The Works of Clifford D. Simak Volume Two

by Clifford D. Simak

  “Wild here. There are parts of it are tame.”

  “My own planet is controlled,” the Hazer said. “Every foot of it is planned.”

  “I know. I have talked to many Vegans. They described the planet to me.”

  They headed for the barn.

  “You want to go back?” asked Enoch.

  “No,” said the Hazer. “I find it exhilarating. Those are wild plants over there?”

  “We call them trees,” said Enoch.

  “The wind blows as it wishes?”

  “That’s right,” said Enoch. “We do not know as yet how to control the weather.”

  The spade stood just inside the barn door and Enoch picked it up. He headed for the orchard.

  “You know, of course,” the Hazer said, “the body will be gone.”

  “I’m prepared to find it gone.”

  “Then why?” the Hazer asked.

  “Because I must be sure. You can’t understand that, can you?”

  “You said back there in the station,” the Hazer said, “that you tried to understand the rest of us. Perhaps, for a change, at least one of us should try understanding you.”

  Enoch led the way down the path through the orchard. They came to the rude fence enclosing the burial plot. The sagging gate stood open. Enoch went through it and the Hazer followed.

  “This is where you buried him?”

  “This is my family plot. My mother and father are here and I put him with them.”

  He handed the lantern to the Vegan and, armed with the spade, walked up to the grave. He thrust the spade into the ground.

  “Would you hold the lantern a little closer, please?”

  The Hazer moved up a step or two.

  Enoch dropped to his knees and brushed away the leaves that had fallen on the ground. Underneath them was the soft, fresh earth that had been newly turned. There was a depression and a small hole at the bottom of the depression. As he brushed at the earth, he could hear the clods of displaced dirt falling through the hole and striking on something that was not the soil.

  The Hazer had moved the lantern again and he could not see. But he did not need to see. He knew there was no use of digging; he knew what he would find. He should have kept watch. He should not have put up the stone to attract attention—but Galactic Central had said, “As if he were your own.” And that was the way he’d done it.

  He straightened, but remained upon his knees, felt the damp of the earth soaking through the fabric of his trousers.

  “No one told me,” said the Hazer, speaking softly.

  “Told you what?”

  “The memorial. And what is written on it. I was not aware that you knew our language.”

  “I learned it long ago. There were scrolls I wished to read. I’m afraid it’s not too good.”

  “Two misspelled words,” the Hazer told him, “and one little awkwardness. But those are things which do not matter. What matters, and matters very much, is that when you wrote, you thought as one of us.”

  Enoch rose and reached out for the lantern.

  “Let’s go back,” he said sharply, almost impatiently. “I know now who did this. I have to hunt him out.”

  21

  The treetops far above moaned in the rising wind. Ahead, the great clump of canoe birch showed whitely in the dim glow of the lantern’s light. The birch clump, Enoch knew, grew on the lip of a small cliff that dropped twenty feet or more and here one turned to the right to get around it and continue down the hillside.

  Enoch turned slightly and glanced over his shoulder. Lucy was following close behind. She smiled at him and made a gesture to say she was all right. He made a motion to indicate that they must turn to the right, that she must follow closely. Although, he told himself, it probably wasn’t necessary; she knew the hillside as well, perhaps even better, than he did himself.

  He turned to the right and followed along the edge of the rocky cliff, came to the break and clambered down to reach the slope below. Off to the left he could hear the murmur of the swiftly running creek that tumbled down the rocky ravine from the spring below the field.

  The hillside plunged more steeply now and he led a way that angled across the steepness.

  Funny, he thought, that even in the darkness he could recognize certain natural features—the crooked white oak that twisted itself, hanging at a crazy angle above the slope of hill; the small grove of massive red oaks that grew out of a dome of tumbled rock, so placed that no axman had even tried to cut them down; the tiny swamp, filled with cattails, that fitted itself snugly into a little terrace carved into the hillside.

