The Rediscovery of Man - The Complete Short Science Fiction of Cordwainer Smith - Illustrated

by Cordwainer Smith

  Terza sensed his rejection of her. Quick as a sensitive animal, she became angry and petulant. “You didn’t have to come out with me!”

  “I wanted to,” he said, “but now I’m tired and want to go home.”

  “You treat me like a child. All right, play with me. Or you treat me like a woman. All right, be a gentleman. But don’t seesaw all the time yourself. I just got to be a little bit happy and you have to get middle-aged and condescending. I won’t take it.”

  “Your father—” he said, realizing the moment he said it that it was a mistake.

  “My father this, my father that. If you’re thinking about marrying me, do it yourself.” She glared at him, stuck her tongue out, ran over a dune, and disappeared.

  Dobyns Bennett was baffled. He did not know what to do. She was safe enough. The loudies never hurt anyone. He decided to teach her a lesson and to go on back himself, letting her find her way home when she pleased. The Area Search Team could find her easily if she really got lost.

  He walked back to the gate.

  When he saw the gates locked and the emergency lights on, he realized that he had made the worst mistake of his life.

  His heart sinking within him, he ran the last few meters of the way, and beat the ceramic gate with his bare hands until it opened only just enough to let him in.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked the doortender.

  The doortender muttered something which Dobyns could not understand.

  “Speak up, man!” shouted Dobyns. “What’s wrong?”

  “The Goonhogo is coming back and they’re taking over.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Dobyns. “They couldn’t—” He checked himself. Could they?

  “The Goonhogo’s taken over,” the gatekeeper insisted. “They’ve been given the whole thing. The Earth Authority has voted it to them. The Waywonjong has decided to send people right away. They’re sending them.”

  “What do the Chinesians want with Venus? You can’t kill a loudie without contaminating a thousand acres of land. You can’t push them away without them drifting back. You can’t scoop them up. Nobody can live here until we solve the problem of these things. We’re a long way from having solved it,” said Dobyns in angry bewilderment.

  The gatekeeper shook his head. “Don’t ask me. That’s all I hear on the radio. Everybody else is excited too.”

  Within an hour, the rain of people began.

  Dobyns went up to the radar room, saw the skies above. The radar man himself was drumming his fingers against the desk. He said, “Nothing like this has been seen for a thousand years or more. You know what there is up there? Those are warships, the warships left over from the last of the old dirty wars. I knew the Chinesians were inside them. Everybody knew about it. It was sort of like a museum. Now they don’t have any weapons in them. But do you know—there are millions of people hanging up there over Venus and I don’t know what they are going to do!”

  He stopped and pointed at one of the screens. “Look, you can see them running in patches. They’re behind each other, so they cluster up solid. We’ve never had a screen look like that.”

  Dobyns looked at the screen. It was, as the operator said, full of blips.

  As they watched, one of the men exclaimed, “What’s that milky stuff down there in the lower left? See, it’s—it’s pouring,” he said. “It’s pouring somehow out of those dots. How can you pour things into a radar? It doesn’t really show, does it?”

  The radar man looked at his screen. He said, “Search me. I don’t know what it is, either. You’ll have to find out. Let’s just see what happens.”

  Scanner Vomact came into the room. He said, once he had taken a quick, experienced glance at the screens, “This may be the strangest thing we’ll ever see, but I have a feeling they’re dropping people. Lots of them. Dropping them by the thousands, or by the hundreds of thousands, or even by the millions. But people are coming down there. Come along with me, you two. We’ll go out and see it. There may be somebody that we can help.”

  By this time, Dobyns’s conscience was hurting him badly. He wanted to tell Vomact that he had left Terza out there, but he had hesitated—not only because he was ashamed of leaving her, but because he did not want to tattle on the child to her father. Now he spoke.

  “Your daughter’s still outside.”

  Vomact turned on him solemnly. The immense eyes looked very tranquil and very threatening, but the silky voice was controlled.

