"The natives of Hume couldn't reproduce in any manner. Naturally, I
wanted to know why. And the answer came to me--protective coloration
... camouflage!"
"Apparent. Camouflage for what?"
"You've heard the expression, if you can't lick 'em, join 'em...?"
"Sure, but...."
"But suppose you can't join 'em, either?" Rowley laughed, excitedly.
"You make like something they want to protect!... Know anything about
dryads, Commander?"
Spliid snorted. "Supernatural creatures that live in trees? Dryads
don't exist!"
"Neither do the people of Hume."
Spliid looked at him in such a way Rowley felt his sanity was being
weighed.
* * * * *
"Suppose you were a native of Hume, and some alien beings came along.
You could read their minds. You'd know right off they wouldn't
recognize you as a life-form like themselves. They might move right in
and destroy you without knowing it, and you would be unable to defend
yourself. That was actually the situation on Hume, and we were the
aliens. So the natives pretended they were a type of life-form we want
to protect."
"How was it done?" Spliid wanted to know.
"Mental projection. After the directors of the play read our minds,
they tried to reproduce what they found there. They slipped on the
points I mentioned, because those things meant little or nothing to
them. But they were enough to rob the play of its semblance of reality.
"Tsu, Smarin, Torl ... even the village itself ... were all
imaginary--not something we _thought_ we saw, but solidified mental
projections of the thoughts the natives had gleaned from our minds."
"I'm just beginning to see the real value of your talents, Cliff."
"Thanks," Rowley acknowledged briefly. "If _we_ have the right to
exclude inferior cultures from contact with us, a superior culture must
certainly have an equal right to exclude us from contact with theirs."
Spliid wagged his head, half smiling. His pipe had gone out and he
puffed at it without effect.
"I've been waiting for you to tell me who these 'directors' are," he
said.
Rowley grinned. "You won't believe this. The directors needed something
to keep their play actors busy ... some logical occupation of their
time. What could they find more logical--to them--than taking care of
trees? Because the directors themselves are the trees--the living,
intelligent forest of Hume. Fantastic, isn't it?"
Spliid sighed as if deeply gratified.
"If it weren't for one thing even more so, I'd say it was the most
fantastic thing I ever heard of."
"What's more fantastic than intelligent trees?"
"Human beings," said Spliid.