  Far below he caught the gleam of window light and angled down toward it. He looked back over his shoulder and Lucy was following close behind.

  They came to a rude fence of poles and crawled through it and now the ground became more level.

  Somewhere below a dog barked in the dark and another joined him. More joined in and the pack came sweeping up the slope toward them. They arrived in a rush of feet, veered around Enoch and the lantern to launch themselves at Lucy—suddenly transformed, at the sight of her, into a welcoming committee rather than a company of guards. They reared upward, a tangled mass of dogs. Her hands went out and patted at their heads. As if by signal, they went rushing off in a happy frolic, circling to come back again.

  A short distance beyond the pole fence was a vegetable garden and Enoch led the way across, carefully following a path between the rows. Then they were in the yard and the house stood before them, a tumble-down, sagging structure, its outlines swallowed by the darkness, the kitchen windows glowing with a soft, warm lamplight.

  Enoch crossed the yard to the kitchen door and knocked. He heard feet coming across the kitchen floor.

  The door came open and Ma Fisher stood framed against the light, a great, tall, bony woman clothed in something that was more sack than dress.

  She stared at Enoch, half frightened, half belligerent. Then, back of him, she saw the girl.

  “Lucy!” she cried.

  The girl came forward with a rush and her mother caught her in her arms.

  Enoch set his lantern on the ground, tucked the rifle underneath his arm, and stepped across the threshold.

  The family had been at supper, seated about a great round table set in the center of the kitchen. An ornate oil lamp stood in the center of the table. Hank had risen to his feet, but his three sons and the stranger still were seated.

  “So you brung her back,” said Hank.

  “I found her,” Enoch said.

  “We quit hunting for her just a while ago,” Hank told him. “We was going out again.”

  “You remember what you told me this afternoon?” asked Enoch.

  “I told you a lot of things.”

  “You told me that I had the devil in me. Raise your hand against that girl once more and I promise you I’ll show you just how much devil there is in me.”

  “You can’t bluff me,” Hank blustered.

  But the man was frightened. It showed in the limpness of his face, the tightness of his body.

  “I mean it,” Enoch said. “Just try me out and see.”

  The two men stood for a moment, facing one another, then Hank sat down.

  “Would you join us in some victuals?” he inquired.

  Enoch shook his head.

  He looked at the stranger. “Are you the ginseng man?” he asked.

  The man nodded. “That is what they call me.”

  “I want to talk with you. Outside.”

  Claude Lewis stood up.

  “You don’t have to go,” said Hank. “He can’t make you go. He can talk to you right here.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Lewis. “In fact, I want to talk with him. You’re Enoch Wallace, aren’t you?”

  “That’s who he
is,” said Hank. “Should of died of old age fifty years ago. But look at him. He’s got the devil in him. I tell you, him and the devil has a deal.”

  “Hank,” Lewis said, “shut up.”

  Lewis came around the table and went out the door.

  “Good night,” Enoch said to the rest of them.

  “Mr. Wallace,” said Ma Fisher, “thanks for bringing back my girl. Hank won’t hit her again. I can promise you. I’ll see to that.”

  Enoch went outside and shut the door. He picked up the lantern. Lewis was out in the yard. Enoch went to him.

  “Let’s walk off a ways,” he said.

  They stopped at the edge of the garden and turned to face one another.

  “You been watching me,” said Enoch.

  Lewis nodded.

  “Official? Or just snooping?”

  “Official, I’m afraid. My name is Claude Lewis. There is no reason I shouldn’t tell you—I’m C.I.A.”

  “I’m not a traitor or a spy,” Enoch said.

  “No one thinks you are. We’re just watching you.”

  “You know about the cemetery?”

  Lewis nodded.

  “You took something from a grave.”

  “Yes,” said Lewis. “The one with the funny headstone.”

  “Where is it?”

  “You mean the body. It’s in Washington.”

