He stared numbly up to her, irritated at the fact she continued to shake him. Then, understanding and consciousness of what she was saying returned to him like a smooth rush, gathering speed as it came. He caught at her arms that were shaking him.
“Help me up,” he said. “Help me try to walk.”
She aided him. When he was on his feet, his knees almost gave, but he forced them to move.
“Help me walk,” he said. She guided him, and they went up and down the room. “Swanson,” he said. “I've got to talk to Swanson.”
“You can’t, Jase!” she said. “We’ve got to get you away. Those nurses—“
“Never mind that. This is important!” he said, making his legs walk. “How do we get hold of Swanson?”
“We can’t,” Mele said. “Oh, Jase, don’t be foolish, now! You’re not in Swanson’s hands any more. You’ve got to get away, somehow. They don’t think you can leave your bed, so we’ve got a chance. If we go down the hall the other way, there’s a fire escape—“
“No,” he said. “Listen, Mele—. If they take me away, I want you to try to get to Swanson yourself. If the Ruml are here, you’ve got to get to him and make him understand how to deal with them. If he does the wrong thing, they’ll attack. Just as surely as they killed Kator—“
“But they’ll attack anyway—“
“No. Listen to me. Will you listen?” he said. “We probably don’t have much time before whoever’s coming for me gets here.”
“I'll listen,” she said. “If that’s what you want, I'll listen. But, Jase—“
“Just listen, and remember this,” he interrupted. “Tell Swanson—he may be ready to listen and believe—this now, after seeing Kator die and the Ruml come—tell him the problem’s with both races, ours and the Ruml. Both of us have an instinct to preserve our race and improve it through survival of the fittest, but because of basic animal differences, its evolved two different cultures. Cultures whose individuals’ instincts will bring them into a head-on clash unless they understand each other. Have you got that?”
“I… think so…” She was still guiding him up and down the room.
“There’s no time to repeat it, anyway,” he said. "I'll go on. The first protective unit was the family, among humans. Then the clan, the tribe, expanding out and out, to include the nation and the nation-group. Including more and more people in the not-stranger category. Until we finally began including the whole population of the world in one self-protective group. All right—”
He broke off suddenly; his legs were trembling.
“I better sit down for a minute, after all,” he said. She steered him back to the bed, and he perched on the edge of it, feeling awkward in the ridiculous hospital gown with its ties in the back. “At any rate—the appearance of an intelligent, alien race kicked off, both in us and the Ruml, the ancient protective anti-stranger feeling that has its basis in the primitive association of the family, in human beings, but in something else in the Ruml.”
“Something else?” said Mele.
“Yes. That’s what I’m going to explain. The instinct that causes humans to band together in the face of danger from a strange enemy is based on the primitive bonds of affection not only in the human family but in the higher mammals. It’s what causes elephants to try to hold up one of their number who’s been shot by a hunter, or porpoises to support one of their number who’s been hurt or knocked unconscious. This response grows out of the affection between mother and children, male parent and female parent—and so on. But the Ruml don’t know that land of affection.”
“But they have Families. You were always talking about their Families.”
“Not in the sense we do,” said Jase. “A young Ruml spends his formative years semiconscious in his mother’s carrying pouch. Shortly after he leaves her pouch, at what would be the age of ten for a human child—they mature faster than we do—he’s forgotten even what she looked like. The years of affection of a human child are lost to a Ruml. The only affection they’re capable of on an individual basis is a sort of warm admiration between males and a momentary, transitory love between male and female that is entirely unrelated to the emergence of their child into the Ruml world ten years later.”
Mele’s brow wrinkled.
“But—They have a society?” she said.
“A different kind of society. I told you,” said Jase, “that the family wasn’t the basis of their social response. But they have the same racial instinct for survival. In their case it finds expression in their concept of Honor.” He stared earnestly at her. “Do you understand?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t see how Honor could compare to—”
“That’s just it. A human being can’t imagine it. Unless,” said Jase, wryly, “he’s been inside a Ruml mind the way I have. You’ll have to take my word for it. Everybody will have to take my word for it—but it’s true. Believe me, a Ruml reacts as strongly, emotionally, to a possible threat to his Honor, or the system of Honor, as a human reacts to a threat to his child.” Jase pulled himself off the edge of the bed. “Help me try to walk again. He reacts as strongly, and as primitively.”
“But why?” said Mele helping him. “How can he react to something so-so cold and abstract. I mean, why should he?”
“Because,” gasped Jase, gritting his teeth and making his legs go, “it’s the way the Ruml system of racial survival, and the weeding-out process of survival of the fittest, works.”
“How?”
“The Ruml race—,” said Jase. “No, I want to keep walking—” His knees had given way, and he resisted Mele’s response for steering him back toward the bed. “The Ruml race is exactly like an army waiting for a general, at all times. Any individual who wants to lead it to some exploit, the settlement of new lands or something that will make available room for more or better living conditions for the race, can have its services by just putting himself in a way to accomplish such an exploit.”
