The fight was over. It had ended so quickly the fact hadn't really sunk
in yet. Rhes rubbed his hand against the gleaming metal of the control
console, letting the reality of touch convince him. The other men milled
about, looking out through the viewscreens or soaking in the mechanical
strangeness of the room.
Jason was physically exhausted, but he couldn't let it show. He opened
the pilot's medbox and dug through it until he found the stimulants.
Three of the little gold pills washed the fatigue from his body, and he
could think clearly again.
"Listen to me," he shouted. "The fight's not over yet. They'll try
anything to take this ship back and we have to be ready. I want one of
the techs to go over these boards until he finds the lock controls. Make
sure all the air locks and ports are sealed. Send men to check them if
necessary. Turn on all the screens to scan in every direction, so no one
can get near the ship. We'll need a guard in the engine room, my control
could be cut if they broke in there. And there had better be a
room-by-room search of the ship, in case someone else is locked in with
us."
The men had something to do now and felt relieved. Rhes split them up
into groups and set them to work. Jason stayed at the controls, his hand
next to the pump switch. The battle wasn't over yet.
"There's a truck coming," Rhes called, "going slow."
"Should I blast it?" the man at the gun controls asked.
"Hold your fire," Jason said, "until we can see who it is. If it's the
people I sent for, let them through."
As the truck came on slowly, the gunner tracked it with his sights.
There was a driver and three passengers. Jason waited until he was
positive who they were.
"Those are the ones," he said. "Stop them at the lock, Rhes, make them
come in one at a time. Take their guns as they enter, then strip them of
_all_ their equipment. There is no way of telling what could be a
concealed weapon. Be specially careful of Brucco--he's the thin one with
a face like an ax edge--make sure you strip him clean. He's a specialist
in weapons and survival. And bring the driver too, we don't want him
reporting back about the broken air lock or the state of our guns."
Waiting was hard. His hand stayed next to the pump switch, even though
he knew he could never use it. Just as long as the others thought he
would.
* * * * *
There were stampings and muttered curses in the corridor; the prisoners
were pushed in. Jason had one look at their deadly expressions and
clenched fists before he called to Rhes.
"Keep them against the wall and watch them. Bowmen keep your weapons
up." He looked at the people who had once been his friends and who now
swam in hatred for him. Meta, Kerk, Brucco. The driver was Skop, the man
Kerk had once appointed to guard him. He looked ready to explode now
that the roles had been reversed.
"Pay close attention," Jason said, "because your lives depend upon it.
Keep your backs to the wall and don't attempt to come any closer to me
than you are now. If you do, you will be shot instantly. If we were
alone, any one of you could undoubtedly reach me before I threw this
switch. But we're not. You have Pyrran reflexes and muscles--but so do
the bowmen. Don't gamble. Because it won't be a gamble. It will be
suicide. I'm telling you this for your own protection. So we can talk
peacefully without one of you losing his temper and suddenly getting
shot. _There is no way out of this._ You are going to be forced to
listen to everything I say. You can't escape or kill me. The war is
over."
"And we lost--and all because of you ... you _traitor_!" Meta snarled.
"Wrong on both counts," Jason said blandly. "I'm not a traitor because I
owe my allegiance to all men on this planet, both inside the perimeter
and out. I never pretended differently. As to losing--why you haven't
lost anything. In fact you've won. Won your war against this planet, if
you will only hear me out." He turned to Rhes, who was frowning in angry
puzzlement. "Of course your people have won also, Rhes. No more war with
the city, you'll get medicine, off-planet contact--everything you want."
"Pardon me for being cynical," Rhes said, "but you're promising the best
of all possible worlds for everyone. That will be a little hard to
deliver when our interests are opposed so."
"You strike through to the heart of the matter," Jason said. "Thank you.
This mess will be settled by seeing that everyone's interests are not
opposed. Peace between the city and farms, with an end to the useless
war you have been fighting. Peace between mankind and the Pyrran life
forms--because that particular war is at the bottom of all your
troubles."
"The man's mad," Kerk said.
"Perhaps. You'll judge that after you hear me out. I'm going to tell you
the history of this planet, because that is where both the trouble and
the solution lie.
"When the settlers landed on Pyrrus three hundred years ago they missed
the one important thing about this planet, the factor that makes it
different from any other planet in the galaxy. They can't be blamed for
the oversight, they had enough other things to worry about. The gravity
was about the only thing familiar to them, the rest of the environment
was a shocking change from the climate-controlled industrial world they
had left. Storms, vulcanism, floods, earthquakes--it was enough to drive
them insane, and I'm sure many of them did go mad. The animal and insect
life was a constant annoyance, nothing at all like the few harmless and
protected species they had known. I'm sure they never realized that the
Pyrran life was telepathic as well--"
"That again!" Brucco snapped. "True or not, it is of no importance. I
was tempted to agree with your theory of psionic-controlled attack on
us, but the deadly fiasco you staged proved that theory wrong."
