The photographs were shocking—and more than shocking.
To any average human mind, they were nauseating, vile, disgusting, and obscene.
“They make my stomach turn to look at them!“ Mrs. Dennis Barlow had said when she had handed the envelope to Dr. Paul Hiroa.
Dr. Hiroa had taken the envelope and slid out the pictures. He was well past the sesquicentennial mark, which made him an “old” man, even by the best of geriatric standards, and he had seen and done many things that probably would have shocked Mrs. Dennis Barlow, so his reaction to the photographs was quite mild by comparison. Nonetheless, he had to admit to himself that they were not the sort of thing one would hang in one’s living room.
There were eleven of them, no two alike, and yet all of a pattern. They were ordinary color photographs, taken with a fine-detail lens and printed on nine-by-twelve sheets. They were flats, which made them all the more horrible, since tri-di prints tended to make the subjects of a picture look like little dolls, removing much of the sense of reality that a photograph should evoke.
Dr. Hiroa paused at the fifth picture, knowing that the eyes of both Mrs. Dennis Barlow and her husband were fixed firmly on him.
It was the husband, Dr. Barlow, who spoke. “That’s the one that hit me, too, Dr. Hiroa. The rest of them I could take, but a girl like that…”
“And that horrible monster!“ Mrs. Barlow chimed in.
The “horrible monster” was bad enough to the untutored eye, Dr. Hiroa had to admit. The body was vaguely feline in shape, with legs that might have been a blend of panther and frog. The head might have been part tiger, part shark—although there were only four sharp, tearing teeth; the rest were grinding molars, showing that the creature was omnivorous. The eyes were large, saucerlike, and heavy-lidded.
Instead of shoulders, the thing had a collarlike structure that sprouted eight thick, muscular tentacles.
But that was not the real horror.
The real horror lay in what the tentacles were doing.
The female was hanging by her ankles, which were tied together, from a hook on an overhead beam. She was naked.
In fact, she was far too naked to arouse any emotion other than shock in any sane human male.
She had no skin, and the instruments in the tentacles were flaying knives.
Dr. Hiroa said nothing, but went on to look at the remaining photographs. Like the first five, they were similar scenes in some grim abattoir.
When he had finished, Dr. Hiroa put the photographs flat on his desk, face up, and looked first at Dr. Dennis Barlow and then at his wife, Blanche. Barlow was thirty-eight and rugged-faced—not exactly handsome, but certainly masculine enough to be attractive to most women. Blanche Barlow was six years younger, with gold-blond hair, a magnificent figure, and a strikingly beautiful face. She might easily have passed for twenty-four.
Before he could say anything, the woman spoke. “Were you aware that this sort of thing is going on here on Sandaroth? Had you been informed that this slaughter of human beings was taking place, Dr. Hiroa?”
Dr. Hiroa frowned. “If there has been any killing of human beings by the Darotha, I am certainly not aware of it,” he said carefully. “Certainly no deaths of that kind have been reported. There are only some three-quarters of a million human beings on the whole planet, and wholesale slaughter of human beings would certainly have come to light long before now.”
“Are you implying that those photographs have been… er… manufactured? Falsified?“ she asked.
Hiroa kept an incipient smile from breaking forth on his lips. He knew that the Barlows had not come two hundred light-years on their investigation simply on the strength of photographs that might have been faked. The woman was trying to see if senile, stupid, feeble old Doc Hiroa would think he could lie his way out of a jam.
Instead of smiling, he raised an eyebrow. “Falsified? Why, no, Mrs. Barlow. Why should they be?”
“You just said that you knew of no such slaughter going on,“ she pointed out dryly.
All right, madam, he thought to himself, if you wish to play games, I’ll go along with you. He had been playing such games more than a century longer than she had.
He gestured toward the photographs. “You mean that slaughter? I said no such thing, madam. No such thing.”
"You said that if any slaughter of human beings by the monstrous Darotha was taking place, it would have come to light long before now.“ Her blue eyes were angry.
“I believe you have misquoted me, madam,“ he said with just the right amount of stiffness in his voice. ”I am quite certain that I never called the Darotha monstrous.“ Then his brown-black eyes bored steadily into hers. ”And what has that to do with these photographs?“
Her eyes remained angry, and a whiteness appeared at the corners of her mouth. “I see,” she said tightly. “You are denying human status to the natives of Sandaroth, then.”
“To most of them, yes,“ Hiroa said. ”There is a smallish insectoid creature with all the bad habits of a mosquito, which I would particularly claim to be inhuman.“
“Dr. Hiroa!“ she exploded suddenly, ”don’t bandy words with me! You know perfectly good and well what I mean!“
“Blanche—“ her husband began.
But Hiroa interrupted him. “No, madam, I do not know what you mean! Natives? What natives? Very well, I won’t bandy words with you any more, if you will stop throwing around undefined terms like ‘natives’!”
“I won’t be—“
“Blanche, shut up.“
Dr. Dennis Barlow didn’t speak loudly, but there was firmness and authority in his voice. His wife threw him an angry glance, but she shut up. Dennis Barlow wasn’t looking at her, but at Dr. Hiroa.
“Dr. Hiroa, my wife and I have carefully studied the reports concerning the major life forms on this planet. Is it not true that the amphibious, tentacled Darotha have not only enslaved the native humanoids but butcher them and eat them?“
“Butcher and eat them, yes,“ Dr. Hiroa said calmly. ”But enslave them? Hardly. It takes a certain amount of intelligence and a certain amount of tractability to become a slave. You might, by stretching the meaning a little, say that our ancestors enslaved the horse. But never the Bengal tiger or the wolf.“
Barlow said: “You are not an anthropologist, Dr. Hiroa?” It was only phrased as a question, not meant as one.
“No,“ Hiroa said. ”My field is political sociology. I’m here to make sure that the colony of Homo sapiens terrestrials doesn’t go hog-wild socially, as happened on Vangomar.“
“Nor a biologist, either?“ Barlow persisted.
“Nor a biologist, either,“ Hiroa agreed tiredly.
“Hm-m-m. According to the reports, you do not regard the native humanoids as being anything more than animals. The Darlington Foundation does not feel that you or anyone else here on Sandaroth is qualified to make such a judgment. I am a biologist—to be more specific, a zoologist. My wife is an anthropologist. We are both qualified and, if I may say so, well-known and respected in our fields. As you are in yours, of course. The Foundation has sent us here to check scientifically on the plight of the species which we have tentatively named Homo sapiens sandarothorum. We had thought to ask your aid, but apparently you, too, are convinced that they are just animals.“
“My dear Dr. Barlow,“ Hiroa said evenly, ”I will be perfectly happy to give you whatever aid you desire. Your papers are in order, your commission is explicit. To imply that I would fail to aid you simply because I disagree with your personal bias is to do me an injustice which borders on personal insult.“
“I have no bias one way or the other,“ Barlow snapped. ”Nor has my wife. We are here merely to see that justice is done.“
“Exactly,“ he wife agreed. ”No personal insult was intended at all, Dr. Hiroa. By the way, may I ask you a question?“
A personal question, of course. Hiroa thought. That’s the only kind that is prefaced by such a remark. “I am never offended by an honest question,” he said aloud, “unless you are offended by a truthful answer.”
She ignored that. “You are a New Zealander, I believe, of Maori descent?”
“I am.“
“Then I should think that you would have more compassion for the native humans, considering how your own ancestors were treated by the British in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.“
“In the first place, Mrs. Barlow, my ancestors were never enslaved nor eaten by the British—though I do not deny the possibility that an ancestor or two of mine mightn’t have enjoyed English long pig once in a while. In the second place, we won our right to recognition as human beings with human rights by our own ability to learn new ways and by our ability and valor in war. We forced recognition on the British; it was not handed to us on a silver platter by do-gooders. And in the third place, the Maori were human in the first place, if you’ll pardon my use of an old wheeze to make a definite, valid point.“
Blanche Barlow’s lips tightened again, but she said nothing.
“Now,“ Dr. Hiroa went on, ”I see no reason to continue with these arguments. They prove nothing one way or another. Instead of either of us arguing from personal feelings, we should be arguing from scientific facts. You two are here to uncover those facts. Rather than quarrel, let us set up your program. Let us discuss ways and means. Let us establish your needs to carry on this work.“
It took him another ten minutes of diplomacy to get the scowls off their faces and replace them with friendly smiles, but he managed it. It took another two hours to make arrangements for the studies they wanted to conduct, but it was accomplished with only the slightest friction.
“He’s not such a bad old boy,“ Dennis Barlow said as he and his wife walked down the hall from Dr. Hiroa’s office.
“He is a bigot,“ Blanche said firmly. ”But,“ she conceded, ”I have met many bigots, and some of them are perfectly likeable and rational except in the field of their bigotry.“
At the door of the elevator, Barlow tapped the “down” button. No gravshafts here; old-fashioned electrics were as yet the best that Sandaroth could offer. The three-quarters of a million Earth colonists had only been on the planet for twenty-five years, although a small group of scientists had been on the planet for nearly thirty-five years before the colonists came. Building a viable colony on an alien planet takes time, money, and effort, and necessities rather than luxuries, basics rather than elaborations, are the primary considerations.
Dennis and Blanche Barlow waited patiently as the indicator crept up toward the figure “6.”
When the door slid open and a tentacled horror stepped out, Blanche gave one little scream and fainted. Her husband barely had the presence of mind to grab her and huddle against the wall with her in his arms as the Daroth strode on by with pantherlike steps.
Dr. Hiroa looked up as the knob on his office door turned twice with forceful clatter and then was still.
"Come in and be welcome,“ he called, knowing that whoever was on the other side was a Daroth. Tentacles, being boneless, are not well adapted for door-knocking, so the Darotha, recognizing the terrestrial desire for privacy, which they themselves did not possess to any marked degree, had adopted their own convention for announcing their presence.
The knob turned again, and the being came in. “Ello, Dr. Troa. I accept your ‘ospitality.” It was difficult for a Daroth to form a soft aspirate; it tended to come out gargled, like the ch in the German ach. Some Darotha pronounced it that way; others simply dropped it. It was a matter of taste on the part of the individual.
