by Robert Bloch
The Injun opened his eyes again. "No story," he said. "Only biological inevitability to restore the balance of nature."
Sometimes that Injun talk, or book talk, whichever it is, gets me down. But Doc set up a hoot and a holler.
"Probably right at that," he said. "Here's the way it was, Jake. Originally all this land was much the way you see it now. Then men came and settled. They killed the beaver. They fished the streams. They hunted buffalo and game until many animals were almost extinct. That means there were hardly any left.
"When the last wars were fought, there were only a few deer, a few buffalo, a few bear left roaming out here in the wilderness. There wasn't a wild creature east of the Big River at all. And the gas and the bombs and the plague killed off most of the domestic animals in the East — cows and sheep and pigs and horses. We've got a few horses here, but we're lucky, and you know we're trying to breed more because we need them. Some day we might try plowing."
"Plowing for squaw men," Iron Head muttered. "Agricultural perversion."
"Don't worry," Doc said. "It wouldn't be for a long time yet — and then only if we have to." He turned to me again. "But I was telling you about what happened. There was no game, and people died. Only a few of us managed to survive, out here in the open. A few hunters, trappers, Indians."
Doc always talked like that — he never did learn how to say "Injun" rightly but stuck to book talk. Only I knew what he palavered anyhow.
"Gradually they came together, in little groups, for protection. The old crafts came into their own, the old speech ways and folkways that had somehow survived through two centuries of so-called civilization."
"You mean city life?" I asked.
"City death," Iron Head said. And Doc nodded again.
"We managed. We survived. And the remaining animals bred again, unrestricted and unmolested. They multiplied quickly, so that for the past generation it's been like old times once more. Plenty of game, and the timber's come back up north too. There's nothing left of the cities but ruins, and not even ruins where most of the villages and homesteads were. Life is simple again. Crude, perhaps, but — peaceful."
Sometimes I get the savvy of what Doc says, even if I can't understand the foferaw lingo. I knew what he meant now when I lay back and looked up at all the stars, blazing away.
Doc lay back too. It was quiet and easy, cept for a coyote howling off on the ridge.
"You never did say about the stars, Doc," I told him. "Reckon they mate? Reckon anybody's ever hit out to take a look?"
Doc frowned. "What made you say that?"
"Nothing. Only I was figgering maybe if they had some of them contraptions you showed me once in the books — what they call them, rackets?"
"Rockets," Doc said. "No, men didn't reach the stars. But there at the last they were ready to try for the moon. Some said that when war began they actually took off and — "
He closed lip, fast. Then he sat up.
I sat up too. Iron Head was already standing with his rifle cocked at the ready.
So it was no mistake. We'd all seen it and heard it at the same time.
It was like a big orange flash in the sky, over to the east. And like a big thunder. Only it wasn't lightning and it wasn't a storm. Something had hit, back there, near the river.
"Meteor!" Doc muttered.
"What's that?" I asked.
"I can't tell you now. Come on."
"Where you aiming to sashay to?"
"I want to see if I can find it." He was folding his pack. Iron Head stamped out the fire.
"All right," I said. "Reckon this child's not bent on rumping it far behind. But that thunder's getting nigher."
"Wait." Doc held up his hand. "He's correct."
"Correct, hell," I said. "I'm right! Just you clean the grubs out of your ears."
We could all hear it then, roaring closer and closer. And now Iron Head was squinting off aways, and he turned back and yelled, "Buffler! The noise — they're stampeding this way!"
No mistake, the herd was pounding prairie. I could see them plain now, black moving on black, in a crazy wave.
Nobody had to tell this hoss what to do, or the others, either. We spread out and got to our knees. Then we started pumping lead.
"Fire together!" Doc hollered. "Else they can't hear you!" So we fired together, or tried to. And the wave come on, faster and faster, and I could see horns tossing in the starlight, and I could hear the bawling and panting and the drumming, and it did something to me inside so that I sort of tightened up all over, because I knowed for a fact now that we were going under. Unless they heard and stopped.