"I agree," Jason answered. "I was completely mistaken when I thought
some outside agency directed the attack on the city with psionic
control. It seemed a logical theory at the time and the evidence pointed
that way. The expedition to the island _was_ a deadly fiasco--only don't
forget that attack was the direct opposite of what I wanted to have
done. If I had gone into the cave myself none of the deaths would have
been necessary. I think it would have been discovered that the plant
creatures were nothing more than an advanced life form with unusual psi
ability. They simply resonated strongly to the psionic attack on the
city. I had the idea backwards thinking they instigated the battle.
We'll never know the truth, though, because they are destroyed. But
their deaths did prove one thing. It allows us to find the real
culprits, the creatures who are leading, directing and inspiring the war
against the city."
"_Who?_" Kerk breathed the question, rather than spoke it.
"Why _you_ of course," Jason told him. "Not you alone, but all of your
people in the city. Perhaps you don't like this war. However you are
responsible for it, and keep it going."
Jason had to force back a smile as he looked at their dumfounded
expressions. He had to prove his point quickly, before even his allies
began to think him insane.
* * * * *
"Here is how it works. I said Pyrran life was telepathic--and I meant
all life. Every single insect, plant and animal. At one time in this
planet's violent history these psionic mutations proved to be survival
types. They existed when other species died, and in the end I'm sure
they co-operated in wiping out the last survivors of the non-psi
strains. Co-operation is the key word here. Because while they still
competed against each other under normal conditions, they worked
together against anything that threatened them as a whole. When a
natural upheaval or a tidal wave threatened them, they fled from it in
harmony.
[Illustration]
"You can see a milder form of this same behavior on any planet that is
subject to forest fires. But here, mutual survival was carried to an
extreme because of the violent conditions. Perhaps some of the life
forms even developed precognition like the human quakemen. With this
advance warning the larger beasts fled. The smaller ones developed
seeds, or burrs or eggs, that could be carried to safety by the wind or
in the animals' fur, thus insuring racial survival. I know this is true,
because I watched it myself when we were escaping a quake."
"Admitted--all your points admitted," Brucco shouted. "But what does it
have to do with _us_? So all the animals run away together, what does
that have to do with the war?"
"They do more than run away together," Jason told him. "They work
together against any natural disaster that threatens them all. Some day
I'm sure, ecologists will go into raptures over the complex adjustments
that occur here in the advent of blizzards, floods, fires and other
disasters. There is only one reaction we really care about now, though.
That's the one directed towards the city people. Don't you realize
yet--they treat you all as another natural disaster!
"We'll never know exactly how it came about, though there is a clue in
that diary I found, dating from the first days on this planet. It said
that a forest fire seemed to have driven new species towards the
settlers. Those weren't new beasts at all--just old ones with new
attitudes. Can't you just imagine how those protected, over-civilized
settlers acted when faced with a forest fire? They panicked of course.
If the settlers were in the path of the fire, the animals must have
rushed right through their camp. Their reaction would undoubtedly have
been to shoot the fleeing creatures down.
"When they did that they classified themselves as a natural disaster.
Disasters take any form. Bipeds with guns could easily be included in
the category. The Pyrran animals attacked, were shot, and the war began.
The survivors kept attacking and informed all the life forms what the
fight was about. The radioactivity of this planet must cause plenty of
mutations--and the favorable, survival mutation was now one that was
deadly to man. I'll hazard a guess that the psi function even instigates
mutations, some of the deadlier types are just too one-sided to have
come about naturally in a brief three hundred years.
"The settlers, of course, fought back, and kept their status as a
natural disaster intact. Through the centuries they improved their
killing methods, not that it did the slightest good, as you know. You
city people, their descendants, are heirs to this heritage of hatred.
You fight and are slowly being defeated. How can you possibly win
against the biologic reserves of a planet that can recreate itself each
time to meet any new attack?"
* * * * *
Silence followed Jason's words. Kerk and Meta stood white-faced as the
impact of the disclosure sunk in. Brucco mumbled and checked points off
on his fingers, searching for weak spots in the chain of reason. The
fourth city Pyrran, Skop, ignored all these foolish words that he
couldn't understand--or want to understand--and would have killed Jason
in an instant if there had been the slightest chance of success.
It was Rhes who broke the silence. His quick mind had taken in the
factors and sorted them out. "There's one thing wrong," he said. "What
about us? We live on the surface of Pyrrus without perimeters or guns.
Why aren't we attacked as well? We're human, descended from the same
people as the junkmen."
"You're not attacked," Jason told him, "because you don't identify
yourself as a natural disaster. Animals can live on the slopes of a
dormant volcano, fighting and dying in natural competition. But they'll
flee together when the volcano erupts. That eruption is what makes the
mountain a natural disaster. In the case of human beings, it is their
thoughts that identify them as life form or disaster. Mountain or
volcano. In the city everyone radiates suspicion and death. They enjoy
killing, thinking about killing, and planning for killing. This is
natural selection, too, you realize. These are the survival traits that
work best in the city. Outside the city men think differently. If they
are threatened individually, they fight, as will any other creature.
