by Hal Clement
“Wh-who are you? And where are you? And how—?” his voice died out as questions flooded into his mind faster than he could utter them.
“Sit quietly and watch, and I will try to explain.” The words flowed across his field of vision. The Hunter had used this method before, with the written language of Allane, and in a very few minutes had attained Bob’s normal reading speed. He tried to hold it there, since if he changed letters either more or less rapidly, the boy’s eyes started to wander.
“As I. said in my note, it is hard to explain who I am. My job corresponds to that of one of your police agents. I have no name in the sense that you people have, so you had best think of me as the Detective, or the Hunter. I am not a native of this planet, but came here in pursuit of a criminal of my own species. I am still seeking him; both his ship and mine were wrecked when we arrived, but circumstances carried me away from our point of landing before I could begin an orderly search. That fugitive represents a serious menace to your people, and for that reason I ask your help in locating him.”
“But where do you come from? What sort of person are you? And how do you make these pictures before my eyes?”
“All in good time.” The Hunter’s limited reading in English had made him rather fond of clichés. “We come from a planet of a star which I could point out to you, but whose name I do not know in your language. That is not important at the moment.” The Hunter changed his mind about that statement the instant after he made it. “I am not a person like yourself. I fear you do not know enough biology to permit a good explanation; but perhaps you know the difference between a protozoan and a virus. Just as the nucleated cells which make up your body evolved from the large, protozoan-type creatures, so did my body evolve from the far smaller cells you call viruses. You have read about such things, or I would not know your words for them; but perhaps you do not remember.”
“I think I do,” replied Bob aloud. “But I thought viruses were supposed to be practically liquid.”
“At that size, the distinction is slight. As a matter of fact, my body has no definite shape—you would think of an amoeba if you were to see me. Also I am very small by your standards—yet my body consists of thousands of times as many cells as yours.”
“Why not let me see you? Where are you, anyway?”
The Hunter dodged the question. Instead of answering it directly, he explained about the symbiotic manner in which his kind normally passed their existence; explained the reasons for it, the limitations inherent in his flimsy physical structure, and the value of the joint life to both species. For one not well versed in human psychology, he did a good job; quite early in the explanation the boy had inferred that the other was already living symbiotically in some earth creature, and was giving the explanation as proof of his existence when Bob should see his host. The youngster was even starting to envy the metazoan race of Allane which had the good fortune to have such efficient guardians against disease and injury. Luck played a hand in the Hunter’s timing; it was just as he started to admit his actual whereabouts that Bob remembered the incident in the nurse’s office the preceding evening.
To the Hunter’s relief, the boy was more interested than shocked. At his request the symbiote repeated the attempts at muscle control that had caused so much disturbance fifteen hours before; but he refused to show himself, wisely guessing at the probable results. He was too relieved by the present state of affairs to want to take any chances with it.
Actually, he had made an incredibly lucky choice of hosts. A much younger child could not have understood the situation and might have been frightened out of its senses; an adult would most probably have headed at top speed for the nearest psychiatrist’s office. Bob was old enough to understand at least some of the Hunter’s tale, and young j enough not to blame the whole thing on subjective phenomena.
At any rate, he listened—or rather, watched—steadily and soberly as the Hunter unfolded the series of events which had brought him first to Earth and then halfway around it, to a Massachusetts boarding school. The alien explained clearly the problem which lay before him, and the reason why Bob should interest himself in it. The boy understood clearly enough; he could easily envision the mischief of which his guest would be capable in his present location, if he did not possess a moral sense, and the thought of a similar entity loose among the human race, uninhibited by any such restriction, made him shudder.
The really troublesome phase of the problem struck him before the Hunter got around to mentioning it.
“I say, Hunter,” he asked suddenly “how do you plan to find this fugitive? How can you recognize his presence?” The alien did not answer immediately.
“Frankly, I am not sure. I have been working entirely on the problem of getting back to the island where I landed, and taking up the trail from there. I planned to worry about means of tracing when I got there. I do not deny it will be difficult; even under normal circumstances one cannot tell by sight whether one of my people is present in a body at which one is looking, and now there is not only the time that has been lost by my mischance, but the fact that the person harboring the fugitive may actually be ignorant of the fact—as you were until now.”
“Are you certain that he will take refuge in a human body? Is no other kind suitable?” asked Bob.
“Any creature large enough to stand the drain on its system will serve. I should think, however, that he would seek a human host, for the same reasons that I did; an intelligent being is ordinarily the safest in any given environment, and human beings move more freely than any others about this planet, except for birds. I have not come across any bird in my reading since I landed here large enough to make a satisfactory host. Also, the assumption that the fugitive has joined with a human being at least gives us something definite to start on. It may be mental cowardice on my part, of course; but the prospect of searching a few thousand human beings and following their movements for the past few months seems a lot more practical than doing the same for a numberless legion of other life forms. If I don’t restrict the problem to something practical, I won’t have the courage to undertake it at all.”
