The Eleventh Golden Age of Science Fiction Megapack

by F. L. Wallace

  “That’s about it. We’re not trying to make you believe this isn’t serious. But don’t forget we’re working ten times as fast as the disease can multiply. We expect a break any moment.” She got up. “Want a sedative for the night?”

  “I’ve got a sedative inside me. Looks like it will be permanent.”

  “That’s what I like about you, you’re so cheerful,” she said, leaning over and clipping something around his throat. “In case you’re wondering, we’re going to be busy tonight checking the microbe. We can put someone in with you, but we thought you’d rather have all of us working on it.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “This is a body monitor. If you want anything just call and we’ll be here within minutes.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I won’t panic tonight.”

  She plugged in the decontagion uniform, flashed it on and then left the room. After she was gone, the body monitor no longer seemed reassuring. It was going to take something positive to pull him through.

  They were going to work through the night, but did they actually hope for success. What had Peggy said? None of the anti or neobiotics had a positive reaction. Unknowingly she had let it slip. The reaction was negative; the bubble microbes actually grew faster in the medium that was supposed to stop them. It happened occasionally on strange planets. It was his bad luck that it was happening to him.

  He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and tried to sleep. He did for a time. When he awakened he thought, at first, it was his arms that had aroused him. They seemed to be on fire, deep inside. To a limited extent, he still had control. He could move them though there was no surface sensation. Interior nerves had not been greatly affected until now. But outside the infection had crept up. It was no longer just above the wrists. It had reached his elbows and passed beyond. A few inches below his shoulder he could feel nothing. The illness was accelerating. If they had ever thought of amputation, it was too late, now.

  * * * *

  He resisted an impulse to cry out. A nurse would come and sit beside him, but he would be taking her from work that might save his life. The infection would reach his shoulders and move across his chest and back. It would travel up his throat and he wouldn’t be able to move his lips. It would paralyze his eyelids so that he couldn’t blink. Maybe it would blind him, too. And then it would find ingress to his brain.

  The result would be a metabolic explosion. Swiftly each bodily function would stop altogether or race wildly as the central nervous system was invaded, one regulatory center after the other blanking out. His body would be aflame or it would smolder and flicker out. Death might be spectacular or it could come very quietly.

  That was one reason he didn’t call the nurse.

  The other was the noise.

  It was a low sound, half purr, half a coaxing growl. It was the animal the native had given him, confined in the next room. Bolden was not sure why he did what he did next. Instinct or reason may have governed his actions. But instinct and reason are divisive concepts that cannot apply to the human mind, which is actually indivisible.

  He got out of bed. Unable to stand, he rolled to the floor. He couldn’t crawl very well because his hands wouldn’t support his weight so he crept along on his knees and elbows. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt except the fire in his bones. He reached the door and straightened up on his knees. He raised his hand to the handle, but couldn’t grasp it. After several trials, he abandoned the attempt and hooked his chin on the handle, pulling it down. The door opened and he was in the next room. The animal was whining louder now that he was near. Yellow eyes glowed at him from the corner. He crept to the cage.

  It was latched. The animal shivered eagerly, pressing against the side, striving to reach him. His hands were numb and he couldn’t work the latch. The animal licked his fingers.

  It was easier after that. He couldn’t feel what he was doing, but somehow he managed to unlatch it. The door swung open and the animal bounded out, knocking him to the floor.

  He didn’t mind at all because now he was sure he was right. The natives had given him the animal for a purpose. Their own existence was meager, near the edge of extinction. They could not afford to keep something that wasn’t useful. And this creature was useful. Tiny blue sparks crackled from the fur as it rubbed against him in the darkness. It was not whining. It rumbled and purred as it licked his hands and arms and rolled against his legs.

  After a while he was strong enough to crawl back to bed, leaning against the animal for support. He lifted himself up and fell across the bed in exhaustion. Blood didn’t circulate well in his crippled body. The animal bounded up and tried to melt itself into his body. He couldn’t push it away if he wanted. He didn’t want to. He stirred and got himself into a more comfortable position. He wasn’t going to die.

  * * * *

  In the morning, Bolden was awake long before the doctor came in. Kessler’s face was haggard and the smile was something he assumed solely for the patient’s benefit. If he could have seen what the expression looked like after filtering through the microscreen, he would have abandoned it. “I see you’re holding your own,” he said with hollow cheerfulness. “We’re doing quite well ourselves.”

  “I’ll bet,” said Bolden. “Maybe you’ve got to the point where one of the antibiotics doesn’t actually stimulate the growth of the microbes?”

  “I was afraid you’d find it out,” sighed the doctor. “We can’t keep everything from you.”

  “You could have given me a shot of plasma and said it was a powerful new drug.”

  “That idea went out of medical treatment a couple of hundred years ago,” said the doctor. “You’d feel worse when you failed to show improvement. Settling a planet isn’t easy and the dangers aren’t imaginary. You’ve got to be able to face facts as they come.”

  He peered uncertainly at Bolden. The microscreen distorted his vision, too. “We’re making progress though it may not seem so to you. When a mixture of a calcium salt plus two antihistamines is added to a certain neobiotic, the result is that the microbe grows no faster than it should. Switching the ingredients here and there—maybe it ought to be a potassium salt—and the first thing you know we’ll have it stopped cold.”