  “You shouldn’t have taken it,” Enoch said, grimly. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble. You have to get it back. As quickly as you can.”

  “It will take a little time,” said Lewis. “They’ll have to fly it out. Twenty-four hours, maybe.”

  “That’s the fastest you can make it?”

  “I might do a little better.”

  “Do the very best you can. It’s important that you get that body back.”

  “I will, Wallace. I didn’t know …”

  “And, Lewis.”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t try to play it smart. Don’t add any frills. Just do what I tell you. I’m trying to be reasonable because that’s the only thing to be. But you try one smart move …”

  He reached out a hand and grabbed Lewis’s shirt front, twisting the fabric tight.

  “You understand me, Lewis?”

  Lewis was unmoved. He did not try to pull away.

  “Yes,” he said. “I understand.”

  “What the hell ever made you do it?”

  “I had a job.”

  “Yeah, a job. Watching me. Not robbing graves.”

  He let loose of the shirt.

  “Tell me,” said Lewis, “that thing in the grave. What was it?”

  “That’s none of your damn business,” Enoch told him, bitterly. “Getting back that body is. You’re sure that you can do it? Nothing standing in your way?”

  Lewis shook his head. “Nothing at all. I’ll phone as soon as I can reach a phone. I’ll tell them that it’s imperative.”

  “It’s all of that,” said Enoch. “Getting that body back is the most important thing you’ve ever done. Don’t forget that for a minute. It affects everyone on Earth. You and me and everyone. And if you fail, you’ll answer to me for it.”

  “With that gun?”

  “Maybe,” Enoch said. “Don’t fool around. Don’t imagine that I’d hesitate to kill you. In this situation, I’d kill anyone—anyone at all.”

  “Wallace, is there something you can tell me?”

  “Not a thing,” said Enoch.

  He picked up the lantern.

  “You’re going home?”

  Enoch nodded.

  “You don’t seem to mind us watching you.”

  “No,” Enoch told him. “Not your watching. Just your interference. Bring back that body and go on watching if you want to. But don’t push me any. Don’t lean on me. Keep your hands off. Don’t touch anything.”

  “But good God, man, there’s something going on. You can tell me something.”

  Enoch hesitated.

  “Some idea,” said Lewis, “of what this is all about. Not the details, just …”

  “You bring the body back,” Enoch told him, slowly, “and maybe we can talk again.”

  “It will be back,” said Lewis.

  “If it’s not,” said Enoch, “you’re as good as dead right now.”

  Turning, he went across the garden and started up the hill.

  In the yard, Lewis stood for a long time, watching the lantern bobbing out of sight.

  22

  Ulysses was alone in the station when Enoch returned. He had sent the Thuban on his way and the Hazer back to Vega.

  A fresh pot of coffee was brewing and Ulysses was sprawled out on the sofa, doing nothing.

  Enoch hung up the rifle and blew out the lantern. Taking off his jacket, he threw it on the desk. He sat down in a chair across from the sofa.

  “The body will be back,” he said, “by this time tomorrow.”

  “I sincerely hope,” Ulysses said, “that it will do some good. But I’m inclined to doubt it.”

  “Maybe,” said Enoch bitterly, “I should not have bothered.”

  “It will show good faith,” Ulysses said. “It might have some mitigating effect in the final weighing.”

  “The Hazer could have told me,” Enoch said, “where the body was. If he knew it had been taken from the grave, then he must have known where it could be found,”

  “I would suspect he did,” Ulysses said, “but, you see, he couldn’t tell you. All that he could do was to make his protest. The rest was up to you. He could not lay aside his dignity by suggesting what you should do about it. For the record, he must remain the injured party.”

  “Sometimes,” said Enoch, “this business is enough to drive one crazy. Despite the briefings from Galactic Central, there are always some surprises, always yawning traps for you to tumble into.”

