Decision at Doona Page 7

  “Hey, Reeve, here's someone for you,” he heard Lawrence yell and, turning, he saw Pat flying toward him.

  Between kisses and incoherent monosyllables, Ken got the impression the voyage here had been horrible for a reason he was unable to fathom. The feel of Pat's body against him and the touch of her lips, the spicy smell of her was too much for him to pay close attention to anything she was saying.

  “You've got to listen to me,” she insisted, pulling out of his grasp, just as a shrill shriek sounded right behind him.

  Startled, he wheeled to see the stallion, groggy as he was from deceleration, lunge out of the ship. Throwing Pat to one side out of the horse's way, Ken made a frantic grab for the trailing halter rope. He missed, thrown heavily down in the dust by the force of the stallion's passing. As he jumped up, he saw someone flash past him. Hrrula, with speed and an agility he had not previously exhibited, raced after the animal. He snagged the trailing rope and, stopping with incredible abruptness, yanked downward on the lead, jerking the stallion's head down and back. The horse reared in protest, bucked and backed as Hrrula, going hand over hand up the rope, reached the horse's head to calm him.

  Ben met Hrrula as he led the stallion to the stable and talked earnestly to him, with the result that Hrrula assisted with the rest of the livestock.

  Pat, dusting Ken off, blurted out what all the women must be asking.

  “Who are they? They're not mentioned in the reports. What happened?”

  “The question is what happens now?” Ken answered bitterly. “What are we doing here, if they are here?”

  “Oh, Ken,” Pat cried with a rush of horrified comprehension. “We can't go back to Terra. I couldn't stand it.” She clung frantically to him.

  «Honey, get a hold of yourself, you're here – today, at least,» Ken tried to reassure her; anything to wipe the stricken look from her face.

  “Ken!” Victor called urgently. “Translation, please!”

  “Ken, don't go. Not yet,” Pat cried, desperately hanging onto his arm.

  “Honey, later. Later we can talk,” and he pulled away to join Solinari who was trying to explain to three Hrrubans where he wanted them to put specially marked crates.

  Ken had no time that morning for more than a quick welcome hug for Ilsa, who was then taken off to check crate numbers at the storehouse.

  On the whole, Ken was proud of all the women and children. With no time for more than the briefest explanations, and no reassurances for their future, the women worked right beside the Hrrubans, smiling and gesticulating where words were not available. The children were trying very hard not to stare at tails that flicked out of the way of bouncing crates or stumbling feet, but gave no sign of fear. The last bundles, personal luggage, were being handled out of the cargo holds when Reeve, standing near the steplift, saw Kate Moody, the colony pediatrician, descending. She was having a time, holding onto the rail of the lift and the struggling child in her arms. Reeve wondered why the hell she just didn't put the kid on his feet. Then he noticed Ilsa waiting for Kate, a strained look on her little face.

  When Kate reached the ground, she still did not release her charge but asked Ilsa a question. The girl pointed toward Ken, and Kate, grim-faced, plowed forward to him.

  Her face was a study of professional neutrality as she approached, but her strong hands were very busy defending the softer parts of her body from the thrashing arms and legs of her burden. With a heave, she deposited the fierce little boy in Ken's arms.

  “This, Ken Reeve, is yours,” she said with a great sigh of relief. “We've all had our turns with him and he is now yours, all yours. You'll have to take my word for it that it is absolutely unfair for you to turn him over to his mother now. Which is probably what you may feel you should do. The one thing Pat needs is a rest from him.”

  “I don't understand,” Reeve exclaimed as he held the rigid little body.

  “It won't take you long, believe me,” Kate retorted, her brown eyes flashing.

  In wonder, Reeve looked down at his son's face. Solemn blue eyes regarded him from a narrow triangular face. The strong jaw was set obstinately, lips firmly pressed together in a thin line. The direct challenge in the child's expression was curiously adult and definitely wary.

  “You probably don't remember me,” Ken began tentatively, disconcerted by the apprehensive rigidity of the young body. Kate had walked quickly away with Ilsa.

  “You're supposed to be my father. They said they were turning me over to you as soon as they landed,” said a defiant voice.

  The dead silence that followed was pregnant with childish challenge. There was no doubt in Ken's mind that he had been held as a threat to subdue the child and he resented this tremendously.

