Charles V. De Vet

The Zades had their sample Earthling.
What would eventually happen to the
whole depended on what happened to the
specimen. It was as simple as that!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1958.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

As official reporter on the project I was in Srtes' office when they brought the alien in. He was as tall as an average Zade, of pretty much the same color, and would have been able to pass as one of us except that he had no vestigial wings. It gave his shoulders an odd, flat, appearance, and somehow added to the abrupt awkwardness of every movement of his body. He might have had wires rather than muscles beneath his soft dark skin.

There were other, minor differences, of course. Hair grew not only on his head, but also on his body. Coarse, black hair. It could be seen on his hands and the exposed portions of his arms, and on his chest where his blouse was open at the neck. His eyes were brown and set wide apart, with long hairs on the lid edges. His nose had no hard upper ridge. The bone was covered only by the same flesh as the rest of his face.

He was accompanied by a Commander Leik, captain of the space ship that had brought him from Earth. When they entered Srtes rose and set the scroll he had been studying to one side. "I welcome you back," he said to Leik, touching his cheek with the greeting finger of his left hand.

Leik respectfully returned the gesture. "I am once more content," he replied.

"Has he been instructed in our language?" Srtes asked, after the brief formalities were over. He indicated the Earth native.

"He has become quite adept during the eight great tides since we left his world," the Commander answered.

"It is well." Srtes turned and eyed the Earth man searchingly.

The alien returned the gaze, not defiantly, yet not at all subserviently. I could tell that he was ill at ease. A fine sprinkling of perspiration dotted his forehead, and he breathed slowly and deeply, as though carefully timing each inhalation and exhalation.

"Do you have a name?" Srtes asked him.

He made a nodding motion with his head. "John Wilson," he said. The words were clear enough, but spoken with a slurred, soft-palate, sound.

"You have two names?" The hairlines above Srtes' eyes raised slightly.

"It is the custom on their world," Leik supplied. "The surname has a clan connotation."

"You understand your purpose here?" Srtes asked the outworlder.

"Yes." He added nothing to the reply.

"You are aware that there are no restrictions on the study we may make of you?"

"Yes."

"Even that we may dissect you, or kill you, if we so desire?"

The alien's complexion changed subtly, becoming slightly lighter, and his lips pressed firmly together. He made the bobbing motion with his head again.

"His nodding signifies an affirmative reply," Leik interjected. "He volunteered to come with us, so he is quite familiar with the conditions."

"Volunteered?"

"It is strange," Leik agreed. "Yet when I offered to leave one of our men in return for a specimen of their race—so that mutual study might be made—I was firmly refused. It seems their culture has some absurd belief in inherent rights of its individual members. I was saved the inconvenience of abducting the necessary specimen when this one volunteered."

Srtes had difficulty grasping the concept. His forehead creased in concentration for a moment before he said, "Perhaps it would be better if I read the report first. In the meantime, please escort him to our physiologists on the ground floor. They can begin their study immediately."

For seventeen days they examined the alien. As expected, they learned quickly that his body was intrinsically weak. His vital organs had no protective walls of cartilage, and he was extremely vulnerable to the thrust of any sharp or pointed weapon.

Our first opinion was that he would prove an innocuous foe. However, as the tests continued, we began to have some doubts. Physically he was quite powerful. His reflexes were sharp, and he showed an aptness at learning that surprised us. And his intelligence was above average.

The twentieth day I was ordered to report to Srtes' office. I found the other seven members of the council already conferring with Srtes when I entered.

"We have been unable to arrive at any definite conclusion thus far," Srtes was saying. "Therefore it becomes necessary to try him in the Big Run." He paused and frowned in annoyance as I made some slight disturbance. Hurriedly I took my place. I moved among these men only by sufferance.

"One of the crewmen on the space ship that brought him here," Srtes resumed, "a Zade named Ctvar, clashed with the alien several times during the voyage. He was restrained from violence by the captain. This Ctvar should prove an apt instrument for driving our hostage to the proper desperation for the Big Run."