"Hello, Ghundruth! What brings you here? I thought you were going to be staying at Great Shoals for another hundred-days.“
"Some things came up, Doctor,“ Ghundruth said, making little circles with the tips of his foremost pair of tentacles. ”I thought it best to discuss them with you. But first, I wish you to convey my apologies to your new people.“
"Oh,“ said Hiroa. ”You’ve met the Barlows.“
"In the ’all, yes. Just as I came from the elevator. Since they were obviously shocked and frightened, I affected not to notice them.“
"I shall convey your apologies,“ Hiroa said, ”although, of course, such apologies are not at all necessary. It is an automatic reaction of those who are not prepared to meet a Daroth.“
"Of course.“ Ghundruth agreed. ”So our people react who ’ave never seen one of you before nor been informed of your existence. ‘Ad these people, then, not been informed?“
"Not completely,“ Hiroa said. The statement, he reflected, was true as far as it went. ”Their information was meager and unsatisfactory. My apologies to you for that oversight.“
"It is as nothing,“ Ghundruth said, twirling a tentacle-tip. He kept the tips folded, as most Darotha habitually did when they were not being used for delicate work, make the tentacles look like those of an octopus. But, when the work at hand demanded it, each tentacle-tip opened out like a flower, splitting into five tentacular ”fingers“—or, more accurately, ”thumbs,“ since each was opposable to every other one. ”But that brings a question to mind. I ’ave deduced that there must be a savage fife form on your ‘ome world w’ich resembles us in many respects. I am curious as to w’ether my deduction is correct.“
"It is,“ Hiroa said carefully. He did not want to lie to Ghundruth. ”It is purely an aquatic creature, rather than amphibious as you people are, but it has eight tentacles and is generally dreaded by our people. It is carnivorous, of course.“ He hesitated, then added: ”It is called an octopus.“
Ghundruth’s shark-tiger mouth curled into a grin and a gurgling chuckle came from deep in his throat. “So that is w’y you call us ‘Octopussies’!”
"Partly,“ Hiroa agreed. Tread carefully now! ”But the word is a… what we call a ’portmanteau word‘ . . . that is, a word made up by blending two words. The other word is ’pussy,‘ which refers to a small, furry, warm-blooded creature with which some of our people live in a semi-symbiotic relationship.“
Ghundruth looked interested. “Indeed? And w’at is the… the—mechanism?—trade… arrangement?—I do not feel I ‘ave the right words.”
"The mutual agreement,“ Hiroa said.
"Yes. What does each provide the other, if I do not offend by asking.“
"Not at all. A man provides tenderness, security, shelter, and nourishment, while the pussy provides companionship, emotional warmth, and friendship. They are not, you must understand, of high intellectual capacity; their companionship is of a purely emotional character.“
"Ah! I see. I thank you for your confidence.“ Then the tips of each of his two foretentacles split into five finger-length sections and he entwined them in the manner of a man folding his hands over his chest. It was a gesture signifying: ”We have exchanged pleasantries; now I wish to speak of important business.“
Hiroa lifted his hands and folded them at chest level in reply, indicating that business talk was agreeably in order. Inwardly, he felt a sense of relief. The Darotha had very little sense of physical privacy, but their sense of mental privacy was strong. It was not that they were not curious; their sense of curiosity was highly developed. But their culture forbade permitting that curiosity to invade the personal life of another. A Daroth could, would, and did pry into everything the physical world had to offer. Almost any intelligent adult Daroth could take a device he had never seen before—a mechanical wristwatch, for example—and disassemble it after a few minutes of study, then put it back together in working order. And if such a device was left around untended, a Daroth would proceed to take it apart and study it without asking permission, unless it was actually in use at the time.
Hiroa himself had once watched in faint awe while a Daroth had opened the first safe ever to arrive on Sandaroth, many years ago. It was of old-fashioned design; the newer, personally-attuned, saturated-field devices were too expensive for the economy of Sandaroth’s human colony, besides being unnecessary. (The rigid psychological requirements for Sandaroth colonists had kept out those whose mental makeup inclined them away from honest labor and toward felony. The Darotha were the first intelligent extraterrestrial race that man had met, and Hiroa had insisted that Sandaroth be colonized by civilized men, not barbarians.) The safe had not been particularly designed to be burglar-proof; it was designed as a fireproof cache for records. Concrete and steel were still expensive, and most buildings were built of native woods.
Physically, the safe had been a three-foot cube with a door in one side and a simple combination lock set in the door. It was Hiroa’s own, and still stood in his office, although the old wooden building had long since been replaced by the present ferroconcrete structure. But twenty years ago, Hiroa had felt that the safe was necessary.
The day after it had arrived, imported at great expense from Earth, a Daroth had come to see Hiroa, and the sociologist had been talking on the phone—still non-vision in those days. He had indicated that the being should wait and went on with his conversation.
The Daroth sat down to wait. (There had been no separate waiting room then, either.) His eyes wandered around the room. He watched Miss Deller, Hiroa’s secretary and chief assistant, working assiduously at an electrotyper for a few minutes. Then, having absorbed all the information he could from watching the machine being operated, he turned his eyes to the safe beside her desk.
He looked at it for a long time, apparently fascinated. Miss Deller took a sheet from her typer and left the room. The Daroth rose and walked over to look at the electrotyper and saw that it was still on. “In use,” then. Very well. He looked back at the safe. He knelt down to inspect it more closely. Then he looked up at Hiroa to see if he was being observed. Good! He was! He reached out a tentacle-tip and touched the steel structure, his eyes still on Hiroa. Hiroa watched, but went on talking.
The Daroth splayed out his five small tentacles, still watching Hiroa, and rippled them across the top of the safe. No reaction from Hiroa. The Daroth solemnly and slowly closed his eyes and then opened them again. It was the equivalent of a silent nod of thanks from a human being.
"Yes. Certainly, Charlie,“ Hiroa had said into the phone. ”Yes. Bye.“ But when the click came from the other end, he did not cradle the phone. ”Oh. Well, maybe,“ he said, not knowing how much English the Daroth understood. He wanted to see what the being was up to. He was glad he had so decided.
The Daroth touched and looked: Top, bottom, sides, and back. Then back to the safe door, where he felt around the fine crack between the body of the safe and the door itself. He tried the opening handle. Nothing happened. Then he touched the dial—very cautiously. He looked closely at the markings. He turned it slowly, first one way, then the other. He had one tentacle on the handle, one on the knob of the dial, and another near the dial, its sensitive fingerlets touching the rim where the numbers were engraved. The other five tentacles were touching the safe at various other places, sensitive finger-lets attuned to whatever information they might bring. He looked, Hiroa thought, like a starfish opening an oyster, but instead of steady pressure he was using far more potent forces: observation and intelligence.
Hiroa went on making comments into the dead phone. “No, Charlie.” “Sure.” “If you think so.”
Miss Deller returned and stopped just inside the door. She looked at the Daroth and then at Hiroa. Then, understanding and accepting the situation immediately, she went over to her desk and sat down as though nothing unusual at all were going on.
Hiroa had been glancing occasionally at the wall chronometer. When the Daroth finally pulled down on the handle and the safe door swung open, Hiroa looked quickly at the chronometer.
From the time he had started to turn the dial until the opening of the door, something over seventeen minutes had elapsed. In that time, the Daroth had ascertained that the structure was a container, that the handle opened it, and that the dial had to be manipulated in a certain way to release the mechanism that held the door shut. The sensitivity of his fingerlike end-tentacles had done the rest, telling him each time a tumbler fell.
It had been partly luck, of course, but the thinking required had far outweighed the luck.
The Daroth ignored the papers in the safe. He was inspecting the toggle-bolts and the sockets they slid into. Hiroa said: “Fine, Charlie. Good-by.” And hung up.
The Daroth looked up quickly, then rose to his feet. Without looking at the safe, he closed the door, spun the dial, and tested the handle while he said: “Thanks for chance to self-instruct.”
"You are welcome. You wished to speak to me.“
"Iess. Iess. lIoo are the Chiroa?“ The guttural aspirate was strong.
"Yes.“
"I are… be?… is?… Ghundruth. I are… am! … I am cherder of fish. I am told to speak to the Chiroa.“
In the twenty years that had passed since then, Ghundruth had lost most of his accent, but his basic personality had remained. Questions about mechanisms; about chemistry, electronics, and physics; about astronomy; about anything the physical world had to offer;—such questions were asked without hesitation. But never personal questions. And, like his fellow Darotha, he considered a question “personal” if it had anything to do with societal relationships; with emotional reactions; with the Earthmen’s government, politics, aspirations, desires, intentions, methodology, or purpose; with anything, in fact, that might conceivably be considered subjective, instinctive, or cultural. If information of that sort was volunteered, it was listened to with care—but it was never, never asked for.
Hiroa felt it was a measure of the relationship he had with Ghundruth that that reservation had, to some extent, broken down between them in the past few years. Not often, and not without deep apologies, but occasionally, Ghundruth would ask such a question. Even then, his questions were never what the average Earthman would really call “personal.”
On the other hand, the questions he had just asked were, in a way, personal. There were certain reactions and thought patterns of some human beings that Hiroa did not, as yet, want to reveal to the Darotha. He did not yet want them to know that the seven hundred and fifty thousand human colonists on Sandaroth were a carefully selected group, unlike the average stay-at-home Earthman, and even more unlike the average antisocial malcontent whose numbers formed the bulk of the colonists to the other Earthlike planets, where no alien intelligence had been found.
The Darotha, who were occasionally confronted with the emotional reaction of a few of the new colonists, were inclined to accept it as a non-personal reaction. The situation, they assumed, was analogous to their own reaction when Earthmen had first been seen among them. The Darotha had, individually and collectively, reacted with both fear and loathing when they first saw a human being.
Just so would a group of human beings have reacted if suddenly confronted by a rabid wolf. How long would it take a human being to recognize that, regardless of appearance, what at first appeared to be a wolf was, judging by his behavior, a rational being? On the average, Hiroa knew, it would take longer than it had taken the Darotha to see that human beings were not Iachus.
The word “Iachu” was of English derivation. The preliminary scientific expedition which had first seen the humanoid natives of Sandaroth had immediately dubbed them “Yahoos,” thus giving Jonathan Swift another score to rank alongside his prediction of the two moons of Mars. After seeing them, the scientists had felt that the reaction of the Darotha upon seeing an Earthman for the first time was understandable and even justifiable. It was to the credit of the Darotha that they had seen and recognized the differences as well as the similarities between the two races which had been spawned separately on two planets so widely separated in space.
The Darotha were shrewd observers of behavior; they spent the first ten years of their lives as gill-equipped fish-like forms, rather like a small porpoise with tentacles, and one must learn to judge behavior in the sea. Long ago, skin divers in Earthly seas had learned to judge whether a given shark was dangerous or not by watching his behavior. Those who did not had a higher mortality rate than those who did. With the Darotha, that process had been going for millennia, and each individual Daroth had spent more time in the sea by his tenth birthday than a dozen terrestrial skindivers had spent collectively in their entire lives.
The environment of the sea differs qualitatively from the environment of the land. Only the very surface of the sea is troubled by weather; a few fathoms down, the sea is a womb, as far as the non-living environment is concerned. Hail, frost, snow, blistering heat, dehydration, and even the pull of gravity—all negligible or non-existent. Even earthquakes and volcanism, while not unknown, do not take the toll of life that they do on the surface. The dangers faced by marine life are those threatened by other life forms in the sea. On land, death by misadventure is far more prevalent than death by assassination with intent to ingest. In the sea, the reverse is true.
