Classic Fiction

by Hal Clement

  It was evident that Talker had not exaggerated the seriousness of his own position. Kirk had seen members of the crew moving painfully about their duties on board the ship, and had seen one of them collapse as the horny exoskeleton of his absurdly thin legs gave way under a body weighing more than three times what it should have. On the other hand, a crew of Earthmen under such conditions would have left long since, weapons or no weapons. Kirk found himself unable to decide whether the stubbornness of these creatures was an admirable trait, or an indication of less worthy natures. It occurred to him, fleetingly, that their idea of a “worthy” trait probably differed widely from his own.

  Possibly, if the man decided to refuse aid to the strangers, he could quiet his conscience by comparing them to children refusing to come in out of the rain until mother promised them some candy—but a scientist, working overtime in his laboratory, could be described by the same simile, and Kirk knew it. No, the need was surely real enough to them.

  And why should they want to attack mankind? Earth was useless to them, as a dwelling place; if, as they claimed, their own king were against them, only fools would make such an attempt, however armed. And Kirk was not impressed with the gas guns of the aliens—they were, even he could realize, worth absolutely nothing except in the confined space of an ether ship. On the other hand, Talker might have stretched the truth beyond its yielding point; and the “king,” whom he might still be serving, would not need excuses such as the possible utility of a world in order to attack it, unless he differed greatly from Earthly rulers. The chance to extend his dominions would be motive enough.

  Well, let that go for a minute. Kirk had arrived at his camp, and prepared a light meal. He ate slowly, still thinking, and washed the few utensils in the same fashion. The Sun had long been gone, and he sought his blankets with the intention of sleeping on the problem.

  Sleep refused to come. He would absolutely refuse to consider one angle, and another promptly rose to torment him. What was the gas the aliens used? Kirk was not sure whether or not he regretted his ignorance of chemistry. The train of thought led by imperceptible, but perfectly natural, steps to the idea of insect poisons, his own original job in the territory, and the stock of copper sulphate and arsenate of lead which was stored at the river mouth port, for use the following spring. The idea left his mind as quickly as it had entered; for such materials did not, so far as Kirk knew, form any kind of gas. The job recalled his other occupation, which was still that of acquiring an education. The imminent opening of college presented itself as an additional reason for immediate departure; it was doubtful even now whether he could return to the States in time for registration—unless, he thought with a flicker of amusement, the aliens performed the necessary transportation. And so the trail of thought led itself in a circle, and he was once again considering the matter of the requirements of those on the spaceship.

  And then another thought struck him. Let it be granted that the herald had adhered strictly to the truth at all times. He might, then, be a likable individual; he might be a shepherd trying to save the lives of his flock; he might be an officer worthy of respect for his ability and devotion to duty—no matter what he might be in his character, the simple and undeniable fact remained that, by his own admission of past activities and by his declaration of the uses to which he intended to put the weapons he hoped to acquire, he was neither more nor less than a pirate. He had stated plainly that Boss had revolted against the authority of his original ruler; he had tacitly admitted that he himself had concurred in the expression of independence; and he had used the term “outlaw” in describing the ship and its crew.

  If Earth were to have any dealings with the herald’s people, they would normally be with the law-abiding section of society. Kirk had no moral right to give assistance to that crew, no matter what his personal feelings might be. For a while, the Earthman pondered the matter, seeking flaws in the argument—seeking them solely because of the friendship he had commenced to feel for Talker, for any sort of decision would be a boon to his tortured mind.

  But the fact stood; and eventually Kirk ceased attempting to argue it away, and accepted the simple idea that aiding the strangers would be, legally and morally, an offense against justice. Owing to the natural contrariness of human nature, he now found himself wishing he could help the alien with whom he had conversed so long; but the attainment of a decision had eased the tension in his mind, and at long last the man succeeded in falling asleep. He might have slept even more peacefully had he known a single fact—one of which not even Talker and Boss had dreamed.

  Their interstellar voyage had consumed, not four hundred days, but more nearly forty years. The greater part of the flight had been made at a speed near that of light; hours of ship’s time had been days outside. A similar period was certain to elapse on the return; and the ruler who had been defied would certainly have been succeeded by another. Talker and Boss could easily have passed themselves off as returning members of a legitimate interstellar expedition; even had they failed to do so, it is unlikely that they would have been punished for defying a ruler whose place their judge, as likely as not, would have inherited either by private assassination or conquest in war.

  Unfortunately, Talker’s race had no inkling of relativity, as their science was of the type which develops better guns and faster ships, without bothering too much with theory; and Kirk’s only acquaintance with the concept had been made through the pages of a classic novel on time travel—the only such work he had ever read, and one which had emphasized the fourth dimension rather than velocity-mass ratios.

  When Kirk awoke, therefore, it was with a distinctly uncomfortable feeling connected with the day’s probable events. He rose, shivering in the biting cold of early morning, washed and ate, and broke camp. Whatever happened, he intended to head south that day, and he carefully made tent, blankets, and the other gear into a single large pack. This he cached near the camp site; then he picked up his rifle and took the trail over the hill into the next valley. He was fairly sure that the aliens could not harm him, except by landing their vessel on top of him, since they were without weapons and far inferior to him in physical strength.

