[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction September 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
You'd love Earthmen to pieces, for they
may look pretty bad to themselves, but
not to you. You'd even want to be one!
Up to the very last minute, I can't imagine that Moklin is going to be
the first planet that humans get off of, moving fast, breathing hard,
and sweating awful copious. There ain't any reason for it. Humans have
been on Moklin for more than forty years, and nobody ever figures there
is anything the least bit wrong until Brooks works it out. When he
does, nobody can believe it. But it turns out bad. Plenty bad. But
maybe things are working out all right now.
_Maybe!_ I hope so.
At first, even after he's sent off long reports by six ships in a row,
I don't see the picture beginning to turn sour. I don't get it until
after the old _Palmyra_ comes and squats down on the next to the last
trip a Company ship is ever going to make to Moklin.
Up to that very morning everything is serene, and that morning I am
sitting on the trading post porch, not doing a thing but sitting there
and breathing happy. I'm looking at a Moklin kid. She's about the size
of a human six-year-old and she is playing in a mud puddle while her
folks are trading in the post. She is a cute kid--mighty human-looking.
She has long whiskers like Old Man Bland, who's the first human to open
a trading post and learn to talk to Moklins.
Moklins think a lot of Old Man Bland. They build him a big tomb,
Moklin-style, when he dies, and there is more Moklin kids born with
long whiskers than you can shake a stick at. And everything looks okay.
_Everything!_
Sitting there on the porch, I hear a Moklin talking inside the trade
room. Talking English just as good as anybody. He says to Deeth, our
Moklin trade-clerk, "But Deeth, I can buy this cheaper over at the
other trading post! Why should I pay more here?"
Deeth says, in English too, "I can't help that. That's the price here.
You pay it or you don't. That's all."
I just sit there breathing complacent, thinking how good things
are. Here I'm Joe Brinkley, and me and Brooks are the Company on
Moklin--only humans rate as Company employees and get pensions, of
course--and I'm thinking sentimental about how much humaner Moklins are
getting every day and how swell everything is.
The six-year-old kid gets up out of the mud puddle, and wrings out her
whiskers--they are exactly like the ones on the picture of Old Man
Bland in the trade room--and she goes trotting off down the road after
her folks. She is mighty human-looking, that one.
The wild ones don't look near so human. Those that live in the forest
are greenish, and have saucer eyes, and their noses can wiggle like an
Earth rabbit. You wouldn't think they're the same breed as the trading
post Moklins at all, but they are. They crossbreed with each other,
only the kids look humaner than their parents and are mighty near the
same skin color as Earthmen, which is plenty natural when you think
about it, but nobody does. Not up to then.
I don't think about that then, or anything else. Not even about the
reports Brooks keeps sweating over and sending off with every Company
ship. I am just sitting there contented when I notice that Sally, the
tree that shades the trading post porch, starts pulling up her roots.
She gets them coiled careful and starts marching off. I see the other
trees are moving off, too, clearing the landing field. They're waddling
away to leave a free space, and they're pushing and shoving, trying to
crowd each other, and the little ones sneak under the big ones and they
all act peevish. Somehow they know a ship is coming in. That's what
their walking off means, anyhow. But there ain't a ship due in for a
month, yet.
They're clearing the landing field, though, so I start listening for
a ship's drive, even if I don't believe it. At first I don't hear a
thing. It must be ten minutes before I hear a thin whistle, and right
after it the heavy drone that's the ground-repulsor units pushing
against bedrock underground. Lucky they don't push on wet stuff, or a
ship would sure mess up the local countryside!
I get off my chair and go out to look. Sure enough, the old _Palmyra_
comes bulging down out of the sky, a month ahead of schedule, and the
trees over at the edge of the field shove each other all round to make
room. The ship drops, hangs anxious ten feet up, and then kind of sighs
and lets down. Then there's Moklins running out of everywhere, waving
cordial.
They sure do like humans, these Moklins! Humans are their idea of what
people should be like! Moklins will wrestle the freight over to the
trading post while others are climbing over everything that's waiting
to go off, all set to pass it up to the ship and hoping to spot friends
they've made in the crew. If they can get a human to go home with them
and visit while the ship is down, they brag about it for weeks. And do
they treat their guests swell!
