"It was probably brought in with the supplies," said the biologist.
"Considering how far we've come, it may have been any one of a half
a dozen planets. Anyway, it hid, and since most of the places it had
access to were near the outer hull, it got an extra dose of hard
radiation, or it may have nested near the atomic engines; both are
possibilities. Either way, it mutated, became a different animal. It's
developed a tolerance for the poisons we spray on plants. Other things
it detects and avoids, even electronic traps."
"Then you believe it changed mentally as well as physically, that it's
smarter?"
"I'd say that, yes. It must be a fairly intelligent creature to be
so hard to get rid of. But it can be lured into traps, if the bait's
strong enough."
"That's what I don't like," said Taphetta, curling. "Let me think it
over while I ask questions." He turned to Emmer. "I'm curious about
humans. Is there anything else you can tell me about the hypothetical
ancestor?"
Emmer didn't look like the genius he was--a Neanderthal genius, but
nonetheless a real one. In his field, he rated very high. He raised a
stubble-flecked cheek from a large thick-fingered paw and ran shaggy
hands through shaggier hair.
"I can speak with some authority," he rumbled. "I was born on a world
with the most extensive relics. As a child, I played in the ruins of
their camp."
"I don't question your authority," crinkled Taphetta. "To me, all
humans--late or early and male or female--look remarkably alike. If you
are an archeologist, that's enough for me." He paused and flicked his
speech ribbons. "Camp, did you say?"
* * * * *
Emmer smiled, unsheathing great teeth. "You've never seen any pictures?
Impressive, but just a camp, monolithic one-story structures, and
we'd give something to know what they're made of. Presumably my world
was one of the first they stopped at. They weren't used to roughing
it, so they built more elaborately than they did later on. One-story
structures and that's how we can guess at their size. The doorways were
forty feet high."
"Very large," agreed Taphetta. It was difficult to tell whether he was
impressed. "What did you find in the ruins?"
"Nothing," said Emmer. "There were buildings there and that was all,
not a scrap of writing or a tool or a single picture. They covered
a route estimated at thirty thousand light-years in less than five
thousand years--and not one of them died that we have a record of."
"A faster-than-light drive and an extremely long life," mused Taphetta.
"But they didn't leave any information for their descendants. Why?"
"Who knows? Their mental processes were certainly far different from
ours. They may have thought we'd be better off without it. We do know
they were looking for a special kind of planet, like Earth, because
they visited so many of that type, yet different from it because they
never stayed. They were pretty special people themselves, big and
long-lived, and maybe they couldn't survive on any planet they found.
Perhaps they had ways of determining there wasn't the kind of planet
they needed in the entire Milky Way. Their science was tremendously
advanced and when they learned that, they may have altered their germ
plasm and left us, hoping that some of us would survive. Most of us
did."
"This special planet sounds strange," murmured Taphetta.
"Not really," said Emmer. "Fifty human races reached space travel
independently and those who did were scattered equally among early and
late species. It's well known that individuals among my people are
often as bright as any of Halden's or Meredith's, but as a whole we
don't have the total capacity that later Man does, and yet we're as
advanced in civilization. The difference? It must lie somewhere in the
planets we live on and it's hard to say just what it is."
"What happened to those who didn't develop space travel?" asked
Taphetta.
"We helped them," said Emmer.
And they had, no matter who or what they were, biologically late
or early, in the depths of the bronze age or the threshold of
atomic--because they were human. That was sometimes a frightening thing
for non-humans, that the race stuck together. They weren't actually
aggressive, but their total number was great and they held themselves
aloof. The unknown ancestor again. Who else had such an origin and, it
was tacitly assumed, such a destiny?
* * * * *
Taphetta changed his questioning. "What do you expect to gain from this
discovery of the unknown ancestor?"
It was Halden who answered him. "There's the satisfaction of knowing
where we came from."
