Donald A. Wollheim (ed) (21 page)

"Did
I—dream this?" she whispered.

"Then both of us dreamed it, Pat."
He took her arm and drew her back toward the rocket, whose round ports
glowed
an invitation through the dusk.

But once in the warm interior, with her
clumsy outer garments removed, Pat drew her dainty legs under her, lighted a
cigarette, and fell to more rational consideration of the mystery.

"There's
something we don't understand about this, Ham. Did you sense anything queer
about Oscar's mind?" "It's a devilishly quick one!"

"Yes, he's intelligent enough.
Intelligence of the human level, or even"—she hesitated—"above the
human. But it isn't a human mind. It's different, somehow—alien, strange. I
can't quite express what I felt, but did you notice Oscar never asked a
question? Not one!"

"Why—he
didn't, did he? That's
queerl
"

"It's darn queer. Any human
intelligence, meeting another thinking form of life, would ask plenty of
questions. We did." She blew a thoughtful puff of smoke. "And that
isn't all.
That—that indifference of his when the
triops
attacked his fellow—was that human, or even
earthly?
I've seen a hunting spider snatch one fly from a swarm of them
without disturbing the rest, but could that happen to intelligent creatures?
It couldn't; not even to brains as undeveloped as those in a herd of deer, or a
flock of sparrows. Kill one and you frighten all."

"That's true, Pat. They're damn queer
ducks, these fellow citizens of Oscar's. Queer animals."

"Animals?
Don't tell me you didn't notice,
HamI
"

"Notice what?"

"Oscar's no animal. He's a plant—a
warm-blooded, mobile vegetable! All the time we were talking to him he was rooting
around below him with his—well, his root. And those things that looked like legs—they
were pods. He didn't walk on them; he dragged himself on his root. And, what's
more, he-"

"What's more?"

"What's
more, Ham, those pods were the same sort as the ones that the
triops
threw at us in the canyon of the Mountains of
Eternity, the ones that choked and smothered us so—"

"The
ones that laid you out so cold, you mean." "Anyway, I had wits enough
to notice them!" she retorted, flushing. "But there's part of the
mystery, Ham.

Oscar's
mind is a vegetable
mindl
" She paused, puffing
her cigarette as he packed his pipe.

"Do you suppose," she asked
suddenly, "that the presence of Oscar and his crew represents a menace to
human occupancy of Venus?
I
know
they're dark-side creatures, but what if mines are discovered here? What if
there turns out to be a field for commercial exploitation? Humans can't live
indefinitely away from sunlight, I know, but there might be a need for
temporary colonies here, and what then?"

"Well,
what then?" rejoined
Ham.

"Yes; what then?
Is there room on the same planet for two
intelligent races? Won't there be a conflict of interests sooner or
later?"

"What of it?" he grunted.
"Those things are primitive, Pat. They live in caves, without culture,
without weapons. They're no danger to man."

"But they're magnificently intelligent.
How do you know that these we've seen aren't just a barbaric tribe, and that
somewhere on the vastness of the dark side there isn't a vegetable
civilization? You know civilization isn't the personal prerogative of
mankind—look at the mighty decadent culture on Mars, and the dead remnants on
Titan. Man has simply happened to have the strangest brand of it, at least so
far."

"That's true enough, Pat," he
agreed. "But if Oscar's fellows aren't any more pugnacious than they were
toward that murderous
triops
, then they aren't much
of a menace."

She
shuddered. "I can't understand that at all. I wonder if—" She paused,
frowning.

"If what?"

"I don't know. I had an idea—a rather
horrible idea." She looked up suddenly. "Ham, tomorrow I'm going to
find out exactly how intelligent Oscar really is. Exactly how intelligent—if I
can."

There were certain difficulties, however.
When Ham and Pat approached the ice ridge, plodding across the fantastic
terrain, they found themselves in utter perplexity as to which of the row of
caves was the one before which they had stood in conversation with Oscar. In
the glittering reflections from their lamps each opening appeared exactly like
every other, and the creatures at their mouths stared at them with lidded eyes
in which there was no readable expression.

"Well," said Pat in puzzlement,
"we'll just have to try. You there, are you Oscar?"

The clicking voice sounded: "Yes."

"I don't believe it," objected Ham.
"He was over more to the right.
Heyl
Are you
Oscar?"

Another
voice clicked: "Yes."

"You can't
both
be Oscar!"

Pat's
choice responded: "We are all Oscar."

"Oh, never mind," cut in Pat, forestalling Ham's protests.
"Apparently what one knows they all know, so it doesn't make any
difference which we
choose.
Oscar, you said yesterday
you were intelligent. Are you more intelligent than I am?"

"Yes.
Much more intelligent."