  “You may find her.” The scanner added, in a tone which sent the thrill of menace up Dobyns’s back, “And everything will be well if you bring her back.”

  Dobyns nodded as though receiving an order.

  “I shall,” said Vomact, “go out myself, to see what I can do, but I leave the finding of my daughter to you.”

  They went down, put on the extra-long-period converters, carried their miniaturized survey equipment so that they could find their way back through the fog, and went out. Just as they were at the gate, the gatekeeper said, “Wait a moment, sir and excellency. I have a message for you here on the phone. Please call Control.”

  Scanner Vomact was not to be called lightly and he knew it. He picked up the connection unit and spoke harshly.

  The radar man came on the phone screen in the gatekeeper’s wall. “They’re overhead now, sir.”

  “Who’s overhead?”

  “The Chinesians are. They’re coming down. I don’t know how many there are. There must be two thousand warships over our heads right here and there are more thousands over the rest of Venus. They’re down now. If you want to see them hit ground, you’d better get outside quick.”

  Vomact and Dobyns went out.

  Down came the Chinesians. People’s bodies were raining right out of the milk-cloudy sky. Thousands upon thousands of them with plastic parachutes that looked like bubbles. Down they came.

  Dobyns and Vomact saw a headless man drift down. The parachute cords had decapitated him.

  A woman fell near them. The drop had torn her breathing tube loose from her crudely bandaged throat and she was choking in her own blood. She staggered toward them, tried to babble but only drooled blood with mute choking sounds, and then fell face forward into the mud.

  Two babies dropped. The adult accompanying them had been blown off course. Vomact ran, picked them up, and handed them to a Chinesian man who had just landed. The man looked at the babies in his arms, sent Vomact a look of contemptuous inquiry, put the weeping children down in the cold slush of Venus, gave them a last impersonal glance, and ran off on some mysterious errand of his own.

  Vomact kept Bennett from picking up the children. “Come on, let’s keep looking. We can’t take care of all of them.”

  The world had known that the Chinesians had a lot of unpredictable public habits; but they never suspected that the nondies and the needies and the showhices could pour down out of a poisoned sky. Only the Goonhogo itself would make such a reckless use of human life. Nondies were men and needies were women and showhices were the little children. And the Goonhogo was a name left over from the old days of nations. It meant something like republic or state or government. Whatever it was, it was the organization that ran the Chinesians in the Chinesian manner, under the Earth Authority.

  And the ruler of the Goonhogo was the Waywonjong.

  The Waywonjong didn’t come to Venus. He just sent his people. He sent them floating down into Venus, to tackle the Venusian ecology with the only weapons which could make a settlement of that planet possible—people themselves. Human arms could tackle the loudies, the loudies who had been called “old ones” by the first Chinesian scouts to cover Venus.

  The loudies had to be gathered together so gently that they would not die and, in dying, each contaminate a thousand acres. They had to be kept together by human bodies and arms in a gigantic living corral.

  Scanner Vomact rushed forward.

  A wounded Chinesian man hit the ground and his parachute collapsed behind h
im. He was clad in a pair of shorts, had a knife at his belt, canteen at his waist. He had an air converter attached next to his ear, with a tube running into his throat. He shouted something unintelligible at them and limped rapidly away.

  People kept on hitting the ground all around Vomact and Dobyns.

  The self-disposing parachutes were bursting like bubbles in the misty air, a moment or two after they touched the ground. Someone had done a tricky, efficient job with the chemical consequences of static electricity.

  And as the two watched, the air was heavy with people. One time, Vomact was knocked down by a person. He found that it was two Chinesian children tied together.

  Dobyns asked, “What are you doing? Where are you going? Do you have any leaders?”

  He got cries and shouts in an unintelligible language. Here and there someone shouted in English, “This way!” or “Leave us alone!” or “Keep going…” but that was all.

  The experiment worked.

  Eighty-two million people were dropped in that one day.