Under more general survival threats they co-operate completely with the
rules for universal survival that the city people break."
"How did it begin--this separation, I mean, between the two groups?"
Rhes asked.
"We'll probably never know," Jason said. "I think your people must have
originally been farmers, or psionic sensitives who were not with the
others during some natural disaster. They would, of course, act
correctly by Pyrran standards, and survive. This would cause a
difference of opinion with the city people who saw killing as the
answer. It's obvious, whatever the reason, that two separate communities
were established early, and soon separated except for the limited amount
of barter that benefited both."
"I still can't believe it," Kerk mumbled. "It makes a terrible kind of
truth, every step of the way, but I still find it hard to accept. There
_must_ be another explanation."
Jason shook his head slowly. "None. This is the only one that works.
We've eliminated the other ones, remember? I can't blame you for finding
it hard to believe, since it is in direct opposition to everything
you've understood to be true in the past. It's like altering a natural
law. As if I gave you proof that gravity didn't really exist, that it
was a force altogether different from the immutable one we know, one you
could get around when you understood how. You'd want more proof than
words. Probably want to see someone walking on air."
"Which isn't such a bad idea at that," he added, turning to Naxa. "Do
you hear any animals around the ship now? Not the ones you're used to,
but the mutated, violent kind that live only to attack the city."
"Place's crawling with 'em," Naxa said, "just lookin' for somethin'
t'kill."
"Could you capture one?" Jason asked. "Without getting yourself killed,
I mean."
Naxa snorted contempt as he turned to leave. "Beast's not born yet,
that'll hurt me."
They stood quietly, each one wrapped tightly around by his own thoughts,
while they waited for Naxa to return. Jason had nothing more to say. He
would do one more thing to try and convince them of the facts, after
that it would be up to each of them to reach a conclusion.
* * * * *
The talker returned quickly with a stingwing, tied by one leg to a
length of leather. It flapped and shrieked as he carried it in.
"In the middle of the room, away from everybody," Jason told him. "Can
you get that beast to sit on something and not flap around?"
"My hand good enough?" he asked, flipping the creature up so it clung to
the back of his gauntlet. "That's how I caught it."
"Does anyone doubt that this is a real stingwing?" Jason asked. "I want
to make sure you all believe there is no trickery here."
"The thing is real," Brucco said. "I can smell the poison in the
wing-claws from here." He pointed to the dark marks on the leather where
the liquid had dripped. "If that eats through the gloves, he's a dead
man."
"Then we agree it's real," Jason said. "Real and deadly, and the only
test of the theory will be if you people from the city can approach it
like Naxa here."
They drew back automatically when he said it. Because they knew that
stingwing was synonymous with death. Past, present and future. You don't
change a natural law. Meta spoke for all of them.
"We ... can't. This man lives in the jungle, like an animal himself.
Somehow he's learned to get near them. But you can't expect us to."
Jason spoke quickly, before the talker could react to the insult. "Of
course I expect you to. That's the whole idea. If you don't hate the
beast and expect it to attack you--why it won't. Think of it as a
creature from a different planet, something harmless."
"I can't," she said. "It's a _stingwing_!"
As they talked Brucco stepped forward, his eyes fixed steadily on the
creature perched on the glove. Jason signaled the bowmen to hold their
fire. Brucco stopped at a safe distance and kept looking steadily at the
stingwing. It rustled its leathery wings uneasily and hissed. A drop of
poison formed at the tip of each great poison claw on its wings. The
control room was filled with a deadly silence.
Slowly he raised his hand. Carefully putting it out, over the animal.
The hand dropped a little, rubbed the stingwing's head once, then fell
back to his side. The animal did nothing except stir slightly under the
touch.
There was a concerted sigh, as those who had been unknowingly holding
their breath breathed again.
"How did you do it?" Meta asked in a hushed voice.
"Hm-m-m, what?" Brucco said, apparently snapping out of a daze. "Oh,
touching the thing. Simple, really. I just pretended it was one of the
training aids I use, a realistic and harmless duplicate. I kept my mind
on that single thought and it worked." He looked down at his hand, then
back to the stingwing. His voice quieter now, as if he spoke from a
distance. "It's not a training aid you know. It's real. Deadly. The
off-worlder is right. He's right about everything he said."
With Brucco's success as an example, Kerk came close to the animal. He
walked stiffly, as if on the way to his execution, and runnels of sweat
poured down his rigid face. But he believed and kept his thoughts
directed away from the stingwing and he could touch it unharmed.
Meta tried but couldn't fight down the horror it raised when she came
close. "I am trying," she said, "and I do believe you now--but I just
can't do it."
Skop screamed when they all looked at him, shouted it was all a trick,
and had to be clubbed unconscious when he attacked the bowmen.
Understanding had come to Pyrrus.