_The Pied Piper who had promised them
Paradise and led them across half the
universe had changed his tune. But this
time it was the Piper who had to pay...._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Ruth was standing at the vast window of the spaceport, her body taut
and eager, the luggage piled high around her. When Harvey Flanders came
out of the ship carrying the last two suitcases, she darted to him.
"Harvey, it's a dream--it's heavenly!" she cried, catching hold of his
arm. "Did you imagine--did you possibly ever imagine it would be like
this?"
Harvey's eyes followed the sweep of his wife's hand, out at the
dazzling expanse of fields and orchards, green and gold under this
magnificent sun. The fantastic vegetation stretched in lush undulations
to a distant purple horizon, the sweep broken only by the brown streaks
of roads, the winding ribbons of sapphire-tinted water, and, here and
there, the pastel pink and blue roofs of the settlers' houses.
Exultation filled his chest. He fought it down, deliberately, grimly.
"There were places on Earth that were like this before the blight came.
California ... Florida ... looked like this."
"Like this?" Ruth exclaimed. "Harvey! Look at those giant fruit trees.
Look at them."
Harvey caught her shoulder in a tight grip. "Honey, we just can't
let ourselves go overboard till we're sure everything's okay," he
said quietly. "We've had our hopes built up and slapped down so many
times." He looked down into her brown eyes. "Kitten, do you remember
the time old man Reeber came climbing over the fence, yelling that the
blight was going, it was moving off his cornfield, and we believed, we
actually believed some miracle had happened, and we went chasing after
him and found it was just a sunbeam breaking through a cloud bank. What
a mirage that was!"
"Harvey," Ruth said softly, "do you really think that this"--her hand
traced the horizon--"is a mirage?"
"I want to get a closer look, honey--I want to feel it and taste
it before I believe it," he said. But when he glanced again at the
landscape, his breath quickened and a tingle rode over his skin. "No,
honey," he said quickly, "I don't think it's a mirage. I think it's
what we've been dreaming about a long, long time."
Ruth gave a relieved cry and flung her arms around him. He held her,
patting her gently. "Now take it easy," he said.
She looked up abruptly, her eyes wet. "The first thing, you've got to
get some color back," she said fiercely. "You've gotten so awfully
pale!"
"And you're lovelier than ever," he said, running a hand along her
cheek. "Now let's get moving before they put us back on the ship and
send us home for being slow-pokes."
She pounced down on a big, leather-thonged trunk. He pushed her aside.
"Half pint, you take the little ones."
Together they loaded their baggage on the red four-wheeled cart. Most
of the other immigrants had already loaded their luggage and now
stood beside the carts, each couple a little island of chatter and
excitement. Next to Harvey and Ruth were Dr. Norbert Lurie and his
wife Edna, both spectacled, scholarly, and too thin; both earnest,
conscientious, and eager to help; rather boring company on a ten-month
space voyage, but very comforting to have as neighbors in a strange
land. After them came the Schweitzer twins, husky, blond, pink-faced
youths, each with his little china-doll wife. Beyond them stood big,
red-headed Jim Brace and his slim brunette wife, Nancy. Brace was
heaving the last of his trunks onto his cart, his biceps bulging
awesomely.
"Real pioneer stock, this Red Brace," Harvey said. "Shame there are no
Indians around--he'd have been a good man to have around in a scrap."
Ruth's eyes crinkled in puzzled thought. "Harvey, weren't there any
people here at all?"
"Nope. Not a soul. Not till the good gray colonel stepped out of his
ship onto one of these golden hills, about fifteen years ago."
"It seems incredible," Ruth whispered.
"Hey, fellows," came the booming voice of big Red Brace, but it was
promptly lost in the roar of a loudspeaker:
"Attention! Everyone will please assemble in the main reception room.
Follow the red arrows down the ramp to the green doors. Please fill up
all the front seats. Colonel Baker will address you. Leave your baggage
where it is. Everybody now--follow the red arrows."
Excited, high-hearted talk frothed up from the immigrants as they moved
down the ramp. After being confined for ten months in the narrow,
dreadfully sound-proofed rooms and corridors of the spaceship, every
sound, every bit of motion was an intense delight.
