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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/33839-h.zip b/33839-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2defd5e --- /dev/null +++ b/33839-h.zip diff --git a/33839-h/33839-h.htm b/33839-h/33839-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f6e3c0a --- /dev/null +++ b/33839-h/33839-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1205 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Problem On Balak, by Roger Dee. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Problem on Balak, by Roger D. Aycock + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Problem on Balak + +Author: Roger D. Aycock + +Release Date: October 4, 2010 [EBook #33839] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PROBLEM ON BALAK *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<h1>PROBLEM ON BALAK</h1> + +<h2>By ROGER DEE</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS</h3> + +<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from the September 1953 +issue of Galaxy Science Fiction. Extensive research did not uncover any +evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>Sometimes you can solve your problem by running out on it!</i></div> + + +<p>What I'm getting at is that you don't ever have to worry about being +bored stiff in Solar Exploitations field work. It never gets dull—and +in some pretty strange places, at that.</p> + +<p>Take the <i>S.E.2100's</i> discovery of Balak, which is a little planet +circling 70 Ophiuchi some 20,000 light-years from Earth, for example. +You'd never expect to run across the greatest race of surgeons in the +Galaxy—structural, neural or what have you—on a little apple like +that, any more than you'd expect a four man complement like ours to be +handed the sort of life-and-death problem they put to us.</p> + +<p>And, if by some miracle of prophecy you anticipated both, it's a cinch +you'd never expect that problem to be solved in the way ours was.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Captain Corelli and Gibbons and I couldn't have gone more than a hundred +yards from the <i>S.E.2100</i> before we met our first Balakian native. Or, +to be more accurate, before he met us.</p> + +<p>Corelli and I were filling our little sterilized bottles with samples of +soil and vegetation and keeping a wary eye out for possible predators +when it happened. Gibbons, our ecologist and the scientific mainspring +of our crew, was watching a swarm of little twelve-legged bugs that were +busily pollinating a dwarf shrub at the top and collecting payment in +drops of white sap that oozed out at the bottom in return. His eyes were +shining behind their spectacles, and he was swearing to himself in a +pleased monotone.</p> + +<p>"Signal the ship and tell the Quack—if you can pry that hypochondriac +idiot away from his gargles and germicide sprays—to bring out a +live-specimen container," he called to Captain Corelli. "We've stumbled +onto something really new here, a conscious symbiosis between entirely +dissimilar life-forms! If the rest of the flora and fauna cooperate like +this...."</p> + +<p>At the moment, Gibbons' discovery didn't register, because it was just +then that the first Balakian showed himself.</p> + +<p>The native looked at first glance something like a wrinkled pink +octopus, standing three feet high and nearly as broad, and he walked in +a skip-a-step swing like a man on crutches because his three short legs +were set in a horizontal row. He had four arms to each side, the lower +ones meant for grasping and holding and the upper ones for manipulation. +He didn't have a head, exactly, but there was a face of sorts up near +the top of the body that looked like nothing so much as a politely +grinning Oriental's.</p> + +<p>He wasn't armed, but I took no chances—I dropped my specimen kit and +yanked out the heat-gun that is a part of every S.E. field operative's +gear. Captain Corelli, who was on the point of calling the Quack at the +ship, took his thumb off the mike button and grabbed for his own +weapon. Gibbons, like a true scientist, stood by with his mouth open, +too interested to be scared.</p> + +<p>Then the Balakian spoke, and Corelli and I gaped wider than Gibbons. As +I said before, Balak is some 20,000 light-years from Earth, and to our +knowledge we were the first human beings ever to come within a hundred +parsecs of the place.</p> + +<p>"Please don't shoot, gentlemen," he said to us in Terran. "My name is +Gaffa, and I assure you that I am quite friendly."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I had to give Gibbons credit for being fast on his mental feet; he had +taken over before Corelli and I could get our mouths closed, and was +talking to the native as if this sort of thing happened every time we +made planetfall.</p> + +<p>"You speak Terran fluently," Gibbons said. "Or is this some sort of +telepathic contact that creates the illusion of oral communication?"</p> + +<p>The native grinned delightedly. "The contact is oral. We learned your +language from an independent planet-hunter named Haslop, who was +wrecked here some years ago."</p> + +<p>In Solar Exploitations you learn to expect the unexpected, but to me +this was stretching coincidence clear out of joint. We had the latest +zero-interval-transference drive made, and I couldn't believe that any +independent planet-staker could have beaten us here with outmoded +equipment.