The Human Zero- The Science Fiction Stories Of Erle Stanley Gardner

by Matin Greenberg

It was a funny fight. There wasn’t any bangin’ of firearms, but there was a lot o’ yellin’, an’ in between yells could be heard the whispers of the arrows as they flitted through the night.

  After a while I could see that our men were gettin’ the worst of it. I was just a slave, an’ when a fight started the women watched the slaves to see they didn’t make a break for liberty, or start attackin’ our boys from the rear.

  Maybe I’d like to escape plenty, but I wanted to do it my own way, an’ stickin’ a spear in the back o’ one of our boys didn’t seem the way to do it. Then again, I wouldn’t be any better off after I had escaped. My white skin would make trouble for me with the others. I wasn’t the same as the other slaves, most of whom were Fantis anyway. They could make a break an’ be among friends. If I made a hop I’d be outa the fryin’ pan an’ in the fire.

  But I wasn’t used to bein’ a spectator on the side lines when there was fight goin’ on. So I took a look at the situation.

  When the alarm came in, the fire watchers had piled a lot of fagots on the big blaze, an’ all the fight was goin’ on by what light came from the fire. The fagots had burned off in the center an’ there was a lot of flaming ends, fire on one side, stick on the other.

  I whispers a few words to Kk-Kk, an’ then we charged the fire, pickin’ out the sticks, whirlin’ ’em an’ throwin’ ’em into the mass o’ savages that was borin’ into our men.

  She’d said somethin’ to the slaves, an’ they was all lined up, throwin’ sticks too. They wasn’t throwin’ as wholeheartedly as Kk-Kk an’ me was; but they was throwin’ em, an’ together we managed to keep the air full of brands.

  It was a weird sight, those burnin’ embers whirlin’ an’ spiralin’ through the air, over the heads of our boys, an’ plumb into the middle o’ the Fanti outfit.

  I seen that I’d missed a bet at that, though, because we was really tearin’ the fire to pieces, an’ it was goin’ to get dark in a few minutes with the blaze all bein’ thrown into the air that way.

  One of our warriors had collected himself a poisoned arrow, an’ he was sprawled out, shield an’ spear lyin’ aside of him. The arrows were whisperin’ around pretty lively, an’ I seen a couple of our slave fellows crumple up in a heap. That shield looked good to me, an’ while I was reachin’ for it, I got to wonderin’ why not take the spear too. There wasn’t anybody to tell me not to, so I grabbed ’em both, an’ then I charged into the melee.

  Them savages fought more or less silent after the first rush. There was plenty of yells, but they were individual, isolated yells, not no steady war cries. I’d picked a good time to strut my stuff, because there was more or less of a lull when I started my charge.

  My clothes had been torn off my back. What few rags remained I’d thrown away, wantin’ to get like the natives as fast as possible. My skin was still white, although it had tanned up a bit, but there wasn’t any mistakin’ me.

  Our boys had got accustomed to the idea of a white man bein’ a slave, an’ they hadn’t run into the white men like the

  Fanti outfit had. Those Fantis had probably had a little white meat on their bill o’ fare for a change o’ diet; an’ some expedition or other had come along an’ mopped up on ’em. Anyhow, the idea of a white man as a fightin’ machine had registered good an’ strong with ’em.

  There’s somethin’ funny about a native. They can say all they want to, but his fears are the big part of him, no matter how brave he gets. Those whirlin’ brands o’ fire wasn’t makin’ ’em feel any too good, an’ then when I come chargin’ down on ’em hell bent for election it was too much.

  They wavered for a second, then gave a lot of yells on their own an’ started pell-mell down the trail, each one tryin’ to walk all over the heels of the boy in front.

  Funny thing about a bunch of men once turnin’ tail to a fight. When they do it they get into a panic. It ain’t fear like one man or two men would feel fear. It’s a panic, a blind somethin’ that keeps ’em from thinkin’ or feelin’. All they want to do is to run. There ain’t any fight left in ’em.

  It was awful what our crowd done to those boys. As soon as they started to run, the laddies with the spears started making corpses. An’ I was right in the lead o’ our bunch. Don’t ask me how I got them. I don’t know. I only know I was yellin’ an’ chargin’, when the whole Fanti outfit turned tail, an’ there I was, playin’ pig-stickin’ with the backs of a lot o’ runnin’ Fanti warriors for targets.

