"But that's a dead world--killed by a suicidal race that achieved
technology before it had attained culture."
"Which is precisely the situation we have here. Or have you observed
their social inequities and history? Periodically these mammals erupt
in merciless riots and slaughters over things that could be settled by
reason. And oddly enough, these 'wars' as humans call them have the
effect of stimulating technology. This is a race that apparently loves
death and battle. A barbaric horde of cultural morons, with a civilized
technology geared to mutual destruction."
"Frankly, I've been scanning through Edith. I've seen only the
technical excellence of their entertainment industry, and the enormous
waste which goes into the making of one of their productions."
"We must have a synthesis," I said, "and pool our observations."
Ven nodded.
"I'm not at all happy about this place," I continued. "It makes me
uncomfortable."
"Could we modify it?" Ven asked.
I shook my head. "It would take an entire task force to do that.
Reeducation of this culture would have to begin at birth after
appropriate culling. We would have to start from the beginning. I fear
that the council would never authorize such an action on behalf of
mammals. We are altruistic ... but not that altruistic."
"Then they will destroy themselves?"
"I fear so. This culture has a poor prognosis. But it is perhaps better
so. Or would you like to see them roaming through the Galaxy?"
Ven shuddered. "Not as they are now. Not these fierce, combative stupid
brutes. Individuals perhaps, but not the race. They would have to learn
the rules of civilization first."
"Yet they show no sign of learning. If they can't even cooperate with
their own species, how in Authority's name could they ever get along
with the dissimilar races of this island universe?"
"They couldn't. We would have to quarantine them."
"So isn't it better to save the expense and let them quarantine
themselves?"
"I suppose so." Ven's aura was a dull gray and mine matched the gloom
of hers. It is hard to stand aloof and watch a race condemn itself to
death.
* * * * *
We fed our observations into the analyzer, together with all extraneous
data we could lay our digits on via our proxies--not to prove our
conclusions but to determine the means by which we could obtain the
power metal with the least possible repercussions in this society. We
both realized it would be fatal to expose ourselves. The mammalian
technology was sufficiently advanced for them to duplicate the
essential portions of our ship, and chaos could result if they secured
a road to the stars. Generations of effort would be required to confine
them again to their homeworld.
Thinking in this manner caused me to take certain precautions with the
drive mechanism that would ensure no trace of our craft remaining if I
projected a certain impulse at a given strength. Ven, of course, was
appalled at my action, although she realized its grim necessity.
And in the meantime we worked with our proxies, I attempting to
establish some means of quietly obtaining the metal we needed, and
Ven doing nothing so far as I could determine that would further our
mission. At that, Edith was in no position to obtain metal, and Ven was
too young and inexperienced in contact work to attempt a mission of
such delicacy. Since Edith amused her, I was content to leave them both
to their own devices while I worked with Donald to speed our departure.
"In this society," I said to Donald, "it seems that one can accomplish
anything with this medium of exchange you call money."
"That's close to a fundamental truth," Donald replied.
"And you are not too well supplied with it?" I asked.
"Those four ingots I brought you last week put a vicious dent in our
savings account."
"Isn't your trade as an author profitable?"
"Only in spurts. It's a feast-famine existence. But it's the only one I
care to lead."
"But popular fiction makes money--and you can write."
"I wish you'd tell that to my agent. He seems to have other ideas."
"I have recently read some of your fiction," I said, "and have noticed
that it has certain basics that could easily be applied to an analyzer.
There is no reason why we could not cooperate and produce a work that
would yield a great deal of money."
Donald laughed. "Now I've heard everything!" he said. "You mean to tell
me _you_ could write a book _humans_ would buy?"
"No, you would write the book. I would merely furnish the idea, the
research data, the plot, and the general story outline. In your popular
fiction," I continued, "there are four basic elements and a plot
that can be varied about twenty-five ways. There is small need for
philosophy and little need for abstract thought. In fact, there is no
need at all for anything but glandular excitation. All that is really
necessary is plenty of action, enough understanding of the locale and
events to avoid anachronism--and the basics."
* * * * *
"What are these basics?" Donald said. "As a writer I'd like to know
them."
"There are four," I ticked them off on my digits. "First, violation
of the ethical or moral code of your race; second, adequate amounts
of cohabitation between the characters; third, brutality; and
fourth--murderous assault."
"Hmm. Sin, sex, sadism and slaughter," Donald commented. "You know, you
might have something there."
"I have prepared an outline and a synopsis of such a book," I said. "It
is a historical novel. It should sell. Most historical novels do."
"You've done what?" Donald gasped. Then he laughed. "Of all the
insufferable egoists I've ever seen!"