An intelligent marine life form, therefore, learns a different set of lessons than an intelligent land form. An amphibious form, such as the Darotha, has the advantage of learning both.
Little wonder, then, that Ghundruth had deduced the existence of a terrestrial species resembling the Darotha. Why else would an Earthman be startled, frightened by the sight of a Daroth?
Why? thought Hiroa. Simply that human beings used their imagination differently than Darotha did. The Darotha, exposed to dangers on both land and sea, exposed to the voraciousness of marine life and the inanimate, mindless, but nonetheless powerful and deadly natural forces on land, had to use their imaginations to deal with real possible dangers. Hiroa was not yet sure whether it was a genetic or a cultural trait—though he hoped it was the latter—but the fact remained that the Darotha were not much given to imaginative fiction—certainly not to the extent that Earthmen were.
Thus, Hiroa would have found it difficult to explain the Barlows’ reaction if he had had to admit that, except for the tentacles, a Daroth did not resemble an octopus at all closely, and that the “pussy” part of the tag men had given Darotha was influenced by the end of the word “octopus,” and referred, not to the common house cat, but to a resemblance to the greater feline carnivores.
So when he folded his hands to indicate that he was willing to speak of business with Ghundruth, he was happy that the Daroth had not inquired further into “personal” matters. He waited for Ghundruth to speak.
"Dr. ’Iroa,“ Ghundruth said, ”a tragedy is ‘appening on the Great Shoals. We do not know ’ow to deal with it.“
"What sort of tragedy?“ Hiroa asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Our last group of young are—going mad.“
Blanche Barlow rubbed her eyes wearily. “Dennis, if I have to sit through another tape I’ll either go blind or crazy. I haven’t made up my mind which.“
Dr. Dennis Barlow chuckled. “I agree, honey, but we’re getting a lot of the data we need.” He riffled through a notebook which by now comprised over a hundred pages. “Getting this stuff correlated is going to be our big job.”
He reached over to the playback and took out the spool of TV tape. “The next one is—”
"Please, Dennis! No more today! If I see another tape of those pitiful people living like animals… I… I’ll cry. How can they allow it?“
Without comment, Barlow touched the cutoff switch, and the glow in the big, two-meter square TV screen they had been watching faded to a dead silver-gray.
"How can they allow it?“ she repeated, her large blue eyes suddenly focused directly on her husband’s face.
His wife’s question was still rhetorical, Barlow knew, but he also knew she wanted some kind of answer.
"Don’t get upset, honey,“ he said gently. ”They’ve been living like that for tens of thousands of years now, I imagine. Another few months—“ He was going to say: won’t hurt anything, but, seeing the expression that was coming over her face, he rapidly shifted gears, and with hardly a pause finished: ”—and we’ll be able to change all that.“
Before she could say anything, the door of the viewing room opened and a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man with a pronounced widow’s peak came in. Then he stopped.
"Oh, I’m sorry,“ he said. ”I didn’t realize the screen was in use.“ He spoke with a British accent that had been modified by years away from England.
"That’s perfectly all right, Dr. Pendray,“ Dennis Barlow said with a smile. ”We’d just finished.“
Blanche Barlow, too, had allowed her incipient frown to be dissipated by a smile. “Yes, we’re through for today, Doctor. Come right on in. Actually, we’ve taken up rather more time than we should have, I suppose.”
"Not at all,“ Pendray said. ”I’m really in no hurry. No urgency about it at all. Just wanted to look at a couple of dissection tapes. The nervous system of the Darotha tentacular complex is quite interesting. If you’d care to watch—“ He left the sentence floating as an invitation.
"No, I don’t think so; thank you,“ Blanche Barlow said. Then: ”Tell me: how did you get Darotha bodies for dissection?“
The surgeon smiled. “You might say they were willed to us. The Darotha practice sea burial, but they’re not dogmatic about it. They have no objections to our studies.”
"Natural deaths, then?“
"Or accidental,“ Dr. Pendray said.
"Have you made dissections of the bodies of any of the humanoids?“ the woman asked.
"Oh, yes. Several. I can show you the tapes on them, if you like. I see the ones you’ve been studying are those taken of them in their native habitat. Very good, aren’t they? Some of them go back over fifty years. Hidden cameras, all automatic.“
"How do you get the humanoid bodies you dissect? Are they willed to you, too?“ Her voice was persistent.
Pendray chuckled. “Well, hardly. Most of them come from the Darotha at round-up time. A few have been shot. And several died in captivity. They don’t last long in captivity, you know, so we don’t capture them any more. Cruel, I think, to cage any wild beast that way when it simply pines away and dies. And the Yahoos won’t breed in captivity, either.” He paused, looking at her. “What’s the matter, Mrs. Barlow?”
“Yahoos.” Her voice was bitter. “All you have to do is put a degrading tag on someone, eh, Dr. Pendray? Call him ‘nigger,’ or ‘chink,’ or ‘gook’; any nasty label that will take away his dignity! Call him a wild beast, an animal! Then it’s all right to shoot him or butcher him or imprison him, isn’t it, Dr. Pendray? No, thank you, Dr. Pendray; I do not believe I would like to look at your dissection tapes. Take me out of here, Dennis.”
She turned angrily and strode toward the door, with Dennis Barlow following. She did not quite reach the door.
"Mrs. Barlow!“
She stopped, turned slightly, and looked over her shoulder at Pendray. “Yes?”
"You have seen the tapes of the Yahoos in their native habitat, behaving in their accustomed manner?“ His voice was calm on the surface, but there were crackling undercurrents.
"Yes.“
"Mrs. Barlow, one cannot take from an organism that which it does not possess. One cannot take dignity from a Yahoo. One cannot even give dignity to a Yahoo. If you had learned anything from those tapes, you should have learned that. It would probably be a waste of your time, indeed, to study the dissection tapes, for you would likely learn nothing from them, either. Good day, Mrs. Barlow.“
Dr. Dennis Barlow’s face clouded, but before he could frame any answer, Blanche pulled his arm, and the two of them stalked out without another word.
Dr. Marcus Landau was in the tape stacks, replacing two spools which he had been viewing, when the Barlows came in. He saw them before they saw him.
Uh-oh! he thought to himself. The Golden Fury is about to launch a billion-volt lightning bolt that will scorch the area for miles around, if that corona effect means anything. I wonder who or what turned her generator on?
Dr. Landau was a middle-aged man in his early eighties. He had skin the color of burnished bittersweet chocolate, hair like tiny curls of fine, frosted silver wire, and a mellow voice that carried the soft accents of Bermuda. Along with Dr. Paul Hiroa and Dr. James Pendray, he was one of the three ranking scientists of Sandaroth. After observing Blanche Barlow for the first week of her stay, he had tentatively named her “The Golden Fury”; now, at the end of the second week, there was nothing tentative about it. He also had named Paul Hiroa “Old Rawhide” and Jim Pendray “Silk”—but only to himself, and only because it amused him to play mental games with himself. This game he called “Character Tag” and it had strict rules. No one got a tag until Dr. Laridau was morally certain that all of the people who knew that person would instantly recognize the tag as fitting and accurate. Like Aristotle, however, he was satisfied with the results of his own cerebration; he never put them to experimental test.
He had not yet made up his mind about Dennis Barlow.
"Blanche,“ Barlow said in a low, tight voice, ”that was uncalled for. You—“ Suddenly he stopped and his voice became more normal. ”Oh, hello, Dr. Landau.“
Aha! Observed! And by a zoologist! “How do you do, Dr. Barlow, Mrs. Barlow,” Landau said aloud. “How are your researches coming along? I trust our modest Research Center has supplied you with at least a modicum of pertinent data, eh?”
Evidently the thunderbolt had not been forged for Marcus Landau. She not only didn’t unleash it, she put it aside—probably, he decided, for later use. But the coronal discharge that had seemed to crackle soundlessly around her head subsided and vanished.
"Oh, more than that, Dr. Landau,“ she said with a smile. ”There is a fantastic amount of data here. Correlation and interpretation will be the difficult part, I’m afraid. By the way, when do you expect Dr. Hiroa to return from Great Shoals?“
"Why, I don’t know. Neither, I’m afraid, does he. I spoke to him over the phone this morning, and he doesn’t know how much longer his work will take. Again he asked me to convey his apologies for his precipitate departure so soon after your own arrival. If there is anything you may need or require, of course, you have but to ask.“
"Thank you. We will be wanting to make field trips eventually, of course, but it will be some time before we can definitely map out precisely what our plans will be.“
Landau bowed his silvery head just a few degrees. “Naturally. Is there anything I can do for you at the moment?”
The Barlows looked at each other. It was Dennis who spoke. “Not just at the moment, Dr. Landau; thanks. Everything’s going smoothly so far.”
"I am happy to hear it. I wish you every success in your search for truth.“
He left them and headed for No. 2 viewing room. Dr. Pendray had not yet turned on the screen. “Busy, Jim?” Landau asked.
"Nothing urgent, Marc. Why?“
Landau came in and closed the door behind him. “I was just wondering what you’d said to our emissaries from the Darlington Foundation that aroused their wrath,“ he said with a grin. ”Especially hers.“
"Oh, that.“ Pendray repeated the conversation.
"Diplomacy, thy name is Pendray,“ Landau murmured when he had finished.
"It won’t matter a damn anyway,“ Pendray said with a shrug. ”I have a feeling that she’s already mentally writing her final report, complete with conclusions. In the back of her mind, she has already decided what she is going to tell the Foundation. Nothing you or I or anyone else could say will change it, and that husband of hers will go right along with her.“
"You have no great faith in them as scientific investigators, eh, Jim?“
"Are you kidding? I’ve seen their kind before. They will gather vast reams of data, make all kinds of carefully tailored experiments, and prepare dozens of pretty little graphs and tables. They will discard the ’anomalies,‘ of course—any data that doesn’t fit in with their preconceived notion. What’s left will be neatly pushed and trimmed until it does fit. What does Paul think?“
"The same. What can we do about it? The Darlington Foundation will have the report they want. With that and those photographs, the stink they’ll raise on Earth will be enough to wreck the whole Sandaroth project, ruining human and Daroth alike.“
"One almost wishes,“ Pendray said, ”that the Barlows fail to return from their projected field trip—except that that wouldn’t do a bit of good.“
"No. The stink that would arise would have a different aroma, but the results would be the same. It’s not bad enough that we have this mysterious madness in the last group of Darotha adolescents; we have to have madness of our own race.“ He put his hand to his forehead and massaged his brows with thumb and middle finger.
