together, close enough to exchange comments against the siren’s wail. Fine looking people, we observed. Smooth faces. Like the features of Earth men. These creatures could walk down any main street back home. With a bit of makeup they would pass. “Notice, Captain, they have strange looking eyes.”, “Very smooth.”, “It’s because they have no eyebrows . . . no eye lashes.”,“Very smooth—handsome—attractive.”

  Then the siren went off.

  The leader stood before me, apparently unafraid. He seemed to be waiting for me to explain my presence. His group of twelve gathered in close.

  I had met such situations with ease before. “EGGWE” explorers come equipped. I held out a gift toward the leader. It was a singing medallion attached to a chain. It was discshaped, patterned after a large silver coin. It made music at the touch of a button. In clear, dainty bell tones it rang out its one tune, “Trail of Stars.”

  As it played I held it up for inspection. I placed it around my own neck, then offered it to the leader. I thought he was smiling. He was not overwhelmed by the “magic” of this gadget. He saw it for what it was, a token of friendship. There was a keenness about him that I liked. Yes, he was smiling. He bent his head forward and allowed me to place the gift around his neck.