* * * * *
Green doors opened on a long, low-ceilinged room with paneled wooden
walls painted in mottled green and gold. Large windows threw shafts
of light across the rows of rough-hewn benches. The babble of voices
swelled around them, grew louder and more excited as the minutes
passed. Then abruptly the voices in the front of the auditorium
quieted, and silence flooded backward. Heads began to turn to the
right side of the stage where something seemed to be happening in the
wing--and then, at last, Colonel Martin E. Baker came into sight and
walked slowly to the center of the stage.
He stood there smiling, a middle-sized man in a light brown suit, with
a friendly bulge in the abdomen, and small, neat feet. His cheeks were
round and sunburned; his hair was brilliantly white, though thinning at
the temples and the back of his skull. He held a lemon-colored cane in
front of him and leaned on it slightly.
"Well," he said, a concealed microphone carrying his voice through the
auditorium, "what do you think?"
The immigrants seated before him answered with delighted laughter which
merged into a wave of handclapping. When the noise died down, Colonel
Baker said, in a low voice, "That's all I want to hear."
He nodded, looking thoughtful. "This is the moment I always wait
for--the moment when the settlers get off the ship and verify for
themselves all the things I told them. You see, my friends, when I go
on my lecture tours around the Earth, the scepticism I run into makes
me feel like a very lonely man. I tell my story--about a place where
things grow five to seven times as big as anything Earth ever saw in
her best days, a place where one gets three or four harvests in what
would be a single growing season on Earth--I tell the story and find
that quite a lot of people don't believe it. But fortunately, here and
there I meet people who can respond to a vision--people brave enough to
rip up their stakes and take a journey across the oceans of space. And
what I wait for is to see their faces and hear their voices when they
reach these shores and learn that everything is true--everything--just
as I told it."
There was another burst of handclapping. Red Brace put two fingers to
his lips and produced a deafening whistle, prolonging it until his wife
yanked his hand away from his mouth.
"You can imagine," Colonel Baker went on in his mellow, vibrant
voice--"you can imagine, my friends, what my feelings were when I
stepped out of the spaceship Explorer and set foot on this incredible
planet for the first time." His eyes fixed themselves on a distant
point above the heads of his audience. "Here, I said to myself--here
is Paradise. The blight on Earth was already becoming acute--and
here suddenly I was in a land richer than anything man has ever seen
since he left the Garden of Eden. I still remember the thrill I felt
when I squeezed this magic loam between my fingers. I could scarcely
wait out the return trip to Earth so I could bring back here the
seeds and cuttings of our edible plants. What happened after that is
history. Peaches, pears, apples, all producing abundantly in their
first season. Oranges the size of melons. Vegetables big enough for
giants.... Of course, it wasn't economically feasible to send this
produce to Earth--although one of these days I think it will be. As the
blight gets worse people will get so sick of subsisting on dehydrated
plankton they will be willing to pay the enormous transportation costs
to get our fruits and vegetables. But meanwhile, by the greatest
good fortune, an economic base for our agriculture did develop with
the discovery of radioactive minerals on our neighboring planet. It's
a perfect arrangement: we feed the miners, and they pay us with the
earnings from their mines. Two planets, floating side by side in space,
each supplying what the other needs--it seems too perfect to be a mere
coincidence. You feel there must be some providence, some mysterious
intellect that planned it this way." He paused. A smile softened his
face. "I guess I've talked long enough. I'm delighted to see you all
here, safe and happy. You are the twenty-third group to arrive since
we opened this planet. Soon the ship will leave for the long voyage to
Earth to pick up the twenty-fourth contingent, most of whom are already
signed up. My associate, Mr. Carsing, will take over now and fill you
in on some of the things you'll want to know. Meanwhile, I want to say:
Welcome to Paradise. If you ever have any problems of any kind, let me
hear from you. Good luck!"
Applause rolled after him as he walked slowly off stage. Almost
immediately, a tall, thin man in a gray suit walked to the center of
the stage. He carried a sheaf of papers. His movements were quick and
nervous. His scalp was naked except for ragged patches of hair above
his ears. His skin shone sallowly in the light from the windows. "I
will now read the assignment of subdivisions," he said. "Please listen
carefully and make a note of your location." His voice had a harsh
edge of shrillness.
Ruth looked at Harvey and wrinkled her nose. "I don't like him as much
as Colonel Baker," she said.
Carsing read off the names, designating a number and letter for each.