  We gave up the chase after a while. We’d done enough damage, an’ there was a chance o’ trouble runnin’ too far into the jungle. The crowd ahead might organize an’ turn on us, an’ we’d got pretty well strung out along the jungle trail.

  I herded the boys back, an’ there was a regular road o’ Fanti dead between us an’ where the main part o’ the battle had taken place.

  Well, they called a big powwow around the camp fire after that. I seen Kk-Kk talkin’ to her old man, Yik-Yik, an’ I guess she was pretty proud of her slave. Anyhow, Yik-Yik sucked his lips into his mouth like he did when he was thinkin’, an’ then he called to me.

  He got me in a ring o’ warriors before the fire, an’ he made a great speech. Then he handed me a bloody spear and shield, an’ daubed my chest with some sort of paint, an’ painted a coupla rings around my eyes, an’ put three stripes o’ paint on my cheeks.

  Then all the warriors started jumpin’ around the fire, stampin’ their feet, wailin’ some sort of a weird chant. Every few steps they’d all slam their feet down on the hard ground in unison, an’ the leaves on the trees rattled with their stamping. It was a wild night.

  Kk-Kk was interpreter. She told me they were givin’ me my liberty an’ adoptin’ me into the tribe as a great warrior. It was not right that such a mighty fighter should be the slave of a woman, she told me.

  Well, there’s somethin’ funny about women the world over. They all talk peace an’ cooin’ dove stuff, but they all like to see a son-of-a-gun of a good scrap. Kk-Kk’s eyes were soft an’ glowin’ with pride, an’ I could see she was as proud of me as though she’d been my mother or sweetheart or somethin’.

  An’ seein’ that look in her eyes did somethin’ to me. I’d been gettin’ sorta sweet on Kk-Kk without knowin’ it. She was a pretty enough lass for all her chocolate color. An’ she was a square shooter. She’d stuck up for me from the first, an’ if it hadn’t been for her I’d have been a meal instead of a slave. It was only natural that I should get to like her more an’ more. Then, when I’d got used to the native ideas an’ all that, she got to lookin’ pretty good to me.

  Anyhow, there I was in love with her—yes, an’ I’m still in love with her. Maybe I did go native. What of it? There’s worse things, an’ Kk-Kk was a square shooter. I don’t care what color her skin was. An’ remember that she was the daughter of a king. There was royal blood in her veins, an’ that makes a difference, race, or color or what not.

  Anyhow, like it or not, I was in love with her, an’ I still am.

  Oh, I know I’m an old man now. Kk-Kk is awful old now if she’s livin’, because those natives get old quickly, an’ I ain’t no spring chicken myself. But I love her just the same.

  Well, a white man is funny about his women. He ain’t got no patience. When he falls in love he falls strong, an’ he wants his girl. I didn’t have patience like the monkey-man had. I couldn’t wait around. I went to Kk-Kk the next day an’ told her about it.

  It was at the ant meal time when we was packin’ fruit to ’em. I was still helpin’ her even if I wasn’t a slave any more. I did it because I wanted to.

  Well, I told her; her eyes got all shiny, an’ she dropped the dried fruit in a heap an’ threw her arms around my neck, an’ she cried a bit, an’ made soft noises in the graduated monkey talk that is the real language of the tribe. Bein’ all excited that way, she forgot the language of the goldsmith an’ went back to the talk of her folks.

  The ants came an’ got the fruit, an’ they cr
awled all over our feet eatin’ it. If she hadn’t been so happy, an’ if I hadn’t been so much in love we’d both have realized what it meant, the ants crawlin’ over us that way an’ not offerin’ to bite me, or actin’ hostile at all. It showed that I’d been makin’ friends with ’em on the side.

  Well, after a while she broke away, an’ then she did some more cryin’ an’ explained that she was the daughter of the chief. The man that married her would be the chief of the tribe some day. That is, he’d be the husband of the tribe’s queen.

  Now in that tribe the men bought their wives. The man who married Kk-Kk was the man who’d buy her hand from her old man. But, bein’ as she was the daughter of the chief, an’ the future queen of the tribe, it’d take more wealth to buy her hand than any single man in the tribe could muster.

