The Works of Clifford D. Simak Volume Two Read online

  Silly, he thought, one man pitting himself against a group that held the resources of the earth within its grasp, a group at once ruthless and fanatical, that commanded as its managers the best brains of the planet, arrogant in its belief that what was good for the group was good for everyone, brooking no interference, alert to even the slightest threat, even to imagined threat.

  Silly, perhaps absurdly quixotic—and, yet, what could he do? To save his own self-respect, to pay even lip service to the dignity of humanity, he must make at least a token effort, even knowing that the possibility of his accomplishing anything was very close to zero.

  Say this much for them, he thought, they were not cruel men. In many ways, they were compassionate. Their imagined enemies were neither killed nor confined in noisome prisons, as had been the case with historic tyrants. They were held under the best of circumstances, all their needs were supplied, they were not humiliated. Everything was done to keep them comfortable and happy. The one thing that had been taken from them was their freedom of choice.

  But man, he thought, had fought for bitter centuries for that very freedom. It was not something that should be lightly held or easily relinquished.

  All this, at the moment, he thought, was pointless. If he should be able to do anything at all, it might not be until after months of observation and learning. He could remain in the room for hours, wallowing in his doubt and incompetency, and gain not a thing by it. It was time to begin to get acquainted with his new surroundings.

  The parklike grounds surrounding the buildings were ringed by the fence, twelve feet high or more, with a four-foot fence inside it. There were trees and shrubs and beds of flowers and grass—the only grass he had seen since coming here, a well-tended greensward.

  Paths of crushed shell ran among the trees and underneath them was a coolness and a quiet. A few gardeners worked in flower beds and guards stood at the distant gate, but otherwise there were few people about. Probably it was still office hours; later on, there might be many people.

  He came upon the man sitting on the bench when the walk curved sharply around a group of head-high shrubbery. Latimer stopped, and for a moment they regarded one another as if each was surprised at the appearance of the other.

  Then the man on the bench said, with a twinkle in his eye, “It seems that the two of us are the only ones who have no tasks on this beautiful afternoon. Could you be, possibly, the refugee from Auk House?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” said Latimer. “My name is David Latimer, as if you didn’t know.”

  “Upon my word,” said the other, “I didn’t know your name. I had only heard that someone had escaped from Auk House and had ended up with us. News travels swiftly here. The place is a rumor mill. There is so little of consequence that happens that once some notable event does occur, it is chewed to tiny shreds.

  “My name, by the way, is Horace Sutton and I’m a paleontologist. Can you imagine a better place for a paleontologist to be?”

  “No, I can’t,” said Latimer.

  “Please share this bench with me,” invited Sutton. “I take it there is nothing of immediate urgency that requires your attention.”

  “Not a thing,” said Latimer. “Nothing whatsoever.”

  “Well, that is fine,” said Sutton. “We can sit and talk a while or stroll around for a bit, however you may wish. Then, as soon as the sun gets over the yardarm, if by that time you’re not totally disenchanted with me, we can indulge ourselves in some fancy drinking.”

  Sutton’s hair was graying and his face was lined, but there was something youthful about him that offset the graying hair and lines.

  Latimer sat down and Sutton said to him, “What do you think of this layout? A charming place, indeed. The tall fence, as you may have guessed, is electrified, and the lower fence keeps stupid people such as you and I from blundering into it. Although, there have been times I have been glad the fence is there. Comes a time when a carnivore or two scents the meat in here and is intent upon a feast, you are rather glad it’s there.”

  “Do they gather often? The carnivores, I mean.”

  “Not as much as they did at one time. After a while, the knowledge of what to keep away from sinks into even a reptilian brain.”

  “As a paleontologist you study the wildlife here.”

  “For the last ten years,” said Sutton. “I guess a bit less time than that. It was strange at first; it still seems a little strange. A paleontologist, you understand, ordinarily works with bones and fossil footprints and other infuriating evidence that almost tells you what you want to know, but always falls short.

  “Here there is another problem. From the viewpoint of prime world, many of the reptiles, including the dinosaurs, died out sixty-three million years ago. Here they did not die out. As a result, we are looking at them not as they were millions of years ago, but as they are after millions of additional years of evolutionary development. Some of the old species have disappeared, others have evolved into something else in which you can see the traces of their lineage, and some entirely new forms have arisen.”

  “You sound as if your study of them is very dedicated,” said Latimer. “Under other circumstances, you would probably be writing a book …”

  “But I am writing a book,” said Sutton. “I am hard at work on it. There is a man here who is very clever at drawing and he is making diagrams for me and there will be photographs …”

  “But what’s the point?” asked Latimer. “Who will publish it? When will it be published? Gale told me that no one ever leaves here, that there is no going back to prime world.”

  “That is right,” said Sutton. “We are exiled from prime world. I often think of us as a Roman garrison stationed, say, on Britain’s northern border or in the wilds of Dacia, with the understanding that we’ll not be going back to Rome.”