Harvey and Ruth Flanders were assigned to area 189D. The numbers for
the Luries and the Schweitzers followed closely, but the Braces weren't
reached until the 200's. "Hey," growled Red Brace, "don't take me away
from my buddies."
"All marketing of crops will be handled by our central office," Carsing
said. "All your shipments will be listed in a credit account, against
which all your charges will be debited. For bookkeeping convenience,
settlement will be made once a year." His papers moved restlessly in
his hands. "The guides are waiting to take you to your homesteads. You
will now return to your luggage and finish loading it on the carts.
After that, you are to go to the main door, where you will receive
your oxygen packs, and then you are to assemble outside. Are there any
questions?"
"Yeh!" called out Red Brace, jumping to his feet. "I don't like the
location you gave me. How do I get it changed?"
Carsing scowled. "How do you know you don't like it before you have
even seen it?"
"I know. It's not near my friends."
"Write an application for a change. If there are no further
questions--"
"Question!" Harvey was on his feet. "What's this you said about oxygen
packs?"
"I said they'd be issued at the main door. Anything else?"
"Why--why do we need oxygen packs?"
"To breathe," Carsing said sourly. "I should think that would be
obvious."
"You mean ..." Harvey's heart pounded. "You mean there's no oxygen out
there?"
"The oxygen content of our atmosphere is seven percent," Carsing said,
his voice falling to a weary monotone. "Seven percent is equivalent to
the oxygen content you find when you travel 27,000 feet above Earth.
You know you can't exist at 27,000 feet unless you have an artificial
supply of oxygen. Very well. The same condition applies here--on
the ground. You will wear your oxygen packs at all times. The only
exception is this building. We have oxygen pumped into it."
"What's this all about?" shouted Red Brace. "Are you kidding us or
something?"
Carsing's mouth formed a crumpled smile. "If you think I'm joking you
can take a walk outside and see." He turned his eyes away from Brace.
"The packs are small and light. The outlet cup covers only the nose.
There is no interference with speech. You can thank Colonel Baker for
sponsoring the research that produced these lightweight packs."
"Thank him for what?" said Harvey hoarsely. "Why didn't he tell us
before he signed us up?"
A clamor of supporting voices rose around him. Other immigrants leaped
to their feet, trying to make themselves heard. Red Brace was bellowing
something unintelligible. His wife added her indignant contralto.
Carsing shouted, "Quiet!" and then gave up and stood there, scowling.
* * * * *
Out in the wing, on a small straight-backed chair, sat Colonel Martin
E. Baker, his eyes half closed, his hands folded against his belly,
as he listened to the angry tumult. This always happened. It was an
unpleasantness he could count on with the arrival of every new group
of homesteaders. In an instant everybody had forgotten that he had
rescued them from a miserable existence on a blighted Earth. There
was no thought of gratitude to him for finding this fabulous place
and developing it and bringing them here. No--the only thing in their
grubby minds was the thought of the oxygen pack they would have to
wear, to save themselves from quick death. Of course, they gave no
thought to the money and effort he had expended to develop this pack,
this neat little lightweight marvel. By the time he had this perfected
and had worked out all the other details involved in colonizing this
place, he had spent a fortune, he was practically broke. Sometimes he
found it hard to maintain a feeling of calm and good will. If he wanted
to let himself go, it would be so easy to become a bitter, misanthropic
old man. But there would be no sense in that. These people were young
and thoughtless, the victims of their own impulsiveness, and what the
situation called for was patience, understanding, and forgiveness.
Martin Baker let out a long sigh and heaved his round body out of his
chair. He walked slowly toward the confused jumble of voices. He knew,
even without distinguishing the sounds, that they were demanding that
he appear. Baker ran a hand over his clothes to make sure they were in
order, put on a broad and gentle smile, and stepped out on the stage.
He waited until the clamor quieted, and then he said, "I'm here to
answer any questions."
Half a dozen of the homesteaders tried to talk at once. Baker smiled
understandingly and held up his hand. "One at a time, please--every one
will have his chance."
"What kind of a deal is this?" a voice bellowed from the rear. Baker
recognized the big red-headed man, Brace. A bold, adventuresome man,
handsome and powerfully built, but, alas, so very stupid. He would
make a lot of noise, Baker knew, but actually he wouldn't be any real
trouble.
"And what, may I ask, is the cause of your dissatisfaction?" Baker
inquired.