"Who’s behind it?“ Pendray asked. ”Do you have any further information?“
"Only what we guessed before. The only man who could have taken those pictures was Finnerly of Industrial Computer Corporation,“ Landau said. ”But they’re not the only ones.“
"Who else? I thought you said you didn’t have any more information.“
"I don’t. But think about it. ICC isn’t trying to get troops sent here to ’protect‘ the Yahoos just so they can wind up selling us computers and guidance-and-control systems for a few multiphase lathes and shapers.“
"You’re right.“ There was anger in Pendray’s voice. ”Without the Darotha, this planet would be just like any other. Wide open. We’d have fifty million people here within five years. No control.“
"No control,“ Landau agreed. ”But plenty of new sales territory for certain unscrupulous lice. We know who isn’t in on it, too. None of the Big Three in inertiogravitics; they’re strictly honest and strictly ethical. The same goes for most of the big, important corporations. You can bet ICC isn’t getting any backing from those boys. But there are others. Too many of them.“
"It’ll be a double play, then,“ Pendray said. ”They’ll hit us high and low. Protect the Noble Yahoos on the one hand and open Sandaroth up for full colonization on the other.“
"The sound of two hands clapping,“ Landau said dryly.
"Yeah. While the only extraterrestrial intelligent race we have met gets crushed between them. We might as well pack up and go home.“
"You don’t have much faith in Paul’s plan, then?“
"Frankly, Marc, no.“ Pendray admitted. ”He seems to think that giving the Barlows all the data they can swallow will convince them. But, dammit, Marc, you can’t convince a fanatic he’s wrong by giving him. data. He only believes what he wants to believe.“
"'My mind is made up; please don’t confuse me with facts.’ “ Landau quoted.
"Exactly.“
"But there’s nothing else we can do, Jim,“ Landau said. ”We can’t fight the Darlington Foundation for the Promotion of Human Brotherhood. I doubt if even the Government could fight it. It’s got billions behind it— both in money and in people. And it’s full of people like the Barlows: honest, dedicated, hardworking fanatics.“
"I know. I know.“ Pendray rubbed his chin with a fingertip.”What about Governor Donovan? What’s he going to do?“
"Paul talked to him. He agreed to stay out of the whole mess. If worse comes to worst, and the planet is opened up, he can stay on as Colonial Governor and try to protect the Darotha as much as possible.“
"That may help. But not much.“ Pendray suddenly twisted his mouth into a sardonic grin. ”Maybe I’d have been better off if I hadn’t come back from the field until this was all over, one way or another. At least one has other things to worry about out in the boondocks. I’m really not a city boy at heart.“
Landau grinned back. “Obviously not, or you wouldn’t call Point Garrison a city. We’re still a village at heart. Forty thousand people could get lost without anyone noticing it in a real city.”
"It contains half the human population of the planet,“ Pendray said. ”No city on Earth can make that statement.“
"Agreed. Oh, and Jim—“
"Yes?“
"I think we’ll be better off if we don’t antagonize the Barlows. It just—“
"Just stiffens their resistance. I know, Marc. I’ll try to cultivate the ’friendly physician and counselor‘ attitude. The country doctor bit. But if she gets offended every time she hears the word Yahoo in that context, she’s going to feel offended most of the time.“
"Well, we can’t wrap her in swaddling clothes. I’ll let you go back to your tapes now. Thanks, Jim.“
Very few of the citizens of Point Garrison were aware of the danger embodied in Blanche and Dennis Barlow. Their names had been mentioned in the newscasts when they arrived, but hardly anyone paid any attention. In certain circles, the word spread that they were studying the Yahoo, but that aroused no particular curiosity. Why should it? It was said by those who had met them that the Barlows—and especially Blanche Barlow—were “a little nutty” on the subject of Yahoos and Yahoo intelligence and most of these people learned to substitute the phrase “humanoid natives” for “Yahoos” in their presence. Except for that quirk, they seemed a pleasant enough couple. Women were attracted to the handsome, personable, Dennis, and men found it difficult to keep their eyes off Blanche’s beauty. Even so, they were “foreigners”—visitors, not residents. Somehow, they did not fit well into the social life of Point Garrison. If the truth were known, that didn’t bother the Barlows; they didn’t even notice it. They were on Sandaroth to work, not to socialize.
At the end of the first month, Dennis decided he’d take a tour of one of the small factories in the city: Garrison Flyer Mfg. Co.
The manager of the plant was a short, round, sandy-haired Scot named Fred Doyle. He met Barlow at the front gate and gave him a hearty handshake.
"Glad to know you, Dr. Barlow! Governor Donovan called me. Said you wanted to look around. Glad to have you. Come in, come in.“
After a few minutes of polite amenities, Dennis Barlow was asked where he’d like to start.
"Well, to be perfectly frank, Mr. Doyle—“
”Just call me Fred, Dr. Barlow. Everybody does.“
”O.K. Fred. And I’m Dennis. At any rate, I was going to say that I had some free time today, so I thought I’d take a kind of busman’s holiday. My wife is feeding stuff into the computer at the Research Institute, and it’s a job that only takes one. Actually, I’m interested in your factory as a zoologist rather than from the actual manufacturing point of view.“
"Well, if you’ll tell me why a zoologist should be interested in the manufacture of inertiogravitic motors from a zoological point of view, I’ll be glad to help you, Dennis.“
”I understand you have some Darotha working for you, Fred, and I understand they can do jobs that no human being can do.“
"Oh!“ Fred chuckled. ”Why, sure! Come along; I’ll take you to the multiplex lathe section. That’s the most interesting part, anyway. I’ll introduce you to my foreman, Than; he’ll be able to show you how these things work.“
He led Dennis Barlow to a huge building full of machines. Everything was well-lit, airy, and clean. It seemed more like a kitchen or an operating room than a workshop. It took Barlow a minute or two to realize that, as far as he could see, he and Doyle were the only human beings in the place. All the machines were run by Darotha.
"Than!“ Fred called to one of them who was wiping off a big machine with a piece of toweling. ”C’mere a minute! I want you to meet a fellow.“
The Daroth put the rag down and came toward the two men with panther-like grace. “ ‘Ow are you this morning, Fred?” His voice carried easily over the low, all-pervading hum of power that was the only noticeable noise in the place.
"Pretty good, Than; pretty good. I’d like you to meet Dr. Dennis Barlow. Dr. Barlow, this is Thannovosh, my general foreman for this section.“
"Glad to know you, Dr. Barlow.“ Then he looked expectantly at Fred.
"Have you got one of the machines free, Than? I’d like you to give Dr. Barlow a little demonstration if you’ve got the time.“
"Sure, Fred; glad to. Just come this way over to number fourteen, Dr. Barlow.“
Barlow followed, but he was looking at the other machines in the building. There were about thirty of them, and at each stood a Daroth, all eight tentacles moving at once, turning various verniers, knobs, and control wheels. There was a weird, rhythmic beauty about it that reminded him of seaweed fronds moving in a slow current or the tentacles of a slowly swimming octopus.
At machine number fourteen, Than said: “I’ve got ‘er all set up for a BJF-37, Fred. Will that be all right?”
"Sure. Fine. Show him your check-block, will you, and explain it to him.“
From a drawer in the base of the machine, Than took an odd metal shape. It was about the size of a man’s fist, but it was surfaced with weirdly undulating curves, complex three-dimensional curves that made queer hills and valleys and swirling grooves.
"This is w’at we call the check-block, Dr. Barlow. It’s the same size and shape as the impulse spinner in an inertiogravitic unit. ’Ave you ever looked inside the engine of a flier?“
"Not with the casing off, no.“
"Well, the impulse spinner ’as to undergo several different modes of motion at once—depending on w’ether you’re moving up or down, right or left, pitching, yawing, rolling, or just ‘overing. There are eight of them in an ordinary flier engine. They all move at tremendously ’igh velocities and undergo ‘igh surges. And they all ’ave to be synchronized. This is made of ‘ardened tool steel instead of Paramag alloy, but the shape is the same. Each one of these surfaces is a control surface for the various modes of motion and each performs a different function as the axis of spin is shifted. That’s w’at makes it look so odd.“ Than chuckled. ”It ’as a sort of a shapeless shape, you might say. But it ‘as to be that way, and each curve ’as to be just so, or you’ll get vibration that’ll shake your engine apart.“
Two tentacles put the block down. Two more indicated the machine itself. “Now this is w’at we call a multiplex lathe. An impulse spinner can’t be cast; it ‘as to be forged and machined. You ’ave to be sure it’s ‘omogeneous and of equal density throughout.”
Two more tentacles reached out to a low, wheeled framework nearby and took a lump of metal out of a tray. Than held the lump up for Barlow’s inspection. “This is the forged blank. All we ‘ave to do is machine it, and this is ’ow it’s done.”
He fitted the check-block into the multiplex chuck to his left, and the forged blank into the chuck at his right. A guide rod touching the surface of the check-block was exactly matched with a borazon cutting tool that touched the forged blank. As the guide rod followed the curves of the check-block, the tool cut the same curves in the blank. A tentacle touched a switch and both pieces of metal began to spin. Then there was a sudden deadness in the air around the machine, as though someone had thrown a heavy blanket over it. “Got to ‘ave the noise suppressors on,” Than said, “otherwise this place would be a screaming ’ell.”
Than spun two more wheels, and two more borazon tools moved toward the forged blank, each with its corresponding guide rod moving toward the check-block.
Then Than touched another switch and the dance of the tentacles began. There was a grace to it that reminded Barlow of the hand motions of a Hawaiian hula dancer. The tentacles moved knobs and levers, and the borazon tools, all three of them at once, bit smoothly into the spinning blank, slicing off ribbons of bright metal. Than touched the chuck control and the axis of spin changed slightly as the borazon chisels sliced away the unwanted metal. Again the axis of spin shifted, and the tools moved in and out over the blank, cutting, cutting.
Barlow watched in fascination as the impulse spinner took shape beneath the cutting edge of the borazon, transfiguring the lumpy-looking forged blank into a piece of precision machinery.
Then, abruptly, it was finished.
The tools fell away and the spinning stopped. Than released the chuck and took the finished piece out. “Now we’ll take ‘er over to the comparator and see ’ow she matches the master block.” When he was done, he handed the new-formed impulse spinner to Barlow.
"There she is, Dr. Barlow. Correct to a thousandth of a millimeter. Next, she’ll go in a similar machine for final polishing, and she’ll be done.“
"Beautiful,“ Barlow said in honest admiration.
”Thank you, sir. Was that all you wanted, Fred?“
”That’s all. Thanks a lot, Than. Unless Dr. Barlow has some questions.“
"The only question I can think of is: How did you do it? It’s all I can do to control two arms and ten fingers. The thought of trying to control eight arms and forty fingers appalls me.“
Than’s shark-tiger face grinned widely. “Just takes practice, Dr. Barlow. And I’ll tell you, I don’t see ‘ow you people do such delicate work with all those bones inside forcing you to bend only at certain places and in certain directions. I saw a man do a steel engraving by ’and once, and I’ll never understand ‘ow ’e did it. Putting pressure on a burin takes internal bracing w’ich I ‘aven’t got. It would be like running this machine with my feet, it seems to me.”