  “And what am I supposed to do with you?” asked Reeve, trying vainly for the proper reassuring attitude. It was incomprehensible to him why supposedly well-trained personnel had descended to such tactics, poisoning his reunion with his son.

  “Make me behave,” Todd replied flatly, jerking his chin belligerently forward.

  "Well," Reeve began, hoping to redeem the situation, "I can imagine it was tough on a small space like a ship but for a while anyhow, you've got a whole planet to play in and – " he trailed off because the small body, which had begun to loosen, stiffened again. Todd looked fixedly over Reeve's shoulder. He held that position for a moment and then began to squirm.

  Obligingly, Reeve let him down, turning to see what had attracted such absorbed attention. Todd made a beeline toward Hrral, who was talking to Hrrula by the corral. Reeve ambled after him when Pat, wild-eyed, rushed past him to intercept the child's line of march. For a march it was. There was definite purpose in the boy's attitude.

  “Stop him, Ken,” Pat screamed. “There's no telling what he'll do.”

  Puzzled but spurred by Pat's frantic concern, Ken started to jog. Todd had a good headstart and, before either parent reached him, he had gone straight up to Hrral, taken that worthy's inviting tail in both hands and pulled as hard as he could.

  Pat stopped, shocked, covering her eyes with her hands. Appalled by his son's action, Ken swooped the child up in his arm, administering a sharp swat on the buttocks. Todd became an unmanageable tangle of arms and legs, flailing in all directions, determinedly trying to free himself from his parent's grasp.

  Pat raced up to Hrral, her whole body portraying her apology and horror.

  "Tell him, Ken, tell him. They say you speak his language, tell him,'' Pat wailed.

  “My mate begs earnestly that you forgive the inexcusable attack on your person by our child,” Ken said as he struggled to control Todd's contortions.

  A threshing foot caught him painfully in the groin and Ken reacted by slapping the child's face with a little more force than he intended. The boy went rigid, solemn, defiant blue eyes regarded him with stunned hurt.

  “It is the nature of the very young to be curious about all manner of things,” replied Hrral graciously, flicking his tail around his toes. Out of the corner of his eye, Reeve saw Hrrula do the same. “Since your race has no caudal appendage, it is natural for him to wish to inspect mine.”

  '"What's he saying, Ken? Has Toddy done it again?" cried Pat nervously.

  “Fortunately he's understanding about the very young,” Reeve reassured her. To Hrral he expressed deep gratitude for the elder's attitude. Then he excused himself and he and Pat marched without a word toward their plastic cabin.

  “He certainly couldn't know he was doing wrong, Pat,” Ken temporized as they walked.

  “Oh, don't be too sure about that,” Pat contradicted bitterly. “If he wasn't the image of your father, I could swear I had given birth to a changeling.”

  “Pat!” exclaimed Ken, astonished at her vehemence.

  Pat stopped and turned to her husband, her fists on her hips.

  "I kept hoping that he'd improve once he understood we were leaving Earth. And for a while at the Codep Block, he was almost human. But the minute we got o
n board – " she paused, her eyes round with distressed tears. "That child has been the bane of the whole journey. There isn't a person who hasn't had trouble with him. They had to double the watch on the drive room, control room, and hydroponics section. The engineer finally put a special time lock on our cabin. We couldn't leave it from seven at night til eight the next morning. During the day, either an adult or one of the older children was assigned to watch him every single blessed minute – in four-hour shifts. There isn't one of us that isn't bruised by his kicking and pinching. Kate has tried tranquilizers, sleep training, everything. He is – he's – he's incorrigible!" and Pat whirled to lean against the nearest tree trunk in tears.

  “Kate's a psychologist, why didn't she . . .”

  “Kate had to give up!” Pat gulped. “We all have, from the captain to the swabber, from the eldest child on down. He simply doesn't think like any normal child.”

  In the process of trying to comfort his wife, Ken put Toddy down. The moment she felt Ken's arms around her, she whirled in terror.

  “Don't let him go,” she screamed in panic, pointing over his shoulder. Ken looked; the sturdy boy was making tracks right back to Hrral and Hrrula.

  “Gotcha,” cried a passing crewman as he snagged Todd. “Not like the morning you got into the communications spares, huh” and he grinned sardonically as he handed Todd back to his father.

