The Creatures of Man

by Howard L. Myers

  Nothing but thought, such as a soul or a piper's probe, could penetrate that slickness. I sat still, glared very hard at a sand grain, and concentrated.

  Five minutes or an hour later I giggled and gave it up. I couldn't make a mental probe, evidently; so I couldn't pipe sand.

  I climbed back over the bulkhead lip and flopped in my lounger to laugh about it.

  "I can't do a thing, ship!" I roared merrily. "Not one universal thing! Isn't that remarkable?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "How much did that Hallypuff cost me'?"

  "Six Admiration Units, sir."

  This startled me out of my hysterics. Just six?

  But then I realized I hadn't Admired the reefer. I'd been too far overboard for that. I'd just taken it like medicine.

  "I can't even go bankrupt," I said, but the hilarity was gone. "Oh, sand, sand, sand. Make a suggestion, ship."

  "Your proposal to consult a hermit sandpiper had promise, sir."

  "Have you gone back to counting by twos?" I yelped in disdain. "We just tried . . ." I shut up when it dawned on me that I had let something slip by. I nagged myself into remembering what it was. "Okay, so the hermits take trips into the inhabited universe now and then. Where should I look?"

  "You might try one of the planets on which they sell their sand, sir. These are in the edge clusters, and specialize in religious tourism. The sand is purchased by novelty dealers for inclusion in sacred mementos."

  "Oh, yeah," I remembered. "My great-aunt Jodylyn had one. What planet?"

  "Hussbar is perhaps the most famous of the commercialized meccas, sir."

  "Well, head for it."

  * * *

  I found me a hermit on Hussbar, all right. He was a big guy with a noncompetitive face and a full dirty beard. I snagged him coming out of a wholesale sand dealer's offices.

  "Your pardon, holiness," I said politely, "but I'm told you're a sandpiper. Could I have a word with you?"

  He looked me over and said, "Sure, boy. What's on your mind?"

  "This," I said, bringing out the Profanis plaper. "I'm trying to find this system. If you can provide information that will lead me to it, I will find your knowledge Admirable, sir."

  He took the plaper and glanced through it.

  "Sad," he mumbled. "Pitiably sad. The plight of these poor people, living in sinful ignorance."

  "What poor people, holiness?"

  "The inhabitants of this system, Profanis," he said.

  "Oh."

  "May the Sandman bless your search with success, young man, that this world may be brought to redemption," he said piously. "I regret that my meager information of the worlds of the universe can be of no help to you."

  "Oh, well, that's not exactly what I expected. I want to know what is and isn't profane. In this drawing, for instance. Is there something in it that makes Profanis profane? That burning satellite, maybe?"

  He stared at me. "You mean, boy, that you cannot feel the profane feature in this drawing?"

  "No, holiness," I admitted meekly.

  "Humpf. There isn't much sensitivity in the universe any more. Get out your pen and pad, boy."

  I did so.

  "Now copy the stars the way they are shown in this ring around the Profanis system."

  I did that.

  "What did it feel like you were drawing?" he asked.

  "Just . . . just stars, with five points," I answered.

  "Let's see your pad." He took it and frowned annoyedly. "You didn't get the feel of the original," he criticized. "Look at it again, and try to draw it exactly like it was originally drawn."

  I shrugged and tried again with the hermit watching over my shoulder.

  "That's better," he approved. "What did it feel like that time?"

  I thought about it and said, "Like I was drawing a . . . a solid . . . a wall of stars."

  "Ahah! And since human nature is, in essence, unchanging, the man who drew that sketch of the Profanis system was also drawing a wall of stars!"

  "But it looks almost the same as galactic stars are always indicated around a system map," I objected.

  "Almost," he agreed, "except for the feeling."

  "You mean the guy who drew that Profanis sketch really thought there was a wall just beyond that smudgy seventh satellite?" I asked in disbelief.

  "Obviously, and the implication is plain. The drawing represents the cosmogony of an isolated, ignorant society."

  I nodded doubtfully. "But if they're so ignorant, how do they know their world's profane?"

  "Because, being central, it is the object most distant from the starwall, which the people probably erroneously regard as the dwelling of the Sandman . . . of God, they would say."

  We talked on for a while, about such things as how the people could have gotten so ignorant so soon after the planet was given its "sun" and was colonized. The hermit couldn't help with that kind of question. And the questions he did answer offered me no hint of where the system might be found.

  Still, that plaper said the government wanted any additional data on Profanis, and what the hermit had told me about the starwall struck me as being worth something.

  "What you've told me might prove helpful," I said, "and if it is, I'll Admire your wisdom to an extent commensurate with what I receive."