Srtes switched on the large visi-screen that blanketed the front wall of his office. "The alien has been wandering through the streets for the past several hours," he said. "If we are fortunate, Ctvar should put in his appearance soon."

The visi-screen flickered once, cleared, and exposed an outside street. At the far end the alien—John Wilson, as he called himself—walked slowly, with his head down, and his hands in the pockets of the outlandish jacket he had brought with him. He proceeded aimlessly, with a peculiar, jerky, movement of his limbs. Perhaps he was lonesome for his home world, and uncertain of what awaited him.

A party of Zade men left a drinking place just ahead of him. They were quarreling—without any particular rancor—and one of them was loudly keening a verse of hunting song. At their forefront strode a burly Zade with a bush of red-orange hair.

"The big one is the crewman I mentioned," Srtes pointed out.

The burly Zade spied the alien and a pleased burst of laughter rumbled up from his chest. "Our unwinged friend from Earth!" he shouted. It was a deadly insult.

As the alien stopped uncertainly, Ctvar and his friends crowded around him. "Are all Earthlings wingless freaks?" one of them asked in a loud voice. The others laughed.

I expected the alien to show some fight, but he only stood silently.

The party of Zades showed their contempt by increasing the tempo of their insults. Still the Earthling did nothing.

Finally Ctvar became disgusted with the other's spinelessness and spat in his face, at the same time reaching out to grab him.

I heard several gasps from those around me as the alien moved. His actions the next moment were almost too swift for us to follow. He spread his legs slightly, as Ctvar reached for him, and swung his right fist. An instant later Ctvar lay on the ground. One leg made a continuous kicking motion, but it was only a reflex action. Ctvar had been knocked unconscious!

The shouting of the other Zades quieted to an ugly murmur, and they surged forward. The Earthling set his back against the building behind him and struck out at his attackers, but they overwhelmed him by sheer numbers and dragged him to the ground.

They beat him and stamped several times on his body before a squad of sentinels appeared and broke them up.

"A fine start," Srtes said.

"Unless he is already dead."

"I don't believe he is," Srtes answered. "But if he is no more hardy than that, there will be no necessity for us to learn more."

The Earthling proved to be much hardier. And more stubborn.

The sentinels, of course, gave him no further help. They would not have stopped the fight, except that they had orders from Srtes to save our visitor from any disabling injury, if at all possible.

The Earthling lay on the ground for only a short while before he pulled himself to a sitting position. His face was bruised, blood ran from his nose, and one eye was swollen and closed. With the other he followed the progress of Ctvar and his party as they went on to the next drinking place.

When he climbed to his feet his left leg buckled but he limped about on it for a few minutes until he could walk. He strode purposefully toward the drinking place Ctvar's party had entered, and pushed his way inside.

Someone behind me muttered angrily. There was no pick-up in the drinking place and we could only watch the exterior of the building.

We did not have long to wait. The sound of commotion inside reached us soon after the alien entered. A short time later he tumbled out through the doorway. His body was limp as it landed in the dirt street. He lay motionless. A few minutes later we caught another view of Ctvar. He and two of his friends were carried from the drinking place.

The alien did not recover so quickly this time. His first movement was a slow rocking of his head. At each motion a low groan came from his lips. He made several attempts to regain his feet, but his legs would not hold him. At last he began crawling toward his room a few blocks away. He left a small trail of blood behind him.

It took him almost an hour of crawling, between rests, to reach his room.

I left Srtes' office with the council members. There would be little to observe for some days, and that little I could watch on the screen in my own cubicle.

All the next day the alien lay on his sleeping rug. He rose only in response to his nature calls, and once to fix himself a bowl of porridge. However, the following afternoon, though he was obviously still not at all physically fit, he dressed and left his room.

It took me a few minutes after he reached the street to realize that he was heading for the Building Administrates. Undoubtedly to complain to Srtes of the treatment he had received at the hands of Ctvar and his party. And just when I was beginning to have some small amount of respect for the outworlder.