“But that doesn’t make sense!” said Mele. They’d all be trying—”
“Sure!” said Jase, mirthlessly and grimly, “but there’s a penalty attached. Whoever leads them, whoever tries to Found a Kingdom, a Family, as Kator did, has to succeed or else. He isn't allowed the smallest, the most indifferent mistake. If he has anything but complete success, it’s a sign the Random Factor wasn’t working for him—he wasn’t, that is, a chosen leader—and he must be disposed of, at once.”
“Killed?” said Mele.
“You saw,” said Jase, “what they did to Kator.”
“But why kill him? To punish him for trying—“
“No,” said Jase. “That’s where the primitive, instinctive element of the reaction enters in. Socially, they think that they kill him as punishment—but the modern Ruml sociologist knows the real reason is something else.” He turned his head to stare at Mele. “You see, if they let him live, he might go back and succeed after all. And that would raise a question. Did he succeed because of his innate, generic genius for leading the Ruml to success or improvement? Or did he succeed, because he learned from his first mistake? It’s to make sure of pure genetic talents that they kill off those who don’t prove out all along the line. You see, evolutionarily, they’re unconsciously working toward a super-Ruml, just as we’re unconsciously striving toward a superman.”
“But,” said Mele. That still doesn’t explain why you said Kator was one in a million Ruml. Don’t more Rural than that try it?”
“No,” said Jase. “That’s the other side of the coin. The emotional block in the average Ruml against making the attempt is tremendous. The governor on this whole process is a countertrait of the Ruml character that works against trying to Found a Kingdom. The fear of failure is intense—and the fear of facing recognition of their failure is more so. That’s why Kator was so noble in going back—but let’s not get into that now. The point is, if the Ruml individual or the Ruml race has any reason to doubt success in anything they underta
ke, they can’t be brought to try it, except as a last-ditch, desperate measure—”
He broke off. The door* had opened. Two tall, quiet-faced men in gray suits had just come in.
“You’ve been listening to me!” said Jase. “You heard? Let me explain how this affected us—“
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” answered one of them. “We just got here. You’re to come with us—both of you.”
“He can’t walk!” cried Mele. “He was just trying to take a few steps. He’s been flat on his back for three weeks.”
“I know,” said the man who had spoken. “That’s been arranged. We’ve got a wheel chair outside in the corridor for him. Come on.” He took hold of Jase’s arm.
“What do you want her for?” demanded Jase as he was propelled toward the door. “Where are you taking us?”
“You might as well not ask questions,” said the man holding his arm. “You’re not going to get any answers.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The two men in gray suits escorted them down a service elevator of the hospital and out to the lawn behind the building. An air force helicopter was waiting for them there. And in this they all lifted from the hospital grounds and went swinging northward. Twenty minutes of flight brought them in sight of a large military installation, which after a moment Jase recognized as Fort Laud, halfway between Washington and Philadelphia. The helicopter drifted in and descended toward the spaceship pad in the northeast corner of the Fort.
However, before they reached it, the ‘copter set down before a wide, rectangular building with a glass-sided control tower rising from it and beyond it, a reaching spread of concrete pad for spaceship landings. They were brought into the building and up in an interior elevator to the top level of the control tower. They found themselves in a nearly square, window-sided room. Across from him one window faced the pad, and among the spaceship shapes there he saw one, reaching skyward, that looked familiar, though he had never seen one like it with his human eyes before.
Just then, he saw Thornybright Erect, in a blue suit, thin, sharp, and competent looking as the blade of an injector razor set on end. He was standing with Swanson, Coth, and some others in civilian clothes. They all turned to look as Jase and Mele entered. In the bright daylight through the windows all looked to Jase to be strangely pale. As they came up to Swanson, Jase saw the man’s eyes were ringed with tiredness, and standing close, he could almost hear the beating of the other’s heart.
“I told them,” said Thornybright, behind Swanson, “that you were their only chance, Jase. For once they believed me.”
“Never mind that,” said Swanson without turning his head. He looked at Jase. “That spaceship, out there? You recognize it?”
Jase looked through the window at it again.
“I don’t know the individual ship,” he said. “But of course it’s a Ruml space vessel—of the type used for troop transport and assault.”
Coth turned and said something inaudible to one of the other officers.
“The officers of the ship,” said Swanson, sharply. “Can you pick them out?” The Ruml ship was about three hundred yards distant on the pad. Someone put a pair Of wide-angle binoculars into Jase’s hands, and as he looked over to take them his eyes met the eyes of Mele. Those blue eyes were perfectly calm and rested on him with perfect faith.
He lifted the binoculars to his eyes.
“Yes,” he said, as the figures jumped into recognizable shapes before him. “That’s the Captain standing to the foot of the ramp at the right there. The first and third officers are fining up the crew. The Keysman’s inside. He won’t come out until last.”
He studied the furred and harnessed Ruml shapes a moment more through the twin lenses of the binoculars. The binoculars were a beautiful instrument, lighter and with an even wider range of vision than his own. He would have liked to have watched the autumn hawk migration southward over the hills of the west shore of Lake Superior, north of Duluth, Minnesota, with a set like these. He lowered them at last and turned back to Swanson.
“There’s no one outside the ship yet I recognize,” he said. “The crew seems to be split right down the middle. Half Hooks and Half Rods, politically.”