  The hermit shrugged. "Forget it, boy. Admiration is of little concern to me. Go with my blessing, young man."

  "M-many thanks then, holiness," I stammered, caught a bit off balance by the hermit's indifference to Admires. What a self-sufficient old jack he was!

  I returned to my ship. "Where does the Standing Consolidation Commission of the Department of Justice have its office?" I asked.

  "On Homeworld Earth," replied the ship.

  "That's where we're going, so back to the Milky Way Galaxy," I announced gaily. "I haven't found Profanis, but I have information the Commission will probably Admire to the extent of a thousand or two Units. My 211 Units will soon have plenty of company, ship!"

  "Beg pardon, sir, but your balance is now 32 Units," the ship corrected me.

  "Huh? What happened?"

  "You experienced a burst of Admiration for the hermit, sir, at the conclusion of your interview with him."

  That sly old fraud! He had slicked me!

  * * *

  Even if the Earth system is the universe's biggest tourist hangout, I like to go there now and then.

  This time I came in past Saturn, the gas giant with the rings, and slowed the ship long enough to look at it. Saturn's good for that if for nothing else.

  Saturn was sticking in my mind as I dropped on toward Homeworld. Frowning, I picked up the Profanis plaper to refresh my thoughts on what I was going to tell those Consolidation guys.

  And there was Saturn again!

  No . . . It was just the smudged seventh satellite in the drawing of the Profanis system. The smudge did look somewhat like a ring, badly drawn in an ink of lighter density than that used in the original.

  Could it mean anything?

  I shook my head. Saturn was a planet, not a satellite. And it wasn't the outermost in the system. Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, and a couple of unnamed others lay farther out.

  But still . . .

  I said, "Ship, don't land. Go into orbit around Earth and let me see the sky."

  "Yes, sir. What amplification?"

  "No amp. Let me see it like it looks."

  The ship flickered and went invisible, and I stared about. A crescent Earth was below. Above were the stars, arranged in the familiar nursery constellations.

  I picked out the plane of the ecliptic and had no trouble spotting the Moon, Mars, and Saturn.

  "Where's Jupiter, ship?"

  "Obscured by Earth at the moment, sir."

  "Well, what about Uranus?"

  "Here, sir." A pointer flashed on, pointing at a blank.

  "I don't see it there, ship. Check yourself."

  "I'm correct, sir. Uranus is too dim to be visible without magn
ification, sir."

  "Oh. Neptune, too?"

  "Yes, sir.

  I grimaced. Well, here I go down another false trail, I told myself.

  But the point remained that Saturn was the outermost visible object in the Earth system without using light-amp.

  "Ship, let's put this in the simplest form," I said. "How many heavenly bodies could a man on Earth see, just with his eyes, that moved against the background stars?"

  "Seven, sir. That includes the sun, Earth's satellite Luna, and the planets Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn."

  "Okay, did you notice the ring-like smudge on the seventh satellite?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "All right. Let's say Profanis is Earth and this drawing was made way, way back, before spaceflight or light-amp was discovered. Then light-amp comes along. Some guy sees Saturn has rings, so he tries to add them to the drawing, making a messy job of it. What do you think?"

  "Homeplanet Earth is not the center of the system, sir," the ship responded.

  "Well, no, but would an ignorant guy eyeballing from Earth have to see that?" I argued. "He might notice that Mercury and Venus stuck close to the sun, but other than that, the sun's only difference from the other objects would be its brightness. And all the complicated planetary motions would probably snow him, anyway; and he would give up and put them all on neat, circular orbits."

  "That is possible, sir. There remains the problem of the name, Profanis."

  I paused in thought. What the hermit had said about the world's distance from the starwall came to mind. But maybe there was more to it than that.

  "Ship," I said fervently, "if I was stuck on just one planet, Profanis would be about the least impolite name I would call it!"

  There was a silence of several seconds. Then the ship said, "The probability is .992 that you have found Profanis, sir."

  I just sat there for a while. My feeling of calm and confidence was new to me, and I wanted to savor it, because I didn't figure it would last.

  But it did.

  * * *

  I'd promised myself that I'd go to Bwymeall if I ever got a real bundle; so after collecting my 8,000 Units, that's where I went. And who did I run into right away but that twirliest of all twirls, Lumise Nalence.

  I grinned at her. "You're Lumise, and I'm Boje Rylsten," I said. "I've been hoping for a chance to get acquainted with you."

  "How sweet of you, Boje," she replied, sticking to the formula. "I do so wish I could take the time right now, but . . . Would you wait a moment while I check with my ship and see if my schedule's open?"

  "Sure."

