Classic Fiction

by Hal Clement

  They met two more of the group on the way, Alice and Tom, who were herding. At Nick’s urgent but hasty words they followed toward the village as fast as their charge would permit.

  Five more of the group were actually in the village, and Fagin was at his usual station in the center of the ring of houses. Nick called the teacher by name as he came in sight.

  “Fagin! We’re in trouble! What do we have for weapons that you haven’t shown us yet?”

  As usual there was a pause of a couple of seconds before an answer came back.

  “Why, it’s Nick. We had about given you up. What’s all this about weapons? Do you expect to have to fight someone?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Who?”

  “Well, they seem to be people just like us; but they don’t keep animals, and they don’t use fire, and they use different words for things than we do.”

  “When did you ran into these people, and why should we have to fight them?”

  “It’s a long story, I’m afraid. It will be better if I start at the beginning, I suppose; but we shouldn’t waste any more time than we can help.”

  “I agree; a complete report will make the most sense to all of us. Go ahead.” Nick settled his weight back on his standing legs and obeyed.

  “I started south as we decided and went slowly, mapping as I went. Nothing much had changed seriously out to the edge of the region we usually cover in farming and grazing; after that, of course, it was hard to tell whether anything had changed at all recently, or in what way.

  “The best landmark I saw by the end of the first day was a mountain, of quite regular conical shape and much higher than any I had ever seen before. I was tempted to climb it, but decided that detail mapping could be accomplished better later on; after all, my trip was to find new areas, not evaluate them.

  “I passed to the east of the mountain shortly after sunrise the second day. The wind was remarkably strong in that region and seemed always to blow toward the mountain; I called it Storm Hill on the map. Judging by the wind, there ought to be a lot of night-growing plants there; any exploration should be planned to get off the hill before dark.

  “As far as travel goes, everything was about as usual. I killed enough in self-defense to keep me in food, but none of the animals were at all unusual that day.

  “The third morning, though, with the mountain out of sight, I got involved with something that lived in a hole in the ground and reached out an arm to catch things going by. It caught me around the legs, and didn’t seem to mind my spears very much. I don’t think I’d have gotten away if I hadn’t had help.”

  “Help?” The startled question came without the pause characteristic of the teacher’s remarks; it was Jim who asked it. “How could you have gotten help? None of us was down that way.”

  “So it wasn’t one of us . . . at least, not exactly. He looked just like us, and used spears like ours; but when we finally managed to kill the thing in the hole and tried to talk to each other, his words were all different; in fact, it was quite a while before I realized that he was talking. He used the same sort of noises we do for words, but mixed them with a lot of others that we never learned from you.

  “After a while I realized that the noises must be talk, and then I wondered why I hadn’t thought of such a thing before—after all, if this person wasn’t brought up by you, he’d have had to think up his own words for things, and it would be silly to expect them to be the same as ours. I decided to go with him and learn more; after all, this seemed a lot more important than just mapping. If I could learn his talk, he might know a lot more than we could find in months of exploring.

  “He didn’t seem to mind my trailing along, and as we went I began to catch on to some of his words. It wasn’t easy, because he put them together in very strange ways; it wasn’t just a matter of learning the noise he used for each object. We hunted together and fought together, though, and all the time we were learning to talk together. We didn’t travel in a straight line, but I kept pretty good track of our path and can put his village on the map when I get the chance.”

  “Village?” It was Jim once more who interrupted; Fagin had said nothing.

  “That’s the only word I know for it. It wasn’t at all like ours; it was a place at the foot of a steep cliff, and there were holes all over the face of the stone. Some of them were very small, like the solution holes you can see in any rock; others were very much larger, and there were people living in them. The one I was with was one of them.

  “They were very surprised to see me, and tried to ask me a lot of questions; but I couldn’t understand them well enough to give any answers. The one I had traveled with talked to them, and I suppose told how he had met me; but they stayed interested, and a lot of them were always watching me whatever I did.