They got fancy Moklin clothes for them to wear--soft, silky guest
garments--and they got Moklin fruits and Moklin drinks--you ought to
taste them! And when the humans have to go back to the ship at takeoff
time, the Moklins bring them back with flower wreaths all over them.
Humans is tops on Moklin. And Moklins get humaner every day. There's
Deeth, our clerk. You couldn't hardly tell him from human, anyways. He
looks like a human named Casey that used to be at the trading post, and
he's got a flock of brothers and sisters as human-looking as he is.
You'd swear--
But this is the last time but one that a Earth ship is going to land
on Moklin, though nobody knows it yet. Her passenger port opens up
and Captain Haney gets out. The Moklins yell cheerful when they see
him. He waves a hand and helps a human girl out. She has red hair and
a sort of businesslike air about her. The Moklins wave and holler and
grin. The girl looks at them funny, and Cap Haney explains something,
but she sets her lips. Then the Moklins run out a freight-truck, and
Haney and the girl get on it, and they come racing over to the post,
the Moklins pushing and pulling them and making a big fuss of laughing
and hollering--all so friendly, it would make anybody feel good inside.
Moklins like humans! They admire them tremendous! They do everything
they can think of to be human, and they're smart, but sometimes I get
cold shivers when I think how close a thing it turns out to be.
Cap Haney steps off the freight-truck and helps the girl down. Her eyes
are blazing. She is the maddest-looking female I ever see, but pretty
as they make them, with that red hair and those blue eyes staring at me
hostile.
"Hiya, Joe," says Cap Haney. "Where's Brooks?"
I tell him. Brooks is poking around in the mountains up back of the
post. He is jumpy and worried and peevish, and he acts like he's trying
to find something that ain't there, but he's bound he's going to find
it regardless.
"Too bad he's not here," says Haney. He turns to the girl. "This is
Joe Brinkley," he says. "He's Brooks' assistant. And, Joe, this is
Inspector Caldwell--Miss Caldwell."
"Inspector will do," says the girl, curt. She looks at me accusing.
"I'm here to check into this matter of a competitive trading post on
Moklin."
"Oh," I says. "That's bad business. But it ain't cut into our trade
much. In fact, I don't think it's cut our trade at all."
"Get my baggage ashore, Captain," says Inspector Caldwell, imperious.
"Then you can go about your business. I'll stay here until you stop on
your return trip."
I call, "Hey, Deeth!" But he's right behind me. He looks respectful and
admiring at the girl. You'd swear he's human! He's the spit and image
of Casey, who used to be on Moklin until six years back.
"Yes, sir," says Deeth. He says to the girl, "Yes, ma'am. I'll show you
your quarters, ma'am, and your baggage will get there right away. This
way, ma'am."
He leads her off, but he don't have to send for her baggage. A pack of
Moklins come along, dragging it, hopeful of having her say "Thank you"
to them for it. There hasn't ever been a human woman on Moklin before,
and they are all excited. I bet if there had been women around before,
there'd have been hell loose before, too. But now the Moklins just hang
around, admiring.
There are kids with whiskers like Old Man Bland, and other kids with
mustaches--male and female both--and all that sort of stuff. I'm
pointing out to Cap Haney some kids that bear a remarkable resemblance
to him and he's saying, "Well, what do you know!" when Inspector
Caldwell comes back.
"What are you waiting for, Captain?" she asks, frosty.
"The ship usually grounds a few hours," I explain. "These Moklins are
such friendly critters, we figure it makes good will for the trading
post for the crew to be friendly with 'em."
"I doubt," says Inspector Caldwell, her voice dripping icicles, "that I
shall advise that that custom be continued."
Cap Haney shrugs his shoulders and goes off, so I know Inspector
Caldwell is high up in the Company. She ain't old, maybe in her
middle twenties, I'd say, but the Caldwell family practically owns
the Company, and all the nephews and cousins and so on get put into
a special school so they can go to work in the family firm. They get
taught pretty good, and most of them really rate the good jobs they
get. Anyhow, there's plenty of good jobs. The Company runs twenty or
thirty solar systems and it's run pretty tight. Being a Caldwell means
you get breaks, but you got to live up to them.