  But why, he suddenly thought, should there be any trouble? He need not refuse to help; it was simple truth that he had not been able to solve the problem—he still had no idea of the identity of the substance they desired. He could keep to himself his opinion of their occupation. Kirk was sure that the words describing that opinion had not been used in any of his conversation with Talker, and the herald must by this time be accustomed to receiving untranslatable waves from the Earthman’s mind.

  Thus determined, Kirk now emerged from the forest to the bank of the arroyo where the interstellar flier lay. As usual at this time of day, none of the crew was visible; also as usual, Kirk attracted attention to the fact of his presence by sending a stone clattering against the outer hull.

  Talker, in spite of the ever-mounting fatigue that was threatening the lives of his party as much as any other single trouble, had also spent a portion of the night in thought. He had seen more and more clearly in the last few days that the chances of Kirk’s learning the name of the poison were microscopic. A practical chemist, given a sample of the substance, could have identified it without difficulty; but without even a milligram sample on board, it seemed doubtful whether anyone could tell what was needed. The natives of this planet had, and used, poison gases; Kirk had told him that much. In their case, however, it was necessary in general to use them outdoors, and special characteristics of density and effectiveness were thus required. Talker knew that his gas was about twice as dense as the air of this world, under the same conditions of temperature and pressure; but he had no idea of the extent of its toxic qualities on terrestrial life.

  The only chance, it seemed, if Kirk failed in his task, was to have him direct the voyagers to a place where someone skilled in chemistry, or warfare, or both, might be found. The herald had learned to commu
nicate; the rest should not be difficult.

  So it came about that Talker answered the bell-like clang on the hull with his mind set to expect the worst, and prepared to do something about it. He noticed at once that the human being was carrying his rifle, which he had not done since the first day, and the alien partially interpreted the reason for the act. He flew to the bank and squatted in front of Kirk, antennae alertly spread. The Earthling, his mind made up, wasted no time.

  “I have not solved the problem,” he stated flatly.

  “I am not surprised,” wrote Talker, “nor am I angered. There was no need to bring the weapon—you cannot be blamed for failure at a task where one better trained than you could probably have done no more. It would be childishly stupid to hold animosity against you, in spite of our disappointment.

  “But you can still help us, There must be, somewhere on this planet, individuals who are trained in such matters. You have mentioned your own need of getting out of this region before the onset of winter. We could easily transport you to your own place, and you in return can direct us to such a person as I have described. Are you willing?”

  The herald’s attitude at his failure had taken Kirk completely by surprise, and had added much to his opinion of the creature. The new suggestion found him unprepared, for his intended refusal seemed now even more unpleasant than before. Some inner guardian made him say simply, “I have left my equipment at the camp,” and then he turned and strode, as rapidly as he dared, into the forest and away from the danger of betraying the thoughts whirling about in his mind.

  A mile from the ship, Kirk stopped and tried to settle the recent happenings into his picture of the alien’s personality. He had felt friendship of a sort for Talker, even after deciding he was a pirate and unworthy of such feeling; the attitude the herald had shown, in the face of what must have been a bitter disappointment, had strengthened Kirk’s respect. Refusing to help was going more and more against the grain.

  He tried to argue down his feelings. It was evident, from Talker’s conversation, that the human admired characteristics of altruism and sympathy were foreign to his make-up. He was perfectly selfish, and Kirk had no doubt that he would have seized any chance of saving his own neck, whether or not that chance also included the necks of his fellows. He looked on those others with tolerance, since they made life easier for him, but there was certainly no trace of fellowship in his feelings toward them. Kirk had repeatedly sensed the amusement in Talker’s mind as he spoke of Boss and others of the crew, and was reminded of the interested contempt with which he himself had sometimes watched a child building sand castles at the seashore.

  No, Talker was not an ideal character from a human point of view; but Kirk still felt attracted to him. Could he go back and tell the alien that it was useless to ask him for further aid? The man shrank from the thought; and yet what else could he do? Nothing. Slowly the human being finished the walk to his former camp site, shouldered the heavy pack, and turned back toward the ship. He walked sturdily, but the morning sunlight filtered through the leaves onto a face that looked far older than Kirk’s twenty years would demand.

  Talker was still waiting on the bank, both his great yellow eyes fixed upon the opening of the trail. He saw Kirk coming with his burden, and at once turned and flew to the air lock, disappearing within. Kirk saw him go, and called; the herald’s head and antennae reappeared at the portal. The man dropped his pack to the ground, and stood motionless and silent, looking at the mothman and trying to find words in which to express the thing he had to make clear. He couldn’t do it.

  The thoughts were enough. Talker spread his wings and, concealing the frightful effort the act cost him, returned to the place where Kirk was standing. He still carried the writing materials, and, as the Earthling commenced to realize the extent to which he had been analyzed, he began writing.