  “But that means your book won’t be published. I suppose it could be transmitted back to prime world and be printed there, but the publishing of it would destroy the secrecy of the project.”

  “Exactly how much do you know about the project?” Sutton asked.

  “Not much, perhaps. Simply the purpose of it—the trapping of people in time—no, not time, I guess. Alternate worlds, rather.”

  “Then you don’t know the whole of it?”

  “Perhaps I don’t,” said Latimer.

  “The matter of removing potentially dangerous personnel from prime world,” said Sutton, “is only part of it. Surely if you have thought of it at all, you could see other possibilities.”

  “I haven’t had time to think too deeply on it,” said Latimer. “No time at all, in fact. You don’t mean the exploitation of these other worlds?”

  “It’s exactly what I mean,” said Sutton. “It is so obvious, so logical. Prime world is running out of resources. In these worlds, they lie untouched. The exploitation of the alternate worlds not only would open new resources, but would provide employment, new lands for colonization, new space for expansion. It is definitely a better idea than this silly talk you hear about going off into outer space to find new worlds that could be colonized.”

  “Then why all the mummery of using it to get rid of potential enemies?”

  “You sound as if you do not approve of this part of the project.”

  “I’m not sure I approve of any of it and certainly not of picking up people and stashing them away. You seem to ignore the fact that I was one of those who was picked up and stashed away. The whole thing smells of paranoia. For the love of God, the big business interests of prime world have so solid a grip on the institutions of the Earth and, in large part, on the people of the Earth, that there is no reason for the belief that there is any threat against them.”

  “But they do take into account,” said Sutton, “the possibility of such threats rising in the years to come, probably based upon events that could be happeni
ng right now. They have corps of psychologists who are pursuing studies aimed against such possibilities, corps of economists and political scientists who are looking at possible future trends that might give rise to antibusiness reactions. And, as you know, they are pinpointing certain specific areas and peoples who could contribute, perhaps unwittingly, either now or in the future, to undesirable reactions. But, as I understand it, they are hopeful that if they can forestall the trends that would bring about such reactions for a few centuries, then the political, the economic, and the social climates will be so solidly committed in their favor, that they can go ahead with the exploitation of some of the alternate worlds. They want to be sure before they embark on it, however, that they won’t have to keep looking over their shoulders.”

  “But hundreds of years! All the people who are engaged in this project will have been long dead by then.”

  “You forget that a corporation can live for many centuries. The corporations are the driving force here. And, in the meantime, those who work in the project gain many advantages. It is worth their while.”

  “But they can’t go back to Earth—back to prime world, that is.”

  “You are hung up on prime world,” said Sutton. “By working in the project, you are showered with advantages that prime world could never give you. Work in the project for twenty years, for example, and at the age of fifty—in some cases, even earlier—you can have a wide choice of retirements—an estate somewhere on Auk world, a villa on a paradise world, a hunting lodge in another world where there is a variety of game that is unbelievable. With your family, if you have one, with servants, with your every wish fulfilled. Tell me, Mr. Latimer, could you do as well if you stayed on prime world? I’ve listed only a few possibilities; there are many others.”

  “Gale told me it would be possible to send me back to Auk House. So people can move around these alternate worlds, but not back to prime world?”

  “That is right. Supplies for all the worlds are transported to this world and from here sent out to other stations.”

  “But how? How is this done?”

  “I have no idea. There is an entire new technology involved. Once I had thought it would be matter transmitters, but I understand it’s not. Certain doors exist. Doors with quote marks around them. I suppose there is a corps of elite engineers who know, but would suspect that no one else does.”

  “You spoke of families.”

  “There are families here.”

  “But I didn’t see …”

  “The kids are in school. There aren’t many people about right now. They’ll be showing up at the cocktail hour. A sort of country-club routine here. That’s why I like to get up early. Not many are about. I have this park to myself.”

  “Sutton, you sound as if you like this setup.”

  “I don’t mind it,” Sutton said. “It’s far preferable to what I had in prime world. There my reputation had been ruined by a silly dispute I fell into with several of my colleagues. My wife died. My university let me stay on in sufferance. So when I was offered a decent job …”

  “Not telling you what kind of job?”

  “Well, no, not really. But the conditions of employment sounded good and I would be in sole charge of the investigation that was in prospect. To be frank with you, I jumped at it.”

  “You must have been surprised.”

  “In fact, I was. It took a while to reconcile myself to the situation.”

  “But why would they want a paleontologist?”

  “You mean, why would money-grabbing, cynical corporations want a paleontologist?”

  “I guess that’s what I mean.”

  “Look, Latimer—the men who make up the corporations are not monsters. They saw here the need for a study of a truly unique world—a continuation of the Cretaceous, which has been, for years, an intriguing part of the planet’s history. They saw it as a contribution to human knowledge. My book, when it is published, will show this world at a time before the impact of human exploitation fell upon it.”