  “It was getting fairly late in the afternoon when we got to the cliff, and I was starting to wonder about camping for the night. I didn’t realize just at first that these people lived in the holes in the rock, and when I finally caught on, I wasn’t very happy about it. There are even more quakes down that way than around here, I noticed, and that cliff seemed an awfully unhealthy neighborhood. When the sun was almost down, I decided to leave them and camp a little way out on a hilltop I’d found, and then I discovered that they didn’t want me to go. They were actually prepared to get rough in order to keep me around. I had learned a few more of their words by that time, though, and I finally convinced them that I wasn’t trying to get away completely, and just wanted to spend the night by myself. There was a surprising amount of firewood around, and I was able to collect enough for the night without much trouble—in fact, some of the little ones helped me, when they saw what I wanted.”

  “Little ones? Weren’t they all the same size?” Dorothy asked.

  “No. That was one of the funny things I haven’t had time to mention. Some of them weren’t more than a foot and a half high, and some of them were nearly twice as tall as we are—nine feet or more. They all had the same shape as ours, though. I never found out the reason for that. One of the biggest ones seemed to be telling the others what to do most of the time, and I found that the little ones were usually the easiest to get along with.

  “But that’s getting off the story. When I built my fires a lot of them watched, but couldn’t seem to make anything of it; when I lighted them, there was the biggest crowd of astonished people you ever saw. They didn’t know anything about fire; that’s why there was so much firewood near the cliff, I guess.

  “Of course, it had started to rain by the time I lighted up, and it was funny to watch them; they seemed terribly afraid of being outside their holes in the rain, and still didn’t want to miss watching the fires. They kept dithering back and forth, but gradually disappeared into their holes. After a while they were all gone, even though some of them stayed long enough to see what the fires did to the rain.

  “I didn’t see any more of them for the rest of the night. The water didn’t get too deep along the face of the cliff, and they were out in the morning as soon as it had dried up.

  “I could make a long story out of the rest of the time, but that will have to wait. I learned to talk to them pretty well—the way they put their words together makes a lot of sense once you catch on to it—and got to know them pretty well. The main thing is that they were interested in whatever things I knew that they didn’t, like fire and keeping herds of animals and raising plants for food; and they wanted to know how I’d learned all these things. I told them about you, Fagin; and maybe that was a mistake. A few days ago their teacher, or leader, or whatever you can call him, came to me and said that he wanted me to come back here and bring you down to the cliff so you could teach all the things you knew to his people.

  “Now, that seemed all right to me. I judged that the more people you knew who could help in the things you want us to do, the better everything will be.” He paused, to give Fagin a chance to answer.

  “That’s true eno
ugh,” the voice from the robot agreed after the usual interval. “What went wrong?”

  “My answer wasn’t worded just right, it seems. I interpreted the proposition as a request, and answered that I would gladly come back home and ask you whether you would come to help the cave people. The leader—his name means Swift, in their words; all their names mean something—became very angry indeed. Apparently he expects people to do as he says without any question or hesitation. I had noticed that, but had been a little slow in applying my knowledge, I fear. Anyway, I didn’t see how he could expect you to obey his orders.

  “Unfortunately, he does; and he decided from my answer that you and the other people of our village would probably refuse. When that happens, his first thought is the use of force; and from the moment I made my answer he began to plan an attack on our village, to carry you away with him whether you wanted to go or not.

  “He ordered me to tell him how to find our village, and when I refused he became angry again. The body of a dead goat that someone had brought in for food was lying nearby, and he picked it up and began to do terrible things to it with his knives. After a while he spoke to me again.

  “You see what my knives are doing,” he said. “If the goat were alive, it would not be killed by them; but it would not be happy. The same shall be done to you with the start of the new day, unless you guide my fighters to your village and its Teacher. It is too close to darkness now for you to escape; you have the night to think over what I have said. We start toward your village in the morning—or you will wish we had.” He made two of his biggest fighters stay with me until the rain started. Even after all the time I’d been there no one ever stayed out of the caves after rainfall, so they left me alone when I lighted my fires.

