It wasn't. It had been constructed to do more than skim the surface of
a planet. It had been built to bridge the gap from one planet to the
next, from one star to the next. Only fifty feet long, it was a thing
of strength and beauty, with a dull smooth finish that could slip
through an atmosphere with a minimum of friction. He was beginning to
remember a great deal now. The entrance, he knew, was near the nose.
The door closed tight after you went through it, leaving an apparently
unbroken surface of metal, but if you came over to it and put your hand
on a certain plate--
He came over to it and hesitated. The Professor asked eagerly, "Is
this--is it a spaceship?"
"Yes. This is the door, over here. I must have crashed in the swamp and
for some reason staggered out."
"But how--how does it work?"
"Like this."
He raised his hand to the plate, and suddenly the sense of danger
swept over him again. And now he knew where it came from. Not from the
ship itself. No, not from the ship. But from the Professor, the gentle
little man who had been protecting him.
* * * * *
He swung around and saw that the little man's forehead was beady with
sweat. The man had been tense, hoping that he would open the door
without remembering too much. The hope had failed. His memory had been
coming back gradually in the past few days. Now the sight of the ship
had brought back everything. Everything.
He caught sight of the glint of metal in the Professor's hand. "I
thought so," he said. "I thought so."
Angel's lower jaw had dropped. He stammered, "What is this? Professor,
that ain't a gun, is it?"
"Much more than a gun," said Crusoe softly. "That's the magic. When I
pointed with my hand, without thinking, it was because I was accustomed
to having a weapon like that. But it was the Professor who actually had
it. It was he who made those rifles explode. And because he didn't want
any one to suspect that he had such a thing on him, he let me have the
credit."
"It will do you no good to remember," said the Professor. "In the long
run it will do you no good."
"I wonder. You can cover a great surface with a sheet of flame by using
that thing, you can kill with it, but you can't make me do what you
want. Not now, not after I've remembered who you are."
"Look," said Angel, "I don't get this. I know the Professor for five,
six years."
"Not this one," replied Crusoe. "Perhaps the original Professor did
find me wandering around alone. But then my friend here came searching
for me, and after studying his characteristics for a time, killed him
and took his place. He's a great mimic, is my friend. That, in fact, is
why I was sent to get him, and was bringing him, a prisoner, back to
his home planet. He's mimicked all sorts of people, even those who have
only the slightest resemblance to humanoids. It was nothing at all for
him to become a Professor. Physically, of course, he probably doesn't
fit the part too well. Do you mean to say that you haven't noticed?"
The Professor laughed gently. "Angel wouldn't notice. Haven't you
realized yet that he's half blind? He stumbles, blunders into things.
He can't see well. He didn't notice the difference. Not when I acted so
well."
* * * * *
Angel sought escape from confusion in a fact he could understand. He
said pathetically, "You killed the real Professor? He was a guy who
wouldn't have hurt anybody. You killed him?"
"Of course. I've killed much better and more important people than he
would ever be."
"He's right, Angel, he's an experienced killer. But all his killing
won't help him now. He needs me to open and operate the ship. And I'm
not cooperating."
Angel held fast to what he could understand. He muttered to himself,
"The dirty killer. The rat."
The little man ignored him. He said, "You were very wise, Tlaxon--you
remember your name now?--you were very wise, when you saw that a crash
threatened, to lock the ship's machinery so that only your own personal
characteristic motions would open it again. That was too much for
even me to mimic. Your cleverness left me helpless to escape from the
planet without you. After we finally crashed, and I recovered from the
shock, I examined the ship's machinery. There seemed to be no serious
damage. But I couldn't operate it. I needed your help. And you were
unconscious. Sitting at the controls, you had received a much more
severe shock than I had. You didn't recover for many hours. And after
you did, you remembered nothing. You were still unable to be of use to
me.
"I was enraged, but there was nothing I could do. I tried to keep you
in the ship, but once, while I was asleep, you awoke and stumbled out.
I had no choice then but to follow you in order to protect you. The
ship locked automatically behind me, leaving me worse off than ever.
But I had to follow because my escape depended on your own. It was then
that Professor discovered you and I discovered him. I had to kill him.
I think you can see why."
"Yes, I see now."
"Once our return to the ship was blocked off, we had to hide. I had
to discard our old clothes and steal clothes that would be less
conspicuous. As it was, we ourselves were conspicuous enough. In
the world of ordinary men, we would have been subject to immediate
investigation. It was only among such outcasts as Angel and his friends
that we could to some extent pass ourselves off as natives. When they
met us, the others thought that Angel had at last found friends of his
own kind. Angel, of course, thought he had found the Professor. He was
overjoyed to see me, and his enthusiasm was our passport. Moreover, in
their world, it was not customary to ask questions that a man was not
inclined to answer. There were too many embarrassing secrets on all
sides.