“I see what you mean, all right,” said Bob. You do have the needle-in-the-haystack situation with a vengeance.” The Hunter was familiar with the expression.
“That describes it well—except for the fact that the needle is camouflaged as a wisp of hay,” was his answering comment.
They were interrupted at this point by Bob’s roommate, returning to prepare for dinner, and there was no further chance for conversation that day. Bob saw the doctor about the arm during the afternoon; and, since the Hunter possessed no ‘miraculous’ healing powers, the doctor considered its progress normal. It was pleasantly free of all signs of infection. “In spite,” the doctor remarked, “of that silly trick of yours. What did you try to close it with, anyway?”
“I did nothing to it,” replied the boy. “It happened when I was on my way to the dispensary anyway, and I thought it was just a scratch myself until the nurse started cleaning it and everything let go.” He saw the doctor did not believe him, and decided there was little use pursuing the argument. He had been doubting the reality of the whole experience himself, until the doctor had brought up the arm phenomenon without prompting. It was another bit of evidence in favor of the Hunter’s existence, had Bob been still disposed to doubt it, but it would be a waste of time, he felt, to tell the doctor that. The feeling of superiority engendered by his knowing something the doctor didn’t prevented his resenting to any great extent the other’s doubt of his veracity. Nothing had been said between him and his guest about keeping the latter’s presence a secret, but it had occurred to the boy that if knowledge of the alien spread too far it might affect the chances of success in the search rather seriously; so he let the doctor finish his lecture without further objection, and left as soon as he could.
Shortly after the evening meal he found another opportunity to get off by himself, and at once put a question
to the Hunter.
“What do you plan to do about getting back to the island? Normally, I won’t be going until the middle of June, nearly five months from now. Your fugitive has already had about that length of time to get under cover—or out of the way. Do you plan to wait, or have you thought of some means of getting there sooner?”
“My motions, from now on, are wholly dependent on yours,” responded the Hunter. “To leave you now would be to waste all the work of the last five months, except the knowledge I have gained of your language and customs. You are the only human being on whom I can count for understanding help; there is no telling how long it would take to become familiar and on such good terms with another of your race. At the same time, it is true that the sooner I get back to that island, the better it will be. I know you are not completely free to control your own actions, but if you could devise some means of getting us back there soon it would be a great help. I can be of little help in such matters; you have grown up in this environment, and can judge more accurately the chances of a plan of action. The situation is the usual one on my home world—matters requiring physical action are almost entirely the responsibility of the host. All I am qualified to do in the present situation is furnish advice about the probable actions of our quarry, and what to do when we find him. What valid reason could you offer your people for returning at once to the island?”
Bob did not answer at once. The idea of taking such a matter into his own hands was rather new to him; but, inevitably, it grew more attractive as he thought about it. Of course, he would miss a lot of school—but that could be made up later. Quite plainly, if the Hunter were telling the truth, this matter was more important; and Robert could see no reason at that time why his guest should prevaricate. He was face to face, in consequence, with the problem of getting home at once.
Simply disappearing was not to be thought of. Apart from the purely practical, difficulties of crossing the continent and a good part of the Pacific without assistance, he had no desire to cause his parents anxiety if it could be avoided. That meant that a good excuse for the journey must be found, so that it could be undertaken with official approval. The Hunter was right; Bob must find or invent that excuse, himself.
The more he thought about it, the clearer it seemed that only physical illness or injury would serve. Homesickness had been known to produce results in one or two cases, but, remembering what he had thought of the individuals in question, Robert discarded that idea—he did not want that reputation. It would be nice to acquire an injury in some manner which would reflect credit on himself—through a heroic rescue or some similar adventure; but he had sense enough to realize that opportunity was small and the actual merit of the idea nil. Of course, the hockey season was still on; anything might happen of its own accord.
As for illness, that could not very well be acquired at will. He could perhaps imitate something well enough to fool friends and teachers; but he did not deceive himself for an instant into thinking he could fool a doctor for any length of time. Faking was out, therefore. The usual run of ideas—false telegrams requesting his presence, pretense of bad news from home, and all their variations ran through his mind, for he had read his share of the more melodramatic literature; but none of them satisfied the objections which his sound common sense at once brought forward. He found himself in a complete quandary, and told the Hunter so after many minutes of concentration.
“This is the first time I have regretted choosing such a young host,” answered that being. “You lack the freedom of travel that would be granted an adult. However, I am sure you have not exhausted your fund of ideas. Continue to think, and let me know if I can help in any of your plans.” That terminated the conversation for the time, and Bob left his room in search of amusement.
Presently he was enjoying “a game of ping-pong with one of his classmates in the recreation room adjacent to the gym; but his subconscious mind must have been working “on the problem, for in the middle of the first game he had another idea—as luck would have it, at a time when to go through with it if the Hunter nor watch for his answers. He had been doing quite well at the game up to this point, but after the idea struck him he became so preoccupied with it that the contest resulted in his ignominious defeat. He had to pull himself together with an effort, realizing that it would be some time before he could secure the Hunter’s comment on the plan, in order to give enough of his attention to the business in hand to make a respectable showing.