Barlow glanced at the Daroth’s sandaled feet. There were no toes, properly speaking. Each foot came to a point, reminding Barlow of the mail-shod feet of a medieval knight. At the tip was a single, heavy, curving claw.
"He keeps his feet folded in like that for walking on land,“ Fred said, noticing Barlow’s glance. ”Dr. Barlow’s never met a Daroth before, Than. Show him how your feet unfold for swimming.“
"Sure.“ With three tentacles, he braced himself lightly against the lathe. Two other tentacles pulled the sandal from his right foot. He lifted his leg up and doubled it at the knee, so that Barlow could see the ”sole“ of the foot. A crease ran from just forward of the heel to the base of the front claw. ”W'en I’m in the water, I open out, like this.“
The crease widened and the foot folded out, so that the two halves of what had been the sole were now on the upper side of a wide, splayed foot, making a ridge of callous on each side of the upper part. The new sole thus exposed looked membranous and tender.
"Then you can’t walk with your feet unfolded that way?“ Barlow asked.
"Oh, I could,“ Than said, refolding his foot and putting it back in the sandal. ”But not for very far before my feet ’urt so bad I couldn’t take it. That’s on solid land, I mean. Walking through swamps, like the brackish swamps down around the Delta Cape, a fellow can unfold ‘is feet for walking across thick mud so ’e doesn’t sink in. But if the mud is that soft, it doesn’t ‘urt, you see.“
"Very handy,“ said Barlow. ”Or should I say, ’footy‘?“
“Ooh!” said Fred, wincing.
Than chuckled. “Nothing’s ‘andy for a Daroth.”
"Puns aside,“ Fred said, ”a skilled and trained Daroth comes in handy for running a multiplex lathe. No Earth-man could do it. Not even four Earthmen working together could do it. It’s been tried. Not only is the coordination lousy, but they get in each other’s way. Back on Earth, they use a computer that costs more than the lathe and is damn near as massive. We just bought the lathes and then designed and built the controls ourselves. That saved the cost of the computer and the high interstellar freight charges. It also saves the cost of repairs and of re-programming the computer when you set up for a different size or type of impulse spinner. We pay standard wages for all our employees, Earther or Daroth, so the labor costs run high, but you have to have a certain amount of labor anyway to set up and break down the check-blocks and tools and for maintenance and so on. Besides, the machines are a lot more flexible this way. To set up a computer to make just one piece would cost the same as setting it up for a full run, while a Daroth can interrupt a run, tear down, set up, run a single piece, tear down and set up again, and be back on the regular run in fifteen minutes at no extra cost.
"But the real beauty of the thing is that all the money that would go for freight charges and computer costs stays right here on Sandaroth where it’s needed, instead of being funneled back to Earth.“
"I’m very ’appy about w’at goes into my pocket,“ said Than, touching a tentacle to his blue work-shorts, the only article of clothing he wore besides the sandals.
Dennis Barlow suddenly realized the change that had come over him in the past twenty minutes or so. He had come in with a sense of horror that had seemed to ride between his shoulder blades. So many Darotha around had brought clearly to mind those terrible photographs. But now he was aware that he thought of Than, not as a tentacled horror, but as a person. Someone you could talk to, laugh with, maybe have a few beers with of an evening. The photos had become dim and lifeless in comparison to the reality that stood before him.
A chime sounded, clearly but not stridently audible over the low hum in the shop.
"Lunchtime,“ said Fred. ”Will you stay and eat with us, Dennis?“
"No, thanks, Fred. Some other time. I appreciate everything, really. I’ve enjoyed myself tremendously. It was a pleasure meeting you, Than; I hope to see you again sometime.“
"The same ’ere, Dr. Barlow. Come again w’en you can stay longer. We can show you more.“
"That’s right,“ Fred said. ”Come around again, early, and I’ll show you through the whole plant. Lots of things here I think you might be interested in.“
"I’ll see if I can’t work it in, Fred. But right now, I have a lunch date with a beautiful blonde. My wife.“
”O.K. I’ll walk you to the gate.“
"Me for a lurgh sandwich and a cold drink,“ Than said. ”See you again, Dr. Barlow.“ The Daroth loped off across the shop.
As the two men walked across the yard to the gate, Dennis said: “What was that Than said, Fred? A lurg sandwich?”
“Lurgh,” Fred corrected. “You’ve got to sort of gargle that g sound.”
“Lurghh. I see. What is it?”
"Smoked Yahoo meat. Don’t care for it myself, but— Why, what’s the matter, Dennis? You sick or something?“
Barlow fought down the wave of horror and nausea that had swept over him. “No,” he said. “No. I’m O.K. Just the sun, I guess.”
"Yeah. Coming out of that air-conditioned shop into this heat can do that sometimes. You sure you’re O.K.?“
"Sure. Just a little wave of dizziness is all. It’s gone now. I’m fine.“
But he ate no lunch that day, and he did not tell Blanche why.
Dr. James Pendray sat at the controls of the little six-passenger flier and secretly wished he knew what the devil was going on in Paul Hiroa’s mind. The old boy was up to something, of that Pendray was certain. But just what it was…
Well, whatever it was, Pendray was willing to go along with it. That wise old brain had cooked up some sort of plan, and just because it was Hiroa’s plan, it was bound to be a sound one.
In the seat behind him, Dennis and Blanche Barlow were talking in low but not secretive tones, pointing out to each other the various interesting configurations of the terrain below. At a groundspeed of a little less than three hundred thirty kilometers per hour and an altitude of one kilometer, their viewpoint was just right for scenery-gazing.
"Is that the shoreline over there to the south, Jim?“ Dennis asked from the back seat.
Pendray had been exercising his diplomacy of late, and the three of them were now on a first name basis.
"That’s it. You won’t be able to see it too well for a couple of hours yet. We’re flying parallel to the sea. After that, it’s only another hour to Great Shoals.“
"And the humanoid territory is just north of there?“ Blanche asked.
"That’s right. Less than an hour’s flight, even if we’re unlucky. Usually, a tribe can be found within ninety kilometers of Grand Shoals.“
"Good. We want to get there as quickly as possible.“ Too flaming right she does, Pendray thought. The notion of going to the major city of the Darotha did not appeal to her at all. Pendray wasn’t quite sure whether she loathed the Darotha, hated them, or feared them, but he suspected it was a blend of all three in various proportions depending on the circumstances.
"I meant to ask you, Jim,“ Dennis said, ”if you know why the Darotha built their city at Great Shoals. I mean, we humans usually build a city near a river or lake or some other water supply, and on Earth the really big cities were near a shipping port. But the Darotha always stay near the sea, and they don’t have much shipping, so why should they concentrate around Great Shoals? Just random chance, or is there a reason for it?“
"Didn’t you know?“ Pendray was actually surprised. ”It’s one of their major breeding areas.“
”Breeding areas?“
"Sure. Great Shoals is an off-shore section of the continental shelf that is practically horizontal. There’s nearly a hundred thousand square kilometers of the shelf where the maximum depth is only ten fathoms and the average is about five. It’s full of little islands and rocks, sticking above the surface. The edge of the shelf is nearly two hundred kilometers off-shore, but a man could probably wade all the way out if he picked his route carefully. Mightn’t even have to get his hair wet. It’s just the opposite of an Earthly seaport. Lousy for ship navigation, but a great place for the kiddies.“
"How does their reproduction cycle go, anyway?“ Dennis asked.
Pendray wondered how a zoologist could have failed to ask that question long before this. Blanche, the anthropologist, wasn’t the least bit interested, of course, but Dennis should have been curious from the first. But Blanche had evidently kept him so wrapped up in the Yahoos that he had no time for excursions into other alien life forms.
"Nothing complicated about it,“ Pendray said. ”The Darotha, like man, make love at all seasons of the year, and, as in the human female, the Darotha female’s fertility periods are cyclic. But the Darotha cycle is annual rather than monthly. The eggs are laid in the sea about six weeks after fertilization and they hatch about three months after that—about midsummer. At the end of the ninth year, the lungs begin to develop and the gills to disappear. By the spring of the tenth year, the young are ready to come ashore and continue life as air breathers. Like humans, they’re ready to reproduce by the time they’re fourteen or fifteen, and the cycle begins all over again.“
"Um—what sort of family life do they have?“ Blanche asked, interested in spite of herself.
"None, if by ’family‘ you mean blood relationship. The kids are literally on their own for the first ten years. Nobody knows whose is whose or care. The adults keep the big, dangerous predators away, and the females especially will go out and throw food to the little ones. The adults do a great deal of swimming, and they have a great time romping with the kids. The children may not know who their parents are, but they’re very much loved. An adult couple will take care of as many of the youngsters as he can afford to, after they have achieved the air-breathing stage.“
"If they don’t know what the genetic relationships are,“ Blanche said, ”how do they prevent incest?“
"They don’t,“ Pendray told her. ”Why should they? The statistical probability that any male and female picked at random will be brother and sister is very low. More often than not, an adult couple who have decided to mate permanently were brought up together in the same household since they were ten. They have no concept of virginity and no bans against premarital experimentation, either. A girl deposits a clutch of eggs every year after her fifteenth birthday; how does she know whether they’re fertile or not? And why should she care? The mixing of genetic material is a great deal more random than it is in the human race, believe me.“
"Then they have no sexual taboos at all?“ Blanche asked.
"Sure they do. No adult would marry anyone more than ten years younger or older. That insures that the generations don’t mix. And once a couple decide to marry, they mate for life. Adultery is almost unknown.“
"I’m surprised they marry at all,“ Blanche said with a touch of sarcasm. ”I doubt whether animals like that have any real concept of marriage.“
Pendray kept his voice level. “Their concept of it isn’t the same as ours, of course, but the similarities are surprising. Love, the desire for companionship, the feeling of mutual security, the rearing of a family—those points we have in common. And I doubt that any Daroth couple ever married because she was pregnant or because they had guilt feelings about premarital intercourse. There are some ‘forced’ marriages, of course. Bachelors and spinsters are frowned upon by society—much more strongly than they are in our own. There are loveless marriages, just as there are quarrels and arguments and lawsuits and so on. They’re no more perfect then we are—just different, that’s all.”
"Different,“ Blanche said. ”Different. Oh, yes. Yes, we’re different, all right. Dennis, look over there, to our left! Isn’t that a lovely lake?“
She doesn’t like Darotha, Pendray thought. And the only good Indian is a dead Indian. Only she’d never say that about Indians.
"Then it is not insanity?“ Ghundruth said.
