Nopalgarth

by Jack Vance

  Two Tauptu approached the grill. Their hands were cased in white gloves. They kneaded the cloth which shrouded the victim’s head. The arms and legs squirmed. From the cusps issued a sudden silent vibration of blue light—a discharge of some sort of energy. The victim rattled and Burke struggled dizzily against the grip of the Xaxans. Once more the blue discharge; again the jerky mechanical reflex, like the kicking of a frog’s leg to electricity. The Chitumih by the wall clicked miserably; the Tauptu stood stern and inexorable.

  The torturers kneaded, worked, pulled. Another burst of blue light, another despairing rattle; the Tauptu on the grill lay limp. The torturer removed the transparent bag, carried it gingerly away. Two other Tauptu removed the unconscious man, laid him unceremoniously on the floor. Then they seized one of the Chitumih, flung him on the grill. His arms and legs were pinioned; he lay frothing and straining in terror. The impalpable cloth was brought in, floating weightlessly in the air, arranged over the Chitumih’s head and shoulders.

  The torture began… . Ten minutes later the Chitumih, head lolling, was carried to the side of the room.

  Apiptix handed the quivering Burke the spectacles. “Observe the purged Chitumih. What do you see?”

  Burke looked. “Nothing. There is nothing.”

  “Now look here. Quickly!”

  Burke turned his head to look into a mirror. Something stiff and pompous reared above his head. Great bulbous eyes stared from beside his neck. Just a flicker of a vision, then he saw nothing. The mirror blurred. Burke tore off the glasses. The mirror was clear, revealing only his ashen face. “What was that?” he whispered. “I saw something …”

  “That was the nopal,” said Apiptix. “You surprised it.” He took the spectacles. Two men seized Burke, carried him fighting and kicking to the grill. The sleeves rolled over his arms and legs; he was immobilized. The cloth was arranged over his head. He caught a final glimpse of the malignant, infinitely hateful face of Pttdu Apiptix; then a shuddering shock of pain pounded the nerves of his back-bone.

  Burke bit his lips, strained to move his head. Another blast of blue light, another spasm of pain, as if the torturers were rapping his raw nerves with hammers. The muscles of his throat distended. He could hear nothing, he was unaware of his own screaming.

  The flare vanished; there was only a kneading of white-gloved hands, a sucking burning sensation as of a scab being pulled from a sore. Burke tried to beat his head against the bars of the grill, moaned to think of his agony here on this evil black world… . An excruciating shatter of blue energy; a pull, a rip, as if the spine had been broken out of his body; a deep insane rage, and then he lost consciousness.

  V

  BURKE FELT rather light-headed, as if he had been stimulated by some euphoric drug. He lay on a low resilient mat, in a chamber similar to that which he had occupied before.

  He thought of his last conscious moments, of the torment, and sat up full of wild recollection. The doorway was open, unguarded. Burke stared, visions of escape racing through his head. He started to rise, then heard footsteps. The opportunity was lost. He returned to his former position.

  Pttdu Apiptix appeared in the doorway, stolid and massive as an iron statue. He stood watching Burke. After a moment Burke rose slowly to his feet, prepared for almost anything.

  Pttdu Apiptix came forward. Burke watched him in wary hostility. And yet—was this really Pttdu Apiptix? It seemed the same man; he wore the six-pronged helmet, and carried the voice-box slung over his chest. He was Pttdu Apiptix and he was not—for his semblance had altered. He no longer seemed evil.

  The voice-box said, “Come with me; you will eat and I will explain certain things to you.”

  Burke could find no words; it seemed as if his captor’s entire personality had changed.

  “You are puzzled?” Apiptix asked. “For good reason. Come.”

  Burke followed in a daze of perplexity to a large room furnished as a refectory. Apiptix motioned him to a seat, went to a dispenser, returned with bowls of broth and cakes of a dark substance like compressed raisins. Yesterday the man had tortured him, thought Burke; today he acts the part of a host. Burke examined the broth. He had few food prejudices, but the comestibles of a strange world, prepared from unknown substances, did not encourage his appetite.

