Collected Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by J F Bone

  Farnsworth nodded. “They are appealing,” he said. “I never experienced a sensation quite like holding one of them.

  There’s no word for it.”

  “Sure there is, son. Try love—” Thompson’s voice softened and then turned cynical. “Anyway, we took them back to the ship, with us, and Katy went crazy in her box. She swore, snarled, screamed, spat and clawed until she was exhausted, and then lay on the bottom of the box and growled at us. It wasn’t a nice noise but it did her no good. The box would have held a bobcat. And we weren’t listening.

  We were fascinated by the horgels. They were wonderful,—soft, clever, affectionate and intelligent too. Mitsui taught his to sit up in a matter of minutes, and for hours afterwards we explored their repertoire of accomplishments.

  They could do almost everything but talk,—and they could darn near do that. They seemed to know instinctively what we wanted,—and what would please us most,—and then they did that thing. It was a happy time for all of us. We never had so much fun simply watching the antics of our new found pets. They were natural comedians, and kept us laughing most of the night. And when we finally turned in, each of us held his horgel in his arms.

  And no one remembered to feed Katy.

  It probably would have done no good if we had, since she was so mad that she would have refused food. And her disposition didn’t improve. But we didn’t forget her completely—after a day or so we gave her food and left her alone. If she wanted to eat,—all right. Otherwise we didn’t care. Being a cat, and being sensible, she ate. But there was no gratitude or affection for our kindness. She just crouched in the back of the box and spat at us.

  WE spent several days on the island in the swamp, but found nothing of interest outside of the natives and the horgels. We took pictures, made notes, and tried to make some sense out of that perfectly incomprehensible native language. But about the only thing we learned was the name of the pink creatures and that everybody loved them.

  Of course we had to take off sooner than we would like, but Venus was passing conjunction, and if we waited too long our fuel supply wouldn’t take us back to Earth. So we loaded our horgels and ourselves into the ship, blasted off for Earth, and bade farewell to the formaldehyde stink of Venus’ air.

  We were a week out, and had built up to terminal velocity when it happened. Somehow Katy managed to open her cage and escape. The first I knew about it was when she killed my horgel,—bit through its spine as it lay sleeping on my bed. She was so quiet that I never knew what had happened until I woke to find my poor little puffball lying cold and stiff in the circle of my arm.

  I looked for the cat all the next period, and every free chance I had thereafter. I wanted to kill her. Losing my horgel was just like losing a child! I was disconsolate,—and consumed with envy for my more fortunate crew members. Their horgels were still alive and mine was dead! And my companions were utterly selfish! They must have known how I felt, but they wouldn’t share their horgels with me for a moment. I felt like a single man on a desert island peopled by happy and contented couples. I was left out,—and I was miserable!

  It’s odd how the horgels took on the attributes of all the desirable women I had longed for but never had. The loss of my pet and the obvious callousness of my companions to my feelings made the sense of loss even more sharp than it would have been otherwise. I took it badly. At first I was hurt and miserable. But gradually I began to hate the others for their good fortune, their cruel selfishness, their lack of consideration. And finally my thoughts turned toward murder.

  What right did these others have to possess horgels when I had none? I brooded about it during the days we sped Earthward. I was damned if they were going to have all the pleasures of companionship while I was left out in the cold.

  I thought it over carefully, and finally decided that Smitty was the one who would least be missed. I waylaid him in the passageway that period, and damn near fractured his skull with a wrench. He dropped to the deck, blood streaming from his head,—but I didn’t give him a thought until I had his horgel. Once I had that pink puffball safe in my arms, I felt sorry for him and carted him up to his shockcouch where I patched up his injuries as best I could. But I didn’t give up the horgel.

  Peculiarly enough, none of the others seemed the least shocked at what I had done. As long as it was for a horgel, and since the horgel wasn’t theirs, it was all right. But as Smitty improved. I began to fear that he would try to take it back, and that, I swore grimly, would never happen. The pet I had stolen was just as precious as the one I had lost,—and I wouldn’t trade the world for it. It was my joy and pleasure, and I guarded it fiercely from harm.

