"Drive them off, _nothing_! They're nomads, and they'd be back sooner or
later. There will always be people in the colony willing to deal with
them secretly, and the natives are clever enough to circumvent any
discipline I aim against them."
"What else can you do, short of--genocide?"
"Why rule out genocide? Sam, face it! Race extermination is the only
permanent and satisfactory solution."
The thought was abhorrent to me, but he argued, "If we don't eliminate
them entirely they'll always be around to plague us. Just picture what
this or any future colony would look like after a year or two of
uninhibited mingling and loafing and swilling down that tala. Is that
the civilization that Earth sent us out here to establish?"
In every part of the universe where living conditions have been too kind
and discipline too lax, men have been known to _go native_, and suddenly
I felt that Benson had been much more acute in his apprehensions than I,
a graduate psychologist who was supposed to understand human nature.
Somewhat subdued I said, "How do you plan to accomplish a complete
extermination? If we start hunting them down they'll just fade into the
woods. Besides, you'd have a devil of a time getting agreement among our
people to take on such a messy project."
"It has to be done, that's all. I want you to keep completely quiet
about what we've learned until I can think about it. Bromley should have
some ideas. He's a biologist."
When Benson said, "biologist", the obvious solution popped into my head.
"If we could sterilize them--all the males, anyway--they have such a
short life-span--"
"Too slow. Besides, how are you going to coax all the males to lie down
and--" His eyes opened wider, "Radiation!"
"Exactly. We take them for a tour of the ship, including the X-ray
booth, and pour on the power."
"Might be done at that. But it would be so slow."
* * * * *
Slow or not, no better plan was conceived among six of us who met
secretly that night in Benson's new ship quarters. Donnegan brought his
fellow biologist, Terrence Frost, and I had contacted the two medics. We
reached swift agreement as to the necessity of taking steps, and decided
to work on my rough plan. It was also voted not to divulge our
intentions to the others, and then the meeting broke up.
When I returned to my hut, Jane was sitting cross-legged just outside my
door visiting with Susan. I thought she would be curious about the
confidential nature of the meeting from which she was excluded, but she
had other things on her mind. She stood up and said, "I think your
patient is recovered, and you've got a problem, mister." She stalked off
into the night.
I looked at Sue's pink face and half-guessed the answer before she told
me. It seemed that Joe had suddenly developed amorous inclinations. Sue
had the habit of stroking his head like a pet dog, and this evening,
without warning, Joe had begun returning the caresses in a manner so
casual and gentle that Sue hadn't noticed the trend.
From a more objective viewpoint, however, Jane had observed the rather
unplatonic indications of Joe's attitude and mortified Sue by drawing
her attention to it with an acid remark.
In my fury I fancied that Joe had tried to take advantage of my absence.
His cleverness in avoiding such advances in my presence was nullified by
his error of assuming that Jane would pose no obstacle.
At present he sprawled in his corner beside an empty mango skin,
breathing rapidly, innocently asleep. The incident served to drive home
Donnegan's story and steel me against the many twinges of conscience I
was to suffer in our campaign to wipe out Joe's race.
It also served as an adequate excuse, in Sue's eyes, when I told Joe the
next morning that he was quite well enough to return to the forest. This
was a fact we both had known for over a week, but Joe in his indolent
way, had been quite content to remain and talk with me endlessly. Until
now, I had welcomed his presence as an inexhaustible source of
information.
He accepted the dismissal without rancor and promised to return and
visit us next spring.
"Next spring?" I said.
"We will leave soon," he said. "We go south in the autumn."
"Wait," I said. And I told him that as a gesture of friendship we had
decided to take all males of his race for a tour through the ship. Would
he take this word to his people?
He said he would, but his face became very thoughtful.
That afternoon they formed a short line at the ramp, and the "tours"
began. The line was short because they refused to wait long for
anything, but as the line shortened, others came from the woods to take
their places. To produce a favorable "press" on our show and thus assure
perfect attendance by _all_ the males, Benson rigged several mechanical
displays of flashing lights and whirling devices.
They were delighted, and when they got to the X-ray booth, to induce
them to stand still we set up a gas torch with a beautiful, vermilion,
strontium flame. The only problem at this point was to get them to move
on after they got their painless dose of sterilizing radiation.
Every tenth "golden boy" was shunted into a small chamber filled with
_orgon_, the instant anaesthetizing gas, and Dr. Sorenson, wearing an
oxygen mask, would catch him as he fell, take his specimen, hand it
through a slot to Dr. Bailey and then drag the unsuspecting victim into
the fresh air where the nurses took over with more wonders to distract
his attention.
This running spot-check on the collected semen samples assured us that
our radiation was effectively destroying the spermatozoa.
I sat at my old place at the base of the ramp, weeding out the
occasional females who tried to sneak in and also checking to see that
we had no repeats.