It was indeed quite a time before he had another talk with his invisible guest. When he returned to his room, the other occupant was already there; and his presence prevented conversation not only until “lights out” but throughout the night, as Bob was not sure how much disturbance it would take to wake the fellow. The next day was Monday, and he was not alone for a single minute until after supper, when, in near desperation, he took some books and went in search of an empty classroom. There, talking in a low tone to escape notice from anyone passing the door, he resumed the conversation with the Hunter.
“Something will have to be done about this,” he said. “You can talk to me whenever I’m not actually doing something else; but I can’t say anything to you when anyone is around without having them think I’m crazy. I’ve had an idea since last night, and have been wondering when I could tell you.”
“The conversation problem should not be difficult,” answered the Hunter. “If you simply talk in an inaudible whisper—even keep your lips closed; if you wish—I think I can learn quite easily to interpret the motions of your vocal chords and tongue. I should have thought of it long ago, but I had given no particular attention to the need for concealment with which we are faced. I shall practice interpretating those movements at once. It should not be hard; many of your people, I understand, become quite skilled at lip reading, and I have more than lips to go by. What was the idea you were, so anxious to communicate?”
“I can see no way of our getting to the island, except through my getting sick and being ordered to take an early vacation. I can’t possibly fake an illness well enough to fool a doctor; but you are in a position to give me all sorts of symptoms—enough to drive them crazy. How about it?”
The Hunter was a little hesitant in his answer.
“It is certainly a possibility, but there are objections. You cannot, of course, realize how deeply bred into us is the repugnance to the idea of doing anything that can harm our hosts. In an emergency, with a being whose physical make-up I knew completely, L might carry out your plan as a last resort; in your case that is not true—I would have a hard time persuading myself that no permanent harm was going to result from my actions. Do you see?”
“You have lived in my body for over five months, and from what you told me of your nature, you must know my physical structure as well as you ever will,” objected Bob.
“I know your structure, but not your tolerances,” was the answer. “I do not know how long given cells can do without oxygen; what constitutes the limiting concentration of fatigue acids in your muscles; what interference your circulatory and nervous systems can stand. Those things. obviously I could not test without harming and possibly killing you. There are, of course, a few things I could do, but the repugnance remains; and in my case, how do you know you would be sent back to the home of your parents? Would not the authorities be more likely to hospitalize you here?”
The question silenced Bob for several seconds; he had not thought of that possibility.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “We’ll have to find something that calls for a rest cure, I guess.” The words brought a momentary wave of distaste; the term “rest cure” conveyed to the boy a picture of neurotic businessmen and hypochondriac old maids collected at a resort hotel he had once visited years before, when his parents had been visiting the United States and he had been young enough to be unpleasantly impressed by such surroundings. He said nothing more, however, determined in his own mind to go through with it if the Hunter agreed. That bein
g was still reluctant to interfere with his host’s vital processes, however, and refused to commit himself to any definite course of action. He said he would “think it over,” and advised the boy to do the same—also, to produce another idea, if possible.
Bob terminated the conversation by leaving the room—unlikely as that may sound under the circumstances—and walked slowly down the corridor, thinking. He reviewed all the ideas he had already considered, and came to the same conclusion as before. As the Hunter more than suspected, though he had refrained from saying so, there was little chance of getting further constructive suggestions from Bob until his first presented idea was proved impossible rather than merely undesirable. The boy still liked the plan, and had no real conception of the emotion with which the Hunter viewed it.
Consequently, the only real progress made in the next few days was in communication. As the Hunter had expected and hoped, he was able quite quickly to learn to understand the motions of Bob’s vocal chords and tongue, even when the boy kept his lips nearly closed and spoke in a whisper almost inaudible to himself. Answering was easy, provided Bob’s current occupation left him free to turn his eyes on some relatively blank space. The Hunter had never confessed to his host the chief contributing factor to the cut on his arm, but had no intention of repeating the error.
An observer during those few days, familiar with the course of events not only between Bob and his guest but in the offices of the school officials, would have been vastly amused; for on the one hand, the Hunter and his host were going quietly crazy trying to find an excuse for leaving, while on the other hand the headmaster and his staff were wondering about the cause of Robert Kinnaird’s suddenly developed chronic inattention, listlessness, and general failure to measure up to his former standards of performance—and it had occurred to more than one of them that it might be better for the boy to get away for a time. The really amusing feature of the matter was, of course, the fact that the Hunter’s mere presence was producing the set of conditions which was leading inevitably to the situation he desired—without the least effort on his part. He was doing the boy no physical damage, it is true, but preoccupation with the problem his guest presented and a number of too-public conversations with the concealed alien had produced an effect on Bob’s general behavior that was only too noticeable to those responsible for his wellbeing.