They did, and not a mite too soon, either. The lead bulls reared up, and then they crashed back against the cows, and for a minute they was milling around, raising dust. Then it was like a wave dying off into ripples that stretched way back, far as eye could see. And then they quieted down again, ready to graze.
Doc stood up, rubbing his knees. "That was close," he said. 'Think we re safe to walk through?"
Iron Head nodded. "Come," he said. "We sing 'Onward Christian Soldiers.' "
So we walked back through the herd, and we sang "Onward Christian Soldiers" and "Roll Me Over in the Clover" and "No Business Like Show Business" and everything Doc could remember teaching us from the books at the rendezvous sings at springtime.
It was even worse in the dark, with the eyes and the horns sort of glittering and skittering all around us, but we went on. And on. And on.
Until we got back to the top of the ridge, where we'd come over in the afternoon, and looked down and saw it.
"God!" said Doc.
"The devil!" said Iron Head.
"What is it?" I asked.
But neither answered me, just stared. I stared too. This hoss has seen a heap of sights but never nothing like this. Never nothing like this big shiny shape setting there on the prairie, bigger'n all the lodges and tipis put together.
We stared, and that's how it happened — how he fixed it so's he snuck up behind us. And we not noticing until the light come.
It like to of blinded me, at first, and I could scarce make out to aim. Then the voice come, and I knowed it was a man.
"Don't shoot," he said. "We're friends."
Iron Head was drawing a bead, too; he's got Injun eyes.
"Put it down," said the man. "We're friends, don't you understand?" He sort of jerked his head away, and it come over me he was talking to other men behind him. "Maybe they don't understand English."
All at once I could see. The light was coming from a little stick he held in his hand. It wasn't a torch, and it wasn't any kind of oil lamp I ever heard tell of. But the light was bright as day, and he stood there with three others behind him, all alike as chips under a buffalo. Wearing floppy duds all of one piece, but with bare heads; the hair cut short the way tads wear it, and not a beard to be seen. That's the truth of it — four overgrown nippers is what they shined up to be.
This child's not one to run from tads, and neither is Iron Head. We dropped our guns.
"That's better," said the one with the light. "Maybe they do understand after all."
"Of course we understand," Doc told him. "It's just that you startled us."
'We startled you?" The man grinned. "That's a good one. But look, this is no way to meet. After all, it's a historic occasion. The very least it rates is a 'Doctor Livingstone, I presume,' or something similar."
"Then you say it," Doc told him. "My name happens to be Doctor Livingstone."
It was book talk, but I got the hang of it, enough to remember every word, even what I couldn't rightly reckon out. Because it was strange I set store by it.
Doc pointed to us. "This is Iron Head," he said. "And that's Jake."
"I'm Captain Buckton," the big tad told us. "And this is Lieutenant Thorne, Ensign Winters, Ensign Taylor." He nodded our way. "These Indians understand English?"
"Dry your gap," I spoke up. "I ain't no Injun. Iron Head here's a tru
e Cree, but I allow as he can palaver better'n you hosses."
"No offense," Captain Buckton said. He took Doc by the arm. "It's wonderful to find you here. We didn't know what to expect — whether there'd be any life at all, for that matter. I presume you realize we've just landed. You can see the rocket down there."
Doc nodded. "We noticed it. But I could scarcely believe my eyes — there are still rumors preserved, of course, yet I never knew if anyone had succeeded in taking off."
"Tell you anything you want to know," Buckton said. "But come on, let's go down to the ship and make ourselves comfortable."
I looked at Doc and he nodded, so we trailed along. We let him and this Captain Buckton do all the jawing.
Now here's the meat, without hide or fat or guts or lights — according to the way Buckton skinned it. What Doc used to tell about was gospel true, about the war and all. Seems there had been men that were set on hitting the sky trail, and they'd built these rockets out in the desert. When things got bad, they decided it was time to get shut of Earth, and the whole kit and kaboodle took off for the moon.