  She told me how many skins an’ how many hogs an’ how much dried meat an’ how many bows an’ arrows an’ spears, an’ how many pounds of the native tobacco an’ all that would be required.

  I didn’t pay much attention to the long list of stuff she rattled off. I had over sixty pounds of pure gold cached then, an’ I felt like a millionaire.

  After all, what was all this native stuff compared with what I had? I was a rich man for a common, ordinary sailor boy. I could take that gold right then an’ walk into any of the world’s market places an’ buy what I wanted. Yes, an’ there’s even been cases of women of the higher muck-a-mucks sellin’ themselves or their daughters in marriage for less than sixty pounds of pure gold.

  Well, I laughed at Kk-Kk an’ told her not to worry. I’d buy her hand from the old man. I didn’t worry about the price. I was a sailor lad, an’ I had the hot blood of youth in my veins, an’ I was in love with Kk-Kk, an’ she was standin’ there with her eyes all limpid an’ misty an’ her arms around my neck, an’ I had sixty pounds of pure gold. What more could a man want?

  An’ then I heard a noise an’ looked up.

  There was the monkey-man, squattin’ on the branch of a tree an’ lookin’ at us, and his lips were workin’ back an’ forth from his teeth. He wasn’t sayin’ a word, but his lips worked up an’ down, an’ every time they’d work, his teeth showed through.

  I stiffened a bit, although it wasn’t that I was afraid. Right then I felt that I could lick all the monkey-men in the world, either one at a time or all together.

  Kk-Kk was frightened. I could feel the shivers runnin’ up an’ down her arms, an’ she made little scared noises with her lips.

  But the monkey-man didn’t say anything. When he saw that we knew he was watchin’, he reached up his great arms, caught the branch of a tree above him, swung off into space, caught another limb with his great feet, an’ swirled off into the forest. All that was left was the twilight an’ the chatterin’ of a bunch of monkeys, an’ the whimperin’ noises Kk-Kk was makin’.

  I patted the girl on the shoulder. Let the monkey-man storm around through the treetops. A lot of good that would do him. He wasn’t in a position to buy the hand of Kk-Kk, an’ he wasn’t likely to be in the position. I had a big chunk of pure gold stored up. I didn’t think it’d be any trick at all to complete the purchase.

  By next day, though, I knew I was up against a funny problem. I had all the gold I could carry, but gold wasn’t any good. I had enough of it to purchase a whole tannery full of choice skins, but I couldn’t trade the gold for skins. The tribe I was with didn’t care anything for the gold except as somethin’ to trade to the Fanti boys. An’ all the tradin’ was done by the chief. The tribal custom prohibited the others from doin’ any tradin’, even from havin’ any of the gold.

  I commenced to see it wasn’t as simple as I’d thought it was goin’ to be.

  An’ all the while I got more an’ more in love with Kk-Kk. She was just the sort of a woman a real adventurin’ man wants. She’d keep her head in any emergency. She was strong an’ tender. There wasn’t an ache nor a pain in her system. When she moved she walked like it wasn’t any effort at all. If the trees looked easier than the trail she’d swing up in them an’ go from branch to branch, light as a feather driftin’ down wind.

  I’m tellin’ you she was strong as an ox an’ as graceful as a panther. A woman like that’d go with a man anywhere. An’ she was sweet an’ tender. When she thought I was blue for the white race an’ home an’ all that, she’d draw my head down against her breast an’ croon to me as soft an’ low as the wind sighin’ through the tops of the jungle trees.

  I wanted to take her away with me. Any one could see the tribe was doomed. The very gold that gave them their tradin’ power was their curse. The Fantis desired that gold. They might get beat in one battle, might get beat in a thousand, but as long as the ledge was there, there’d be invaders fightin’ to get possession of it.

  It’d be only a question of time until the tribe was wiped out, defeated, captured, an’ the women turned into slaves. They couldn’t stand the climate in the interior. Four or five miles back from the ocean was their limit. The Fantis wanted that gold ledge. Every so often there’d be a battle, an’ when it was over there’d be dead an’ wounded. There was always plenty more of the enemy, but there was a few less of our boys after every fight.

  If I could get away an’ take Kk-Kk with me, an’ a pack load of gold, what I could carry an’ what Kk-Kk could carry, we’d be fixed for life. We could go out into the cities an’ hold up our heads with any of ’em.