  After four hours which seemed barely short of endless, Dobyns found Terza in a corner of the cold hell. Though Venus was warm, the suffering of the almost-naked Chinesians had chilled his blood.

  Terza ran toward him.

  She could not speak.

  She put her head on his chest and sobbed. Finally she managed to say, “I’ve—I’ve—I’ve tried to help, but they’re too many, too many, too many!” And the sentence ended as shrill as a scream.

  Dobyns led her back to the experimental area.

  They did not have to talk. Her whole body told him that she wanted his love and the comfort of his presence, and that she had chosen that course of life which would keep them together.

  As they left the drop area, which seemed to cover all of Venus so far as they could tell, a pattern was beginning to form. The Chinesians were beginning to round up the loudies.

  Terza kissed him mutely after the gatekeeper had let them through. She did not need to speak. Then she fled to her room.

  The next day, the people from Experimental Area A tried to see if they could go out and lend a hand to the settlers. It wasn’t possible to lend a hand; there were too many settlers. People by the millions were scattered all over the hills and valleys of Venus, sludging through the mud and water with their human toes, crushing the alien mud, crushing the strange plants. They didn’t know what to eat. They didn’t know where to go. They had no leaders.

  All they had were orders to gather the loudies together in large herds and hold them there with human arms.

  The loudies didn’t resist.

  After a time-lapse of several Earth days the Goonhogo sent small scout cars. They brought a very different kind of Chinesian—these late arrivals were uniformed, educated, cruel, smug men. They knew what they were doing. And they were willing to pay any sacrifice of their own people to get it done.

  They brought instructions. They put the people together in gangs. It did not matter where the nondies and needies had come from on Earth; it didn’t matter whether they found their own showhices or somebody else’s. They were shown the jobs to do and they got to work. Human bodies accomplished what machines could not have done—they kept the loudies firmly but gently encircled until every last one of the creatures was starved into nothingness.

  Rice fields began to appear miraculously.

  Scanner Vomact couldn’t believe it. The Goonhogo biochemists had managed to adapt rice to the soil of Venus. And yet the seedlings came out of boxes in the scout cars and weeping people walked over the bodies of their own dead to keep the crop moving toward the planting.

  Venusian bacteria could not kill human beings, nor could they dispose of human bodies after death. A problem arose and was solved. Immense sleds carried dead men, women, and children—those who had fallen wrong, or drowned as they fell, or had been trampled by others—to an undisclosed destination. Dobyns suspected the material was to be used to add Earth-type organic waste to the soil of Venus, but he did not tell Terza.

  The work went on.

  The nondies and needies kept working in shifts. When they could not see in the darkness, they proceeded without seeing—keeping in line by touch or by shout. Foremen, newly trained, screeched commands. Workers lined up, touching fingertips. The job of building the fields kept on.

  “That’s a big story,” said the old man. “Eighty-two million people dropped in a single day. And later I heard that the Waywonjong said it wouldn’t have mattered if seventy million of them had died. Twelve million survivors would have been enough to make a spacehead for the Goonhogo. The Chinesians got Venus, all of it.

  “But I’ll never forget the nondies and the needies and the showhices falling out of the sky, men and women and children with their poor scared Chinesian faces. That funny Venusian air made them look green instead of tan. There they were, falling all around.

  “You know something, young man?” said Dobyns Bennett, approaching his fifth century of age.

  “What?” said the reporter.

  “There won’t be things like that happening on any world again. Because now, after all, there isn’t any separate Goonhogo left. There’s only one Instrumentality and they don’t care what a man’s race may have been in the ancient years. Those were the rough old days, the ones I lived in. Those were the days men still tried to do things.”

  Dobyns almost seemed to doze off, but he roused himself sharply and said, “I tell you, the sky was full of people. They fell like water. They fell like rain. I’ve seen the awful ants in Africa, and there’s not a thing among the stars to beat them for prowling horror. Mind you, they’re worse than anything the stars contain. I’ve seen the crazy worlds near Alpha Centauri, but I never saw anything like the time the people fell on Venus. More than eighty-two million in one day and my own little Terza lost among them.

