The Creatures of Man

by Howard L. Myers

  Jacob sat stunned. "But you said a minute ago you couldn't kill nothin'."

  "I can kill only when I'm convinced it is best for my own repose or for the health of the Universe. Long ago, I could go forth at battle with thoughtless joy at the command of my masters of Zoz, but now I must have reasons, must converse at length with my aberrated emotions, must prepare myself as for an ordeal."

  "Them Zozes must've been the Devil's minions," argued Jacob. "The Commandments says, 'Thou shalt not kill' and when you go against that, you're goin' against the word of God."

  "Poor, futile creature," sympathized the Weapon. "You actually strive to pit your naïve superstitious mind against my highly developed mentality in argument. You actually associate my supreme masters of old with your puny mythological villain! Lowliness should know its place. But I feel no anger—merely a pitying desire to relieve your kind of the burden of living."

  Silently, Jacob replenished the wad of "tobacco" in his mouth. After chewing a while, he spat and said dolefully, "I don't reckon there's nothin' I can say or do that you won't hold against me. I always heard tell the Devil can twist anything to suit hisself, and I reckon his minions can do the same thing. An' that's what you are: the Devil's minion! I reckon you break every Commandment God give us. Except about committin' adultery. I don't guess you can do that."

  "Your piddling reproductive customs have no application on my plane of existence. Cannot you comprehend that you are less to me than a microbe? Even my servants, the Hovans, do not concern themselves with such ignoble concepts as what you call adultery."

  "You mean they live in sin?" asked Jacob.

  "They mate as often as they please with anyone they please," the Weapon replied coldly. "I will ignore the ludicrous implications of your absurd moral concepts."

  "I don't mean to criticize your animal friends," glowered Jacob. "I reckon they ain't children of God, so it don't matter if they do mate like a pack of dogs. They probably ain't got no souls to keep pure. It looked to me like they worshiped you like a false god, too."

  "They . . . O Great Hidden Manifestation!" squalled the Weapon in rage. "They regard me as their guide and mentor. Nothing more. I would not allow anything else."

  Jacob watched the Weapon in awe. The energy globe was flickering and flaring wildly in an uncontrolled display of color. " 'Y God!" he exclaimed. "You sure are puttin' on a fireworks show!"

  The globe settled down to a tensely nervous fluctuation which hurt Jacob's eyes to watch. "Never in the ageless span of my existence," quavered the Weapon angrily, "have I been insulted in such vulgar terms by any creature. And now from you, creature whom my glorious masters of Zoz would exterminate like a buzzing fly, like a disease germ, I hear these senseless mouthings of defamation. Stop it or I shall destroy you outright!"

  The Weapon's fluctuating, along with its loud, grating voice, put Jacob's nerves on edge. He growled, "I bet your old Zozes live in adultery just like your animal friends."

  The color of the energy globe sank to dull red and the Weapon emitted a series of buzzing, inarticulate noises.

  "It suits not my nature, bit of diseased scum, to slay you in a fit of indignation," it finally said with tightly controlled fury. "You are beneath such individual recognition. Yet it is fortunate for you that your insults have no basis in reality, otherwise my intellect could not have claimed ascendancy over the immediate urges of my tortured sense of extreme disgust. Be wise, say I, knowing I request the impossible, and irk me no more."

  " 'Y God, I reckon you don't think you rile me up, too, with all that high falutin' jabber of yours!" Jacob snapped back.

  "As I speak, so speak the mighty Zoz," replied the Weapon in high dignity. "They are great and noble beings, given to poetic flights and magnificent deeds. To them, your puny opinions would not even be recognized as thought."

  "If they talk in that puttin' on, play-actin' way you do, they are a bunch of phony show-offin' hypocrites," sulked Jacob.

  Several things happened too quickly for Jacob to follow. The color of the energy globe dropped to absolute black. The metallic cylinder swung up to point at Jacob. A thin ringing "Ping!" sounded in the cylinder. A killing wave of pure hate struck Jacob.

  He had just enough time to know he was a dead man before he blacked out.

  * * *

  It came as a surprise, when Jacob regained consciousness, to find that he was stretched out on purple grass with the Weapon still hovering over him.

  "You missed, 'y God!" he mumbled, sitting up.

  "I regained my sanity in time, Master Technician," the Weapon replied pleasantly.

  "Huh?"

  "Ah, day of uncontainable joy!" sang the Weapon, flaming pure white. "Day of glorious release to continue the grandeur of old! As the past eons of futility passed over me, I sank to the conclusion that I was forever condemned to my useless existence on this planet, with nothing to sustain my spirit other than the sense of beauty given me by masters to fill my leisure hours. But now, Master Technician Jacob, you have found me and corrected my malfunction, long after I had surrendered all hope!"

  Still dazed by the nearly fatal wave of mental energy the Weapon had directed at him, Jacob could not understand what had happened. Instead of talking contemptuously to him, the Weapon was now addressing him as Master Something-or-other, and . . .