  After much debate with Pat and still not quite sure why such precautions were necessary, Ken carefully locked Todd in his room and went back to work.

  “Are you sure he can't break that window?” she asked anxiously.

  “Hon, it's the toughest plastic extruded. Besides, I smacked him hard enough so I doubt he'll risk more of the same.”

  Pat, only partially reassured, was then pressed into service by Kate Moody to check medical supplies. Ken watched her slim body for a few moments before he resumed his own task.

  He would play a very active father role, he told himself, for the boy had obviously missed the masculine father figure. Ilsa had always been socially well oriented and conformable. Then Ken had to attend to checking the bills of lading.

  Damn Kiachif for putting them to this wasted effort. He could have had all these hours with Pat.

  When he had finally located the elusive crates on his manifests, he took the papers up to the mess hall where the captain and his supercargo had set up a temporary office. Kiachif, the super, Ben Adjei, Gaynor and McKee were grouped around the table. Only the super appeared concerned with the problems of unloading.

  “Don't know why I bother. Ridiculous waste,” the supercargo mumbled as he scrawled his initials on the sheets, “It'll all have to be burned when you leave but I'd never hear the last of it if I didn't get 'em all checked. Though how they'd know if it hadn't been checked is utterly beyond me.”

  Ken stared at him in annoyance and dislike.

  «Yes, I agree,» Captain Kiachif was saying, «that it might be more sensible for me to wait for the homing capsule. But, my friends, I have a schedule. Nasty things, schedules. Particularly a closely figured one like mine. It's so close there's not so much as a sneeze computed in between hops. So I've got no choice. I've got to keep it, discovery of natives – which I agree is no sneeze – notwithstanding. And frankly,» Kiachif jerked his chin down onto his chest and peered around at the listening circle, «if you get what I mean, it's to your advantage to let me depart on the sneezeless schedule.»

  “You mean, it'd take you that much longer to figure on touching down here again,” McKee said hopefully.

  “Ah, you get what I mean,” grinned the captain.

  “But, Captain, certainly you see the unusual circumstances . . .” Hu Shih began persuasively.

  "Shih," McKee interrupted, clearing his throat, "what the good captain means is, if he waits and we get a clear-out, we have to clear out. If he's already gone, they have to send us another ship and that'll give us more time here, and Macy smiled brightly at everyone.

  “Exactly what worries me, gentlemen,” Hu Shih said with uncharacteristic sternness. “We may do untold prejudicial harm to a delicate situation. None of us is trained in establishing the proper contact with an indigenous population.”

  “I'd say you'd done all right, if you get what I mean,” Kiachif commented, waving at the scene outside where Hrrubans and Terrans worked easily together, covering stacked crates with plastic cocoons

  “We have, it is true, established an outwardly harmonious relationship,” Hu Shih agreed cautiously, “but we are also forced by circumstance to expose a less advanced race prematurely to certain aspects of our culture which may well jeopardize their proper evolution.”

  “They've exposed us to a few aspects of their culture that make ours look sicker than it is,” McKee reminded the colony chief drily.

  "Look, Hu Shih," Kiachif said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "you guys work like trolls for three hundred days, with nothing worse to deal with than the local carnivores, because Codep has said this planet's uninhabited. Okay, Codep goofed. You didn't. You're here, you've got your families – if you see what I mean." He cocked his head, his eyes glinting as a knowing smile parted his thin lips. It faded abruptly as the captain sighed in patient exasperation. "I see you don't see what I mean,'' and he pointed significantly at the distant hills.

  “Oh, no. Absolutely no,” Hu Shih declared as he suddenly grasped the Captain's meaning. “We must leave when Codep's orders arrive, for that is the honorable thing to do.”

  The captain's hooded eyes narrowed slightly and one stained index finger speculatively scratched a hairy cheek.

  “Why?” Kiachif drawled.

  “Why, because of the Principle of Non-Cohabitation.”

  “Why?” Kiachif repeated stubbornly.

  “Because of the Siwannese, man,” McKee snapped impatiently. The captain was pointing out an alternative that was all too tempting.

  “Why, because of the Siwannese?” Kiachif pursued ruthlessly. “That Siwannah affair happened over two hundred years ago. And they were dolts, those Siwannese, anyway.”

  A shocked silence filled the room at such irreverence.