  I couldn’t forget Katy and her hatred for the creatures, and that cat was still loose, roaming somewhere through the ship looking for more horgels to kill. But I didn’t search for her. I wasn’t going to take any chances on losing my pet.

  Instead I stayed in the open where it was safe,—and carried the wrench with which I’d nearly brained Smitty. It wasn’t for Katy alone. I was equally afraid that Smitty would try to take the horgel back from me once he recovered.

  But I needn’t have wasted the energy. As the days passed and there was no sign of Katy, our vigilance relaxed, and the horgels didn’t like to be held all the time. They were active little things who liked to romp.

  So we finally gave in and allowed them the freedom of the control room, after searching it carefully, of course. There they would tumble and play with each other while we watched with fondly possessive eyes. Smitty looked at them from his shockcouch where he lay with his head bandaged,—and his eyes were murderous when he looked at me. I knew what was passing through his mind, and in a strange sort of way I sympathized with him, but a pet like the horgel was worth all the hate Smitty could generate. I felt good. I had a pet and he didn’t.

  IT was then that Katy struck!

  She must have been waiting with devilish patience for her opportunity, because when Mitsui opened the door to go aft to inspect the drives, she darted in.

  A sweep of her claws disembowelled the closest of the fragile little creatures, and with a leap and pounce she seized the other in her jaws and disappeared down through the door in one of those long swift leaps that she had perfected on the outward voyage. It was done so swiftly that neither Slezak nor I had time to move. Mitsui had time only for a startled curse as Katy sailed down the shaft toward the stern with the hearttrending scream of the horgel following her. It died to a choked whimper as she disappeared.

  We found the torn pink body in the drive room, a few minutes later but there was no sign of Katy.

  But now instead of three horgels and four men, there was one horgel and four men.

  Slezak and I stood it for a week until we made an agreement based on desperation and loss. We would take the last horgel from Mitsui and share it between ourselves. If we had to kill Mitsui to get it, well,—that was his bad luck.

  We shook hands on it, but I knew from the look in his eye that he didn’t intend to keep his promise. I had enough of broken promises,—so I decided to kill him after we had disposed of Mitsui. Then I would kill Smitty and have the delightful creature all to myself without any one to bother my enjoyment. And I’d never give Katy another chance.

  It was all perfectly logical. After all, there was only one horgel and it should belong to the one who could best take care of it. I was obviously the one since I had lost two already and was fully conscious of the menace Katy represented.

  But it was hard to catch Mitsui off guard. He went around with the horgel buttoned under his jacket and a loaded pistol in his pocket. Apparently he’d smuggled the gun aboard in defiance of the regulation which prohibited side-arms aboard ship. He said it was for Katy, but Slezak and I knew better. We knew the gun was for us if we tried to take the horgel from him. It made us cautious.

  Much as we wanted that loveable little creature, we didn’t want to die for it. There could be no enjoyment of its charm if we were dead. A
nd we couldn’t carry rifles. Even if we could have stood up to their recoil in one eighth G, they were too big and clumsy to carry in the cramped quarter of the ship.

  It was a weird situation, one that might have been laughable except for its deadly undertones. Smitty recovered enough to walk around and naturally joined forces with us have-nots. He was still pretty weak, but any help lessened the odds. However I was always conscious of the speculative look in his eye when he looked at me.

  I would have to get rid of Smitty permanently after we had gotten Mitsui’s pet or he would join forces with Slezak to murder me. I caught them whispering together once or twice, and the guilty looks they gave me were enough proof of their intentions. But none of us wanted to brave Mitsui’s gun.

  IT stayed that way for nearly a week. We were just entering Earth’s atmosphere, and Mitsui was busy with the engines when we made our bid. I jumped him from behind, while Slezak and Smith took him from the side.