Our method was simplicity itself. As each native finished our tour an
attendant atomized a faint but very permanent stain of waterproof dye on
the hair of the right shoulder blade. It was hardly noticeable unless
you were looking for it, and that was one of my jobs.
In two days we "toured" 481 males.
A week later the night rains began, and our unwelcomed neighbors
vanished.
* * * * *
Benson had postponed his little lecture deliberately, and now he called
us all together for a fatherly talk which I helped him prepare. He began
abruptly.
"Since nature has been so bountiful in providing us with tala, I don't
intend to proclaim any silly prohibition regarding its consumption. With
a little reflection, however, I hope that all of you can understand that
we must have some control. I am fully aware that many of you arranged
your own private channels for obtaining this liquor, but with the
departure of our tree-climbing friends the easy source has dried up.
"Now, to prevent some of you from breaking your fool necks trying to
climb the trees yourselves, I propose that we place tala in the
commissary as a normal ration to be issued equitably to all--when it is
available. And working together, our clearing parties will, no doubt,
fell enough mango trees to give us all a fair taste."
Benson's unexpected tolerance and remarkable proposal was received with
mixed embarrassment, relief and enthusiasm. He went on, "We have enjoyed
almost two months of rather unrestrained partying, and I'm not going to
rail at you for some of the illicit behaviour that came to my attention.
So far the intimacies which some of you took with the natives have
produced no epidemics nor bastard offspring on either side. However,
were I to accept your actions as typical of the future, I would consider
our colony doomed already and write off this planet as unfit for further
investment by Earth civilization.
"Instead, I feel you will, during the winter months, regain your
perspective and apply yourself to the principles which brought us here
and must continue to bind us together if we are to survive as a
permanent culture."
Benson's speech had the desired effect. Without the little people around
to distract us, the colonists plunged into their work, and things got
done. True, a rather disproportionate number of logs brought in by the
falling crews turned out to be mango-wood, but the tala-rationing
program added incentive precisely where it was needed. The perimeter of
our clearing advanced rapidly, the cultivating and planting parties
followed closely behind, and the sawmill added an industrious sound to
the whole operation.
As Benson had hoped, when the people buckled down they once again began
yearning for the conveniences they had left on earth. The chemists
finally contrived suitable raw materials for the plasticizer and began
manufacturing screens for our gaping windows, much-needed pipe for our
water and sewage systems and even a few "frivolous" luxuries such as
cups, saucers and fruit bowls. The commissary and other public buildings
were planked out roughly, and the hospital-clinic was completed before
the first two babies arrived.
The history-making blessed event was an honor and an onus to Captain
Spooner and his young wife. To father the first human offspring on
Sirius XXII was the fond hope of many of us, but Spooner and the Second
Officer had something over a light-year head-start on the rest of us.
Infant Spooner arrived just 5-1/2 months after our landing. The Mate's
baby came two weeks later. Sue herself was satisfyingly pregnant. By
spring it was obvious that Earth's gynecologists had chosen the members
of our colony well, and there would be no dearth of young blood. Fully a
third of the women were expecting, and Sue's date indicated she would
have won the derby if it hadn't been for the ship's officers' perfidy.
The colony as a whole was in good shape. As the most pressing work was
disposed of, the men took turns at the pleasant hunting details, and we
began enjoying fresh meat from the small game of the forest.
On one such trip I brought back a live little animal that looked like a
cross between a three-toed sloth and a teddy bear, except that he had a
long, woofly snout like an ant-eater. He seemed to be hibernating in the
crotch of a small tree, and when I shook him down he cuddled up and
clung to my neck so lovingly that I decided he'd make a good pet for
Sue.
The little cub kept nipping affectionately at my neck on the hike back,
and he clung so close he was a nuisance, but Sue was delighted. We had
to improvise a cage at night to keep him from mauling us and keeping us
awake.
Sue named him, "Toots", and we were the envy of all the camp. When Joe
and his people returned three weeks later, and we discovered the truth
about Toots, the others were happy they hadn't acquired a similar pet.
* * * * *
It was late spring, and the mango trees were rapidly refilling their
high branches with the tala-fruit. We now had a roofed central kitchen
where the women prepared our meals. We ate at long tables in the open.
Shortly after the noon meal one day, Joe and his people returned. He
caught up to Sue and me as we were strolling to our hut for our daily
fifteen-minute siesta. He appeared tired from the journey but quite glad
to see us. I felt the pangs of conscience as I added my hypocritical
welcome to Sue's warm greeting.
In his old room we sat on the rough furniture I had fashioned, and Joe
eyed Sue's fruitful contours. "A baby soon, eh? We have many babies
among us."
"You--have?" I said.
"Many were born on the return trip. They slowed up the females with
their sucking. For eight days they are a burden on the mother."