Cap Haney almost has to fight his way through the Moklins who want to
give him flowers and fruits and such. Moklins are sure crazy about
humans! He gets to the entry port and goes in, and the door closes and
the Moklins pull back. Then the _Palmyra_ booms. The ground-repulsor
unit is on. She heaves up, like she is grunting, and goes bulging up
into the air, and the humming gets deeper and deeper, and fainter and
fainter--and suddenly there's a keen whistling and she's gone. It's all
very normal. Nobody would guess that this is the last time but one a
Earth ship will ever lift off Moklin!
Inspector Caldwell taps her foot, icy. "When will you send for Mr.
Brooks?" she demands.
"Right away," I says to her. "Deeth--"
"I sent a runner for him, ma'am," says Deeth. "If he was in hearing of
the ship's landing, he may be on the way here now."
He bows and goes in the trade room. There are Moklins that came to see
the ship land, and now have tramped over to do some trading. Inspector
Caldwell jumps.
"Wh-what's that?" she asks, tense.
The trees that crowded off the field to make room for the _Palmyra_ are
waddling back. I realize for the first time that it might look funny
to somebody just landed on Moklin. They are regular-looking trees, in
a way. They got bark and branches and so on. Only they can put their
roots down into holes they make in the ground, and that's the way
they stay, mostly. But they can move. Wild ones, when there's a water
shortage or they get too crowded or mad with each other, they pull up
their roots and go waddling around looking for a better place to take
root in.
The trees on our landing field have learned that every so often a ship
is going to land and they've got to make room for it. But now the ship
is gone, and they're lurching back to their places. The younger ones
are waddling faster than the big ones, though, and taking the best
places, and the old grunting trees are waving their branches indignant
and puffing after them mad as hell.
I explain what is happening. Inspector Caldwell just stares. Then Sally
comes lumbering up. I got a friendly feeling for Sally. She's pretty
old--her trunk is all of three feet thick--but she always puts out a
branch to shade my window in the morning, and I never let any other
tree take her place. She comes groaning up, and uncoils her roots, and
sticks them down one by one into the holes she'd left, and sort of
scrunches into place and looks peaceful.
"Aren't they--dangerous?" asks Inspector Caldwell, pretty uneasy.
"Not a bit," I says. "Things can change on Moklin. They don't have to
fight. Things fight in other places because they can't change and they
get crowded, and that's the only way they can meet competition. But
there's a special kind of evolution on Moklin. Cooperative, you might
call it. It's a nice place to live. Only thing is everything matures so
fast. Four years and a Moklin is grown up, for instance."
She sniffs. "What about that other trading post?" she says, sharp.
"Who's back of it? The Company is supposed to have exclusive trading
rights here. Who's trespassing?"
"Brooks is trying to find out," I says. "They got a good complete line
of trade goods, but the Moklins always say the humans running the place
have gone off somewhere, hunting and such. We ain't seen any of them."
"No?" says the girl, short. "_I'll_ see them! We can't have competition
in our exclusive territory! The rest of Mr. Brooks' reports--" She
stops. Then she says, "That clerk of yours reminds me of someone I
know."
"He's a Moklin," I explain, "but he looks like a Company man named
Casey. Casey's Area Director over on Khatim Two now, but he used to be
here, and Deeth is the spit and image of him."
"Outrageous!" says Inspector Caldwell, looking disgusted.
There's a couple of trees pushing hard at each other. They are
fighting, tree-fashion, for a specially good place. And there's others
waddling around, mad as hell, because somebody else beat them to the
spots they liked. I watch them. Then I grin, because a couple of young
trees duck under the fighting big ones and set their roots down in the
place the big trees was fighting over.
"I don't like your attitude!" says Inspector Caldwell, furious.
She goes stamping into the post, leaving me puzzled. What's wrong with
me smiling at those kid trees getting the best of their betters?
* * * * *
That afternoon Brooks comes back, marching ahead of a pack of
woods-Moklins with greenish skins and saucer eyes that've been guiding
him around. He's a good-looking kind of fellow, Brooks is, with a good
build and a solid jaw.
When he comes out of the woods on the landing field--the trees are
all settled down by then--he's striding impatient and loose-jointed.
With the woods-Moklins trailing him, he looks plenty dramatic, like a
visi-reel picture of a explorer on some unknown planet, coming back
from the dark and perilous forests, followed by the strange natives who
do not yet know whether this visitor from outer space is a god or what.
You know the stuff.
I see Inspector Caldwell take a good look at him, and I see her eyes
widen. She looks like he is a shock, and not a painful one.