Some made her; some went under. According to this Buckton — and Doc, he didn't make him out a liar—things on the moon ain't natural-like. He allowed as how your weight changes, and it's hard to breathe, and there's no critters up there. But the ships that landed brought means of making air which I don't rightly comprehend, and they dug lodges underground. From the talk I figger they made regular cities like the old ones down here, only all underneath, living like prairie dogs. For a while it was all leather and no fleece for them, until they got the hang of how to live that way. Then they got so's they could mine metals and make things and set up a way of making their air and raised a bellyful by some means — the word for it is "hydroponics," whatever that is. They knew how to get water, too. Doc asked a powerful lot of questions, but it's of no nevermind to me. Main thing is, they done it.
All this time they figgered Earth for a goner. But they were breeding up again and wanted to fan out, and for some seasons there was a heap of talk about coming back.
It weren't easy to ready a rocket for the trip, from all Buckton said, and they only hoped to make do with it once they got her.
Doc asked aplenty about that part, but I got lost in the brush right off—anyhow, they pieced it out and took off for Earth. Buckton and six others, there were, come to scout and see what had happened back here. They were a month on the way, and here they were.
"But where are we?" Buckton asked.
"Just west of the Platte," Doc told him. "Our group is located across the river, to the east of here."
And he told him how many we were, and about the other lodges we knew or reckoned tell of, and how we made out. And about the game, and how we lived, the hunting and fishing and trapping and trading and all.
Buckton kept asking the questions now, and no matter what Doc told him, he said, "Incredible," which means, near as I can figger from the way he said it, "Well, I'll be goddamned."
Then it was our turn to say it, because we come to the rocket ship. Called it a ship, but it was no more a proper boat than it was anything else. Didn't even look like the pictures of the ships in Doc's books. More like a big bullet with fins on, stood up on end with a metal door to it that opened up so's you could mosey into a lodge. No sense fixing to tell what was inside — reckon nobody'd believe it anyway. But this child saw it, and he's not making brag.
Anyways, we met up with the other three in the rocket and all of us settled down for a palaver. They didn't squat rightly; had some metal contraptions to ease their rumps into. Didn't talk rightly, either, and as for chawing! They passed out what they called coffee and I couldn't go it. Had the taste of hot painter-water, and even Doc set it aside.
But Doc seemed to know about most of this doing, and so did Iron Head, even if he froze over. I kept waiting for the game to flush, and it did.
Buckton said, "This is wonderful! From what you tell us, we'll have no trouble at all. We've got light cruising gear, and of course we intend to survey as much of the area as we can. But if things are as you say, that's almost unnecessary. We can return, make a report, and implement other ships for a full-scale landing."
"Don't know as I follow you," Doc said.
"Isn't it obvious? We're coming back! Look — according to the latest survey, we number in excess of forty thousand. We've got technicians and can train more. Excellent data on microfilm covering the field. All we need to do is go into the ruins and rebuild. We can set up the factories again, get transportation in order—communications too. We'll use your group, every group we can find. We need plenty of manpower. Of course, we're prepared to set up a fiscal system and restore governmental control. I presume there are other men like yourself scattered around the country, men who have sufficient intelligence and elementary education to assist us. You'll be a great help."
"Will we?" Doc asked.
"Why not? Surely you can see the advantages. It's going to be like pioneering days all over again for a while, but modern technology is on our side. In a generation or so we should be able to restore the world to where it was before the war."
"Suppose our people don't want it that way?" Doc spoke out. "Suppose they like things this fashion?"
"Don't worry, we'll educate them to the advantages," Buckton said. "And there's more than one way of dealing with savages. We've no atomic weapons, of course, but we're well-armed. And the next ships can bring the necessary bacterial cultures—just in case of emergency, you understand."
"I understand," Doc said. And he fetched a sigh.
"Well, don't look so down in the mouth about it," Buckton told him. "This is a great day. It's the beginning of a fresh start for Earth. You should be proud, as I am proud, of an opportunity to participate."