  “I doubt the effectiveness of those results,” said Bolden. “In fact, I think you’re on the wrong track. Try investigating the effects of neural induction.”

  “What are you talking about?” said the doctor, coming closer and glancing suspiciously at the lump beside Bolden. “Do you feel dizzy? Is there anything else unusual that you notice?”

  “Don’t shout at the patient.” Bolden waggled his finger reprovingly. He was proud of the finger. He couldn’t feel what he was doing, but he had control over it. “You, Kessler, should face the fact that a doctor can learn from a patient what the patient learned from the natives.”

  But Kessler didn’t hear what he said. He was looking at the upraised hand. “You’re moving almost normally,” he said. “Your own immunity factor is controlling the disease.”

  “Sure. I’ve got an immunity factor,” said Bolden. “The same one the natives have. Only it’s not inside my body.” He rested his hand on the animal beneath the covers. It never wanted to leave him. It wouldn’t have to.

  “I can set your mind at rest on one thing, Doctor. Natives are susceptible to the disease, too. That’s why they were able to recognize I had it. They gave me the cure and told me what it was, but I was unable to see it until it was nearly too late. Here it is.” He turned back the covers and the exposed animal sleeping peacefully on his legs which raised its head and licked his fingers. He felt that.

  * * * *

  After an explanation the doctor tempered his disapproval. It was an unsanitary practice, but he had to admit that the patient was much improved. Kessler verified the state of Bolden’s health by extensive use of the X-ray microscope. Reluctantly he wheeled the machine to the wall and covered it up.

  “The infection is definitely
receding,” he said. “There are previously infected areas in which I find it difficult to locate a single microbe. What I can’t understand is how it’s done. According to you, the animal doesn’t break the skin with its tongue and therefore nothing is released into the bloodstream. All that seems necessary is that the animal be near you.” He shook his head behind the microscreen. “I don’t think much of the electrical analogy you used.”

  “I said the first thing I thought of. I don’t know if that’s the way it works, but it seems to me like a pretty fair guess.”

  “The microbes do cluster around nerves,” said the doctor. “We know that neural activity is partly electrical. If the level of that activity can be increased, the bacteria might be killed by ionic dissociation.” He glanced speculatively at Bolden and the animal. “Perhaps you do borrow nervous energy from the animal. We might also find it possible to control the disease with an electrical current.”

  “Don’t try to find out on me,” said Bolden. “I’ve been an experimental specimen long enough. Take somebody who’s healthy. I’ll stick with the natives’ method.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of experiments in your condition. You’re still not out of danger.” Nevertheless he showed his real opinion when he left the room. He failed to plug in and flash the decontagion suit.

  Bolden smiled at the doctor’s omission and ran his hand through the fur. He was going to get well.

  * * * *

  But his progress was somewhat slower than he’d anticipated though it seemed to satisfy the doctor who went on with his experiments. The offending bacteria could be killed electrically. But the current was dangerously large and there was no practical way to apply the treatment to humans. The animal was the only effective method.

  Kessler discovered the microbe required an intermediate host. A tick or a mosquito seemed indicated. It would take a protracted search of the mountains to determine just what insect was the carrier. In any event the elaborate sanitary precautions were unnecessary. Microscreens came down and decontagion suits were no longer worn. Bolden could not pass the disease on to anyone else.

  Neither could the animal. It seemed wholly without parasites. It was clean and affectionate, warm to the touch. Bolden was fortunate that there was such a simple cure for the most dreaded disease on Van Daamas.

  It was several days before he was ready to leave the small hospital at the edge of the settlement. At first he sat up in bed and then he was allowed to walk across the room. As his activity increased, the animal became more and more content to lie on the bed and follow him with its eyes. It no longer frisked about as it had in the beginning. As Bolden told the nurse, it was becoming housebroken.

  The time came when the doctor failed to find a single microbe. Bolden’s newly returned strength and the sensitivity of his skin where before there had been numbness confirmed the diagnosis. He was well. Peggy came to walk him home. It was pleasant to have her near.

  “I see you’re ready,” she said, laughing at his eagerness.

  “Except for one thing,” he said. “Come, Pet.” The animal raised its head from the bed where it slept.

  “Pet?” she said quizzically. “You ought to give it a name. You’ve had it long enough to decide on something.”

  “Pet’s a name,” he said. “What can I call it? Doc? Hero?”

  She made a face. “I can’t say I care for either choice, although it did save your life.”

  “Yes, but that’s an attribute it can’t help. The important thing is that if you listed what you expect of a pet you’d find it in this creature. Docile, gentle, lively at times; all it wants is to be near you, to have you touch it. And it’s very clean.”

  “All right, call it Pet if you want,” said Peggy. “Come on, Pet.”

  It paid no attention to her. It came when Bolden called, getting slowly off the bed. It stayed as close as it could get to Bolden. He was still weak so they didn’t walk fast and, at first, the animal was able to keep up.