I switched hurriedly to Srtes and informed him of the imminent visit. At the same time I requested permission to cover the interview. The request was granted.

Srtes' visitor surprised us by making no complaint against Ctvar, and requesting no protection.

He declined the hassocks Srtes offered him, and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. "I've heard nothing from you for some time now," he said. "Does that mean your examiners are finished with me?"

"That is correct," Srtes answered courteously.

"What comes next?" he asked.

"Next?" Srtes repeated. "Why, that is your own decision. My interest in you ceased the day our study was complete. You are free now to do as you wish."

The alien thought that over for a time. "You do not intend to return me to Earth?" he asked.

"Is there any reason why you should expect us to?" Srtes replied.

"To me it seems there is," he said. "I fulfilled my part of the contract. Shouldn't I expect you, as a fair return, to see that I got back to Earth?"

Srtes' expression betrayed a mild irritation. "We had no contract," he said. "You were given to us to do with as we wished. Now that our study is completed, we owe you nothing."

"I expected as much," the alien said, almost without interest. "Will you tell me then, what I can do to help myself? I presume you do not intend to furnish me with food and shelter indefinitely."

"You will be permitted to keep your room until you find new quarters. The rest is your own responsibility."

He considered that for a long moment. "Do you have any suggestions as to how I might go about earning my living?" he asked.

"If you have any serviceable skill, you will probably be able to find employment for it. If not—" Sites shrugged.

"How would I know what skills would be useful here? I know practically nothing about you."

"I'm afraid that's your own problem," Srtes said. "If you are unable to adapt, you will not survive. It is the natural law."

The alien's eyes narrowed. He seemed to be holding in check a cold anger. "Tell me," he said. "Do you consider yourselves just?"

Srtes' hair bristled until his head appeared twice its normal size. He half rose from his hassock, then slowly resumed his seat. I admired his self-restraint.

"We consider ourselves extremely fair," he said carefully. "Only the strong have the right to survive, and the fact that they do survive proves their strength. What you are determines your end. We are demanding nothing more from you than we expect from our own citizens. Weaklings and inefficients are perishing every day on the ragged confines of our civilization. In simple justice I can offer you nothing more."

The Earthling's shoulders had gradually drooped as Srtes spoke. "Yours is a harsh philosophy," he mumbled at the end.

"It is our means of being certain that we maintain our race's fitness," Srtes explained patiently. "On this world only the strong and their progeny survive. As long as that natural struggle continues the strength of each generation will become greater."

The alien seemed to recognize Srtes' sincerity. He rose tiredly. "Thanks, for the explanation at least," he said, as he left the office.

The next step would be mine. During the rest of the afternoon, as I watched on the visi-screen, the Earthling kept to his room. Most of the day he lay on his sleeping rug, with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The rest of the time he paced aimlessly. The next morning he ate the last of his porridge, and as the day progressed I recognized that much of his unrest must be prompted by hunger. Yet his battered body needed the rest he was giving it.

He napped shortly after dusk, but only for a short time. When he awoke he put on his jacket and went outside. On the screen I followed his forlorn wanderings about the city.

After several hours he stopped and leaned against a wooden building. The night breeze had risen to its near-gale intensity by this time, and he pulled his jacket closer about him. It was only a few degrees below freezing, and he should have been warm enough, but I understood his race was unable to withstand any great degree of cold. And he was sore and hungry.

I received my call from Srtes then. He and the council had decided that the alien had reached the proper depth of misery and hopelessness. I was to contact him—and set him for the Big Run.

I found him still leaning against the same wooden building. He looked up at me from under his heavy brows as I neared him. I kept a safe distance between us. I remembered Ctvar. "Will you allow me to buy you something to eat?" I asked, deciding to use a direct approach.

I liked the way he did not ask any questions. He merely regarded me for a moment longer, then made his nodding motion.

All through the meal in the public eating place he remained silent. He ate hungrily but without haste and only when he'd finished did he speak again. "Why?" he asked.