  “It took me a long time to decide what to do. If they killed me, they’d still find you sooner or later and you wouldn’t.be warned in time; if I went with them it might have been all right, but I didn’t like some of the things Swift had been saying. He seemed to feel things would be better if there were none of your own people left around after he captured you. That seemed to mean that no matter what I did I was going to be killed, but if I kept quiet I might be the only one. That was when I thought of traveling at night; I was just as likely to be killed, but at least I’d die in my sleep—and there was a little chance of getting away with it. After all, a lot of animals that don’t have caves or fire and don’t wake up as early as some of the meat-eaters still manage to live.

  “Then I got another idea; I thought of carrying fire with me. After all, we often carry a stick with one end burning for short distances when we’re lighting the night fires; why couldn’t I carry a supply of long sticks, and keep one burning all the time? Maybe the fire wouldn’t be big enough to be a real protection, but it was worth trying. Anyway, what could I lose?

  “I picked out as many of the longest sticks around as I could carry, piled them up, and waited until two of my three fires were drowned by raindrops. Then I picked up my sticks, lighted the end of one of them at the remaining fire, and started off as fast as I could.

  “I was never sure whether those people stayed awake in their caves or not—as I said, water doesn’t get up to them—but now I guess they don’t. Anyway, no one seemed to notice me as I left.

  “You know, traveling at night isn’t nearly as bad as we always thought it would be. It’s not too hard to dodge raindrops if you have enough light to see them coming, and you can carry enough wood to keep you in light for a long time. I must have made a good twenty miles, and I’d have gone farther if I hadn’t made a very silly mistake. I didn’t think to replenish my wood supply until I was burning my last stick, and then there wasn’t anything long enough for my needs in the neighborhood. I didn’t know the country at all; I’d started west instead of north to fool any of the hole people who saw me go. As a result I got smothered in a raindrop within a minute after my last light went out; and it was late enough by then for the stuff to be unbreathable. I’d kept to high ground all the time, though, so I woke up in the morning before anything had made breakfast of me.”

  Nick paused, and like the other listeners—except Fagin—shifted himself to a more comfortable position on his resting legs as the ground shook underfoot. “I made a good, wide sweep around to the west, then circled north and east again to get back here. I was expecting to be caught every minute; those people are marvelous hunters and trackers. I traveled for several hours after dark each night, but stopped in time to find wood and build permanent fires before my sticks went out, after the first time. I didn’t get caught by rain again, and they never caught up with me. They’ll still find the village here sooner or later, though, and I think we ought to move out as quickly as possible.”

  For a moment there was silence after Nick finished his report; then the villagers began chattering, each putting forth his own ideas without paying much attention to those of his neighbor. They had picked up quite a few human characteristics. This noise continued for some minutes, with Nick alone waiting silently for Fagin to make some comment.

  At last the robot spoke.

  “You are certainly right about the cave dwellers finding the village here; they probably know where it is already. They would have been fools to catch up with you as long as they had reason to suppose you were going home. I see nothing to be gained, however, by leaving; they could follow us anywhere we might go. Now that they know of our existence, we’re going to meet them in very short order.

  “I don’t want you people fighting them. I’m rather fond of you all, and have spent quite a long time bringing you up, and would rather not see you butchered. You’re never done any fighting—it’s one thing I’m not qualified to teach you—and you wouldn’t stand a chance against that tribe.

  “Therefore, Nick, I want you and one other to go to meet them. They’ll be coming along your trail, so you’ll have no trouble finding them. When you meet Swift, tell him that we’ll gladly move to his village or let him move to ours, and that I’ll teach him and his people all he wants. If you make clear that I don’t know his language and he’ll need you to talk to me, he’ll probably be smart enough not to hurt any of us.