"I’m quite certain it isn’t,“ Dr. Hiroa said. ”Not in the sense you mean. These children have just learned something that none of your race has ever been exposed to before. It’s our fault, of course. We Earthmen have been doing that sort of thing for as far back as we can trace. It’s only in the past eighteen months that any sizable group of Earthmen have lived here in Great Shoals, and only during that time have your adolescent children been exposed to them.“
"I’m afraid I do not understand,“ Ghundruth said. ”These hallucinations, these unreal things w’ich they ’ave made in their own minds. That is not insanity?“
"No. The kids don’t believe those things they tell are real. Look, Ghundruth; you can tell a lie, can’t you?“
"Yes. When necessary, yes. But w’y do they feel it necessary to tell such outrageous lies?“
"That’s the point, the whole point. They don’t find it necessary. They do it for the fun of it; because they enjoy it.“
Ghundruth was silent for a long stretch of seconds. Then he burst out: “I don’t understand it! ‘Ow can they enjoy such a thing? It isn’t—it isn’t normal! That’s like enjoying blinking or something. One does it w’en one must, but one doesn’t do it for pleasure.”
"Do you only eat when you must?“
"No. No.“
"And you do enjoy it?“
"Yes. Is there a correlation?“
"Of course. Look at it another way: you use parables and analogies don’t you?“
"For instruction. For the purpose of showing an example or for making a generality applicable specifically. Or for showing a similarity or correlation, as you are apparently doing now. But not just for fun. I can’t understand that. None of us can.“
Hiroa closed his eyes. “Maybe you never will, Ghundruth.”
"W’y not? If a child can understand, can’t I?“ He did not understand; he did not want to understand. But he did not like to be told that such understanding might be beyond his capabilities.
"There have been cases, have there not,“ Hiroa said, ”of a Darotha child being lost in a storm during his tenth year and being washed ashore in an uninhabited spot at just the time when the final change is taking place, when his gills have vanished and his lungs are doing all the work?“
"Yes. Occasionally. Not often. Usually ’e will find ‘is way back.“
"But sometimes he stays there?“
"There ’ave been cases of it. Usually the child dies very soon afterward. Unin’abited places usually ‘ave no food available ashore, w’ich means the child would ’ave to live from the sea. But such cases ‘ave ’happened, yes.“
"What were they like when they were found?“
"Feebleminded. They could not speak and could not learn to speak. Nor could they learn civilized ways. We ’ave assumed that that was the reason w’y they did not return ‘ome—because they were feebleminded.“
"No. Just the reverse. Because they did not return home, they seemed feebleminded. There is a critical period for learning speech. If one of our children doesn’t learn to speak by the time he is five, he never really learns to at all. With your children, that critical five-year period apparently comes immediately after the change. They don’t become symbol users until then. If they’re not taught to speak then, they never learn.“
"Ahhh,“ Ghundruth said thoughtfully. ”Like swimming.“
"Swimming? How’s that?“
"Occasionally, a child will ’ave an accident early in ‘is tenth year, and ’e must be ‘ospitalized. ’Is tail is dissolving and ‘is legs are growing. If ’e does not learn to swim with ‘is legs during that year, ’e never learns after that. If ‘e does not learn to walk during the following year, ’e never learns that.“
"Then you can see my point. If I’d known that, I would have used it as my example.“
"Is it not the same with you?“
"No. With us, swimming is an art that can be learned at any time, though it is easier to learn it in childhood.“
"And w’at ’as this to do with telling lies for fun?“
"Not just with the telling, but with the understanding of why they are told for fun. I wonder if it isn’t possible that lying for fun is an art that must be learned early or not at all. If it is, then an older Daroth cannot learn it and, therefore, can never understand it. It is my belief that this is true.“
"And all Earthmen do this? ’Ow is it that we ‘ave never recognized this? ’Ow is it we did not know?“
"You didn’t see it because you didn’t recognize its existence at all. Ghundruth, both our races have a sense of humor, and in many places they overlap. Puns, for instance. We both enjoy making puns.“
"Yes. Because of the theretofore unnoticed cross-correlation between two otherwise unrelated symbols. They are instructive and therefore enjoyable.“
Hiroa looked at him. “I’ll be damned,” he said softly. “I never thought of it that way. Look; you tell jokes, just as we do. We don’t enjoy all of yours, and you don’t enjoy all of ours, but there are some that we share. Why do you tell jokes?”
"They are instructive. A joke is an instructive parable w’ich ’as an unexpected or theretofore unforeseen result. Is it not?“
"I’ve just realized, after all these years,“ Hiroa said, ”that we laugh at the same things for entirely different reasons. I’d be willing to bet that the jokes of ours that you didn’t get were those which were not instructive. Boy!“
"We learn more about each other every moment, eh, my friend? I wonder if we will ever really understand one another? But you were going to make a correlation between jokes and lies-for-the-fun-of-it.“
"I was going to point out that jokes are lies-for-the-fun-of-it,“ Hiroa said. ”But evidently they are not, to your way of thinking.“
"No. No. I do not understand what you mean. What is the purpose of these non-instructive parables? They are meaningless nonsense. Explain to me the meaning of the parable of Silversheen and the Three Yahoos.“
Paul Hiroa had to hold back a laugh. Whoever had told that one had made a couple of neat switches. A silvery sheen on the skin of a Daroth female was prized in the same way that blondes were among Earthmen. And the “Three Yahoos” was almost perfect.
"It has no instructive meaning,“ Hiroa said. ”It is an adaptation of a very old children’s story. Almost every Earthman has heard it as a child. Where did you hear it?“
"One of my girls told it to me. She asked if I ’ad ‘eard it, and I told ’er I ‘ad not. I saw that she enjoyed telling it, but I saw no reason for it.“
"Tell me: did she use different voice-tones for the three Yahoos? Was Papa Yahoo a deep-voiced person and Baby Yahoo high and squeaky?“
"Yes, that was the way of it.“
"And the child enjoyed that particularly?“
"Apparently.“
"What was your reaction?“
"I was shocked. I knew she ’ad ‘eard it from one of your people, and I could not see w’y anyone would deliberately lie to a child for no reason. I still do not. Yahoos cannot speak, and it is a lie to say that they do.“
"And did you explain to her that Yahoos don’t speak?“
"Yes. And she said: ’Oh, I know that. It’s just a story.‘ And I didn’t understand. I still don’t.“
"Maybe you will eventually. Someday.“
"But you do not think so, eh, friend Hiroa?“ He smiled.
"I’d hate to bet on it one way or another. But the children understand it, and that’s what led to the next step. They made up their own stories. They made up lies and thought their guardians would understand. And they didn’t. You thought they were insane.“
"Yes. And I must say frankly that I am not at all sure you are right in your explanation. Even you, wise as you are, do not know ’ow our minds work, any more than we understand you.“
"I admit that.“ Two countries separated by a common tongue, he quoted to himself. ”We can only wait and see. I shall ask my people not to tell any more stories of that kind to your children if you wish.“
"Per’aps it will be better,“ Ghundruth said thoughtfully. ”It ’as caused much disturbance among the older Darotha. I do not like to see ‘ard feelings between my people and yours.“ He paused. ”But to be honest, I think the damage ’as already been done. We could forbid the children to tell the stories to each other, but ‘ow could we enforce such a rule? It would not be possible. Therefore we will not, for it is foolish to make rules that cannot be enforced.“
"I cannot enforce such a rule, either, but I think my people will see the wisdom in acquiescing to my request.“ And they’ll get quite a laugh out of the idea that Silversheen and the Three Yahoos is a youth-corrupting story which contributes to the delinquency of minors. But they’ll understand even as they laugh.
And Ghun is right, he thought, the damage has been done.
"Dr. Hiroa,“ Blanche Barlow said angrily, ”I would like to know why you have instructed a flierload of Darotha to follow us north into humanoid country!“
She had knocked on the door of his room, and when he’d said, “Come in,” she had burst through the door and snapped out the question.
"I didn’t order it, Mrs. Barlow,“ he said mildly. ”That’s the law. Not my law. Darotha law. That’s protected territory up there.“
"But they’re going armed!“
"Of course. That’s dangerous country, Mrs. Barlow.“
"I don’t need protection! My husband and I can take care of ourselves! The humanoids won’t hurt us if we show them we come in peace and brotherhood! I won’t be followed by armed monsters!“
Hiroa could hear every exclamation point slam into place. “Mrs. Barlow. Listen to me carefully. There is nothing I can do about it. The law cannot be abrogated for me or for you or for anyone else. The game wardens must accompany anyone who goes up there. They are not just for your protection; they are there for the protection of the humanoids, too. The game laws must be obeyed.”
“Game laws!” Her eyes blazed. “So they’re just—”
“Mrs. Barlow!” Hiroa had an amazingly powerful voice when he chose to use it. “I do not wish to listen to another of your tirades on the rights, privileges, and dignity of the humanoids. The game laws were laid down long before man ever arrived on this world. The wardens will inform you of those laws before you leave. I suggest you listen and obey. If there is nothing else, Mrs. Barlow, then good day.”
"I call it a damn fool, damn dangerous stunt!“ Dr. Pendray said in a low, harsh whisper.
"My wife knows what she’s doing,“ Dennis Barlow said in the same tone of voice. ”Shut up and let her do it. She knows how to handle primitive savages.“
"But not wild animals!“
"Shut up!“
The two men were inside the flier. Barlow had a small TV recording camera focused on his wife, who was some thirty yards away, with her back to them, walking slowly forward through the calf-high grass. Twenty yards in front of her, at the foot of a low, rocky hill, a troop of some twenty-five or thirty Yahoos sat silently and watched her.
They looked human. Even James Pendray had to admit that. They were not very clean, but they weren’t really filthy, either. They wore no clothes, no decorations of any kind. Their hair was brown and hung in tangled ringlets, but it was not very long. The males had beards, but they were rather sparse and short. They had rather sloping foreheads and rather heavy jaws, but no more so than many human beings. They watched the girl’s approach in unmoving silence.
She walked toward them, hands in front of her, fingers outspread, showing that she carried no weapons.
Pendray was silently thankful that four Darotha game wardens were stationed around the area, hidden but alert.
Five yards in front of the statue-like group, Blanche Barlow stopped. She spoke in a voice so soft that the members of her party couldn’t hear it, although it was picked up by the directional microphone that Dennis had focused on her. She was not saying words; she was making sounds—gentle, soothing, friendly sounds. They were intended to convey emotion, not intelligence. Her voice was soft, sweet, and tender.
One of the Yahoos growled.
Blanche went on making gentle noises. The only motion was the wriggling of two babies held in the arms of a big-bosomed female. The rest watched Blanche with cautious eyes.
Then one of the males, a broad-shouldered specimen with a mane of graying hair, began walking towards her. Blanche’s voice changed a little, became encouraging. She held out her hand to the male.
He grabbed it, jerked her toward him, and slammed a heavy fist against the side of her head. As if at a signal, the rest of the band charged toward her, hands grasping, voices howling and barking.
As Blanche Barlow slumped, there was a ragged chorus of rifle fire. Four high-velocity, heavy-caliber slugs tore into the Yahoos. Two of them slammed into the chest of the male who had struck Blanche. The next two Yahoos got one apiece. More shots crashed through the air.
