Son of the Stars

by Raymond F. Jones

  Clonar pointed quickly to himself. “Men—men, Clonar. Anne, woman.”

  “That’s very good,” murmured Smithers. “It takes a high degree of intellect to grasp such concepts that quickly.”

  “This will be easy,” said Anne in a breathless voice. “We can teach him enough to let us know what he needs.”

  “We can try anything—if only there’s time enough,” said Smithers. “I have no way of knowing how much of that we may have.”

  At that moment they heard the sound of Pete’s walking along the hallway again. He entered the room carrying a package in his mouth. Carefully, he took it to Clonar and dropped it upon the bed.

  “What is that?” said Smithers.

  Clonar opened the package and exposed a red mound of hamburger. The three of them laughed involuntarily.

  “Pete wants to help, too,” said Anne. “That’s the best thing he could think of.”

  “He robbed the refrigerator to get it, though,” said Ron, “and it wasn’t here when we left this morning. Mother must have got it for dinner tonight—”

  Clonar looked at the meat. Abruptly, he jabbed two fingers into it and raised it to his mouth.

  “No—no!” exclaimed Ron. “You can’t eat that raw!” He tried to take the meat from Clonar. Pete suddenly slapped his forepaws against Ron’s chest and made a protesting growl.

  “Pete, what’s the matter with you? Behave yourself.”

  Clonar was expressing agitation now. He put the meat aside and reached forward to touch Pete. He put an arm about the dog and drew him close. He broke off another bit of meat and put it to his mouth. Smithers raised a hand as Ron moved to stop him.

  “Wait,” said the Doctor. “There’s something funny here. Clonar wants it. It’s—no, it couldn’t be—” He shook his head in dismay.

  “It’s what?” said Anne.

  “It’s almost as if he asked the dog to find it for him!”

  And suddenly Ron remembered that scene back in the ravine where Pete had protested his raising the gun against Clonar. He remembered how Pete had been the one to insist that the search be continued when he had been ready to abandon it.

  “Doc!” he said in a hoarse voice. “Is it possible? Do you suppose that Clonar can in some way communicate with the dog? Make him understand what he needs and wants?”

  “I don’t know,” said the old man wearily. “I just don’t know. I have seen and heard more in the last half hour than I ever expected to experience in all my long life.

  “Actually, this may be very sound. If Clonar is suffering from burn and shock, as I supposed, heavy protein intake would be indicated. That is exactly what we have here. If he somehow managed to indicate to the dog his basic need, he may have been able to make it understandable in terms of the things Pete knows. Hence, Pete went to the refrigerator where he knew meat was sometimes kept, and brought what he could find. I don’t know—I just don’t know.”

  In silence they watched Clonar eat the entire mound of three pounds of raw hamburger. Only when he was through did they realize they had let him continue to eat with his fingers.

  Ron went to the bathroom and brought soap and water and towels. Clonar readily comprehended their use, as if such items were exact counterparts of those in his own civilization.

  Anne brought ice water from the kitchen and Clonar drank copiously. When he was finished, he lay down on his back and slowly closed his eyes. Tension and strain seemed to have gone out of his face.

  “Sleep,” said Ron softly.

  Clonar opened his eyes and smiled briefly and understandingly, then closed them again. “Sleep,” he said.

  Dr. Smithers picked up his bag. “We may as well go out. There is nothing more we can do at the moment.”

  They closed the door quietly behind them. Ron nodded toward the living room as they reached the foot of the stairs.

  “Will you come in and sit down for a while, Doctor?”

  Smithers picked his hat from the hall table. “I ought to be getting back to the office.” But he did follow them and sat on the edge of the sofa, moving his hat nervously in his hands.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Ron,” he said. “The story you have given me is utterly unbelievable, but Clonar is his own evidence. If he does manage to survive, we must give him a thorough biological examination to determine the exact nature of his make-up.”

