The Complete Short Stories: The 1960s

‘The adjectives you use are subjective and not really terms of abuse – in fact, they’re Crow propaganda. Or so a Neanderthal would say. The two points of view are irreconcilable.’

‘Are you seriously suggesting … Alice, they’re sub-men!’

‘To us they appear so. Yet they have contentment, and communion with the forces of Earth, and their magic. Nor are their brains inferior to Crow brains.’

‘Much good it did them! The Cro-Magnons still beat them.’

‘In a sense they have not yet been beaten. But their magic needs preparation, incantation – it’s something they can’t do while fending off a fusillade of arrows. But left to themselves they can become spirits, animals –’

‘Wooly rhinoceroses for instance?’

‘Yes.’

‘To lure me from my wheeled machine, which they would fear! My God, Alice, can it be true. … ‘He clutched his head and groaned, then looked up to enquire, ‘Why are you forcing their point of view on me, when you’re a Crow?’

‘Don’t you see, my dear?’ Her eyes were large as they searched his. ‘To find how strong your N-factor is. To find if you’re friend or enemy. When this rain stops, I must go back. Stanley will be looking for me, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Arlblaster were not looking for you; he must know you’ve had time to sort things out in your mind. So I want to know if I can come back to Earth with you. …’

He shook himself, dashed a water drip off his forehead, tried to delay giving an answer.

‘Earth’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘Menderstone’s right, of course; it is regimented – it would never suit an individualist like him. It’s not so pretty as Nehru. … Yes, Alice, I’ll take you back if you want to come. I can’t leave you here.’

She flung herself on to him, clasping him in her arms, kissing his ear and cheek and lips.

‘I’m a loving woman,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘As even Stanley –’

They stiffened at a noise outside the cave, audible above the rain. Anderson turned his head to look where she was looking. Rain was falling more gently now. Before its fading curtain a face appeared.

The chief features of this face were its low brow, two large and lustrous eyes, a prominent nose, and a straggling length of wet, sandy beard. It was Frank Arlblaster.

He raised both hands.

‘Come to see me, child of Earth, as I come to see you, peaceful, patient, all-potent –’

As more of him rose into view in the cave mouth, Alice fired the revolver. The bellow of its report in the confined space was deafening. At ten yards’ range, she did not miss. Arlblaster clutched at his chest and tumbled forward into the wet ground, crying inarticulately.

Anderson turned on Alice, and struck the gun from her hand.

‘Murder, sheer murder! You shouldn’t have done it! You shouldn’t have done –’

She smacked him across the cheek.

‘If you’re Crow, he’s your enemy as well as mine! He’d have killed me! He’s an Ape. …’ She drew a long shuddering breath. ‘And now we’ve got to move fast for your ship before the pack hunts us down.’

‘You make me sick!’ He tried to pick up the revolver but could not bring himself to touch it.

‘Keith, I’ll make it up to you on the journey home, I promise. I – I was desperate!’

‘Just don’t talk to me! Come on, let’s git.’

They slid past Arlblaster’s body, out into the mizzling rain. As they started down the slope, a baying cry came from their left flank. A group of Neanderthals, men and women, stood on a promontory only two hundred yards away. They must have witnessed Arlblaster’s collapse and were slowly marshalling their forces. As Alice and Anderson appeared, some of the men ran forward.

‘Run!’ Alice shouted. ‘Down to the river! Swim it and we’re safe.’

Close together, they sped down the slippery incline where an imaginary glacier had flowed. Without a pause or word, they plunged through reeds and mud and dived fully dressed into the slow waters. Making good time, the Neanderthals rushed down the slope after them, but halted when they reached the river.

Gaining the far bank, Anderson turned and helped Alice out of the water. She collapsed puffing on the grass.

‘Not so young as I was. … We’re safe now, Keith. Nothing short of a forest fire induces those apes to swim. But we still might meet trouble this side. … We’ll avoid the settlement. Even if the apes there aren’t after us, we don’t want to face Stanley with his rifle. … Poor old Stanley! Give me a hand up. …’

Anderson moved on in surly silence. His mind was troubled by Arlblaster’s death; and he felt he was being used.

The rain ceased as they pressed forward among dripping bush. Travelling in a wide arc, they circled the village and picked up a track which led back towards Anderson’s ship.

Alice grumbled intermittently as they went. At last Anderson turned on her.

‘You don’t have to come with me, Alice. If you want to, go back to Stanley Menderstone!’

‘At least he cared about a woman’s feelings.’

‘I warn you that they are not so fussy on Earth, where women don’t have the same scarcity value.’ He hated himself for speaking so roughly. He needed solitude to sort out the turmoil in his brain.

Alice plodded along beside him without speaking. Sun gleamed. At last the black hull of the ship became visible between trees.

‘You’ll have to work on Earth!’ he taunted her. ‘The robocracy will direct you.’

‘I shall get married. I’ve still got some looks.’

‘You’ve forgotten something, honey. Women have to have work certificates before they can marry these days. Regimentation will do you good.’

A wave of hatred overcame him. He remembered the priestly Arlblaster dying. When Alice started to snap back at him, Anderson struck her on the shoulder. A look of panic and understanding passed over her face.

‘Oh, Keith …’ she said. ‘You …’ Her voice died; a change came over her face. He saw her despair before she turned and was running away, back towards the settlement, calling inarticulately as she ran.

Anderson watched her go. Then he turned and sidled through the dripping trees. At last – free! Himself! She was a Crow squaw.

His ship no longer looked welcoming. He splashed through a puddle and touched it, withdrawing his hand quickly. Distorted by the curve of the hull, his reflection peered at him from the polished metal. He did not recognise himself.

‘Someone there imprisoned in Crow ship,’ he said, turning away.

The breath of the planet was warm along his innocent cheek. He stripped off his damp clothes and faded among the leaves and uncountable grasses and the scents of soil and vegetation. Shadow and light slithered over his skin in an almost tangible pattern before foliage embraced him and he was lost entirely into his new Eden.

The proud author lay where he was on the floor of the small room, among the metal sheets he had worn as camouflage while hiding with the humots. Since the Tenth Dominant finished reading his story – that poor thing written before he had wisdom – silence lay between the Dominant and the Chief Scanner; though whether or not they were communicating by UHF, Anderson could not tell.

He decided he had better do something. Sitting up, he said, ‘How about letting me go free? … Or how about letting me go back to the zoo? … Well, at least take me into a room that’s big enough for me.’

The Dominant spoke. ‘We need to ask you questions about your story. Is it true or not true?’

‘It’s fiction. Lousy or otherwise, it exists in its own right.’