  “What is it that we have done to offend your customs?” asked the herald. “What possible interest can you have in those of my kind whom you have never seen, of whom you would never have heard except for me?”

  Kirk tried to explain his attitude on the subject of piracy, but failed signally. To the alien, raiding and looting were the natural means of making a living; his ideas of right and wrong simply did not match those of human civilization, any more than could be expected. It was Talker who finally decided that further effort in that direction was useless.

  “When I first discovered you,” he said, “it took some time for me to realize that the waves you radiated represented a pattern of intelligence. Your behavior eventually showed the truth, and with much effort I learned to interpret, to a certain extent, those thought waves. I fear that we are up against the same problem here. Just as it took me some time to comprehend that my thoughts were not the only possible kind, I am just beginning to understand that my behavior pattern is not the only possible one. With time, perhaps I may understand yours; I must, if to do so lies within the powers of intelligence. Therefore, I invite you to come with us, anyway, to the southern regions from which you say you have come. On the way, you will tell me more about your people, as I have told you of mine. Perhaps, with that background, I shall begin to appreciate your point of view and find a means of persuading you to help us. In any case, the knowledge will be of great interest for its own sake.

  “Until I do have some understanding of your reasons for refusal, I shall not repeat our request; nor shall I inform the commander of what has occurred. The less he knows, the better for both of us, as well as himself. He could never appreciate what I am now trying to do, and he has no understanding of how a mind can seek pure knowledge without some immediate use for it—curiosity and imagination are unknown to him.

  “Come, then; we will travel southward slowly, and converse as we fly. Some time at least will be saved; and we do not dare spend more than a few more days on this planet. We would not have enough of the crew left to man the engines—there are few enough of us now who remain able.”

  Kirk accepted, though never thereafter could he account for his reasons for doing so. Unconsciously, he wanted to give the creature a chance to justify itself; more and more the idea was winning ground that a being so generally reasonable and so utterly imperturbable in the face of telling disappointment could not be a criminal on any code. Such a belief, of course, is unreasonable and unjustifiable even when considered with respect to a single culture. Applied by a member of one civilization to a creature of another, such an emotional attitude is sheer lunacy. Logic alone stands a chance, and even that is likely to be badly crippled for lack of data.

  Earthman and alien entered the air lock, and closed both doors—for nearly the last time on Earth, the herald hoped. Talker relaxed for a moment in the corridor, fervently vowing never again to spread his wings on a world where he couldn’t fly without stimulants; then he crawled forward and up the ramp to the control room, Kirk following.

  They found themselves alone in the control chamber, for it was still early morning. Talker sounded the signal intended to let Boss know he was wanted, and the oddly assorted pair waited in silence. Several repetitions of the call were necessary before Boss finally appeared from below. His attitude was even more domineering than usual, partly because he had just been awakened by the signal, and partly because he never missed an opportunity to try to impress the native with his importance; he never fully appreciated the fact that the human being could neither “hear” his speech nor interpret his bodily attitude.

  Talker told him to get the ship into the air, and cruise slowly toward the equator of the planet until ocean was reached. Boss promptly began asking questions about the state of progress in locating the object of their search; and the herald replied that at the moment no progress was being made because the individual who should be working was talking instead. That silenced the captain, and he moved to the control board to call the engineers to their stations. Talker took his place at the commander’s side, ready to transmit more detailed instructions if and when necessary. T
he signal board was a sufficiently versatile affair to transmit the relatively simple commands involved in raising the ship, however; as a matter of fact, the actual take-off, as would be expected, was handled from the control room, and orders were given merely to start the proper generators below.

  Kirk laid his pack on the floor beside the captain and sat on it, thus bringing his head down to within about two feet of the other’s. The glass ports, larger than any others in the ship, permitted him to see in all directions forward, while a periscope, which he quickly noticed, gave a partial view backward, leaving the lower rear the vessel’s only blind spot. The periscope eyepiece was made to accommodate the huge optics of the ship’s owners, and transmitted a decidedly distorted image to Kirk’s eyes, as he found by experiment. The field of view could not be shifted, and its lower half was occupied by the hull. The man turned his attention to the great port which gave a clear view of what lay below and in front.

  He settled himself more solidly as the ground slid smoothly away from him. There was no take-off run; the vessel rose straight for two thousand feet, turned the streamlined bow southward, and followed its nose. Boss relaxed at his post as soon as they were on course, and merely kept his eyes on a row of dials supposed to indicate the behavior of the generators. An engineer was watching a duplicate set below, and it made little difference whether or not Boss stuck to his job—though he would not have admitted that fact to Kirk had he been able to speak to him.

  The human being and the herald watched and commented upon the terrain below, as it drifted sternward. Talker drew attention to the deserted appearance of the forest, and compared it to the similar vast, uninhabited regions of his own planet. This, as intended, drew from Kirk a description of the more densely populated countries, of the different peoples who inhabited them, and the various relationships existing between them. On this last point he was a fair lecturer, for he had spent a good deal of time on sociology. The herald kept him talking, asking questions whenever the man seemed to be running down, and in general doing everything which was likely to result in the production of any information that might be of use.