  "What did you say I done?" he asked.

  "You corrected my malfunction," repeated the Weapon. "That is to say, you purged my mechanism of the inhibition against joyful slaughter that has plagued me for a billion years. Ah, you are a clever Technician, Jacob! But I comprehend it all now. By arousing within me an overwhelming emotional desire to kill—a singularly strange feeling! —you depressed my inhibition to the releasing point. So telling was your masterful therapy that I almost ceased functioning at all.

  "Your own life was in dire danger for the moment required for my new-found sanity to assume control. But, of course, all slaves of the glorious Zoz die willingly when the work of the masters so demands."

  "Now wait a minute!" objected Jacob. "I ain't no slave of your Zozes or no Technician either! You know what I am—a good God-fearin' human!" His voice dropped to a pleading mumble. "And may God forgive me if I've got myself in league with the Devil."

  "Ah? Could it be?" murmured the Weapon. "Could indeed your infuriating insults of the Great Ones have been honest expressions of a puny mind with no therapeutic intentions? I answer Yes. The possible occurrence of specific incidents in the inclusion of space-time is curiously unlimited. But you have served me, Jacob, and have earned the privilege of continuing your meager, momentary life. Besides, I can use you further."

  "You can, huh?" Jacob said slyly. "Look here, Weapon, I'll make a bargain with you."

  "Ha! Stupid, untutored slave!" chuckled the Weapon. "Learn that yours is to obey, not to bargain. But yet, state your price for my amusement, now that I can no longer be enraged by your words."

  "Well, you let the rest of the people on Earth alone and I'll do whatever you want me to."

  After a pause, the Weapon quoted, " 'Nobility shows its traces in surprising places.' You do not sufficiently comprehend my nature, Technician Slave Jacob. I am a Weapon. My masters point me, as you would point a rifle, and command that I destroy. I kill at their direction, but seldom otherwise. Thus, your Terra is safe until another Weapon or I am aimed and directed. You can make no bargain."

  Jacob thought this over. While doing so, the Weapon drifted away.

  "Wait here, slave," it said in parting. "I go to meditate on my recovered sanity."

  * * *

  During the next two days, Jacob caught an occasional glimpse of the Weapon drifting thoughtfully around in the depths of the forest, but they did not meet for conversation. Jacob amused himself by rigging a fishing line out of some of the packaging material that contained his food. He even succeeded in catching a fish, but its queer odor discouraged him from trying to cook and eat it.

  Then the royal cruiser of Tresqu t
he Wisest dropped into the meadow. Its airlock swung open and the Ruler of Hova, followed by his entourage, came out.

  "Oh, Mighty Weapon!" bawled Tresqu. "Your loving servant craves audience!"

  "Ah, you have returned, petty lord," said the Weapon, drifting out from among the trees. "Serve me by calling all the crew members from your noble ship, that I may view you all together."

  Puzzled, Tresqu bowed and said, "Your least whim is law, Mighty Weapon." He turned and called, "All hands, outside!"

  A half-dozen Hovans tumbled through the lock to stand in line behind the ruler's entourage.

  "Is this all of them?" asked the Weapon.

  "All, Great Mentor of—"

  The Weapon laughed and the Hovans fell dead.

  "Come, Slave Jacob," commanded the Weapon. "We take this cruiser."

  Dazed and slack-faced, Jacob came out from behind a bush, where he had hidden himself from the Hovans, and followed the Weapon through the airlock.

  "Even in my insanity, I planned well," said the Weapon. "These ships, which I taught the Hovans to construct, can be operated simply, even by such as you. Attend my instructions."

  First, the Weapon taught Jacob to open and close the airlock. Then he was shown how to fuel the engines, upon which the Weapon made some changes to improve their performance. Finally, in the control room, Jacob learned to fly the ship.

  This took several hours, at the end of which time Jacob had succeeded in raising the cruiser into a satellite orbit around Hova. "Do you comprehend, Slave?" asked the Weapon.

  "Sure. This thing ain't nothin' to run compared to a T-model Ford. Which way is it to Earth?"

  "That I shall not tell you, Jacob, because I must leave the ship for a few hours and desire to find you here when I return. Consider and tell me: Will you be here?"

  Jacob gazed at the broad, star-spangled viewplate that curved around his seat at the controls. There was, he reflected, an awful lot of nothing out there for a man to get lost in.

  "I'll be here," he promised.

  "Very good. You must understand that these controls are constructed for manipulation by such limbs as your own and those of the Hovans. Thus, it is convenient for me to use you as a pilot instead of doing the drab, mechanical task with my ill-suited force-field manipulators. You will be wise to serve me well, Jacob."

  Jacob nodded. "You got a point there."

  "Operate the lock for me," the Weapon ordered.

  Jacob did so and watched the colorful machine drift out of sight in the atmosphere below the cruiser.

  Minutes ticked quietly by as Jacob gazed down at the purple planet and wondered why the Weapon had not chosen a trained Hovan pilot instead of him. Also, he wondered how soon the Weapon would take him home to Earth.

