Planet of the Damned Read online

  V

  "Dis," Ihjel said, consulting a thick file, "third planet out fromits primary, Epsilon Eridani. The fourth planet is Nyjord--rememberthat, because it is going to be very important. Dis is a place youneed a good reason to visit and no reason at all to leave. Too hot,too dry; the temperature in the temperate zones rarely drops belowa hundred Fahrenheit. The planet is nothing but scorched rock andburning sand. Most of the water is underground and normallyinaccessible. The surface water is all in the form of briny,chemically saturated swamps--undrinkable without extensiveprocessing. All the facts and figures are here in the folder andyou can study them later. Right now I want you just to get the ideathat this planet is as loathsome and inhospitable as they come. Soare the people. This is a solido of a Disan."

  Lea gasped at the three-dimensional representation on the screen.Not at the physical aspects of the man; as a biologist trained inthe specialty of alien life she had seen a lot stranger sights.It was the man's pose, the expression on his face--tensed to leap,his lips drawn back to show all of this teeth.

  "He looks as if he wanted to kill the photographer," she said.

  "He almost did--just after the picture was taken. Like all Disans,he has an overwhelming hatred and loathing of offworlders. Notwithout good reason, though. His planet was settled completely bychance during the Breakdown. I'm not sure of the details, but theoverall picture is clear, since the story of their desertion formsthe basis of all the myths and animistic religions on Dis.

  "Apparently there were large-scale mining operations carried onthere once; the world is rich enough in minerals and mining themis very simple. But water came only from expensive extractionprocesses and I imagine most of the food came from offworld. Whichwas good enough until the settlement was forgotten, the way a lotof other planets were during the Breakdown. All the records weredestroyed in the fighting, and the ore carriers were pressed intomilitary service. Dis was on its own. What happened to the peoplethere is a tribute to the adaptation possibilities of homo sapiens.Individuals died, usually in enormous pain, but the race lived.Changed a good deal, but still human. As the water and food ran outand the extraction machinery broke down, they must have made heroicefforts to survive. They couldn't do it mechanically, but by thetime the last machine collapsed, enough people were adjusted tothe environment to keep the race going.

  "Their descendants are still there, completely adapted to theenvironment. Their body temperatures are around a hundred and thirtydegrees. They have specialized tissue in the gluteal area forstoring water. These are minor changes, compared to the major onesthey have done in fitting themselves for this planet. I don't knowthe exact details, but the reports are very enthusiastic aboutsymbiotic relationships. They assure us that this is the first timehomo sapiens has been an active part of either commensalism orinquilinism other than in the role of host."

  "Wonderful!" Lea exclaimed.

  "Is it?" Ihjel scowled. "Perhaps from the abstract scientific pointof view. If you can keep notes perhaps you might write a book aboutit some time. But I'm not interested. I'm sure all thesemorphological changes and disgusting intimacies will fascinate you,Dr. Morees. But while you are counting blood types and admiring yourthermometers, I hope you will be able to devote a little time to astudy of the Disans' obnoxious personalities. We must either findout what makes these people tick--or we are going to have to standby and watch the whole lot blown up!"

  "Going to do what!" Lea gasped. "Destroy them? Wipe out thisfascinating genetic pool? Why?

  "Because they are so incredibly loathsome, that's why!" Ihjel said."These aboriginal hotheads have managed to lay their hands on someprimitive cobalt bombs. They want to light the fuse and drop thesebombs on Nyjord, the next planet. Nothing said or done can convincethem differently. They demand unconditional surrender, or else. Thisis impossible for a lot of reasons--most important, because theNyjorders would like to keep their planet for their very own. Theyhave tried every kind of compromise but none of them works. TheDisans are out to commit racial suicide. A Nyjord fleet is now overDis and the deadline has almost expired for the surrender of thecobalt bombs. The Nyjord ships carry enough H-bombs to turn theentire planet into an atomic pile. That is what we must stop."

  Brion looked at the solido on the screen, trying to make somejudgment of the man. Bare, horny feet. A bulky, ragged length ofcloth around the waist was the only garment. What looked like apiece of green vine was hooked over one shoulder. From a plaitedbelt were suspended a number of odd devices made of hand-beatenmetal, drilled stone and looped leather. The only recognizable itemwas a thin knife of unusual design. Loops of piping, flared bells,carved stones tied in senseless patterns of thonging gave the restof the collection a bizarre appearance. Perhaps they had somereligious significance. But the well-worn and handled look of mostof them gave Brion an uneasy sensation. If they were used--what inthe universe could they be used _for_?

  "I can't believe it," he finally concluded. "Except for the exotichardware, this lowbrow looks as if he has sunk back into the StoneAge. I don't see how his kind can be any real threat to anotherplanet."

  "The Nyjorders believe it, and that's good enough for me," Ihjelsaid. "They are paying our Cultural Relationships Foundation a goodsum to try and prevent this war. Since they are our employers, wemust do what they ask." Brion ignored this large lie, since it wasobviously designed as an explanation for Lea. But he made a mentalnote to query Ihjel later about the real situation.