  * * * *

  It was almost noon when they went out. The sun was brilliant and Van Daamas seemed a wonderful place to be alive in. Yes, with death behind him, it was a very wonderful place. Bolden chatted gaily with Peggy. She was fine company.

  And then Bolden saw the native who had given him the animal. Five to seven days, and he had arrived on time. The rest of the tribe must be elsewhere in the settlement. Bolden smiled in recognition while the man was still at some distance. For an answer the native shifted the bow in his hand and glanced behind the couple, in the direction of the hospital.

  The movement with the bow might have been menacing, but Bolden ignored that gesture. It was the sense that something was missing that caused him to look down. The animal was not at his side. He turned around.

  The creature was struggling in the dust. It got to its feet and wobbled toward him, staggering crazily as it tried to reach him. It spun around, saw him, and came on again. The tongue lolled out and it whined once. Then the native shot it through the heart, pinning it to the ground. The short tail thumped and then it died.

  Bolden couldn’t move. Peggy clutched his arm. The native walked over to the animal and looked down. He was silent for a moment. “Die anyway soon,” he said to Bolden. “Burned out inside.”

  He bent over. The bright yellow eyes had faded to nothingness in the sunlight. “Gave you its health,” said the man of Van Daamas respectfully as he broke off the protruding arrow.

  It was a dark blue arrow.

  * * * *

  Now every settlement on the planet has Bolden’s pets. They have been given a more scientific name, but nobody remembers what it is. The animals are kept in pens, exactly as is done by the natives, on one side of town, not too near any habitation.

  For a while, there was talk that it was unscientific to use the animal. It was thought that an electrical treatment could be developed to replace it. Perhaps this was true. But settling a planet is a big task. As long as one method works there isn’t time for research. And it works—the percentage of recovery is as high as in other common ailments.

  But in any case the animal can never become a pet, though it may be in the small but bright spark of consciousness that is all the little yellow-eyed creature wants. The quality that makes it so valuable is the final disqualification. Strength can be a weakness. Its nervous system is too powerful for a man in good health, upsetting the delicate balance of the human body in a variety of unusual ways. How the energy-transfer takes place has never been determined exactly, but it does occur.

  It is only when he is stricken with the Bubble Death and needs additional energy to drive the invading microbes from the tissue around his nerves that the patient is allowed to have one of Bolden’s pets.

  In the end, it is the animal that dies. As the natives knew, it is kindness to kill it quickly.

  It is highly regarded and respectfully spoken of. Children play as close as they can get, but are kept well away from the pens by a high, sturdy fence. Adults walk by and nod kindly to it.

  Bolden never goes there nor will he speak of it. His friends say he’s unhappy about being the first Earthman to discover the usefulness of the little animal. They are right. It is a distinction he doesn’t care for. He still has the blue arrow. There are local craftsmen who can mend it, but he has refused their services. He wants to keep it as it is.

  WORLDS IN BALANCE

  Originally published in Science Fiction Plus, May 1953.

  “After the picnic we can drop hydrogen bombs on Merhaven,” said Grandy. He brightened considerably at the thought.

  Jason leaned back. “My father was born on Merhaven.”

  “Blood will tell,” commented Grandy dourly. “Maybe. But I should think you would have other outlets for your energy.”

  “We’ve always dropped bombs on Merhaven,” Grandy said reasonably. “And so far they’ve always exploded them before the bombs got near enough to do any damage.” He added with philosophical conviction: “One of these days our luck will
change.”

  Strange, Jason thought, how the centuries had destroyed a great dream. When the first interstellar expedition had reached the Alpha Centauri binary system, three planets had been discovered, each miraculously adapted for human occupation. Further, the three planets were close enough to offer favorable conditions for trade. The original pioneers had envisioned the establishment of a planetary bloc, almost utopian in character, as compared to the persistent strife of the home solar system. No one seemed to know when it had started or why, but now Kransi, the second planet, battled almost incessantly with Merhaven, the third, while Restap, the first, acted as a sort of middle man, benefiting from the strife that impoverished its companions.

  It was their quarrel, and it wasn’t for him to change them. “But what do you gain?” asked Jason. “I suppose they’re decent people, and even if they aren’t, you have no business making a sneak attack on a whole planet.”

  “Hah,” snorted his granduncle, fiddling with the slender cylinder in his hand. “Have you ever met a Merhavian?”

  “You should know. My father was one.”

  “So he was,” said Grandy suspiciously. A frown creased his forehead and thought processes became almost visible under his pink skin. The creases climbed slowly up his naked scalp and disappeared somewhere behind his skull. “But your mother was Kransian, and therefore, so are you—that’s all that matters,” he said, relieved at the conclusion. “Many’s the time I’ve dandled her on my knee when she was so high. She was a darling tyke.” He passed his forearm over his eyes.

  That was pure self-deception, decided Jason. Grandy had never been the dandling type, unless the girl was eighteen or so—and buxom. And after this many years, his grief wasn’t convincing. Guilt might account for the display, of course. The people of Kransi had been none too kind while she was living. For reasons they alone understood, they had imposed a form of exile; she was welcome back, but not with her husband. They had forgotten about that, now, in their clannish sentimentality.