"I was continually on tenter-hooks with regard to you. I was hoping
that you would remember enough to help operate the ship and escape from
the planet, but not enough to recall who I was. Meanwhile, I watched
with interest how even in your amnesiac state you absorbed the English
language. With our people, Tlaxon, language learning is much more of a
reflex process than it is with these Earthlanders. You learned without
knowing that you were doing so. All the same, your racial peculiarities
prevented you from speaking exactly as the natives do."
* * * * *
"That's why I thought that _they_ were the ones who spoke strangely.
All but Angel."
"Yes, he has the same difficulties with dentate sounds like _t_'s and
_d_'s that we do. Strange how much he resembles us physically too. It
helped people to think of us as three freaks of a kind. Mentally, of
course, there's all the difference in the world."
"Is there? I wonder if he isn't basically sound. I wonder how well he'd
do if he weren't made to feel like a freak, if he were given a chance
in our own System."
The smaller man's lips curled in a sneer. "Perhaps an inferior creature
like him would fit in. I'm afraid I never will. I'll tell you what I'll
do, Tlaxon. Once we take off from this planet I'll let you put me down
in one of three places where I have friends. I'll give you your choice
and promise you that no harm will come to you."
"The rat," muttered Angel hoarsely. "Look, Crusoe, I don't understand
everything you fellows said. But I remember the Professor, the real
Professor. He had a big head, just like me. He used to say a wrestler
could be a highbrow too."
"A high forehead, such as our own. Yes," agreed the little man. "He
had."
"And he didn't make fun of me because my face was kinda blue. Other
people used to look at me like I was a freak. They didn't realize that
after I stopped wrestlin' I had to go to work in some factory where the
silver chemicals turned my skin blue. They just thought I was born that
way."
"We _were_ born that way," said Crusoe gently. "Can't you tell? Or
are your eyes so very bad? That's one reason we would have been so
conspicuous without you. That's why the people looked so strange to me.
Not merely because most of them had low foreheads. But because none of
them were blue. Pink and brown and white, and red and yellow and black,
but no blue. I began to think of them all as freaks."
"You are as big a freak as any," interrupted the Professor. "I
am giving you a chance for your life. And you prefer to discuss
irrelevancies."
Crusoe shook his head. "Your offer is rejected. Whatever happens to
me, I do not intend to help you escape."
"No? You have no choice, friend Tlaxon. I am tired of caring for you
like a baby. Either you accept my offer now or I withdraw it for a
worse one. And I think I know of ways to make you do as I wish."
It was Crusoe's turn to perspire. He was quite aware that the other
man knew of many painful ways. But he knew too that if he accepted
the original offer, the murderous little man would break his promise
and murder him the moment the ship's controls were freed of their
responsiveness to the characteristics of one man.
* * * * *
While Crusoe hesitated, the sharp crack of a rifle broke the silence.
Angel winced and pressed his hand to his right shoulder. A red stain
spread under his fingers.
Half a dozen men with rifles were advancing across the burned out area
of the swamp. "Attracted by the flame," muttered the Professor. "The
fools." He swung around to cover them with his weapon, keeping one eye
on Crusoe.
He had written off Angel because of the latter's wound. He should have
remembered the man's tremendous vitality. Just as the weapon went off,
Angel's left hand swung out and caught him under the jaw. A sheet of
flame appeared at treetop level and then died out. The weapon fell to
the ground and Crusoe picked it up.
The rifles exploded. The next moment the door in the ship's surface had
swung silently open. Crusoe leaped in.
"So long, pal," said Angel huskily. "This rat killed Professor. I'm
goin' to make sure that he gets his."
Crusoe shook his head, remembering all the times the big man had
befriended him before.
"Those men will punish him. You come in here."
"Huh?" said Angel foolishly.
"Your one real friend is dead. Do you want to be regarded by the others
as a freak all the rest of your life? Come with me. I'm expected back
with a prisoner. They'll be glad to get you instead. You'll be made
over, given a new life. You'll still be blue, of course--but so will
everyone else. As for _him_, he's past making over. He doesn't deserve
to be treated as we treat most of our prisoners. I'll leave him to your
race and he'll probably be punished for killing the real Professor.
Even if the only thing that happens to him is to remain on Earth and
have no way of getting back to his own planet, that will be punishment
enough. You needn't worry about his getting his."
Angel moved slowly through the doorway. The metal clanged shut behind
him. The motor purred and the ship began to vibrate so smoothly that
Crusoe could hardly feel it. All was well, he realized; the motor was
unharmed by the crash. For which they were thankful.
The ship roared into the air. As the forgotten little man, who had been
the danger, screamed unheard, they headed for the nearest star and
home--for both of them.