  But I had forgotten that a Jap knows jiu jitsu like we know boxing. He bent,—and suddenly I was flying over his head. I landed with a thump that knocked the breath out of me. I was sick and paralyzed with the shock, but I saw with satisfaction that Slezak had gotten the engineer’s gun.

  But Mitsui wasn’t through yet. He caught Smith with a judo blow that almost tore his head off, and turned on Slezak, a squatty bronze fury with death in his hands. Slezak didn’t even have time to raise the gun.

  But the fight had ripped Mitsui’s jacket open and the horgel fell from the torn cloth. With a howl of terror, Mitsui bent to pick up the pink furred creature. Slezak’s gunbarrel landed on the back of his head with crushing force before any of us saw what had caused him to cry out. And Katy leaped from behind a motor mount, snatched the horgel from Archie’s clutching hands and killed it with one quick bite!

  Completely disregarding Slezak’s anguished cry, she clawed and ripped the thing to bloody ribbons, and then arched her back and spat at him as if to say “well, I’ve killed the last of the little monsters,—now what are you going to do about it?”

  Slezak bent over and picked the cat up almost tenderly, turned,—and smashed her head against the bulkhead with a full armed blow that would have killed a horse! Then he got down on his knees and picked at the bloody shreds of the horgel and cried like a baby!

  SOMEHOW or other we managed to get the ship down, but when the reception committee met us, their congratulations turned to stares of horror. Of course they found out what happened, and the next expedition to Venus instead of carrying explorers carried cats,—a couple of hundred of them. The ship marked the landing site carefully, released the cats and came home. After that we sent exploration parties,—and we’ve been operating like that ever since. It’s been better than forty years now that we’ve been trying to clean up that planet,—and we’re obviously not through yet.”

  “Did you ever go back to Venus to see what your cats have done?” Farnsworth asked.

  Thompson shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “I never returned. I didn’t have the heart to,” he added. “I like horgels too. But as long as I’m a few million miles away, it isn’t so bad. I can even be philosophical about it. But up there, feeling as I feel and knowing what I know it’d drive me mad!

  Incidentally, Farnsworth, that’s the reason you’re grounded. Now that you know that we are methodically exterminating the horgels, Venus is no longer a safe piece for you to be. The Government, strangely enough, worries about the welfare of its citizens, and has no desire to see him in physical or mental danger when it isn’t necessary. Since you’ve already held one of the horgels, you’re no longer a safe risk. You’re conditioned!”

  Farnsworth’s protest was ignored as Thompson swept on, speaking rapidly to forestall any possible interruption. “You see, the smart boys found out what the trouble was. Horgels are a menace. We never looked at them the right way. Instead of us owning the horgels, it was the other way around.—and they were greedy. They didn’t want one man, they wanted all men! On Earth, an animal like that would be more disruptive than the Atom War. What that last one on the ship did to us was only a small sample of what they could do here if given a chance.” Thompson shivered. “We missed that only because of Katy.”

  “But why did the cat hate them so?” Farnsworth asked curiously.

  Thompson sighed and rose to his feet, dislodging Cato who jumped lithely to the floor, voicing his disapproval. He looked down at the cat and smiled. “You may think you own me, old boy,—but what you think and what I think are two different things.” He faced Farnsworth and answered slowly. “As regards your question, there are two possible answers. The biologists say its because of the horgel’s body odor,—it’s sort of the reverse of catnip in its effect. But I think they’re wrong. I think it’s more basic than that. You see, like I said, you don’t own a cat. The cat owns you,—and those things were cutting in,—violating Katy’s prior rights. Katy had been queen of the ship, and she couldn’t stand competition,—for which the human race should be forever grateful.”

  THE END

  1958

  ASSASSIN

  The aliens wooed Earth with gifts, love, patience and peace. Who could resist them? After all, no one shoots Santa Claus!

  THE RIFLE LAY comfortably in his hands, a gleaming precision instrument that exuded a faint odor of gun oil and powder solvent. It was a perfect specimen of the gunsmith’s art, a semi-automatic rifle with a telescopic sight—a precisely engineered tool that could hurl death with pinpoint accuracy for better than half a mile.