"Hah!"
snickered
Ham. "Take that, Pat!"

She sniffed. "Well, that puts him miles
above you, Yankee! Oscar, do you ever lie?"

Opaque lids dropped over translucent ones.
"Lie?" repeated the shrill voice. "No. There is no need."

"Well, do you—" She broke off
suddenly at the sound of a dull pop. "What's that? Oh! Look, Ham, one of
his pods burst!" She drew back.

A sharply pungent odor assailed them,
reminiscent of that dangerous hour in the canyon, but not strong enough this
time to set Ham choking or send the girl reeling into unconsciousness.
Sharp, acrid, and yet not entirely unpleasant.

"What's
that for, Oscar?"

"It
is so we—" The voice was cut short.

"Reproduce?" suggested Pat.

"Yes. Reproduce. The wind carries our
spores to each other. We live where the wind is not steady."

"But
yesterday you said fissure was your method."

"Yes. The spores lodge against our bodies and there is a—"
Again the voice died.

"A fertilization
?" suggested the girl.

"No."

"Well,
a—I know!
An irritation!"
"Yes."

"That causes a
tumorous
growth?"

"Yes.
When the growth is complete, we split."

"Ugh!" snorted Ham.
"A tumor!"

"Shut up!" snapped the girl.
"That's all a baby is—a normal tumor."

"A normal—well,
I'm
 
glad
I'm not a biologist!
 
Or
a

woman
!"

"
So'm
I,"
said
Pat demurely. "Oscar, how much do you

know
?"

"Everything."

"Do
you know where my people come from?"
"From beyond
the light."
"Yes, but before that?" "No."

"We come from another planet," said
the girl impressively. At Oscar's silence she said, "Do you know what
a
planet is?"

"Yes."

"But
did you know before I said the word?" "Yes. Long before."

"But how?
Do you know what machinery is? Do you know what weapons are? Do you
know how to make them?" "Yes."

"Then—why
don't you?" "There is no need."

"No need!" she gasped. "With
light—even with fire—you could keep the
trioptes
away. You could keep them from eating
youl
"

"There
is no need."

She
turned helplessly to Ham.

"The
thing's lying," he suggested.

"I don't think so," she murmured.
"It's something else-something we don't understand. Oscar, how do you know
all those things?"

"Intelligence."

At
the next cave another pod popped sullenly.
"But how?
Tell me how you discover facts." "From any fact," clicked the
creature on the ice, "intelligence can build a picture of the—"
There was silence. "Universe?" she suggested.

"Yes.
The universe.
I start with one fact
and I reason from it. I build a picture of the universe. I start with another
fact. I reason from it. I find that the universe I picture is the same as the
first. I know that the picture is true."

Both listeners stared in awe at the creature.
"Say!" gulped Ham. "If that's true, we could find out anything
from Oscar! Oscar, can you tell us secrets that we don't know?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You must first have the words to give
me. I cannot tell you that for which you have no words."

"It's true!" whispered Pat.
"But, Oscar, I have the words time and space and energy and matter and law
and cause. Tell me the ultimate law of the universe?"

"It
is the law of—" Silence.

"Conservation of energy or matter?
Gravitation?"

"No."

"Of-of God?"

"No."
"Of-life?"

"No.
Life is of no importance."
"Of—what?
I can't
think of another word." "There's a chance," said Ham tensely,
"that there is no word!"

"Yes," clicked Oscar. "It is
the law of chance. Those other words are different sides of the law of
chance."

"Good
Heavenl
"
breathed Pat. "Oscar, do you know what I mean by stars, suns,
constellations, planets, nebulae, and atoms, protons, and electrons?"

"Yes."

"But—how?
Have you ever seen the stars that are above
these eternal clouds?
Or the Sun there beyond the
barrier?"

"No. Reason is enough, because there is
only one possible way in which the universe could exist. Only what is possible
•is real; what is not real is also not possible."

"That—that seems to mean
something," murmured Pat. "I don't see
exacdy
what.
But, Oscar, why don't you use your knowledge to protect
yourselves from your enemies?"

"There is no need. There is no need to
do anything. In a hundred years we shall be—" Silence.

"Safe?"

"Yes-no."

"What?"
A horrible thought struck her. "Do you mean-extinct?"
"Yes."

"But—oh, Oscar!
Don't you
want
to live? Don't your people want to survive?"

"Want," shrilled Oscar.
"Want—want—want. That word means nothing."

"It
means—it means desire, need."

"Desire means nothing. Need? No. My
people do not need to survive."

"Oh,"
said Pat faintly. "Then why do you reproduce?"

As if in answer, a bursting pod sent its
pungent dust over them. "Because we must," clicked Oscar. "When
the spores strike us, we must."