  “When shall we start? Right away?”

  “That would be best, but you’ve just had a long trip and deserve some rest. Anyway, a lot of the day is gone, and there probably won’t be much lost by letting you get a night’s sleep before you start. Go tomorrow morning.”

  “All right, Teacher.” Nick gave no evidence of the uneasiness he felt at the prospect of meeting Swift again. He had known that savage for several weeks; Fagin had never met him. Still, the Teacher knew a lot; he had taught Nick virtually all he knew, and for a whole lifetime—at least, Nick’s whole lifetime—had been the final authority in the village. Probably everything would come out as Fagin predicted.

  It might have, too, had not the men behind the robot grossly underestimated the tracking ability of the cave dwellers. Nick had not even had time to get to sleep beside his watch-fire after lighting up at rainfall when a surprised yell, in Nancy’s voice, sounded from a point four fires to his left; and a split second later he saw Swift himself, flanked by a line of his biggest fighters which disappeared around the hill on either side, sweeping silently up the slope toward him.

  II

  “What do you do now?”

  Raeker ignored the question; important as he knew the speaker to be, he had no time for casual conversation. He had to act. Fagin’s television screens lined the wall around him, and every one showed the swarming forms of the fir-cone shaped beings who were attacking the village. There was a microphone before his face, with its switch spring-loaded in the open position so that casual talk in the control room would not reach the robot’s associates; his finger was hovering over the switch, but he did not touch it. He didn’t quite know what to say.

  Everything he had told Nick through the robot was perfectly true; there was nothing to be gained by trying to fight. Unfortunately, the fight had alre
ady started. Even had Raeker been qualified to give advice on the defense of the village, it was too late; it was no longer even possible for a human being to distinguish the attackers from the defenders. Spears were sailing through the air with blinding speed—nothing merely tossed gets very far in a three-gravity field—and axes and knives flashed in the firelight.

  “It’s a good show, anyway.” The same shrill voice that had asked the question a minute earlier made itself heard once more. “That firelight seems to be brighter than daylight, down there.” The casual tone infuriated Raeker, who was not taking the predicament of his friends at all casually; but it was not a consideration of the identity or importance of the speaker which kept him from losing his temper and saying something unfortunate. Quite unintentionally, the onlooker had given him an idea. His finger stabbed at the microphone button.

  “Nick! Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Teacher.” Nick’s voice showed no sign of the terrific physical effort he was exerting; his voice machinery was not as closely tied in with his breathing apparatus as is that of a human being.

  “All right. Fight your way into the nearest hut as quickly as possible, all of you. Get out of sight of me. If you can’t reach a hut, get behind a woodpile or something like that—below the curve of the hill, if nothing better is possible. Let me know as soon as you’ve all managed this.”

  “We’ll try.” Nick had no time to say more; those in the control room could only watch, though Raeker’s fingers were hovering over another set of switches on the complex panel before him.

  “One of them’s making it.” It was the high voice again, and this time Raeker had to answer.

  “I’ve known these people for sixteen years, and can’t tell them from the attackers now. How can you identify them?” He let his glance shift briefly from the screens to the two nonhumans towering behind him.

  “The attackers have no axes, only knives and spears,” pointed out the speaker calmly. The man hastily turned back to the screens. He could not be sure that the other was right; only three or four axes could be seen, and their wielders were not very clearly visible in the swirling press. He had not noticed any lack of axes in the hands of the attackers as they came up the hill, in the brief moments after they became visible to the robot and before battle was joined; but there was no reason to doubt that someone else might have. He wished he knew Dromm and its people better. He made no answer to the slender giant’s comment, but from then on watched the axes which flashed in the firelight. These really did seem to be working their way toward the huts which rimmed the top of the hill. Some failed to make it; more than one of the tools which had so suddenly become weapons ceased to swing as the robot’s eyes watched.