  Daniel Matson eyed the weapon with bleak gray eyes, the eyes of a hunter framed in the passionless face of an executioner. His blunt hands were steady as they lifted the gun and tried a dry shot at an imaginary target. He nodded to himself. He was ready. Carefully he laid the rifle down on the mattress which covered the floor of his firing point, and looked out through the hole in the brickwork to the narrow canyon of the street below.

  The crowd had thickened. It had been gathering since early morning, and the growing press of spectators had now become solid walls of people lining the street, packed tightly together on the sidewalks. Yet despite the fact that there were virtually no police, the crowd did not overflow into the streets, nor was there any of the pushing crowding impatience that once attended an assemblage of this sort. Instead there was a placid tolerance, a spirit of friendly good will, an ingenuous complaisance that grated on Matson’s nerves like the screeching rasp of a file drawn across the edge of thin metal. He shivered uncontrollably. It was hard to be a free man in a world of slaves.

  It was a measure of the Aztlan’s triumph that only a bare halfdozen police ’copters patrolled the empty skies above the parade route. The aliens had done this—had conquered the world without firing a shot or speaking a word in anger. They had wooed Earth with understanding patience and superlative guile—and Earth had fallen into their hands like a lovesick virgin! There never had been any real opposition, and what there was had been completely ineffective. Most of those who had opposed the aliens were out of circulation, imprisoned in correctional institutions, undergoing rehabilitation. Rehabilitation! a six bit word for dehumanizing. When those poor devils finished their treatment with Aztlan brain-washing techniques, they would be just like these sheep below, with the difference that they would never be able to be anything else. But these other stupid fools crowding the sidewalks, waiting to hail their destruction—these were the ones who must be saved. They—not the martyrs of the underground, were the important part of humanity.

  A police ’copter windmilled slowly down the avenue toward his hiding place, the rotating vanes and insect body of the craft starkly outlined against the jagged backdrop of the city’s skyline. He laughed soundlessly as the susurrating flutter of the rotor blades beat overhead and died whispering in the distance down the long canyon of the street. His position had been chosen with care, and was invisible from air and ground alike. He had selected it months ago, and had taken considerable pains to c
onceal its true purpose. But after today concealment wouldn’t matter. If things went as he hoped, the place might someday become a shrine. The idea amused him.

  Strange, he mused, how events conspire to change a man’s career. Seven years ago he had been a respected and important member of that far different sort of crowd which had welcomed the visitors from space. That was a human crowd—half afraid, wholly curious, jostling, noisy, pushing—a teeming swarm that clustered in a thick disorderly ring around the silver disc that lay in the center of the International Airport overlooking Puget Sound. Then—he could have predicted his career. And none of the predictions would have been true—for none included a man with a rifle waiting in a blind for the game to approach within range . . .

  The Aztlan ship had landed early that July morning, dropping silently through the overcast covering International Airport. It settled gently to rest precisely in the center of the junction of the three main runways of the field, effectively tying up the transcontinental and transoceanic traffic. Fully five hundred feet in diameter, the giant ship squatted massively on the runway junction, cracking and buckling the thick concrete runways under its enormous weight.

  By noon, after the first skepticism had died, and the unbelievable TV pictures had been flashed to their waiting audience, the crowd began to gather. All through that hot July morning they came, increasing by the minute as farther outlying districts poured their curious into the Airport. By early afternoon, literally hundreds of millions of eyes were watching the great ship over a world-wide network of television stations which cancelled their regular programs to give their viewers an uninterrupted view of the enigmatic craft.

  By mid-morning the sun had burned off the overcast and was shining with brassy brilliance upon the squads of sweating soldiers from Fort Lewis, and more sweating squads of blue-clad police from the metropolitan area of Seattle-Tacoma. The police and soldiery quickly formed a ring around the ship and cleared a narrow lane around the periphery, and this they maintained despite the increasing pressure of the crowd.