"Listen," I said, ordering him to silence while I outlined the opening
chapter.
"I can't stop you," Donald said. "But why should this happen to me?
Isn't it bad enough to be bossed around by you lizards without having
to be forced to ghost-write your amateur literary efforts?"
"It is laid in the period of your history called the Renaissance," I
continued, "and deals with a young man of a noble but impoverished
house who rose to power by cleverness, amorality and skill with the
sword."
"I suppose the girl is the daughter of the local duke."
"No," I said, "she is the favorite wife of a Saracen corsair."
"Well, that's a switch," Donald said. "Tell me more."
So I did. I outlined the opening and told him the major points of
the whole story ... as the computer had synthesized it out of seven
excellent novels of the period and a four-volume set of Renaissance
history.
Donald was enthralled. "You're right," he said. "It will sell. It's
lousy literature, but it's got appeal. With this story and my writing
we can out-Spillane Mickey." He was more enthusiastic than I had ever
seen him appear before.
"Who is Spillane?" I asked.
Donald looked at me as though he thought I was crazy and shook his
head. "I can get to work on it as soon as I get home," Donald said.
"And if I keep at it, it'll be ready for mailing in a couple of weeks.
I'll get it off to my agent and we'll see. I hate to admit it, but I
think you're right about the yarn. It should sell like hotcakes."
"That is fine. It should provide us with the medium of exchange, which
is necessary in this society."
"It's not necessary," Donald grinned. "It's essential."
V
Donald's prediction was a good one. The book sold--and sold well.
Despite the outright plagiarism of ideas and source material it was
hailed as a new novel--one that stimulated thought with its realistic
approach to the life of the times. And we prospered amazingly.
With the advance money, I had Donald buy the land on which the ship
was resting, together with the valley and rimrock. Having thus secured
our landing site I felt a bit more comfortable. The comfort was even
greater when, at Donald's suggestion, a fence was placed around the
property and electronic tell-tales were installed. The remainder of the
royalties were used to purchase tin and supplies.
But despite our prosperity and the regular supply of tin that came to
me as a result of my adventure in fiction, and the certainty that Ven
and I would be leaving, Donald was not happy.
As a successful new author he had to travel to meetings in various
cities. He had to speak at public gatherings. He had to meet with
publishers eager to receive rights to his next book. And Edith did not
go with him.
Ven was adamant on this point. "It's bad enough that she is working
on this motion picture," she said, "but I'm not going to have her
traveling all over the face of this planet. She's the only amusement I
have since we must stay cooped up in this place. I'm not going to let
her go."
Donald was upset about it. He was so angry that he came to visit me
voluntarily, and the sight of Edith's little car parked under the trees
below the ship infuriated him even more. It took the controller to make
him keep his distance as he stood in front of the airlock and hated me.
"Damn you!" he swore. "You can't do this to me! Edith's my wife and I
don't like this relationship between her and that--that _dinosaur_! It
isn't healthy."
"It's out of my hands," I said. "Edith is Ven's responsibility."
"It's not only that," he raged. "Ever since you lizards butted into our
lives Edith looks at me like I was a stranger." His face twisted. "I'll
admit she has her reasons. But that gives her no call to ask Ven's
advice rather than mine. When I told her I wanted her to come with me,
the first thing she said was that she'd ask Ven. She doesn't do one
damn thing without that cold-blooded little monster's consent! She even
asks advice on what clothes she should wear!" He laughed harshly. "The
blind asking advice from the blind!"
* * * * *
I couldn't help chuckling. Ven, like all Thalassans, had never worn
anything in her life except a utility belt. Clothing has never been a
feature of our culture. Since it isn't necessary on Thalassa, it was
never developed, and since our sex impulses are periodic it has never
been useful to attract either males or females. "I can see your point,"
I said. "Ven's ideas along that line would be zero."
"Not quite," Donald said angrily. "She likes moccasins. Apparently they
make feet look more like your pads."
"Well?"
"But that's it! Edith's idea of what a well-dressed housewife should
wear is--_moccasins_! She damn near caused a riot the other day when
our TV repairman called to fix the set. We'll be lucky if we're not
forced to move because of that little incident!"
"I'll speak to Ven," I said. "And if that doesn't work, I'll insert
a block against such a thing happening again. I don't want special
attention called to you. That sort of thing will stop right now."
"Thanks," Donald said. "But I should be the one to stop it."
"Face it," I replied, "you aren't. Not now. But you will be once we're
gone."
"Which can't be too soon to suit me," he said. "I spend every spare
moment collecting tin for you. Edie doesn't. She _wants_ Ven to stay."