  “I wonder what will become of him—if he lives,” said Anne. “Imagine it! A single individual surviving a flight across millions of miles of space. Perhaps from outside the solar system—or even the Galaxy itself.

  “Imagine the feeling of being alone among strangers at such a distance from home. Unless his own people come for him he will have to spend the rest of his life with us. We’ve got to help him and see that he learns our ways and how to get along among our kind. Yet, even if he does, he will never be one of us, because he isn’t human.”

  “I wonder what human means, anyway,” said Dr. Smithers. “I have seen some pretty weird specimens who called themselves human, and yet they were meaner and ornerier and more low-down than any rattlesnake I ever hope to meet up with.

  “And then in my profession I have seen others who were so sick and so miserable that they didn’t even look human, and some of them had a brilliance of mind and a sweetness of spirit that would shame the most of us.

  “So it’s not the way a creature looks, the way he walks or stands, or the shape he’s in that determines whether he’s human or not. It’s the stuff that’s in his head and in his heart, and this Clonar looks like he’s got ample quantities of the right kind of stuff in both places. Offhand, I’d say we couldn’t go wrong on him/’

  “I worry about what will happen,” said Ron, “when the public finds out. A man from the stars—they’ll want to put him on radio and television. They might even put him in the movies and give him a part like a monster from some other world. I don’t want that to happen to him.”

  There was the abrupt sound of a car door closing in the driveway. Ron glanced through the window and saw his parents and sister coming toward the house.

  “I’d best be getting along,” said Dr. Smithers.

  “No—wait,” said Ron. “I’ve got to tell them. Won’t you stay here with me while I do?”

  Ron’s face seemed to have grown paler as he faced the task of telling his parents about Clonar. The responsibility he had undertaken seemed suddenly overwhelming—responsibility to Clonar, responsibility to his father and mother.

  The end result was that he was asking them to accept responsibility for Clonar by keeping him in their house. Asking this was more than he had a right to, he thought.

  Dr. Smithers recognized these thoughts in the swift wave of concern that passed over the boy’s face.

  “Sure, I’ll stay—if you think my two bits’ worth will help any.”

  The outer door opened. Mr. Barron stopped to put his hat in the hall closet. Then he caught sight of the occupants of the living room.

  Ron’s father was a neat figure of a man, his hair faintly graying at forty-five. Ron often compared him favorably with Anthony Eden.

  He waved. “Hi, Ron. Hello, Doctor—Anne, how are you?”

  “You look like you’re following that weight program I gave you,” said Smithers.

  “Never miss a day. But I didn’t expect to see you here—not that I’m not glad, provided, of course you’re not here professionally.”

  “What a lawyer! Hedging even a casual greeting with a dozen provisos.”

  George Barron laughed and sat down beside him. “Well, is anyone sick?”

  “Nothing is wrong—in the family, that is,” said Smithers. “Ron has a little story to tell. He happened to give it to me first, and he wants my corroboration. That’s why I stayed, if you don’t mind.”

  “Certainly not, but what is this serious business all about?” He tried to act jovial, but the sight of Ron’s tense face prevented this. “Shall we go up to your room, son?”

&
nbsp; “No, it’s all right here, if Francie keeps out of the way. I’d like Mother to hear it, too, if you’ll ask her to come in.”

  Mrs. Barron was almost as tall as her husband, and she boasted that she was as slim as when they were married. Ron didn’t know about that, but he was proud of their appearance together.

  She protested now, however, that she had dinner to prepare, and couldn’t they do without her. But George Barron understood the look on his son’s face, and knew that he needed their attention. He insisted that she come in.

  Ron began his story. Carefully and earnestly he related all the details of his find, and of the reaction of Clonar in the house. As the story progressed, a score of varying emotions were visible on the faces of his parents.

  He could see it first in his mother, a reaction of ridicule and disbelief, shading to a growing horror, and finally to a distinct repulsiveness and rebellion against the whole idea.