The Yahoos that remained on their feet spun and fled toward the protection of the rocks. Some picked up stones and began throwing them at Blanche, not knowing where the actual danger had come from, but sniping fire from the four Darotha game wardens kept them from throwing accurately.
Dennis Barlow and James Pendray were already sprinting toward Blanche.
She had only been stunned. She pushed herself to a sitting position and looked groggily around.
“Keep down!” Dennis yelled. “Keep down, Blanche!”
She seemed not to hear him. Her eyes were on tragedy.
The big-bosomed female was sprawled nearby, a bullet through her brain. Unhurt, but squalling lustily, the two babies sat near her.
Dennis reached Blanche first, with Pendray only steps behind.
"Come on, honey; let’s get out of here!“ He helped her to her feet. The stone-throwing had stopped. So had the rifle fire.
"I’m all right,“ she said weakly. ”I can walk. Get the babies, Dennis. Get the babies.“
"Aren’t they beautiful, Dr. Hiroa? Absolutely beautiful?“
"They are cute,“ Dr. Hiroa admitted. ”I’ve seen much uglier human babies in my time.“
"They aren’t more than a month old. Look at the way they take to the bottle! Aren’t they darling?“ Blanche looked fondly at the two infants in the cribs she had bought for them.
She had had to get a special permit from the Darotha authorities to bring the Yahoo babies back to Point Garrison, but Dr. Hiroa, surprisingly enough, had exercised his influence in her favor. Now, bathed and diapered, the little ones looked as human as any other baby in Point Garrison.
"This will prove my point, Dr. Hiroa. Dennis and I are going to bring them up as though they were our own.“ She turned away from the cribs to face Hiroa. ”The poor things have never had a chance, Dr. Hiroa. For thousands of years, they’ve been hunted and chivvied, driven like wild beasts by the Darotha. They’ve had no chance to evolve any sort of stable culture. Their language has remained primitive.“
"Are you sure they have a language?“ Dr. Hiroa asked.
"Certainly! All human societies have a language. It’s one of the things that distinguishes them from animals.“
Hiroa nodded. This was no time to point out the circularity of her reasoning.
"It’s a matter of environment,“ Blanche continued. ”A human child from Earth, if brought up by the local humanoids, would behave in the same savage manner. He would know no better. After generations of being shot and herded and butchered, they regard every stranger as an enemy. I can hardly blame them for treating me as one.
"But these kids are going to have a chance. They haven’t been exposed to that environment long enough for it to make any impression on them—not any deep, lasting impression.
"By bringing them up as we would our own children, they will never know their racial background, never be exposed to the torment their parents had to go through. Instead, they’ll learn the way you and I did when we were growing up. They’ll learn English instead of the crude tongue of their parents.
"So far as I know, this is the first time this sort of experiment has ever been performed. This is a wonderful chance to add new knowledge to the anthropological field.“
Dr. Hiroa nodded slowly. “I believe you’re right. I believe you will learn a great deal from this experiment, Mrs. Barlow.”
"I’m certain I will. Our research contract with the Institute calls for three years work here. By the end of that time, we will have a great deal of data from the field investigations, and even more from Jane and Michael.“
"Jane and Michael, eh? Yes. Yes, I think you’ll learn a great deal from Jane and Michael. A great deal.“
"Paul,“ said Dr. Marcus Landau, ”I don’t know whether your expression indicates disappointment or satisfaction.“
Hiroa, Landau, and Pendray were sitting around a conference table in the Research Institute building; cups of coffee, notebooks, pencils, and reports littered the table.
"Neither,“ Hiroa said. ”The fact is there; I merely accept it. I will admit I had hoped—strongly hoped!—that the Darotha would indicate the kind of imaginative streak I was looking for. The indications I got at first made me think that they would. But, as you can see from these reports, the situation has stabilized itself in the past year. Imagination for its own sake, the enjoyment of pure creative imagination, is a passing phase in the Darotha mind. The kids will indulge in it for a little while, but it eventually passes away. By the middle of the second year after they come out of the water, the phase has passed. They look back on it in the same way that an adult human looks back on the days when he or she thought that a cake-candy-and-ice-cream diet was perfect bliss, or that cutting out paper dolls was the greatest pastime in the world.“
"But you haven’t lost all hope, I think,“ Pendray said.
"No. Certainly not. There will be a few—one or two, maybe, in every generation—who will retain that creative streak. I don’t know how long it will take, but I think the time will come when the Darotha will be innovators as well as good learners. I hope that—“
He was interrupted by a rap on the door. “Come in!”
Dr. Dennis Barlow opened the door and entered the room. “Hi, Paul, Marc, Jim. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. You did say fifteen thirty, didn’t you?”
"That’s right. Come on in. We were just finishing up. Pull up a chair and sit down. There’s coffee in the urn over there and a clean cup next to it. Help yourself.“
While Barlow got his coffee, Hiroa said: “I think that takes care of everything up to date, then. Next case. Do you have that file on Mike and Janie Barlow, Jim?”
"Right here.“ Pendray reached for a folder and drew it to him. ”We’re all learning something from those youngsters.“
Dennis Barlow sat down, took one sip of his coffee, and said: “Are they healthy, Doctor?”
"Physically, they’re in the prime of condition. Mentally… well, who can tell at the age of fourteen months? We haven’t got psychology tests that will tell us anything that early. How do they seem to you?“
Barlow grinned wryly. “They sure grow fast, don’t they? They’re as big and strong as four-year-olds. And the scraps they get into! It’s amazing. They don’t hurt each other, but they sure slap each other around. Have you been following the tapes?”
All three of the others nodded. “We’ve seen them,” Hiroa said.
"Then you know what I mean. They’ll play together nicely most of the time, but if one of them crosses the other, watch out! The other day, Janie was playing with her blocks, and Mike decided he wanted to play, too, so he grabbed a couple of them from her. He got another one right away—bounced off the side of his head. Blanche had to break it up, as usual. Grabbed them and shook them good and gave them a good talking to. She never spanks them, of course. We don’t believe spanking is necessary for the proper upbringing of children.
"I think the trouble is that they’re still as egocentric as any child of that age, but they’re bigger than most kids and can take it out on each other physically, whereas most kids fourteen months old haven’t got the strength or coordination to do that.“
"Most Earth kids, you mean,“ Pendray corrected gently. ”That amount of development at that age is not abnormal for Sandaroth humanoids.“
"Really? That wasn’t mentioned in any of the tapes.“
"Well, we admittedly don’t have much to go on,“ Dr. Landau said. ”The adults won’t breed in captivity, and—
"I wouldn’t either if I was put in a cage,“ Barlow interrupted with a grin.
Landau chuckled. “Anyway, as I was saying, we have no definite information. It’s hard to follow individuals over a period of years, and this is the first time that any have been raised from infants. But the Darotha say that they mature very rapidly and that these kids are not at all abnormal for their age.”
"Hm-m-m. Interesting. You’ve shown those tapes to Darotha, then?“
"Ghundruth has seen them,“ said Hiroa. ”He’s as interested in this experiment as we are.“
Barlow’s grin had faded away. “He would be. Breeding them like cattle would be easier than driving them to slaughter after rounding them up in the wilds. But you can tell him for me that neither of these kids is going to end up as a slice of lurgh on rye. And maybe none of the humanoids will in a few years.”
"That, of course, will depend on your report to the Foundation,“ Hiroa said evenly. ”Ghundruth admittedly has an interest. He and his people are as dependent upon the Yahoo herds as the Amerindians of the North American plains were dependent upon the bison herds some centuries back. When the bison herds were reduced to almost nothing, the Amerindian resistance to the white invaders collapsed.
"But Ghundruth isn’t thinking of that, odd as it may seem. He is truly interested in knowing whether the humanoids are intelligent—humanly intelligent. The Darotha are an eminently ethical race, Dr. Barlow. Much more so than we are. If they find that the Yahoos are capable of intelligent behavior, there will be no need for us to protect the Yahoos with troops. The Darotha would never kill another one for food. In fact, if they decided that it had been their own fault that the Yahoos had never developed a culture of their own, they would do everything in their power to help them.“
"I see.“ Barlow looked apologetic. ”I’m sorry. Forget what I said. But for goodness’ sake never say anything like that to Blanche. I’d rather you wouldn’t even tell her that Ghundruth is interested or that he’s seen the tapes.“
"We won’t,“ Hiroa said. ”We respect your wife’s convictions on the subject.“
And her temper, Marc Landau thought. The Golden Fury has become even more touchy since she has become a foster mother. Being beaten and stoned hasn’t fazed her.
"What sort of progress are the children making in learning to talk?“ Pendray asked, steering the conversation away from the controversy.
"Just ’mama‘ and ’papa‘ so far,“ Barlow said. ”But what more can you expect from a fourteen-month-old?“
"Please, Dennis; don’t be defensive about it,“ Pendray said. ”I don’t expect anything. I just want information.“
"Sorry. I’ll try to keep my foot out of my mouth.“
"That’s O.K. They call you Papa and Blanche Mama, then, eh?“
Barlow frowned slightly. “No. Not yet. They use the words interchangeably so far.” His frown dissolved into a smile. “They know that if they yell either word one of us will come running. I remember once when Mike was inside the playpen and Janie was outside. Something happened, and she grabbed his hair through the bars and started pulling. He couldn’t get at her, and he started screaming ‘Mama!’ at the top of his lungs. I went in and made her quit. I suppose we ought to arrange it so that I only answer to Papa and Blanche only answers to Mama, so they can learn to differentiate.”
Pendray nodded. “Yes. I suggest you try that. Otherwise, they have no reason to differentiate. Do they use the words at other times, for other purposes than calling for help?”
"When they’re hungry. They come around four or five times a day with ’Mama, mama, papa, papa.‘ Practically in chorus. It means they’re starving. And—boy!—can those kids pack away the food! Of course, they naturally would, growing at that rate. Their anabolism rate must be really high.“
"I’m glad you brought that up,“ said Pendray. ”I’d like to have you bring them around for a basal metabolism test sometime soon. Can you do that?“’
"Sure. Whenever you like. How about at their regular checkup time, next week?“
"Fine. I’ll arrange it. Is there anything else noteworthy?“
"Not that I can think of,“ Barlow said. ”I do think it’s a shame they don’t have any other kids to play with. But they’re far too big and rough for other kids their age, and the four- and five-year-olds are so far ahead of them in education that there’s no communication. Besides, the neighbors won’t allow it. They’re so prejudiced against Yahoos that they’re afraid of little babies. I suppose they think Mike and Janie would devour their kids alive or something.“
"Probably,“ Hiroa said. ”They have good reason. You saw what happened to the Yahoos that were shot that day as soon as your fliers left the ground. The game wardens got some very good tapes on that.“
"Your own ancestors practiced cannibalism at one time, Dr. Hiroa. That didn’t mean they weren’t human.“
"I suppose I should have the grace to blush,“ Hiroa said. ”I don’t. All of us have cannibals somewhere back in our ancestry. It’s just that the last one of my anthropophagous ancestors lived somewhat later than the last one of yours.“
"I might contest with you, Paul,“ said Dr. Landau with a benevolent smile, ”the honor of having had the most recent cannibal on the family tree, but I won’t.“ Then he looked at Barlow with the same smile. ”The point that my learned Maori friend was attempting to make, I think, was not the fact of cannibalism per se, but the pattern of it. We are not talking now of the rare cases of extreme hunger, where men have been driven to the verge of madness or even beyond it. Those cases are exceptional and we know it. We are talking about cannibalism as a regular, normal practice. In every known case, there was a ritual of some kind connected with it, most especially if the sacrificial victim was a member of the same tribe or family group. Even when an enemy from another group was killed for that purpose, there was a certain amount of dignity and preparation.