"I do not understand what you mean," I evaded.

"I haven't learned much about you Zades since I've been here," he said, "but I have learned that you do nothing out of kindness. What do you want from me?"

I forced myself to smile. "You are right, of course," I said. "I do want something from you. Information about your world. In return for your cooperation I will see that you continue to be well fed."

"I thought Srtes was through with me," he said.

"My interest is strictly personal," I answered. "I am what you would call a reporter. We give out our news on disseminators similar to your television."

I had caught his interest. I suppose he was eager to learn anything that he might use to make his way. "I've seen no signs of television," he said.

"This is one of our smaller cities," I improvised quickly. "There are only a few receiving sets here. Most of them are in the main halls of the various clans."

The explanation satisfied him. "Just what do you want to know?" he asked.

"Anything about your Earth that you think might be of interest to my listeners."

"Couldn't you get that from Srtes and his staff?"

"Their supply of information is limited. You should be able to give me much more."

He was actually eager to talk. It probably relieved his homesickness. We returned to his room, and our conversation took up most of the rest of the night. Toward morning he began questioning me.

"I've given you all the information you asked for," he said. "Now I'd like some in return. Can you suggest any way I can make a living on this world of yours?"

I thought for a moment. "You might be able to introduce some product of your civilization's technology that would be useful here. Not knowing your world, I couldn't suggest just what."

"I should be able to come up with something," he said thoughtfully. "Would I be allowed to manufacture and sell it if I did?"

"If you can demonstrate that you can do it better than anyone else, you will be given an exclusive right to control both its construction and distribution."

"Does that apply to every function of your society?" he asked.

"This world belongs to those who can prove their strength," I answered.

"That's a bit different than on Earth," he said. "We have always held that competition makes for the best results."

I had become quite interested in the discussion, and found myself giving a rather lengthy explanation of that part of our society's functioning. "Competition is very real here, even though it is less tangible than yours. The fact that a producer of a product or service may be displaced by anyone demonstrating a better or more efficient product or method, acts as a spur to best efforts. The price is set by the state, with the prices of competing bidders in mind. Under our system time and energy is not wasted making inferior goods, or those already in adequate supply. The purchasers, also, are never exposed to an inferior article."

I was becoming quite drowsy by this time and left after I'd answered a few more of his questions. I felt affection toward the Earthling. He was direct and honest. Beneath his placid manner he had a pride as fierce as any Zade. Tomorrow would be the crucial day for him.

Late the next afternoon I bought a packet of food and brought it to the outworlder's room. "Did you have trouble with a Zade named Ctvar?" I asked him, immediately on entering.

"Yes, I did," he answered. "Why?"

"His clansmen have been pouring into the city all day. I just learned that they are looking for you."

His eyes widened slightly. "Isn't Ctvar able to handle his own trouble?"

"Ctvar is dead."

He seemed unable at first to find the words to speak. At last he said, "It happened in a fight that he started. Why should they seek revenge?"

"They would be poor clan brothers if they did not avenge him," I answered.

"Won't your sentinels do anything to stop them?" he asked.

"They won't help you," I answered. "You make no contribution to the state that would entitle you to their protection."

"Don't you have laws against this sort of thing?"

"An undetermined number of persons wish you dead. You, and perhaps I, want you to live. The majority is against us."

"But I'm at least entitled to a trial."

I puzzled over his meaning of the word, but could find no sure answer. "I don't know what the purpose of a trial would be," I said. "But it could change nothing. You have the ill will of many citizens."

He stared at the floor without any further questions.

Against the strong logic of my reasoning I felt a strong empathy toward him. He had conducted himself well on this world that must seem very strange to him. I offered what consolation I could. "There is this possibility," I said. "A majority is not always reckoned by numbers. If you can collect superior strength to your side—either by getting others to help you, or by your own ingenuity—and whip Ctvar's clan, the law will do nothing to punish you. You may even kill them with impunity, except for the revenge of the other clansmen."