  His father showed incredulity at first, and then careful weighing of the possibilities. Finally he seemed to grasp the tremendous importance of the situation, but this was coupled with the conviction that he must see it personally, before he would be convinced that the ship actually existed, or that Clonar was as Ron said.

  When the story was finished, there was a long moment of silence. George Barron cleared his throat and glanced at Dr. Smithers.

  “You can confirm this?” he said.

  The Doctor nodded. “Although I have not seen the ship, I have seen Clonar. The structure of his body is so alien that he can scarcely be called human, physically, yet he is capable of speech and understanding as Ron has said—and is very human in his thoughts, I am convinced.”

  “I hardly know what to say,” said Mr. Barron. “A thing of this kind is something that you see only in fantastic movies. You hardly expect it to happen to a workaday lawyer in an ordinary American city. But if it is true we must take steps to inform the proper authorities to see that Clonar is provided for, and to see that those who can understand this vessel are directed to it.”

  “I’d like to take you to the ship,” said Ron. “We can go this afternoon; there’s time. I want you to come, too, Dr. Smithers.”

  “And I’m supposed to stay in the house alone, I suppose,” said Ron’s mother suddenly. “With this—this monster!”

  “Mother—please! Don’t ever use a word like that about Clonar. He’s as human as any of us, even if he is different. Isn’t it so, Dr. Smithers?”

  “I think we can see that it’s not necessary for you to stay alone with him,” said Smithers. “I’m sure I can forego my visit to the ship this time.”

  “I think this is the most preposterous thing I ever heard of,” she continued. “It’s not our concern to take care of this—whatever you want to call it—from another planet. How do we know what these ships are doing here? It’s something for the government to take charge of. I refuse to have this creature in my home. He’s not going to stay here. You’ve got to see that he’s removed, George!”

  “Wait a minute, Mother,” begged Ron. “You haven’t even seen Clonar.”

  His father touched his shoulder gently. “We’ll see that this matter is taken care of as fairly as possible. Your mother has an understandable point, Ron. This is something so new that a person can hardly be expected to grasp it.

  “Your mother is used to taking care of a household and shopping for our needs and attending PTA meetings. It is not exactly easy for her to comprehend the significance of a house guest who has come from the stars.”

  He turned to the Doctor. “Shouldn’t this individual, first of all, be removed to a hospital? We are hardly equipped to take care of him here in our home!”

  “I would say that he should, except for one fact—that there is really nothing that could be done for him in a hospital. Actually, he would merely be an object of curious poking and prodding, and that could very easily be the death of him.

  “There’s nothing that medical science can do for him, but there may be a great deal that the friendship of Ron and Pete can accomplish.

  “I understand your point of view, Mrs. Barron. Your desire to be rid of the responsibility of this individual is only natural. I can offer no suggestion in that respect except to let your conscience be your guide.”

  “Well, perhaps we can agree that he will stay for a short time until the authorities decide what is to be done with him,” said Mr. Barron. “It’s the least we can do. And we’ll see about going to the ship, Ron.”

  At that moment a sudden, high-pitched scream came from the upper floor. It was Francie, the nine-year-old, crying in utter terror.

  “Mommie! Mommie—there’s a man up here with six fingers on his hand. There’s a man in our house with six fingers…!”

  Chapter 4 Clonar Talks

  It took quite a while to calm Francie and subdue her sobbing. Her fright turned into anger against Ron, and she took the view that it was a practical joke he had somehow directed at her, personally. Mrs. Barron resumed her insistence that Clonar be removed and they have no more to do with the affair. George Barron tried to maintain a serene confidence to promote harmony and reassure the rest of them. But Ron recognized the depth of his father’s disturbance.

  “I want you to come with us to the ship, Doctor,” said Mr. Barron. “We will need a number of witnesses when we take our story to the authorities. I’ll call Chief Harrington and get him to send a man over to stand guard at Clonar’s room.” “Dad!”

  “Now just a minute, Ron. We can’t take any unnecessary risks. Because everything about Clonar has been amicable so far doesn’t mean that we can wholly trust this alien individual.