  “Our food is synthetic,” said Apiptix. “We cannot indulge in natural foods. You will not be poisoned; our metabolic processes are similar.”

  Burke ignored his qualms and dipped into the broth. It was bland, neither pleasant nor otherwise. He ate in silence, watching Apiptix from the corner of his eye. No sudden— possibly illusory —change of manner could compensate for the cold-blooded facts: murder, kidnapping, torture.

  Apiptix finished quickly, eating without nicety or grace, then sat with his eyes feeling at Burke, as if in saturnine reflection. Burke glared back sullenly. He thought of an enlarged photograph of a wasp’s head he had once seen. The eyes, great bulbs, fibrous, faceted, stolid, were similar to the eyes of the Xaxans.

  “Naturally enough,” Apiptix remarked, “you are puzzled and resentful. You understand nothing of what has been happening. You wonder why I appear differently today than yesterday. Is this not true?”

  Burke admitted that such was the case.

  “The difference is not in me; it is in you. Look.” He pointed up into the air. “Look up there.”

  Burke searched the ceiling. Spots swam before his eyes; he tried to blink them away. He saw nothing, and looked to Apiptix for explanation.

  Apiptix asked, “What did you see?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Look again.” He pointed. “There.”

  Burke looked, peering through the streaks and blotches in front of his eyes. Today they were unusually troublesome. “I can’t see …” He paused. He seemed to sense staring owlish eyes. When he tried to find them they swam and melted into the floating spots.

  “Keep looking,” said Apiptix. “Your mind has no training. Presently the things will become clear.”

  “What things?” asked Burke in perplexity.

  “The nopal.”

  “There’s nothing whatever.”

  “Do you not see phantoms, impalpable shapes? It is easier, far easier for an Earthman to see than a Xaxan.”

  “I see spots before my eyes. That’s all.”

  “Look carefully at the spots. That particular spot, for example.”

  Wondering how Pttdu Apiptix could be aware of spots before someone else’s eyes, Burke studied the air. The blotch seemed to focus, to concentrate: ominous orbs stared at him; he sensed a shifting flutter of color. He exclaimed, “What is this? Hypnotism?”

  “It is the nopal. It infests Ixax in spite of our efforts. You are finished eating? Come, once again you shall observe the Chitumih yet unpurged.”

  They walked outside, into the black downpour of rain which seemed to fall almost continuously. Pools gleamed among the ruins, pallid as mercury; the jagged mountains behind could not be seen.

  Pttdu Apiptix, ignoring the rain, stalked to the Chitumih enclosure. Only two dozen prisoners remained; they glared through the dripping mesh with eyes of hate, and now the hate included Burke.

  “The last of the Chitumih,” said Apiptix. “Look at them again.”

  Burke peered through the mesh. The air over the Chitumih was blurred. There were— He uttered a startled exclamation. The blur resolved. It now appeared that each of the Chitumih carried a strange and terrible rider, clinging to his neck and scalp by means of a gelatinous flap. A proud bank of bristles reared up behind each of the Chitumih heads, sprouting from a wad of dark fuzz the size and shape of a football. Two globes hung between the human shoulders and ears, apparently serving the same function as eyes. If eyes they were, they turned on Burke with the same hate and defiance which showed on the faces of the Chitumih.

  Burke found his voice. “What are they?” he asked huskily. “The nopal?”

  “They are the nopal. Parasites, abominations.” H
e made a gesture around the sky. “You will see many others. They hover over us, hungry, anxious to settle. We are anxious to rid our planet of the things.”

  Burke searched the sky. The hovering nopal, if any, were inconspicuous in the rain. There—he thought to see one of the things, floating like a jellyfish in water. It was small and undeveloped; the spines were sparse, the bulbs which might or might not be eyes appeared no larger than lemons. Burke blinked, rubbed his forehead. The nopal disappeared, the sky was empty of all but dour wind, torn clouds. “Are they material?”

  “They exist; therefore they are material. Is this not a universal truth? If you ask what kind of material, I cannot tell you. War has occupied us a hundred years, we have had no opportunity to learn.”