  A great swath of the purple planet began turning black. The black dulled to the gray shade of ashes as the swath grew longer. Over the surface of Hova, the blackening moved like some colossal paintbrush. Dense clouds of smoke rolled upward to the high reaches of the atmosphere.

  Jacob realized why the Weapon had not selected a Hovan pilot.

  When all of Hova was a lifeless ball in a fog of ash, the Weapon returned.

  "Ah, good Jacob!" it boomed jovially. "Let us be up and doing! Thirty-six planets remain to be visited before my current assignment is concluded."

  "Do all of them get—that?" asked Jacob, nodding toward the lifeless world below.

  "Yes. I was instructed to render this solar system lifeless before I malfunctioned. Since then, the life of this system has spread, with my insane aid, to infest other systems. Of course, my task must now include all those new Hovan worlds."

  "Now wait a minute!" said Jacob in terror. "I can't let you do that!"

  "They are your enemies, Jacob," reminded the Weapon. "They meant to kill every human on Terra. Also, by your own words, they are soulless animals who live in sinful adultery. Ha! It amuses me to reason with you, Slave Jacob!"

  "Godamighty, forgive me!" prayed Jacob, in horrified defeat.

  The Weapon seemed to know how to find the Hovan planets from the markings of the cruiser's star charts. Jacob could not read the charts and saw no hope of getting back to earth and Suzy and the kids without the Weapon's help. Dully, he went about the tasks the Weapon ordered him to do.

  Several weeks passed as one world after another was left a smoking ruin.

  Finally the job was done.

  "Now, can I go home?" begged Jacob.

  "To Terra? No, Slave. I still need a pilot."

  "But if you take me home," Jacob continued desperately, "you can get a better pilot than me. I'm just a dirt farmer. There's all kinds of airplane pilots on Earth, youngsters without families who would give their right arms to fly this thing, I bet."

  "Ah?" The Weapon considered. "A willing slave is, of course, always desirable. On the other hand, Terra is up in arms against the empire of Hova, not realizing it is dead. They would destroy this craft on sight, and I would be obliged to wait around until they could construct another for me. No, I have decided we will not go to Terra."

  "But, damn it, where else is there to go?"

  "In search of my masters of Zoz," replied the Weapon. "Naturally, I wish to return myself to their services as soon as possible."

  "But they might be anywhere!"

  "True," the Weapon agreed. "But even after a billion years, I know of several places in the Universe they may be near. Their great cleansing sweeps tend to circle and turn in a pattern established long in advance. Thus we will go to those places where they may now be engaged in their consecrated task of universal purification."

  "But—"

  "No more, Slave! We go!"

  Out of the Milky Way, the cruiser hurtled at a speed which a sentient lightwave would find meaningless. On and on they journeyed in quest of the long-dead Zoz Horde.

  They may still be going.

  Out, Wit!

  Department of Physics

  Grandview University

  Grandview, Ohio

  November 6, 1975

  D. R. Dayleman, Editor

  North American Physical Journal

  Adminster, Virginia

  Dear Dan:

  Other commitments will keep me from attending the annual NASP meeting in Chicago in January. Sorry I must pass this up; we old hands enjoy these opportunities to congregate and chat, do we not? Give the others my regards and regrets.

  You may remember the name Jonathan Willis. He is a young man who did his doctorate for me here at Grandview and who was listed among the co-authors of some of my research reports published in the NAPJ. I regard him as one of the most promising youngsters in nuclear field theory. In some respects he is rather immature and irrepressible, for which his brilliance more than compensates. He is presently associate professor of physics at Mesa State University.

  I mention young Willis because I've recommended him to the agenda committee of the Chicago meeting. He's to present a paper on an approach to nuclear generation and degeneration that he has been pondering for some time, and which he tells me he has virtually completed since going to Mesa State. His theory proposes a characteristic, called, I believe, "angular stability," which seems to put the question of whether a given nucleus will fission on more solid ground than a mere law-of-probability basis. All I know of his recent work comes from two brief phone conversations with him, the latest of which was yesterday afternoon. Actually, you will have the opportunity to see his paper, and hear him deliver it at the meeting, before I can examine it, judging from my present plans. He was still writing it yesterday, and said he would send you a copy to consider for publication well in advance of the meeting.

  Thus, you may consider this a "letter of recommendation" for my very able former student. And I am also aware, of course, that you like to know when a report of extraordinary interest is coming to the Journal.

  Best regards,

  Harmon McGregor, Chairman

  * * *

  North American Physical Journa
l

  January 3, 1976

  Department of Physics

  Grandview University

  Dear Harmon:

  A note in haste, as I'm off to Chicago this afternoon.

  The Jonathan Willis manuscript did not reach me until yesterday, though it was mailed in mid-December. The postal service becomes continually more atrocious, especially around the holiday season.

  I haven't had time to read more of it than the abstract, and glance at the math. It looks most promising, and I'm forwarding it to the referees.