“What're they here for? What do they want?” demanded Swanson. Jase looked at him.
“They’re here to negotiate—if you’ll let them,” Jase said.
“If we'll let them!” said Swanson. That’s what we want them to do!”
“Then, go ahead,” said Jase. There’s nothing more to talk about, is there?” He had been through a lot. He could not help sounding somewhat bitter.
Swanson stared at him for a long moment.
“We don’t want to do the wrong thing,” he said, at last.
“Finally,” said Jase, with a great and weary sigh. “Finally—you don’t want to do the wrong thing. It’s time…” The room started to tilt and move slowly around him. He felt himself falling, hands grabbing him, easing him into a chair…
“Doesn’t…” He found himself laughing, weakly and uncontrollably. “Doesn’t want to do the wrong thing… Doesn’t…” Laughter spilled helplessly from him, getting in the way of the words. He felt himself going down like a drowning man for the last time, into hysteria—
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mele was suddenly beside his chair. He felt her hands on his shoulders. He began to throttle back the laughter.
“He ought to rest!” she said fiercely to the men around her.
“No.” Jase shook his head, sobering. “I’m just not used to being on my feet, that’s all. I’ll be all right sitting down.” He smiled a little wryly at them. “Why doesn’t everybody sit down.”
Swanson pulled close a chair that was standing empty nearby and sat down. The rest remained standing.
“All right,” Swanson said. “Maybe you told me before and I wasn’t listening. I’ll listen now. To anything you’ve got to say, anything at all.”
Jase nodded.
“It’s a matter of basic instinct, in us and the Ruml, too,” he said. “You’ve got to understand that to understand how to deal with them. I was telling Mele—“
“What you told her in the hospital room just before we brought you here?” said Swanson. “We’ve got that” Jase blinked at him. “We were taping your conversations. When we called to order you sent to us, the monitor in charge of the taping read me what you’d said over the phone.” He glanced out at the spaceship pad and the Ruml ship. “Go on. Don’t waste time. Go on from where you left off telling her . . .
“Basic research,” said Jase. “If we’d had a decent program of basic research this last hundred years, we’d have been ready for the differences in the Ruml character, their differences from us, when we met them.”
“How could we know anything before we met them?” said Swanson. “How could we know about them before we knew what they were like?”
“You don’t understand how basic research works,” said Jase. “It’s a search after knowledge for the sake of knowing. There was work done right here on earth that could have warned us of the Ruml type of psychology and character. In fact, there was; I found it. I was looking for a bridge, some common understanding between their kind of being and ours. And I found it in an article written by a Finnish zoologist back in I960.”
“In 1960?” Swanson’s voice trembled on the edge of disbelief.
“In a magazine called Natural History,” said Jase. “I think in the January issue. It was called ‘A Key to Ferocity in Bears,’ and it was written by a man named Peter Krott. It told how he, his wife, and children raised two bear cubs under free conditions one year in the Italian Alps. And it gave some conclusions he came to as a result of observing the two bears.”
“The Ruml are like bears?”
“No—” Jase was beginning, shaking his head, when one of the uniformed men interrupted.
“Some of the aliens are going back into the ship!”
“It’s all
right,” said Jase. “They’re just going to attend the Keysman. He won’t come out without an escort in a situation like this—Where was I?”
“Rumls aren’t like bears, you said,” answered Swanson.
That’s right. Only,” said Jase, “in one small way are they similar. But the way bears aren’t like humans points up the way Rumls aren’t like us.” He paused, feeling his exhaustion.
“Go on,” said Swanson.
“What Krott discovered,” said Jase, “was that, after a certain period of growth, the bear cubs he observed began to develop a feeding pattern—” Jase looked around at the ring of faces. “Do any of you know about feeding patterns-like the sharks, for example? Do you know what a feeding pattern, so-called, is?
“When a shark,” said Jase, “tastes blood in the water, instinct sends him into a feeding frenzy. In this frenzy, reflex action will make him snap at anything, a turning propeller blade or his own trailing entrails where another shark has slashed him. He’ll go on trying to eat when he’s dying. That reaction is part of his feeding pattern. It’s below the level of conscious control.”
“But the Ruml—”
“Just a minute,” said Jase. “Humans, although they pretty well have them buried nowadays for lack of use, have reflexes below the level of conscious control. Survival reflexes. A young child under a certain age will reflexively scramble up in to the arms of the nearest adult in the face of danger, or imagined danger. That’s part of the survival pattern.”
He looked at Mele.
“Intellectually, Mele didn’t think I ought to be doing what I did when I added that information to Kator’s recorder,” he said. “But that was intellectually. On the instinctive level, she obeyed the reflex to protect me, because she loved me.” He looked over at Mele. She looked back at him with steady eyes.
“The bears, Krott found,” said Jase, “developed a reflex that led them to attack any moving source of food. Though they were affectionate and gentle with all of the family, one day one of them attacked Mrs. Krott and clawed off her jacket to get at some test tubes of alcohol in her jacket pocket. The attack had nothing to do with how the bear felt about Mrs. Krott.”