"Our human ancestors, Dr. Barlow, did not leap upon their own dead and tear them into gobbets as though they were a pack of wolves.“
"Not so far as we know, maybe,“ Barlow said grimly.
"Not so far as we know,“ Landau agreed. ”I admit the evidence is far from conclusive. In itself it proves nothing about the Yahoos. But it must certainly be taken into account, mustn’t it?“
"I think the most telling evidence will be Mike and Janie,“ Barlow said.
"Oh, indeed. Certainly,“ Landau said.
"I think that is one point upon which we are all agreed,“ Hiroa said in a carefully neutral tone.
Dr. James Pendray washed his hands in the lavatory in one corner of the surgery. “Janie will be all right, Dennis,” he said without looking up. “Just make sure she doesn’t pull those stitches loose when she wakes up.”
"I hope she doesn’t fight when she comes out of the anesthetic. She’s getting to be hell on wheels. I didn’t think she’d fight the needle that way.“ Dennis Barlow’s voice sounded both worried and apologetic.
"How’s Michael’s black eye?“ Pendray asked.
"It’s O.K. Nothing to worry about. The swelling’s almost gone. But where did he ever get the idea of biting his sister on the leg that way? If he’d popped her one on the nose, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but those teeth of his inflicted a hell of a nasty wound.“
"Yep,“ Pendray agreed, ”he does have a good set of teeth for a two-year-old, doesn’t he?“
There was silence while the doctor dried his hands carefully.
"Jim,“ said Barlow.
"Yes?“
"Don’t say anything to Blanche, but I’m beginning to wonder if our hypothesis is as accurate as we thought it was.“
"How so?“ Pendray was carefully noncommittal.
"Well it’s a general rule that the longer the time between puberty, and adolescence, the greater the intelligence of the animal. Look at those kids! They look like ten-year-olds!“
"How’s their vocabulary?“ Pendray knew the answer; he was just pointing something out.
"'Mama.’ 'Papa.' “
"Differentiation?“
"None. They don’t seem to know the difference between the words.“
"If a chimpanzee is brought up in a human household,“ Pendray pointed out, ”it can usually learn to say a few words. Simple ones.“
"I know. I know.“ He paused, and when he spoke again there was anger in his voice. ”But, Jim, they’re not chimpanzees! Look at her!“ He gestured toward the surgery table, where Janie lay sleeping under the influence of the injection Pendray had given her. ”How can you call a creature as pretty as that an animal?“
"Human beings are animals, I think,“ Pendray said.
"Don’t play around! You know what I mean!“
"Yes, I do. I’m just surprised to hear a zoologist using a word that has a scientific meaning as an emotional tag. They can’t dress themselves yet, can they?“
"No, nor undress, either. They don’t care whether they’re dressed or not. But wouldn’t you expect that of a two-year-old?“
"Yes. I’m not arguing with you, Dennis. You’re arguing with yourself.“
Barlow rubbed a hand across his face. “I know it. Damn! Damn! Damn!”
"What are you going to do about it, Dennis?“
Barlow took his hand away from his face. ”What? Do about it? I’ll go on with the experiment! It isn’t over yet; it isn’t over by a long shot. It hasn’t had time enough yet.“
"You and your wife are the sole judges of that, Dennis. It’s your experiment. But—“ He stopped.
"But what?“
"Getting emotionally involved in an experiment does not tend to make for an unbiased scientific observation of the results. No one can be totally objective about an experiment that is testing his theories, but—a man should try, Dennis. A man should try.“
"So you see what we are trying to do, Dr. Barlow,“ Hiroa said. ”Here on this planet, we can begin, for the first time in human history—and in Darotha history—to construct a civilization composed of two non-competing, fully cooperating, intelligent life forms. We are, in comparison with them, high on creative abstract imagination, and low in ethics. The reverse, obviously, is true of them. They can’t operate very far from the sea, and they can’t stand low humidity; physiologically, they’re water wasters. They just aren’t built to live in the interior of a continent. They can explore the interior, just as we can go skin diving. But they can’t live there. On the other hand, they can do things in the sea that we can’t.
"But if this experiment fails, we may never get another chance. That’s why I don’t want to see this planet opened up to the general run of colonists. I practically hand-picked every person here. We used the best psychological tests that we were able to devise to make sure that our people have an ethical standard well above the human average. Not intelligence particularly, but ethics. If the average run of colonists came here, the Darotha would very likely go the way of the Amerindians. We have to give them time to adjust to new technologies, to learn slowly that there are people who can’t be trusted. The average colonist is a social misfit, and the ethical standards are actually below the human norm. The Darotha would trust them at first and be robbed and cheated and perhaps enslaved. Then that trust would turn to total distrust of every human being. It would take centuries to straighten the mess out—if, indeed, it ever could be.
"Do you see my point?“
"Certainly, Dr. Hiroa,“ Dennis Barlow said. ”But how would a positive report on the intelligence of the Yahoos affect that?“ Now, after three years, Dennis could use the word ”Yahoo“ without feeling guilty, although he never used it in Blanche’s hearing.
Hiroa knew he would have to word his answer carefully. Any suggestion that the Darlington Foundation was a party to chicanery would be rejected out of hand. “There are certain unscrupulous business interests on Earth who want this planet opened up. Your report and those photographs would be used to inflame public sentiment against the Darotha if those unscrupulous men got hold of them.”
"But suppose the Yahoos are humanly intelligent?“ Barlow asked. ”I couldn’t falsify a report.“
"Of course not! I would never suggest such a thing!“ Hiroa said angrily. Then, more calmly: ”Let us assume they are intelligent, that the experiment with Michael and Jane proves it. I assure you that the Darotha will be absolutely shocked, and will do everything they can to make up for what they have done. It will be up to us to provide a substitute food animal for them, of course, but we could find something—cattle, perhaps. Then we would have three intelligent races co-operating.
"In other words, I would like to have your report say that the Darotha no longer kill and eat Yahoos, that the problem has already been solved! That will render the information harmless. The unscrupulous interests would no longer be able to use it as a weapon. Do you see?“
"Certainly. I—“
The phone on Dr. Hiroa’s desk chimed. He said, “Excuse me,” and picked it up. “Dr. Hiroa here. Yes, Jim. What?” His eyes came up suddenly, focusing on Barlow’s face. “Yes… We’ll be right there!” He cradled the phone and stood up. “Let’s go over to the hospital. There’s been an accident.”
Dennis Barlow was already on his feet. “One of the kids?”
"No. Your wife. I don’t know how serious it is.“
It took them five minutes to get to the hospital. Marc Landau was waiting for them in the lobby.
"Where’s Blanche?“ Dennis half shouted. ”What happened?“
"You can’t see her now, son. She’s in emergency surgery. Jim’s working on her. She’s in good hands. Just relax.“
"What happened? How badly is she hurt?“
"We don’t know what happened. She’s… she’s hurt pretty badly. Her condition is serious, but not critical, Jim says.“
Dennis sat down. “Tell me what happened. I have to know.”
"One of the neighbors heard her screaming, Dennis. Now, calm yourself. Johnson heard her screaming, and ran over. He had a hunch what it was, so he grabbed a club, a heavy walking stick, before he went.“ Landau stopped and bit at his lower lip before going on. ”Dennis, those Yahoos were trying to kill her. They almost succeeded. Johnson was bitten on the arm, but he managed to knock them both cold. We have them locked up now.“
"I can’t believe it,“ Dennis said hollowly. But it was obvious that he did believe it. ”Why? Why would they do such a thing?“
"We don’t know. We won’t know until Blanche can tell us. Was there no indication?“
"No,“ Dennis Barlow said dully. ”No. None. You’ve read my progress reports. In the past year, the kids have quit fighting one another. You remember how they used to scrap. They don’t any more. We thought it was a good sign. Why would a couple of three-year-old kids attack Blanche? Why?“ He spoke in a dull monotone, as though he had been drained of emotion.
"They’re only three chronologically,“ Landau said gently. ”Physiologically they’re about sixteen, if you judge them by human standards. Mentally? Well, I don’t know. Johnson said they were screaming mamapapa! as they fought. Those are the only words they know, aren’t they?“
"Yes.“ Dully.
"You’re a zoologist, Dennis. What would you say was the life expectancy of a mammal that reached pubescence in thirty months?“
"About… about twenty years, maximum.“
"Intelligence level?“
"Low. Bestial.“ He glanced up from the floor. ”They’re baboons, Marc. Baboons. Only worse. Yes! Worse!“
Hiroa looked troubled. “I didn’t expect this to happen. I… I’m sorry I allowed it, Dennis. Terribly sorry.”
"It’s not your fault, Dr. Hiroa. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but mine. I saw it coming, but I wouldn’t let myself see it —if you see what I mean. Blanche was even blinder than I was. I sometimes wondered if she’d ever see. I wonder if she will now. Will she excuse them again, even after this? Will she go on thinking of rationalizations for them?“
It was nearly twenty-four hours before they got the answer to that question.
"She’s awake, Dennis,“ Jim Pendray said. ”She’s conscious. She’ll be all right. She wants to see you.“
He led Barlow to the hospital room and let him go inside alone, but he left the door open a trifle so that he and Hiroa and Landau could hear.
"Blanche. Blanche, honey.“
She was swathed in sprayed-on bandaging, but she opened her eyes and tried to smile.
"Honey, what happened? Can you talk about it?“
She closed her eyes again. “It was horrible. Horrible.”
"What happened?“
"I… I was working at my desk. I heard… funny noises.“ Her words came in short gasps. ”I got up… went into the living room. Michael and Jane were… were on the floor. They were—Oh, Dennis! They were making love!“
"Yes. And then what?“
"I lost my temper, I… I went in and… and pushed Michael away from Jane. I… I slapped him. They both screamed and snarled and… and came at me like… like wild animals. I couldn’t fight them… too strong. They bit and clawed and hit. I… I don’t remember after that.“
She was silent for a moment, then she repeated: “Like wild beasts.” Then her eyes opened and she looked at her husband with wide eyes. “They’re not human, Dennis! They’re just not human!”
Outside the door, three men looked at each other with solemn thanks.