  “There may come a day,” Ulysses said, “when it won’t be like that. I can look ahead and see, in some thousands of years, the knitting of the galaxy together into one great culture, one huge area of understanding. The local and the racial variations still will exist, of course, and that is as it should be, but overriding all of these will be a tolerance that will make for what one might be tempted to call a brotherhood.”

  “You sound,” said Enoch, “almost like a human. That is the sort of hope that many of our thinkers have held out.”

  “Perhaps,” Ulysses said. “You know that a lot of Earth seems to have rubbed off on me. You can’t spend as long as I did on your planet without picking up at least a bit of it. And by the way, you made a good impression on the Vegan.”

  “I hadn’t noticed it,” Enoch told him. “He was kind and correct, of course, but little more.”

  “That inscription on the gravestone. He was impressed by that.”

  “I didn’t put it there to impress anyone. I wrote it out because it was the way I felt. And because I like the Hazers. I was only trying to make it right for them.”

  “If it were not for the pressure from the galactic factions,” Ulysses said, “I am convinced the Vegans would be willing to forget the incident and that is a greater concession than you can realize. It may be that, even so, they may line up with us when the showdown comes.”

  “You mean they might save the station?”

  Ulysses shook his head. “I doubt anyone can do that. But it will be easier for all of us at Galactic Central if they threw their weight with us.”

  The coffeepot was making sounds and Enoch went to get it. Ulysses had pushed some of the trinkets on the coffee table to one side to make room for two coffee cups. Enoch filled them and set the pot upon the floor.

  Ulysses picked up his cup, held it for a moment in his hands, then put it back on the table top.

  “We’re in bad shape
,” he said. “Not like in the old days. It has Galactic Central worried. All this squabbling and haggling among the races, all the pushing and the shoving.”

  He looked at Enoch. “You thought it was all nice and cozy.”

  “No,” said Enoch, “not that. I knew that there were conflicting viewpoints and I knew there was some trouble. But I’m afraid I thought of it as being on a fairly lofty plane—gentlemanly, you know, and good-mannered.”

  “That was the way it was at one time. There always has been differing opinions, but they were based on principles and ethics, not on special interests. You know about the spiritual force, of course—the universal spiritual force.”

  Enoch nodded. “I’ve read some of the literature. I don’t quite understand, but I’m willing to accept it. There is a way, I know, to get in contact with the force.”

  “The Talisman,” said Ulysses.

  “That’s it. The Talisman. A machine, of sorts.”

  “I suppose,” Ulysses agreed, “you could call it that. Although the word, ‘machine’ is a little awkward, More than mechanics went into the making of it. There is just the one. Only one was ever made, by a mystic who lived ten thousand of your years ago. I wish I could tell you what it is or how it is constructed, but there is no one, I am afraid, who can tell you that. There have been others who have attempted to duplicate the Talisman, but no one has succeeded. The mystic who made it left no blueprints, no plans, no specifications, not a single note. There is no one who knows anything about it.”

  “There is no reason, I suppose,” said Enoch, “that another should not be made. No sacred taboos, I mean. To make another one would not be sacrilegious.”

  “Not in the least,” Ulysses told him. “In fact, we need another badly. For now we have no Talisman. It has disappeared.”

  Enoch jerked upright in his chair.

  “Disappeared?” he asked.

  “Lost,” said Ulysses. “Misplaced. Stolen. No one knows.”

  “But I hadn’t …”

  Ulysses smiled bleakly. “You hadn’t heard. I know. It is not something that we talk about. We wouldn’t dare. The people must not know. Not for a while, at least.”

  “But how can you keep it from them?”

  “Not too hard to do. You know how it worked, how the custodian took it from planet to planet and great mass meetings were held, where the Talisman was exhibited and contact made through it with the spiritual force. There had never been a schedule of appearances; the custodian simply wandered. It might be a hundred of your years or more between the visits of the custodian to any particular planet. The people hold no expectations of a visit. They simply know there’ll be one, sometime; that some day the custodian will show up with the Talisman.”