  “Aaah, by the walloping widow, you've all been taken in,” the captain scoffed. Hitching his jacket up on his shoulders, he planted both forearms on the table and leaned earnestly forward.

  “So one paranoid race commits mass suicide and the tender conscience of our planet backs away forever from the challenge of contact with any intelligent species.” His scathing look called them all cowards. “Have ye never wondered what'll happen when we meet our equals? Oh, none such as those domesticated cat creatures. But our real equals. What'll the tender-minded do then? Humph. I suppose it'll be our turn to commit ritual suicide. Not that that's not what all the land-siders are doing right now, crowding everyone into lifetime coffin-sized rooms,” he snorted contemptuously. “If you get what I mean.”

  "You forget, Captain," Hu Shih said gently, pressing his fingertips together, ''that the Tragedy at Siwannah must be the last outrage our race perpetrates against a helpless minority. It must be the last one. We have so many to regret starting with the Egyptian treatment of the wandering Semitic tribes, the decimation of the Caribs, the annihilation of the Amerinds, the German massacre of the Jews, the Chinese Attempt in 1974, the Black Riots of 1980. One goes on indefinitely until the Amalgamation of 2010 which was probably bloodier than any previous pogrom. We are all products of that decision from which we retain only ethnic surnames," and Hu Shih's graceful wave included everyone. "It isn't reassuring to wonder what further terrible incidents man would have on his conscience with such a background were he not restrained by the Principle."

  "Yechk!" Kiachif said derisively. "Pure luck. Wouldn't have happened on any other planet!" His stained finger pointed accusingly at the metropologist, who regarded it with hypnotic fascination. "And it wouldn't have resulted in such stupidity as that fool Principle if Terra hadn't just recovered from that nasty Amalgamation. The stabbing finger s
wung 180 degrees and shook out the window at the busy scene on the Common. "D'ye think those cats would have curried their fur and placidly lain down to die? No! Far better for our poor over-packed planet if we'd met them first." Kiachif's eyes widened to incredible circles of white, emphasized by the regular half-circle of black eyebrows. "Have any of you," he asked softly in a sudden switch of mood, his eyes narrowed again, "ever read the transcript of the Siwannach? What? Ssshuuu," Kiachif whistled in disgust. Up went his hands in a gesture of exasperation, one descending with a loud clap to his knee, the other to resuming its remorseless probing.

  «So! You must know you were being drugged into automatons on Earth. You certainly risked the indignities that they always heap on Inactives, in order to get away. But,» the finger jabbed toward Reeve, then McKee and finally to the metropologist, «you don't rouse yourselves enough to question what you've been taught. You hate a cramped, machine-made existence but don't question why you have to endure it. You question the emptiness of life but not why you have to wait so long for an opportunity to leave it. And you never question why this doesn't change. There have to be changes in a world if it's to grow – and I don't mean spread out – I mean grow up – you see what I mean?» The captain's voice was cajoling. «Haven't you ever really looked at the beginnings of those idiotic restrictions?»

  "I have read the original Siwannach transcripts, Captain," Hu Shih said, gently firm." And I know to what you refer; that one little phrase that some believe was innocently mispronounced. That one little phrase that caused a whole race of profoundly gentle, devout people to commit suicide. It is a case in point of what I have always said: no adult ever really learns the nuance and rhythm of another language perfectly." He sighed deeply. "At least the Amalgamation provided one common language in which all express themselves, even as the ancient Chinese philosopher Lao Tze suggested 6500 years ago. However," and Hu Shih held up one slender hand, a contrast to the large blunt-fingered fist of Kiachif, "it was not only regret at such an occurrence and a desire to avoid a repetition which prompted the Non-Cohabitation Principle. It was the feeling that the greedy acquisition of more planets on which to spread the products of our then uncontrolled breeding was not the real answer to our problem. It was the knowledge that we have no right to take away from another species their own peculiar road toward self-fulfillment. What role might the Amerinds have played in history if the white man had not weakened them with measles and small-pox and whisky? What tragedies might have been avoided if the black man had not been wrenched from his own continent by gold-hungry exploiters? Oh, the list of intentional atrocities is so long. No, and the gentle voice was as inexorable as Kiachifs histrionics, "the Non-Cohabitation Principle is a sound one, a just one and, to my great shame, we have broken it. That is why we must perpetrate no lasting harm on these pleasant friendly people."