  “When your book is published?”

  “When it is safe to make the announcement that alternate worlds have been discovered and are being opened for colonization. I’ll never see the book, of course, but nevertheless, I take some pride in it. Here I have found confirmation for my stand that brought about condemnation by my colleagues. Fuzzy thinking, they said, but they were the fuzzy thinkers. This book will vindicate me.”

  “And that’s important? Even after you are dead?”

  “Of course it is important. Even after I am dead.”

  Sutton looked at his watch. “I think,” he said, “it may be time now. It just occurred to me. Have you had anything to eat?”

  “No,” said Latimer. “I hadn’t thought of it before. But I am hungry.”

  “There’ll be snacks in the bar,” said Sutton. “Enough to hold you until dinner.”

  “One more question before we leave,” said Latimer. “You said the reptiles showed some evolutionary trends. In what direction? How have they changed?”

  “In many ways,” said Sutton. “Bodily changes, of course. Perhaps ecological changes as well—behavioral changes, although I can’t be sure of that. I can’t know what their behavior was before. Some of the bigger carnivores haven’t changed at all. Perhaps a bit more ability in a number of cases. Their prey may have become faster, more alert, and the carnivores had to develop a greater agility or starve. But the most astonishing change is in intelligence. There is one species, a brand-new species so far as I know, that seems to have developed a pronounced intelligence. If it is intelligence, it is taking a strange direction. It’s hard to judge correctly. You must remember that of all the stupid things that ever walked the earth, some of the dinosaurs ranked second to none. They didn’t have a lick of sense.”

  “You said intelligence in a strange direction.”

  “Let me try to tell you. I’ve watched these jokers for hours on end. I’m almost positive that they handle herds of herbivores—herbivorous reptiles, that is. They don’t run around them like sheepdogs manage sheep, but I am sure they do control them. There are always a few of them watching the herds, and while they’re watching them, the herds do no straying—they stay together like a flock of sheep tended by dogs. They move off in orderly fashion when there is need to move to a new pasture. And every once in a while, a few members of the herd will detach themselves and go ambling off to a place where others of the so-called intelligent dinosaurs are hanging out, and there they are killed. They walk in to be slaughtered. I can’t get over the feeling that the herbivores are meat herds, the livestock of the intelligent species. And another thing. When carnivores roam in, these intelligent jokers shag them out of there. Not by chasing them or threatening them. Just by moving out where they can be seen. Then they sit down, and after the carnivores have looked them over, the carnivores seem to get a little jittery, and after a short time they move off.”

  “Hypnotism? Some sort of mental power?”

  “Possibly.”

  “That wouldn’t have to be intelligence. It could be no more than an acquired survival trait.”

  “Somehow I don’t think so. Other than watching herds and warning off carnivores—if that is what they’re doing—they sit around a lot among themselves. Like a hunch of people talking. That’s the impression I get, that they are talking. None of the social mannerisms that are seen among primates—no grooming, horseplay, things like that. There seems to be little personal contact—no touching, no patting, no stroking. As if none of this were needed. But they dance. Ritualistic dancing of some sort. Without music. Nothing to make music with. They have no artifacts. They haven’t got the hands that could fashion artifacts. Maybe they don’t need tools or weapons or musical instruments. Apparently they have certain sacred spots. Places where they go, either singly or in small groups, to meditate or worship. I know of one su
ch place; there may be others. No idols, nothing physical to worship. A secluded spot. Seemingly a special place. They have been using it for years. They have worn a path to it, a path trod out through the centuries. They seem to have no form of worship, no rituals that must be observed. They simply go and sit there. At no special time. There are no Sundays in this world. I suspect they go only when they feel the need of going.”

  “It is a chilling thought,” said Latimer.

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  He looked at his watch again. “I am beginning to feel the need of that drink,” he said. “How about you?”

  “Yes” said Latimer, “I could do with one.”

  And now, he told himself, he had a few more of the answers. He knew how the staff at Auk House was changed, where the supplies came from. Everything and everyone, apparently, was channeled and routed from this operations center. Prime world, from time to time, furnished supplies and personnel and then the rest was handled here.

  He found himself puzzled by Sutton’s attitude. The man seemed quite content, bore no resentment over being exiled here. They are not monsters, he had said, implying that the men in this operation were reasonable and devoted men working in the public interest. He was convinced that someday his book would be published, according him posthumous vindication. There had been, as well, Latimer remembered, Enid’s poems and Dorothy’s novel. Had the poems and the novel been published back in prime world, perhaps under pseudonyms, works so excellent that it had been deemed important that they not be lost?

  And what about the men who had done the research that had resulted in the discovery of the alternate worlds and had worked out the technique of reaching and occupying them? Not still on prime world, certainly; they would pose too great a danger there. Retired, perhaps, to estates on some of the alternate worlds.