  Hunching his neck against the rain Burke turned back to look at the imprisoned Chitumih. He had considered them noble in their defiance; now they seemed rather brutish. Odd. And the Tauptu, who had aroused his detestation … He considered Pttdu Apiptix who had kidnapped him and disrupted his life, who had murdered Sam Gibbons. Hardly a likeable person—still Burke’s revulsion had dwindled, and a certain grudging admiration mingled with his dislike. The Tauptu were harsh and hard, but they were men of uncompromising resolution.

  A sudden idea occurred to Burke, and he eyed Apiptix suspiciously. Had he been victim to a marvelous and subtle job of brain-washing, which converted hate into respect, fostered illusions of non-material parasites? Not a convincing idea under the circumstances—but what could be more bizarre than the nopal itself?

  He turned back to the Chitumih, and the nopal glared as before. He found it hard to think clearly; nevertheless certain matters had become clarified. “The nopal don’t concentrate on Xaxans alone?” he asked of Pttdu Apiptix.

  “By no means.”

  “One of them had settled on me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you put me on that grill to purge this nopal?”

  “Yes.”

  Burke mulled the information over, with the cold rain trickling down his back. The toneless voice-box said, “Your irrational hates and sudden intuitions are less frequent, you will notice. Before we could deal with you, it was necessary that you be purged.”

  Burke forbore to inquire the nature of the dealings. He looked up to find the small nopal floating near at hand, the eye-orbs glistening down at him. Five feet? Ten feet? Fifty feet? He could not determine the distance; it seemed vague, almost subjective. He asked, “Why don’t the nopal settle on me again?”

  Apiptix made his stiff odd grimace. “They will do so. Then once more you must be purged. One month, more or less, they keep their distance. Perhaps they are afraid; perhaps the brain can hold them away this long. It is a mystery. But sooner or later they come down; then we are Chitumih and must be purged.”

  The nopal exercised a morbid fascination; Burke found it hard to wrench his eyes away. One of the things had been joined to him! He shivered, feeling a rather irrational gratitude to the Tauptu for purging him—even though they had brought him to Ixax in the first place.

  “Come,” said Apiptix. “You will learn what is required of you.”

  Wet and cold, feet squelching in his shoes, Burke followed Apiptix back into the refectory. He felt utterly miserable. Apiptix who took no heed of rain or wet, motioned Burke to a seat.

  “I will tell you something of our history. A hundred and twenty years ago Ixax was a different world. Our civilization was comparable to yours, although in certain respects we were more advanced. We have long traveled space and your world has been known to us for several centuries.

  “A hundred years ago a group of scientists—” He paused, peered quizzically at Burke. “The wetness disturbs you? You are cold?” Without waiting for reply he clicked and buzzed to an attendant, who brought a heavy blue glass mug of hot liquid.

  Burke drank; the fluid was hot and bitter, evidently a stimulant. He presently felt more cheerful, even light-headed, while the water dripped from his clothes and ran in a puddle along the floor.

  The voice-box spoke in a measured monotone, enunciating l’s and r’s with careful trills. “A hundred years ago certain of our scientists, investigating what you call psionic activity, discovered the nopal. In this fashion Maub Kiamkagx”—so the name came through the voice-box—“a man highly teletactile, was trapped in a faulty power modulating machine. For several hours energy played around him and into him. He was rescued, and the scientists resumed their tests, anxious to learn whether the experience had affected his abilities.

  “Maub Kiamkagx had become the first Tauptu. When the scientists approached he looked at them in terror; the scientists likewise felt an illogical antagonism. They were puzzled and tried to locate the origin of their dislike, to no avail. Meanwhile Maub Kiamkagx was wrestling with his sensations. He apprehended the nopal, at first ascribing them to teletactility or even hallucination. Actually he was ‘tauptu’ —purged. He described the nopal to the scientists who were incredulous. ‘Why haven’t you noted these horrible things before?’ they asked.

  “Maub Kiamkagx formed the hypothesis which has driven us to victory over the Chitumih and their nopal: “The experience in the power-generator has killed the creature which preyed on me. This is my guess.’