"Of course," rustled the Ribboneer. "But a lot of money and equipment
was required for this expedition. I can't believe that the educational
institutions that are backing you did so purely out of intellectual
curiosity."
"Cultural discoveries," rumbled Emmer. "How did our ancestors live?
When a creature is greatly reduced in size, as we are, more than
physiology is changed--the pattern of life itself is altered. Things
that were easy for them are impossible for us. Look at their life span."
"No doubt," said Taphetta. "An archeologist would be interested in
cultural discoveries."
"Two hundred thousand years ago, they had an extremely advanced
civilization," added Halden. "A faster-than-light drive, and we've
achieved that only within the last thousand years."
"But I think we have a better one than they did," said the Ribboneer.
"There may be things we can learn from them in mechanics or physics,
but wouldn't you say they were better biologists than anything else?"
Halden nodded. "Agreed. They couldn't find a suitable planet. So,
working directly with their germ plasm, they modified themselves and
produced us. They _were_ master biologists."
"I thought so," said Taphetta. "I never paid much attention to your
fantastic theories before I signed to pilot this ship, but you've built
up a convincing case." He raised his head, speech ribbons curling
fractionally and ceaselessly. "I don't like to, but we'll have to risk
using bait for your pest."
He'd have done it anyway, but it was better to have the pilot's
consent. And there was one question Halden wanted to ask; it had been
bothering him vaguely. "What's the difference between the Ribboneer
contract and the one we offered you? Our terms are more liberal."
"To the individual, they are, but it won't matter if you discover as
much as you think you will. The difference is this: _My_ terms don't
permit you to withhold any discovery for the benefit of one race."
Taphetta was wrong; there had been no intention of withholding
anything. Halden examined his own attitudes. _He_ hadn't intended, but
could he say that was true of the institutions backing the expedition?
He couldn't, and it was too late now--whatever knowledge they acquired
would have to be shared.
That was what Taphetta had been afraid of--there was one kind of
technical advancement that multiplied unceasingly. The race that could
improve itself through scientific control of its germ plasm had a start
that could never be headed. The Ribboneer needn't worry now.
* * * * *
"Why do we have to watch it on the screen?" asked Meredith, glancing
up. "I'd rather be in hydroponics."
Halden shrugged. "They may or may not be smarter than planetbound
animals, but they're warier. They don't come out when anyone's near."
Lights dimmed in the distant hydroponic section and the screen with
it, until he adjusted the infra-red frequencies. He motioned to the
two crew members, each with his own peculiar screen, below which was a
miniature keyboard.
"Ready?"
When they nodded, Halden said: "Do as you've rehearsed. Keep noise at
a minimum, but when you do use it, be vague. Don't try to imitate them
exactly."
At first, nothing happened on the big screen, and then a gray shape
crept out. It slid through leaves, listened intently before coming
forward. It jumped off one hydroponic section and fled across the open
floor to the next. It paused, eyes glittering and antennae twitching.
Looking around once, it leaped up, seizing the ledge and clawing up the
side of the tank. Standing on top and rising to its haunches, it began
nibbling what it could reach.
Suddenly it whirled. Behind it and hitherto unnoticed was another
shape, like it but larger. The newcomer inched forward. The small one
retreated, skittering nervously. Without warning, the big one leaped
and the small one tried to flee. In a few jumps, the big one caught up
and mauled the other unmercifully.
It continued to bite even after the little one lay still. At last it
backed off and waited, watching for signs of motion. There was none.
Then it turned to the plant. When it had chewed off everything within
reach, it climbed into the branches.
The little one twitched, moved a leg, and cautiously began dragging
itself away. It rolled off the raised section and surprisingly made no
noise as it fell. It seemed to revive, shaking itself and scurrying
away, still within range of the screen.
Against the wall was a small platform. The little one climbed on top
and there found something that seemed to interest it. It sniffed
around and reached and felt the discovery. Wounds were forgotten as
it snatched up the object and frisked back to the scene of its recent
defeat.