"That's a small hope."

"It is," I agreed, belatedly recalling to mind my mission. I was probably this minute under disapproving observation. "You can't hope to fight them all," I continued. "That is why I would earnestly suggest that you run."

"To where would I run?"

"I gave that a good deal of thought on my way here," I said. "There's a space ship—on a meadow outside the walls, on the far side of the city—that you might be able to reach. You could take it and flee to your own world, probably the only place where you'd be safe."

"I wouldn't know how to operate it."

"The ship is very nearly automatic. Look," I said. I took a sheet of velum, and a stylus, and drew three circles with smaller circles beneath them. "These represent the dials on the ship's control panel. The bubbles in the first dial must be set in this order—you'd better memorize them—blue-blue-yellow-blue-yellow. That's the range for your Earth. You'll have to shrink the last yellow bubble to about three-quarter size. That will give you a safety leeway. The ship will take itself in on motors from there.

"This second dial starts the ship. You merely squeeze the knob beneath it. The third dial is for stopping. As you are about to land, the tighter you grip the knob, the slower the ship will settle. You shouldn't have any trouble manipulating it."

His spirits seemed to revive somewhat. "It's worth a try," he said. "I have nothing to lose."

"It's only a few hours to night-fall," I told him. "That will be the best time to try getting through the city. I'd suggest you eat a good meal, and fix yourself a lunch to take along. Then nap if you can."

I was back in Srtes' office, watching the big screen, with the eight council members, when the alien started out. That was shortly after dusk. It is never completely dark on Zade.

He was shrewd enough to leave his room the back way, I observed. There was no rear door, but he let himself down from the balcony, dropping the last few feet to the ground.

"He is wearing a sword, I see," a white haired councilor remarked.

"Yes," Srtes answered. "He was given it when they were testing his weapons adaptability. But the fool filed it down until it is hardly thicker than a reed. It will be a poor weapon."

The alien hugged the wall of the house, and after glancing into the opening between it and the next, scurried quickly across. Two buildings farther on the rear court ended, and he had to go around to the front. When he reached the yellow pedestrian walk he did not turn, as we might have expected, but went on across a second courtyard.

"He realizes that the normally travelled yellow walks would not be very safe," Srtes said. "I wonder how long it will take him to solve the enigma of the others."

At the next white street he turned to his right. When he reached the end and learned that he had gone up a blind alley he retraced his steps and went across to a perpendicular blue street. He seemed a bit nervous now.

A third of the way down the blue walk he ran into the invisible electric shock wall, and staggered backward. The lunch packet that he carried fell from his hand, and he was obviously too stunned to remember to pick it up as he started back.

He had retreated only a short way before he paused and stood considering his situation. After a minute he returned and examined the buildings at each side of the electrified area. He must have found that the conduction outlets did not extend to the ground, for soon he began crawling forward on his hands and knees.

"A point for the alien," I heard Srtes murmur. I detected a hint of admiration in his voice.

The alien kept his caution, for when the ground caved beneath his hand, at the end of the third street, he did not fall into the trap. He simply rolled back and lay quietly for a moment. Another decision.

He was equal to it. Rising to his feet, he took a short run and leaped for the balcony on the nearest building. From there it was an easy matter to reach the roof. Observing carefully below before each venture, he leaped from roof to roof until he reached the end of the street.

We lost him for a short time then. He had gone down into the last house. A few minutes later a guard in front of the door stumbled abruptly backward and disappeared inside.

Another moment passed and the guard reappeared. He walked briskly up two streets before we became aware of what had happened. The alien had changed to the guard's clothes!

That would not take him far, of course. At the beginning of the third street he was stopped by two sentries. When they demanded a password, he whipped his sword out from beneath his cloak and ran the nearest through. The second shouted for help and drew his own sword. He offered only a moment of resistance. We saw then the alien's reason for grinding down the long sword. He handled it almost like a whip, and the sentry was unable to parry his swift thrusts.