  “An experiment took place. A criminal was purged in a similar fashion. Maub Kiamkagx declared him clear of nopal. The scientists felt the same irrational hate for both men, but were impelled by their capacity for right-judging—” (an allusion to the peculiar Xaxan capacity for sensing mathematical and logical equivalence, which Burke failed to grasp)”—to doubt the hate, understanding its peculiar appropriateness if the statements of Maub Kiamkagx were accurate.

  “Two of the scientists were purged. Maub Kiamkagx pronounced them ‘tauptu.’ The remaining scientists in the group underwent purging—and this was the original nucleus of the Tauptu.

  “The war started soon. It was bitter and cruel. The Tauptu became a miserable band of fugitives, living in ice-caves, torturing themselves monthly with energy, purging such Chitumih that they were able to capture. Eventually the Tauptu began to win the war, and only a month ago the war ended. The last Chitumih waits outside to be purged.

  “That is the story. We have won the war on this planet. We have eliminated Chitumih resistance, but the nopal remain; and once a month we must torment ourselves on the energy grill. It is intolerable, and we will never quit our war until the nopal are destroyed. So the war is not over for us, but has merely entered a new phase. The nopal are few on Ixax, but this is not their home. Their citadel is Nopalgarth; Nopalgarth is the pest-hole. This is where they thrive in untold multitudes. From Nopalgarth they flit to Ixax with the speed of thought, to drop upon our shoulders. You must go to Nopalgarth; you must inspire destruction of the nopal. This is the next stage of the war against the nopal, which someday we must win.”

  Burke was silent a moment. “Why can’t you go to Nopalgarth yourself?”

  “On Nopalgarth the Xaxans are conspicuous. Before we could achieve our aim we would be persecuted, killed or driven away.”

  “But why did you select me? What good can I do—even admitting that I agree to help you?”

  “Because you will not be conspicuous. You can achieve more than we can.”

  Burke nodded dubiously. “The inhabitants of Nopalgarth are men like myself?”

  “Yes. They are of a species identical to your own. This is not surprising, since Nopalgarth is our name for Earth.”

  Burke smiled skeptically. “You must be mistaken. There are no nopal on Earth.”

  The Xaxan performed his wry wincing grimace. “You have not been aware of the infestation.”

  A queasy apprehension rose in Burke’s throat. “I can’t see how this can be true.”

  “It is true.”

  “You mean that I had the nopal on Earth, before I came here?”

  “You have had it all your life.”

  VI

  BURKE SAT LOOKING into the turmoil of his o
wn thoughts while the voice-box on the chest of Pttdu Apiptix droned relentlessly on.

  “Earth is Nopalgarth. Nopal fill the air over your hospitals, rising from the dead, jostling about the new-born. From the moment you enter the world to the time you die, you carry your nopal.”

  “Surely we’d know,” muttered Burke. “We’d have learned, just as you did …”

  “We have a history thousands of years longer than yours. Only by accident did we find the nopal. … It is enough to make us wonder what other matters take place beyond our knowing.”

  Burke sat glum and silent, feeling the rush of oncoming tragic events beyond his power to avert. A number of other Xaxans, perhaps eight or ten, filed into the refectory, sat in a line facing him. Burke looked along the line of blade-nosed faces; the blind-looking mud-colored eyes stared back over him —passing judgment, so Burke felt obscurely. “Why do you tell me this?” he asked abruptly. “Why did you bring me here?”

  Pttdu Apiptix sat straighter, massive shoulders square, gaunt face harsh and still. “We have cleansed our world at great cost. The nopal find no haven here. For a single month we are free—then the nopal of Nopalgarth slip down upon us, and we must torture ourselves to be purged.”

  Burke considered. “And you wish us to clean Earth of the nopal.”

  “This is what you must do.” Pttdu Apiptix said no more. He and his fellows sat back, judging Burke.

  “It sounds like a big job,” Burke said uneasily. “Too big for one man—or for one man’s lifetime.”

  Pttdu Apiptix gave his head a terse jerk. “How can it be easy? We have purged Ixax—and in the process Ixax has been destroyed.”

  Burke, staring glumly into space, said nothing.