The book talk made my skull bones ache, and Doc wasn't looking sassy either. "Only a generation or so until we're back to where we were before the war," he muttered. "But what assurance have you we can just stop there? This country's rich again — rich in natural resources. Timber, game, minerals. There'll be trouble."
Lieutenant Thorne laughed. "Not under proper control," he said. "We won't repeat our mistakes. We've learned the errors of democracy. Men have become civilized at last."
"Strange." Buckton shook his head. "We've gone so far in three generations on the moon. And you have relapsed into such barbarism. Living like mountain men and Indians." He cocked an eye at Iron Head. "I mean—"
"You mean no races," Iron Head said. "No creeds, No money. No taxes. No war. No economic problems. No greed, no intolerance, no worship of dollars or machines. Just freedom and plenty for all. That's barbarism. Also happiness."
"He talks!" Lieutenant Thorne said.
"Sure, I talk. I talk book English and I talk heap plenty pidgin too. I live in one world, but I've read about the other. Enough to be sure that I prefer the world I live in."
Buckton nodded at me. "And you?" he asked. "What do you think? Remember, you're a white man — not a savage."
I scratched my thatch. "Ain't much difference atween the two, I figger. Anyways, Iron Heads right. We got all we can ever use. No ruckus, nothing this child's agin'."
Buckton shrugged. "I can't understand it," he said. He looked at Doc. "How could you permit such a state to exist? You say there are others like you in settlements scattered all over. Men with books, men with background and comprehension. Surely you could have done something to keep things going. Education, reclamation. What became of the railroads, the telegraph, telephone, radio? Why haven't you gone down into the cities, rebuilt? Why this — this — "
He got so red, looked as if he'd swallowed a hornet. Doc sort of grinned.
"I talk to other men from other settlements," he said. "Iron Head and Jake don't know this, but we get together for meetings regularly, once a season or so. And we've considered a lot of possibilities. The railroad tracks are still here, but they're overgrown. Telegraph and telephone poles went down a generation ago
. The cities are ruins. We send in to the arsenals from time to time for ammunition, and that's about all."
"Now I understand," Buckton said. "You lack the equipment, the engineering facilities. Well, we'll provide that. You'll be surprised how quickly we can get things running again."
"But the education," Lieutenant Thorne busted in. "Why didn't you combat this savagery?"
"Because it survived," Doc told him. "When the educated men took the world into war, they died. The strays, the outcasts, the remnants of atavistic social orders proved their fitness then. They lived in harmony with nature. We've encouraged that since then. If a man like Iron Head wants to read, we let him read. If a man like Jake prefers illiteracy, that's his business. The important thing is that Iron Head and Jake and I, and all those like us or unlike us, have managed to exist in peace together. To me that's true progress."
Buckton stood up. "Then I take it you're not in sympathy with our plans? You have no intention of collaborating in reclaiming the world?"
"Nobody reclaims the world," Doc said. "Because nobody had a right to claim it in the first place. Not governments or priests or moneylenders or scientists or engineers. It belongs to everyone. That's the way I think, and Iron Head and Jake and all of us. And so do the others in our settlement and all the settlements. You'll find that out."
"We intend to." Buckton nodded at Lieutenant Thorne and the others. "Tomorrow we'll cross the river and talk to your people. Then we'll head on and visit elsewhere. We'll survey the cities, go east. Maybe we'll find sentiment as you say it is. But it doesn't matter. Because we'll come back. We'll come back with the right men and the right weapons.
"You can't turn back the clock, you know. Once before this was a wild frontier until progress came. You know what happened then."
"Yes." Iron Head stood up too. "Buffler died. My people died. Everything died but white men. So they ended up killing each other. Progress stinks!"
Buckton got riled then. "All right. I guess we know where we stand then. And under the circumstances you'll realize it will be necessary for me to detain you here until we've investigated your settlement. . . ."