As I noted the councilors' exchange of wondering glances I understood that a new weapons concept had been born.

When the second sentry fell, the alien sprinted into the house, and reappeared a minute later on the roof. Soon he was a block away from the scene of the fight.

The sentries at the second intersection had run back in answer to the shout for help, and the alien was able to cross the street unmolested. Once again he took to the roof, and when he came down again he had reached the Building Administrates. He was directly below us!

We followed him on the screen as he ran down the stairs to the basement. A sound from the front of the building attracted our attention and we switched back. Two sentinels had not been caught off guard. They had spotted him entering Administrates and were following closely.

We switched back to the fugitive, and just in time. He had dragged himself almost all the way under the bottom ramp of the stairs. Soon he had disappeared entirely. Now the sentinals were looking about in a confused way.

I heard Srtes beside me sigh heavily as he rose to his feet. "Do you realize," he asked no one in particular, "that he is already half-way through? All our calculations pointed to the odds being heavily against his reaching this far."

"The sentinels will find him in a few minutes," one of the councilors said reassuringly.

"Of course they will!" Srtes replied angrily. "But he was not supposed to be able to get this far."

The alien stayed beneath the ramp only until his pursuers ran past. Immediately after, he reappeared and strode without hesitation toward the nearest air vent. The screen stuck when he gripped its spokes and tried to turn it, but he exerted his strength and it gave slowly. He pulled it from its frame and let it rest on the floor.

Pushing his feet through the vent opening, still clutching the screen, he let himself down. Soon his feet came to rest on the inside ledge of the air tunnel and he balanced there as he screwed the screen back into place. He had vanished by the time the sentinels came running back.

"By the great hound of Hagras!" a councilor exclaimed. "Is there no end to the creature's ingenuity?"

None of us paid any attention to him; we were too busy watching the scene below. Only Srtes spoke. "Will the fools have brains enough to look for him down there?" he muttered. The excitement of the chase had obviously gripped him also. He clicked on a control button that split the screen into two scenes, and we were able to watch the activity above, as well as in the tunnels below.

We had no trouble following the flight of the alien. The lining of the tunnels had been prepared with a luminous coating that gave enough light for us to see the inside clearly.

As we watched, the alien stumbled and fell to the floor. He lay for a long moment, too weary to rise. By this time he must be exhausted. His stamina had already proven greater than we had anticipated.

He rose again and walked doggedly on, searching absent-mindedly in his pockets as he went. I knew he must be hungry and thirsty. He was probably only now remembering the packet he had lost early in his flight. But he did not slow his steady progress forward.

On the right half of the screen we noted that the captain of the sentinels had evidently figured out what had happened. Up ahead his men were hurrying into the numerous branches of the air tunnel and blocking every passage. As they had probably been ordered, they began walking slowly back. We kept our attention on the one who would intercept the fugitive.

The alien stopped occasionally and stood listening. Once he paused longer than usual. Was his hearing that good, I wondered, or was he just being cautious? After a minute he moved forward again, until only a fairly long bend in the tunnel branch separated him from the oncoming sentinel.

This time he did hear his interceptor. He ran quickly back, keeping a close observation on the wall to his left as he went. Soon he found the hiding place he sought. Probably he had noted it in passing before, and had kept it in mind for an emergency of this kind.

Where he stopped a connection in the sheet metal lining the tunnel had come loose and a dark space gaped open. He crawled inside.

The man was stupid, I thought, if he expected the sentinel to pass without noticing the hiding place.

The sentinel was not stupid. But then, we soon found out, neither was the alien.

When the sentinel came to the opening he paused and jabbed tentatively into the dark cavity with the long sword that he carried in his hand. An instant later he stumbled forward, his knees gave beneath him, and he sagged to the floor.

After a moment the alien emerged. A portion of his cloak was wrapped around one hand, his sword in the other. We understood then what had happened. He had grasped the sentinel's sword in his padded hand and jerked him forward, at the same time thrusting out with his own weapon. The sentinel had been wounded critically.