"How come we travel all the way out here and find out we've got to wear
oxygen masks?"
Baker shook his head, smiling gently. "Not really masks, my friend.
They cover only the end of your nose. They're marvelously comfortable,
as you'll soon see. In a few days you won't even be aware you're
wearing them."
"Like hell," Brace growled. "I'll know I'm wearing it."
Baker shrugged affably, and then gestured invitingly to the long, thin,
somber looking man who stood with his hand up, not far from Brace. This
was Lurie, the biology professor, a nice, harmless Ph.D.
"What's wrong with the atmosphere?" Lurie said. "Why is an artificial
supply of oxygen necessary?"
"The answer is very simple," Baker said. "This is a young planet, as
planets go. The conditions here are just about what they were on Earth
eons ago. The carbon dioxide exhaled from the interior of the planet
and saturating the atmosphere is gradually being converted by the
plant life--broken down, I should say, releasing free oxygen. At the
present time, our oxygen content is about seven percent. Eventually,
the oxygen will probably reach the level you find on the surface of the
Earth--about twenty-one percent. But that should take a long time; I'm
afraid none of us will be around when that point is reached. Meanwhile,
our plants luxuriate in an atmosphere rich in carbon dioxide. Plants,
as you know, use carbon dioxide for their most essential life
process--photosynthesis. But I'm sure Professor Lurie can tell you much
more about that than I can."
Lurie blinked embarrassedly, and looked aside at his wife, and smiled
shyly.
"Mr. Baker!" another voice broke in.
This speaker, Baker recognized, was Harvey Flanders, definitely a
dangerous type. He was a brooder; he had a slow, relentless fire in his
eyes. Baker had been doubtful about him from the start; he'd had half a
mind to reject his application. But as things happened, the passenger
list was one couple short and so, at the last moment, he had taken
Flanders and his wife. Was he going to have reason to regret what he'd
done?
"How do you propose to make up for this fraud you've put over on us?"
Flanders was saying.
"I'm sorry," Baker said. "Did you say fraud?"
"Fraud," Harvey repeated bitterly.
"That's a harsh word, my friend. What are you referring to?"
"Dammit, those glowing talks you gave us--"
"And isn't everything I told you true? Go out, I beg of you, and point
out to me a single instance where I've exaggerated."
"But the oxygen--"
"I made no statement about oxygen," Baker said firmly. "I'm sure
everyone here will corroborate that. Did I make any false claims about
the atmosphere? Did I, now? No, my friend, if you will think back you
will find that I said nothing about the atmosphere."
"But that's what I mean," Harvey said, his voice rising in exasperation.
"My good friend," Baker said gently, "if you were describing a
beautiful woman, would you bother to mention that she had a mole on the
sole of her foot?"
"But this is something basic."
"What seems basic to one person may seem merely incidental to another.
Every man to his own opinion--and I assure you, my friend, you have a
perfect right to yours. If you feel you were misled, then I am deeply
and humbly sorry. If you don't like it here, if you think you can find
something better--"
"You goddamned phony, you know once you've got us here, we're at your
mercy!"
Baker smiled forgivingly. "Mercy. There, my friend, is a word I
much prefer to that other one you used a while ago. Mercy, charity,
forbearance.... My friends, we are all here together--let us try to
live in true fellowship and to make the most of what has been given
us. I can think of nothing more tragic than to start this great
adventure on a note of strife and suspicion. I hope rather that we all
go forward with hearts full of trust--trust in the future, and trust
in each other." His voice rose--his eyes again fixed themselves on a
point above the heads of his audience. "If we work together, if we keep
our eyes on the distant horizon, and ignore the advocates of spite,
the petty minds that spin their miserable webs in the dark, I am sure
we can all look forward to a bright and glowing future. We stand, my
friends, on the threshold of a brave new world. Let us all go forward
with hope and faith. Under such banners, I know we cannot fail."
Slowly, Martin Baker walked off the stage. Harvey looked around
helplessly at the faces of his fellow-voyagers who were staring at the
stage in half-dazed fascination. "Look, we're not going to let him get
away with this," he pleaded. "This is exactly the way he talked us into
signing up."
Harvey got some irritated looks in return. "Hell, we're here, ain't
we?" somebody growled.