This time it had no trouble with the raised section. It leaped and
landed on top and made considerable noise in doing so. The big animal
heard and twisted around. It saw and clambered down hastily, jumping
the last few feet. Squealing, it hit the floor and charged.
The small one stood still till the last instant--and then a paw
flickered out and an inch-long knife blade plunged into the throat of
the charging creature. Red spurted out as the bigger beast screamed.
The knife flashed in and out until the big animal collapsed and stopped
moving.
The small creature removed the knife and wiped it on the pelt of its
foe. Then it scampered back to the platform on which the knife had been
found--_and laid it down_.
* * * * *
At Halden's signal, the lights flared up and the screen became too
bright for anything to be visible.
"Go in and get them," said Halden. "We don't want the pests to find out
that the bodies aren't flesh."
"It was realistic enough," said Meredith as the crewmen shut off their
machines and went out. "Do you think it will work?"
"It might. We had an audience."
"Did we? I didn't notice." Meredith leaned back. "Were the puppets
exactly like the pests? And if not, will the pests be fooled?"
"The electronic puppets were a good imitation, but the animals don't
have to identify them as their species. If they're smart enough,
they'll know the value of a knife, no matter who uses it."
"What if they're smarter? Suppose they know a knife can't be used by a
creature without real hands?"
"That's part of our precautions. They'll never know until they try--and
they'll never get away from the trap to try."
"Very good. I never thought of that," said Meredith, coming closer. "I
like the way your primitive mind works. At times I actually think of
marrying you."
"Primitive," he said, alternately frozen and thawed, though he knew
that, in relation to her, he was _not_ advanced.
"It's almost a curse, isn't it?" She laughed and took the curse away by
leaning provocatively against him. "But barbaric lovers are often nice."
Here we go again, he thought drearily, sliding his arm around her. To
her, I'm merely a passionate savage.
They went to his cabin.
She sat down, smiling. Was she pretty? Maybe. For her own race, she
wasn't tall, only by Terran standards. Her legs were disproportionately
long and well shaped and her face was somewhat bland and featureless,
except for a thin, straight, short nose. It was her eyes that made
the difference, he decided. A notch or two up the scale of visual
development, her eyes were larger and she could see an extra color on
the violet end of the spectrum.
She settled back and looked at him. "It might be fun living with you on
primeval Earth."
He said nothing; she knew as well as he that Earth was as advanced as
her own world. She had something else in mind.
"I don't think I will, though. We might have children."
"Would it be wrong?" he asked. "I'm as intelligent as you. We wouldn't
have subhuman monsters."
"It would be a step up--for you." Under her calm, there was tension.
It had been there as long as he'd known her, but it was closer to the
surface now. "Do I have the right to condemn the unborn? Should I make
them start lower than I am?"
The conflict was not new nor confined to them. In one form or another,
it governed personal relations between races that were united against
non-humans, but held sharp distinctions themselves.
"I haven't asked you to marry me," he said bluntly.
"Because you're afraid I'd refuse."
It was true; no one asked a member of a higher race to enter a
permanent union.
"Why did you ever have anything to do with me?" demanded Halden.
"Love," she said gloomily. "Physical attraction. But I can't let it
lead me astray."
"Why not make a play for Kelburn? If you're going to be scientific
about it, he'd give you children of the higher type."
"Kelburn." It didn't sound like a name, the way she said it. "I don't
like him and he wouldn't marry me."
"He wouldn't, but he'd give you children if you were humble enough.
There's a fifty per cent chance you might conceive."
* * * * *
She provocatively arched her back. Not even the women of Kelburn's race
had a body like hers and she knew it.
"Racially, there should be a chance," she said. "Actually, Kelburn and
I would be infertile."
"Can you be sure?" he asked, knowing it was a poor attempt to act
unconcerned.
"How can anyone be sure on a theoretical basis?" she asked, an oblique
smile narrowing her eyes. "I know we can't."