</p> + +<p>"A Terran?" I asked. "Where is he now?"</p> + +<p>"Coming up," Gaffa said. "With my fellows."</p> + +<p>A couple of dozen other Balakians, looking exactly like him, bore down +on us through the dwarf shrubbery, and with them were two lanky Terrans +dressed in loose shirt-and-drawers ensembles which obviously had been +made on Balak. Even at a distance the Terrans looked disturbingly alike, +and when they got closer I could see that they were identical twins.</p> + +<p>"You don't count so good, chum," I said. "I see <i>two</i> Terrans."</p> + +<p>"Only one," Gaffa corrected, grinning wider. "The other is one of us."</p> + +<p>I didn't believe it, of course. Corelli didn't get it, either; his eyes +had a glazed look, and he was shaking his head like a man with a gnat in +his ear.</p> + +<p>One of the Terrans rushed up to us with tears in his eyes and his +Adam's apple bobbing, so overcome with emotion that I was afraid he +might kiss us.</p> + +<p>"I'm Ira Haslop," he said in a choked voice. "I've been marooned here +for twenty-two eternal years, and I never thought I'd see a Terran face +again. And now—"</p> + +<p>He stopped, but not for breath. The other skinny Terran had grabbed his +arm and swung him around.</p> + +<p>"What the hell do you think you're doing, you masquerading nightmare?" +the second one yelled. "<i>I'm</i> Ira Haslop, and you damn well know it! If +you think you're going to pass yourself off as me and go home to Earth +in my place...."</p> + +<p>The first Haslop gaped at him for a moment; then he slapped the other's +hand off his arm and shook a bony fist in his face.</p> + +<p>"So that's your game! That's why these grinning freaks made you look +like me and threw us together all these years—they've planned all along +to ring in a switch and send you home instead of me! Well, it won't +work!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The second Haslop swung on him then and the two of them went to the mat +like a pair of loose-drawered tigers, cursing and gouging. The grinning +natives separated them after a moment and examined them carefully for +damage, chattering away with great satisfaction in their own language.</p> + +<p>Corelli and Gibbons and I stared at each other like three fools. It was +impossible to think that either of the two men could be anything but +what he claimed to be, a perfectly normal and thoroughly angry Terran; +but when each of them swore that one of them—the other one, of +course—was an alien, and the natives backed up the accusation, what +else could we believe?</p> + +<p>Gaffa, who seemed to be a sort of headman, took over and explained the +situation—which seemed to be an incredibly long-range gag cooked up by +these octopod jokers, without the original Haslop's knowledge, against +the day when another Terran ship might land on Balak. Their real intent, +Gaffa said, was to present us with a problem that could be solved only +by a species with a real understanding of its own kind. If we could +solve it, his people stood ready to assist us in any way possible. If +not....</p> + +<p>I didn't like the sound of it, so I reached for my heat-gun again. So +did Captain Corelli and Gibbons, but we were too slow.</p> + +<p>A little stinging bug—another link in the cooperative Balakian +ecology—bit each of us on the back of the neck and we passed out cold. +When we woke up again, we were "guests" of Gaffa and his tribe in a sort +of settlement miles from the <i>S.E.2100</i>, and there wasn't so much as a +nail file among us in the way of weapons.</p> + +<p>The natives hadn't bothered to shackle us or lock us up. We found +ourselves lying instead in the middle of a circular court surrounded by +mossy mounds that looked like flattened beehives, but which were +actually dwellings where the Balakians lived.</p> + +<p>We learned later that the buildings were constructed by swarms of tiny +burrowing brutes like termites, who built them up grain by grain +according to specifications. I can't begin to explain the principle +behind the harmony existing between all living things on Balak; it just +was, and seemed to operate like a sort of hyper-sympathy or interlocking +telepathy between species. Every creature on the planet performed some +service for some other creature—even the plants, which grew edibles +without pain-nerves so it wouldn't hurt to be plucked, and which sent up +clouds of dust-dry spores once a week to make it rain.</p> + +<p>And the three-legged, eight-armed natives were right at the top of this +screwy utopia, lords of it all.</p> + +<p>Not that any of us were interested at first in it as an ecological +marvel, of course. From the moment we woke up we were too busy with +plans for escaping the trap we'd fallen into.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"The Quack is our only hope," Captain Corelli said, and groaned at the +thought. "If that hypochondriac idiot has brains enough to sit tight, we +may have a chance. If they get him, too, we're lost."</p> + +<p>The Quack was a damned poor reed to lean on.