  "Here are the tech reports." Ihjel dropped them on the table. "Dishas some spacers as well as the cobalt bombs--though these aren'tthe real threat. A tramp trader was picked up _leaving_ Dis. It haddelivered a jump-space launcher that can drop those bombs on Nyjordwhile anchored to the bedrock of Dis. While essentially a peacefuland happy people, the Nyjorders were justifiably annoyed at this andconvinced the tramp's captain to give them some more information.It's all here. Boiled down, it gives a minimum deadline by whichtime the launcher can be set up and start throwing bombs."

  "When is that deadline?" Lea asked.

  "In ten more days. If the situation hasn't been changed drasticallyby then, the Nyjorders are going to wipe all life from the face ofDis. I assure you they don't want to do it. But they will drop thebombs in order to assure their own survival."

  "What am I supposed to do?" Lea asked, flipping the pages of thereport. "I don't know a thing about nucleonics or jump-space. I'man exobiologist, with a supplementary degree in anthropology. Whathelp could I possibly be?"

  Ihjel looked down at her, stroking his jaw, fingers sunk deep intothe rolls of flesh. "My faith in our recruiters is restored," hesaid. "That's a combination that is probably rare--even on Earth.You're as scrawny as an underfed chicken, but young enough tosurvive if we keep a close eye on you." He cut off Lea's angryprotest with a raised hand. "No more bickering. There isn't time.The Nyjorders must have lost over thirty agents trying to find thebombs. Our foundation has had six people killed--including my latepredecessor in charge of the project. He was a good man, but I thinkhe went at this problem the wrong way. I think it is a cultural one,not a physical one."

  "Run it through again with the power turned up," Lea said, frowning."All I hear is static."

  "It's the old problem of genesis. Like Newton and the falling apple,Levy and the hysteresis in the warp field. Everything has abeginning. If we can find out why these people are so hell-bent onsuicide we might be able to change the reasons. Not that I intendto stop looking for the bombs or the jump-space generator either.We are going to try anything that will avert this planetary murder."

  "You're a lot brighter than you look," Lea said, rising andcarefully stacking the sheets of the report. "You can count on mefor complete cooperation. Now I'll study all this in bed if one ofyou overweight gentlemen will show me to a room with a strong lockon the inside of the door. Don't call me; I'll call you when I wantbreakfast."

  Brion wasn't sure how much of her barbed speech was humor and howmuch was serious, so he said nothing. He showed her
to an emptycabin--she did lock the door--then looked for Ihjel. The Winner wasin the galley adding to his girth with an immense gelatin dessertthat filled a good-sized tureen.

  "Is she short for a native Terran?" Brion asked. "The top of herhead is below my chin."

  "That's the norm. Earth is a reservoir of tired genes. Weak backs,vermiform appendixes, bad eyes. If they didn't have the universitiesand the trained people we need I would never use them."

  "Why did you lie to her about the Foundation?"

  "Because it's a secret--isn't that reason enough?" Ihjel rumbledangrily, scraping the last dregs from the bowl. "Better eatsomething. Build up the strength. The Foundation has to maintain itsundercover status if it is going to accomplish anything. If shereturns to Earth after this it's better that she should know nothingof our real work. If she joins up, there'll be time enough to tellher. But I doubt if she will like the way we operate. Particularlysince I plan to drop some H-bombs on Dis myself--if we can't turnoff the war."

  "I don't believe it!"

  "You heard me correctly. Don't bulge your eyes and look moronic.As a last resort I'll drop the bombs myself rather than let theNyjorders do it. That might save them."

  "Save them--they'd all be radiated and dead!" Brion's voice rosein anger.

  "Not the Disans. I want to save the Nyjorders. Stop clenching yourfists and sit down and have some of this cake. It's delicious. TheNyjorders are all that counts here. They have a planet blessed bythe laws of chance. When Dis was cut off from outside contact, thesurvivors turned into a gang of swampcrawling homicidals. It did theopposite for Nyjord. You can survive there just by pulling fruit offa tree. The population was small, educated, intelligent. Instead ofsinking into an eternal siesta they matured into a vitally differentsociety. Not mechanical--they weren't even using the wheel when theywere rediscovered. They became sort of cultural specialists, diggingdeep into the philosophical aspects of interrelationship--the thingthat machine societies never have had time for. Of course this wasready-made for the Cultural Relationships Foundation, and we havebeen working with them ever since. Not guiding so much as protectingthem from any blows that might destroy this growing idea. But we'vefallen down on the job. Nonviolence is essential to thesepeople--they have vitality without needing destruction. But if theyare forced to blow up Dis for their own survival--against every oneof their basic tenets--their philosophy won't endure. Physicallythey'll live on, as just one more dog-eat-dog planet with an A-bombfor any of the competition who drop behind."

  "Sounds like paradise now."

  "Don't be smug. It's just another worldful of people with the sameold likes, dislikes and hatreds. But they are evolving a way ofliving together, without violence, that may some day form the key tomankind's survival. They are worth looking after. Now get below andstudy your Disan and read the reports. Get it all pat before weland."