"Harvey," Dr. Lurie said, "I'd suggest we avoid conclusions until we've
given this a fair trial."
A murmured chorus of approval rose around him. At that moment, Carsing
reappeared on the stage. "All right, everybody," he said briskly, "go
back and finish loading up, and pick up your oxygen packs. Everybody's
eager to see their homesteads, so let's not anybody hold us up. Let's
go." With a surge of relief, the homesteaders flowed down the aisles to
the exits.
* * * * *
The oxygen packs turned out to be, in fact, wonderfully comfortable. A
small outlet cup fitted over the nose with no more pressure than a pair
of spectacles. Two narrow tubes curved over the shoulders and ended in
a small pack weighing about two pounds, most of that being the weight
of a replaceable metal capsule. There was no interference with speech.
"You see," Ruth laughed tremulously--"you see, it actually improves
your appearance." She grimaced at Harvey. "All right, sourpuss, you can
smile, can't you?"
The air outside was soft and golden, laced with a cool, gentle wind.
The excited voices of the homesteaders rang with startling clarity.
They looked with delight at each other, and called out at each other,
and laughed, not knowing exactly why.
"Don't seem anything wrong with this air," said Red Brace. "Feels like
any other air. I wonder if the old bird was kidding us."
One of the Schweitzer twins gave a laugh. "There's one way to find
out," he said, and yanked the outlet cup off his nose. He inhaled
deeply, smiling. "Look, Ma, I'm breathing," he laughed. He took deep,
gulping breaths. He did a somersault. He pounded his chest. "It's all
a matter of lungs," he said. "If you don't have lungs, well, you just
can't manage it, that's all...."
He chattered on--and then, abruptly, his eyes took on a startled look.
He began to breathe more rapidly. His breathing became labored. He
fumbled for the outlet cup. He raised it to his nose--it slipped out of
his now frantic hands--
Harvey and Dr. Lurie grabbed him as he wavered, and fitted the outlet
cup back over his nose. The youth stood there with trembling knees.
"Sit down, kid," Harvey said. "Relax--you'll be all right."
The settlers stood in a stricken silence. They had been fully informed
of the situation, they knew precisely what would happen, yet seeing
it demonstrated this way was an appalling thing. They could see now,
graphically, the precarious condition of their existence.
There was no more shouting. There was little they had to say to each
other now.
Carsing came out of the building. He was instantly recognizable,
despite the cup over his nose. With his nervous, jerky steps, he walked
to a low platform and held up his hand. With him were two men, both
gray-haired and darkly tanned.
"These are your guides," Carsing announced. "Go get your carts and move
out."
"Hey!" shouted Red Brace. "What pulls these carts?"
"You do," Carsing said coldly.
"You mean there aren't any horses--or trucks?"
Carsing's mouth twisted. "No--no horses or trucks. Or tractors or
washing machines. You'd better make up your minds to that right now.
Transporting any large mechanical equipment all the way out here would
be impossibly expensive. Outside of the few small devices we absolutely
had to have, we've imported nothing. So please don't come complaining
to me. From now on, you'll have to learn to improvise with native
materials. All right"--he gestured to the two men who stood drooping
behind him, as if leaning on invisible poles--"get them out and get
going."
Carsing left the platform and went back into the building. For a
moment, there was no motion among the settlers. Then several started
maneuvering the heavily loaded carts, the men embarrassedly accepting
the assistance of their wives.
The two guides waited, still leaning on their phantom supports, talking
softly, hardly looking at the settlers. When all the carts were lined
up in a straggling column, the two guides ambled to the road that led
away from the spaceport. They paused and looked back briefly with worn
eyes. Then with a motion that was more a shrug than a gesture, they
started up the brown dirt road.
Harvey looked at Ruth. Her face was taut. All around him the settlers
were silent, except for labored breathing or a hurried warning as the
wagon wheels reached a rut or a rock. Reality had flooded over them
with abrupt and dismaying force. The sky was still bright, the fields
were still gloriously golden but the radiance seemed to have gone out
of their paradise.
Harvey put an arm around Ruth's slim shoulders. Strangely, as spirits
sank around him, his rose. Now his vague forebodings had become
clarified; now he knew what the reality was, he knew what he had to
cope with.
"They get a ship here from Earth every two years," he said to her.
"We'll work hard and save our money, and if we find we can't stand it,
we'll just pack up and go home."