"They seem to be happy with each other. Edith comes up here regularly."
"I know," he said bitterly. "She's here more often than she's home. I
can't see what fun she gets out of running around these hills stripped
to the skin carrying your mate on her shoulders."
"I wouldn't know," I said. "Certainly you never seem to enjoy
performing that service for me."
"I don't even like the thought of it. I'm not an animal, after all."
"But you are," I said. "So am I. The only difference is that I am a
superior animal and you, being inferior, conform to my wishes. It is a
law of nature that the superior type will inevitably rule. The inferior
either conforms or dies. And you have no desire to die."
He shook his head. "But I can still object," he said.
"At that?" I asked pointing across the meadow with a primary digit.
Edith was running, her long yellow hair floating free behind her.
Ven, high on her shoulders in a seat the two of them had contrived,
waved gaily at us as they came up. Edith was flushed and laughing. Her
eyes sparkled and her smooth bronze body gleamed in the sunlight. She
lowered Ven to the ground, slipped the harness off her smooth shoulders
and stood behind my mate, breathing deeply but not at all distressed.
* * * * *
"Oh, Donald!" she said. "We had a wonderful climb--clear up to the top
of the ridge! And coming down was almost like flying! I'll tell you all
about it in a minute, right after I take a dip in the pool. Ven doesn't
like it when I sweat." She turned and ran down to the little pool in
the meadow.
"See what I mean!" Donald gritted.
"She seems happy. She's not hurt. And Ven's little weight doesn't seem
to bother her. What are you complaining about?"
Donald growled something unintelligible, turned on his heel and walked
away.
I let him go. There was no sense in making him angrier than he was.
After a moment the snarl of his car's engine rose to a crescendo then
faded away into the distance.
A few minutes later Edith came back to the ship. "Why did Don leave?"
she asked.
"Perhaps he had something to do," Ven said.
She pouted. "He's always so busy nowadays," she said sulkily. "He isn't
nice like he used to be. Do you think he's tired of me?"
"No, I don't think so. He just doesn't like you spending so much time
up here," I said.
"But it's fun--and Ven likes it," she said. "I like it too. And since
he isn't home much any more, it's the only place where I can relax and
be myself." She brushed the drops of water from her body and shook out
her damp hair. "It's wonderful up here--so quiet and peaceful--and
Ven's so nice."
My mate's aura glowed a pleased pink as I turned an embarrassed
lavender. It was almost criminal, I thought, what Ven had done to
the girl. Donald might be my servant, but I had never attempted to
condition him into liking it. As much as possible we operated as
equals, rather than in this sickening relationship which Ven had
imposed upon Edith. To avoid showing my displeasure I went up to the
control room, donned my helmet and went into rapport with Donald.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I hadn't realized the true situation. The best
thing for both of us is for Ven and me to leave as quickly as possible."
"How quick is that?" he shot back angrily.
"Four thousand pounds more," I said.
"Whew! That can must drink tin."
"It takes a great deal to leave a planet," I said. "And hyperspace
demands a great deal more. Once we develop an inertialess drive it will
be easier. But we've only been working on it a thousand years. These
things take time."
"I imagine. Well, are you going to do anything about Edith?"
"No," I said. "It would only make things worse. The relationship has
gone too far. Ven has become an Authority-image."
"You could break it."
"But I won't. I'm fond of Ven."
"You're a damned little tyrant," Donald said. "You like to see a human
squirm."
* * * * *
"Be thankful that I'm the worst tyrant you'll see," I answered sharply.
"You could really learn about them if the Slaads knew you existed.
They're more advanced than you. And, unlike us, they're warlike and
predatory. They breed mammals for food. However, I'll put up a marker
on your moon before I leave. They respect Thalassa and won't preempt
our claims."
"You mean you're going to lay claim to Earth?"
"Only technically. We'll exercise it only if the Governing Council
decides it will be to our advantage."
"What would you do if you took over?" Don asked curiously.
"Clean things up," I said. "Stop wars, stabilize the population,
increase production and distribution, give you an effective central
government and an understandable legal code, and eliminate the unfit.
In three generations you'd be Class VI all over your planet."
"It sounds good. What's the catch."
"The catch," I said, "is that you wouldn't like it. You mammals are
erratic, emotional and uncontrolled. You do not reason well, and you
have no race discipline."
"What's that?"
"The capability of sacrificing units for the benefit of the whole.
Eugenics control, culling the unfit."
"You're talking about human beings!" Donald exploded.
"And what makes a human being different from any other animal?" I
asked. "Would you hesitate to dispose of an animal that was unfit to
breed?"