  She hurried away to check on me. That's part of the ritual, too, as you may not know if you've never done much twirl-chasing. She wanted to see if I could afford her, and if I am the Admiring type. I didn't have a thing to worry about on either score. And, sure enough, Lumise was back immediately, exuding eagerness and come-hither charm. "This is wonderful, Boje! It happens that I'm free for a couple of days!"

  "Great!" I said.

  "My ship or yours?" she asked.

  "Yours. Mine's an uncomfortable old tub that I ought to trade in. Maybe I'm keeping it out of sentimentality."

  We walked arm in arm toward her ship, and she gave my hand a squeeze. "I like sentimentality in a man very much, Boje."

  It was a terrific two days with Lumise . . . although different from my earlier visits on twirls' ships in some respects. For one thing, I got the impression that Lumise was enjoying it all, not just earning my Admiration.

  When I got back aboard my own bucket I said, "Let's go to Greenstable, ship. I want to find out what kind of jobs are available. The old roll must be thin."

  "Very well, sir."

  "How thin is the roll?"

  "Your financial balance is 8,351 Units, sir."

  "But . . . Do you mean I came out 300 Units ahead on Lumise Nalence?" I asked in astonishment.

  "Yes, sir."

  I thought it over. "Maybe self-confidence accounts for it?"

  "That may be, sir."

  Lumise had asked me to come back soon . . . had practically begged me, in fact. Well . . . I would come back, but I didn't want her to think I was just after her Units. Maybe it was time, after all, for me to think about settling down. But first I wanted to line up some interesting work to do.

  * * *

  PERSONAL: DO NOT FACSIM!

  Office of Ninth Secretary

  Standing Consolidation Commission

  Department of Justice

  Noram Park, Earth

  Mr. and Mrs. Wardin Rylsten

  Halebas West 5040-K Sector

  Talleysmat, Bark., K.V.

  Dear Ward and Gilta,

  Your request that I take a hand with young Boje came at an opportune moment. A friend of mine in Historical Philosophy had just produced a drawing, his own brainchild, that seemed an ideal challenge to present your son. Through one of the Department's stringers on Greenstable, I was able to toss it in his lap. The problem was for him to identify Earth from a drawing of the universe as a prehistoric Earthman might have seen it.

  Boje will certainly tell you about it the first time he's home; so I won't go into details. Suffice to say he solved the problem, gaining some needed mental maturity in the process. He will, I'm sure, be able to support himself amply hereafter, and make the universe his oyster.

  Expenses involved, of slightly more than 8,000 Units, are covered by Admiration Development grants from the Treasury, made available through interdepartmental exchange. So you need not concern yourself about that.

  And please don't bother to thank me, because I'm always glad to help old friends. If I have won your Admiration to some small extent, that will be thanks enough.

  Best regards always,

  Raffor Wisosborg.

  Health Hazard

  Romee did not doubt that the men and women from Earth were as fully human as the chimos and chimees of Notcid. But sometimes they did things that struck her as absurd.

  And that made dealing with them difficult, and more than a little frightening.

  Right now, she had to get the damn-television set fixed, and wasn't sure how to go about it. There was a repair shop at the Trading Center—or the Cultural Exchange Center as it was called by the new set of Earth people running it now. Romee had carried the damn-TV some forty-five miles under her arm, jittery all the way because she didn't know what to expect from the new people.

  She wished the traders (or "exploiters" as the new people wanted them called) were still running the Center. A person could do business with them without so much upsetting uncertainty.

  It was some relief to reach the compound, and to find the repair shop where it had always been. In fact, when she went in she recognized the Earthman in charge as the same one who was there two years earlier, when last she had visited the shop.

  She lifted the damn-TV set onto the counter.

  "Can you fix it?" she asked.

  "Sure. I can fix anything," he replied, more understandably than the average Earthman despite his monotone accent.

  "How much will it cost?"

  "I won't know until I find out what's wrong. Give me your name, honey."

  "Romee of West Hill with the Flat Rock on the Brook," she replied.

  He shook his head. "That won't do for the record, Romee. The Demography Office has assigned family names. You run over to the office and find out what yours is."

  "Oh, that," she gasped nervously, flustered by her mistake. "I already know it. Romee Westbrook."

  "OK." The man wrote her name on a ticket which he attached to her damn-TV. "This ought to be ready for you tomorrow, Ro . . . I mean, Miss Westbrook."

  "Mrs. Westbrook," she corrected him.

  He grinned, and she grinned back. She was glad he was still running the shop. As a leftover from the time of the exploiters, he was fairly easy to understand.

  "How come you're still here?" she asked, momentarily emboldened by his grin.

 
He shrugged. "Because I wasn't important enough to kick out when the new regime took over."