  “But the rice did sprout. And the loudies died as the walls of people held them in with human arms. Walls of people, I tell you, with volunteers jumping in to take the places of the falling ones.

  “They were people still, even when they shouted in the darkness. They tried to help each other even while they fought a fight that had to be fought without violence. They were people still. And they did so win. It was crazy and impossible, but they won. Mere human beings did what machines and science would have taken another thousand years to do…

  “The funniest thing of all was the first house that I saw a nondie put up, there in the rain of Venus. I was out there with Vomact and with a pale sad Terza. It wasn’t much of a house, shaped out of twisted Venusian wood. There it was. He built it, the smiling half-naked Chinesian nondie. We went to the door and said to him in English, ‘What are you building here, a shelter or a hospital?’

  “The Chinesian grinned at us. ‘No,’ he said, ‘gambling.’

  “Vomact wouldn’t believe it: ‘Gambling?’

  “‘Sure.’ said the nondie. ‘Gambling is the first thing a man needs in a strange place. It can take the worry out of his soul.’”

  “Is that all?” said the reporter.

  Dobyns Bennett muttered that the personal part did not count. He added, “Some of my great-great-great-great-great-grandsons may come along. You count those greats. Their faces will show you easily enough that I married into the Vomact line. Terza saw what happened. She saw how people build worlds. This was the hard way to build them. She never forgot the night with the dead Chinesian babies lying in the half-illuminated mud, or the parachute ropes dissolving slowly. She heard the needies weeping and the helpless nondies comforting them and leading them off to nowhere. She remembered the cruel, neat officers coming out of the scout cars. She got home and saw the rice come up, and saw how the Goonhogo made Venus a Chinesian place.”

  “What happened to you personally?” asked the reporter.

  “Nothing much. There wasn’t any more work for us, so we closed down Experimental Area A. I married Terza.

  “Any time later, when I said to her, ‘You’re
not such a bad girl!’ she was able to admit the truth and tell me she was not. That night in the rain of people would test anybody’s soul and it tested hers. She had met a big test and passed it. She used to say to me, ‘I saw it once. I saw the people fall, and I never want to see another person suffer again. Keep me with you, Dobyns, keep me with you forever.’

  “And,” said Dobyns Bennett, “it wasn’t forever, but it was a happy and sweet three hundred years. She died after our fourth diamond anniversary. Wasn’t that a wonderful thing, young man?”

  The reporter said it was. And yet, when he took the story back to his editor, he was told to put it into the archives. It wasn’t the right kind of story for entertainment and the public would not appreciate it any more.

  Think Blue, Count Two

  I

  Before the great ships whispered between the stars by means of planoforming, people had to fly from star to star with immense sails—huge films assorted in space on long, rigid, coldproof rigging. A small spaceboat provided room for a sailor to handle the sails, check the course, and watch the passengers who were sealed, like knots in immense threads, in their little adiabatic pods which trailed behind the ship. The passengers knew nothing, except for going to sleep on Earth and waking up on a strange new world forty, fifty, or two hundred years later.

  This was a primitive way to do it. But it worked.

  On such a ship Helen America had followed Mr. Grey-no-more. On such ships, the Scanners retained their ancient authority over space. Two hundred planets and more were settled in this fashion, including Old North Australia, destined to be the treasure house of them all.

  The Emigration Port was a series of low, square buildings—nothing like Earthport, which towers above the clouds like a frozen nuclear explosion.

  Emigration Port is dour, drab, dreary, and efficient. The walls are black-red like old blood merely because they are cheaper to heat that way. The rockets are ugly and simple; the rocket pits, as inglorious as machine shops. Earth has a few showplaces to tell visitors about. Emigration Port is not one of them. The people who work there get the privilege of real work and secure professional honors. The people who go there become unconscious very soon. What they remember about Earth is a little room like a hospital room, a little bed, some music, some talk, the sleep, and (perhaps) the cold.