  “We don’t know his way of thinking. We don’t know the purpose of his ship in the vicinity of Earth. Prudence demands that we use safeguards.”

  “Of course, but—it’s just that Clonar is a friend. Don’t ask me how I know. Maybe it’s because of the way Pete accepted him. But I feel that it is so, that we don’t have a thing to worry about.”

  “Posting the guard won’t hurt him.”

  “Why don’t you come with us, Mother?” said Ron.

  “I don’t want to see it,” snapped Mrs. Barron. “I don’t want anything to do with this, and the sooner that monster is taken out of the house, the better. Bringing the police in here—you’ll soon have the place so cluttered full of people that we’ll have to move out ourselves. Perhaps you’d like to turn the whole place over to this Clonar!”

  “Not quite that bad,” George Barron laughed. “Well see that some change is made soon. I’ll phone the Chief, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  When the special guard arrived twenty minutes later he was given detailed instructions about what to do, without being told of Clonar’s origin. He was puzzled about the whole thing, but accepted Mr. Barron’s word for it.

  Doctor Smithers checked the sleeping boy again. As far as he could tell, everything was as well as it could be in an individual whose temperature was probably more than a hundred and ten.

  They left in Mr. Barron’s car. Doctor Smithers sat beside him in the front seat. Pete refused to be left out and climbed in the back between Ron and Anne. The dog assumed an air of importance that made Anne laugh. She stroked his silky head.

  “He acts like he’s taken charge of the whole affair!” she said.

  “Sometimes I wonder if he hasn’t,” Ron said soberly.

  They parked the car off the highway and hiked the quarter of a mile to the hidden ravine. It was lucky, Ron thought, that the ship had landed in such a hidden spot. Even the long slash it had made through the trees was invisible from the road. As it was, they were almost upon it when Ron pointed dramatically below them.

  “There it is!”

  Silence froze about them, the three who were seeing it for the first time. They were suddenly as still as the mountain rock upon which they stood.

  Ron watched their faces, feeling as if he alone were free to move from that spot.

  Anne’s face was b
right as if some secret joy had been released within her. Dr. Smithers’ wrinkled face was the way Balboa’s must have been at first sight of the great Pacific, Ron thought.

  But it was his father’s face that held him.

  “From the stars—” George Barron murmured. “From the stars—”

  It was as if he were uttering a prayer. He seemed to Ron like a transfigured stranger. His face was pale and his eyes never moved from the splendid wreckage.

  And then all at once his father’s expression changed, as if some feeling of glory had been too much to endure. His face became its normal ruddy tone. His eyes lost that yearning luster.

  Matter-of-factly he murmured, “Let’s get down there and have a look.”

  Ron followed silently, sensing that he would never see his father’s face like that again—and knowing, too, that he would never forget that moment.

  The slope became too steep. Ron stepped ahead of them, taking Anne’s hand. “This way, Dad,” he said.

  He led the way along the zigzag path he’d used in bringing Clonar up.

  They reached the bottom. In silence, the two men moved about slowly, examining with their own eyes the thing he had discovered. Anne stayed by him, and Ron pointed out the spot where he had first seen Clonar, and the trail of blood leading out of the ship.

  “Can’t we go in?” She laughed self-consciously at the whisper to which her voice had fallen.

  “I didn’t try the first time. Maybe we could make it the same way Clonar got out.” He put his foot on the unyielding sheet metal.

  Mr. Barron called to them. “I wouldn’t do that, Ron.”

  “It looks safe enough. We want to get a look inside.”

  “I don’t think we should attempt it. This thing is of tremendous importance. If it is actually a spaceship as it appears to be, its military value is beyond anything we can imagine.

  “We must report it to the authorities, and they will insist that only the most highly qualified scientists make an examination of the ship. I’m afraid we might disturb something of value, particularly in the wrecked portion where there might be only faint clues to some of the most important principles of the ship.”