  But I knew I was goin’ to have trouble gettin’ Kk-Kk to see things that way. I might get her to leave with me, but she’d been brought up with the idea that her obligation to the tribe was sacred. She wouldn’t take any of the gold. You see she hadn’t ever had to deal with money, an’ she did what she thought was right, not what she thought would make the most money for her.

  While I was thinkin’ things over, the monkey-man comes swingin’ into the council an’ tells ’em he’s goin’ to buy the hand of Kk-Kk at the next full moon. That was all he said. He wouldn’t tell ’em where he was goin’ to get the stuff or anything.

  But it was enough to get me worried. An’ it bothered Kk-Kk.

  There was lots o’ wild rumors goin’ along in those days. There was a report that the Ashantis an’ the Fantis were gettin’ together for a joint attack. They was determined to get that gold ledge.

  I tried to get Kk-Kk to advise the tribe to leave the thing.

  Without that gold they’d be safe from attack, an’ the gold didn’t mean so much to ’em anyhow.

  But they were just like the rest of the nations, if a man could compare a savage tribe with a nation. They wanted their gold, even when it wasn’t doin’ the rank an’ file of ’em any good. They were goin’ to fight for it, lay down their lives for it if they had to, an’ all the time only the ruler had any right to use the gold to trade with.

  They knew they could have peace by goin’ away. They must have seen they couldn’t last long stayin’ there. Every battle left ’em a little weaker. But no, they must stay an’ die for their ledge of gold, an’ they didn’t even know the value of it. It’s funny about gold that way.

  There was another rumor goin’ around that made me do a lot of thinkin’, an’ that was of a white man that was camped a couple of days’ march away. He had a big outfit with him, an’ he was shootin’ big game an’ prospectin’ around in general.

  A wild idea got into my head that if I could sneak away an’ get to him with fifty or sixty pounds of gold I could trade it for mirrors, guns, blankets an’ what not that would look like a million dollars to the old chief. Then I could buy Kk-Kk an’ maybe I could talk her into goin’ away with me.

  I really had enough gold, but I was gettin’ a little hoggish. I wanted more. The love of a woman like Kk-Kk had ought to make a man richer than the richest king in the world, but I was a white man, an’ I’d been taught to worship gold along with God.

  In fact, I’d only had that God worship idea taught me on Sundays when I was a kid. On week days the god was gold. My folks had been
rated as bein’ pretty religious as common folks go. But even they hadn’t tried to carry religion past Sunday. Gold was the god six days of the week, an’ I’d been brought up with the white man’s idea.

  So I had to get me a little more gold. I wanted it so I could go to the white man’s camp with all. the gold I could carry an’ still have as much left behind, hidden in the ground, waitin’ for me to come back.

  The next mornin’ I decided to take a chance an’ scoop out a big lot o’ quartz. I got out with the food for the ants all right; I hadn’t even thought about trouble with them for a long while. They’d quit bein’ one of my worries. I walked over to the ledge and dug into the quartz.

  An’ then somethin’ funny struck me. It was a feelin’ like somethin’ was borin’ into my back. I whirled around an’ there was the monkey-man sittin’ on a limb, watchin’ me.

  He was up in a tree, squatted on the limb, his hands holdin’ a bow with one of them poison arrows on the string an’ it was then I noticed the way his toes came around the under side of the limb an’ held him firm. Funny how a fellow’ll notice things like that when he’s figurin’ he has an appointment in eternity right away.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Monkey-Man

  I stared into the monkey-man’s eyes, an’ he stared back. I’d read somewhere that a white man always has the advantage over the other races because there’s some kind of a racial inferiority that the other fellows develop in a pinch.

  Maybe it’s true, an’ maybe it ain’t. I only know I stared at the monkey-man, an’ he fidgeted his fingers around on the bow string.

  I was caught red-handed. One of those poison arrows would almost drop me in my tracks. I wouldn’t have a chance to get outside of the deadline.

  It looked like curtains for me. Then a funny thing happened. I thought at the time it was because of my starin’ eyes an’ the racial inferiority an’ what not. Now I know the real reason. But the monkey-man lowered the bow, blinked his eyes a couple of times, just like a monkey puzzlin’ over a new idea, an’ then he reached up one of those long paws, grabbed a branch overhead, swung up into the higher trees, an’ was off.