</p> + +<p>His name was Alvin Frick, but no one ever used it. He was twenty-nine, +and would never have rated a space berth as anything but a hydroponics +attendant, which is one step above manual labor. He was short, plump and +scrubbed to the pink, and he was the only hypochondriac I ever knew in +this modern age of almost no sickness. He groused about the germs +swarming in his reduction tanks, and he was scared green, in spite of +his permanent immunization shots, that he'd contract some nameless alien +disease at every planetfall. He dosed himself continuously with +concoctions whipped up from an old medical book he had found somewhere, +and he spent most of his off-duty time spraying himself and his quarters +with disinfectant. His mania had only one good facet—if he had been the +careless sort, hydroponics being what it is, he'd have smelled like a +barnyard instead of a dispensary.</p> + +<p>We had never made any attempt to get rid of him, since we might have +drawn an even worse tank-farmer, but we began to wish now that we had. +We had hardly begun to figure ways and means of escaping when a bunch of +grinning natives swung into our court and deposited the Quack, sleeping +soundly, in our midst.</p> + +<p>He came to just before sundown, and when we told him what had happened, +he promptly passed out again—this time from fright.</p> + +<p>"A fine lot of help <i>you</i> are, you super-sterile slob," I said when he +woke up for the second time. I'd probably have said worse, but it was +just then that the real squeeze began.</p> + +<p>Gaffa came back with the two scowling Haslops in tow and handed us the +problem his tribe had spent twenty-two years in working up.</p> + +<p>"We have learned enough already from Haslop," Gaffa said, "to know +something of the pressures and complexities that follow the expansion of +your Terran Realm through the galaxy, and to assure us that in time we +must either become a part of that Realm or isolate ourselves completely.</p> + +<p>"We are a peaceful species and feel that we should probably benefit as +much from your physical sciences as your people would from our +biological skills, but there is a question of compatibility that must be +settled first, before we may risk making ourselves known to Terra. So we +have devised a test to determine what our course shall be."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>We raised our brows at one another over that, not guessing at the time +just what the Balakians really had on the ball.</p> + +<p>"For thousands of generations, we have devoted our energies to knowing +ourselves and our environment," Gaffa said, "because we know that no +species can be truly balanced unless it understands itself. The +symbiosis between all life-forms on our planet is the result of that +knowledge. We should like to assure ourselves that you are capable of +understanding your own kind as well before we offer our services to your +Terran Realm—and therein lies the test we have arranged for you."</p> + +<p>Captain Corelli drew himself up stiffly. "I think," he said, "that the +three of us should be able to unravel your little riddle, if you'll +condescend to tell us what it is."</p> + +<p>Gaffa sent a puzzled look at the Quack, and I could see that he was +wondering why Corelli hadn't included him in the boast. But Gaffa +didn't know how simple the Quack could be, nor how preoccupied with his +own physiology he was.</p> + +<p>"One of these two," said Gaffa, pointing to the two Haslops, "is the +original Ira Haslop, who was stranded here twenty-two Terran years ago. +The other is a synthetic creation of ours—an android, if you like, who +is identical, cell by cell, with the original so far as exterior +likeness is concerned. We could not duplicate the interior without +dissection, which of course was out of the question, so we were forced +to make compromises that—"</p> + +<p>Gibbons interrupted him incredulously. "You mean you've created a living +creature, brain and all?"</p> + +<p>"Only the body," Gaffa said. "Creation of intelligence is still beyond +us. The brain of the duplicate Haslop is one of our own, transplanted +and conditioned to Haslop's knowledge, memories and ideology."</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment, and the waiting circle of Balakians grinned with +him in anticipation.</p> + +<p>"Your problem is this," Gaffa said. "If you know yourselves well enough +to merit our help, then you should be able to distinguish readily +between the real and false Haslops. If you fail, we shall have no +alternative but to keep you here on Balak for the rest of your lives, +since to release you would bring other Terrans down on us in force."</p> + +<p>And that was it. All we had to do was to take these two identical +twins—who looked alike, thought alike and cursed alike—and determine +which was real and which was bogus.</p> + +<p>"For a very pertinent reason which you may or may not discover," Gaffa +said, "the test must be limited to a few hours. You have until sunrise +tomorrow morning, gentlemen."</p> + +<p>And with that he crutched away at his skip-a-step walk, taking his +grinning cohorts with him. The two Haslops remained behind, glowering +and grumbling at each other.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The situation didn't look too bad at first.</p> + +<p>"There are no two things," Captain Corelli declared, "that are exactly +and absolutely identical. And that applies, I should say, especially to +identities."</p> + +<p>It had a heartening sound. I've never been long on logic, being a very +ordinary S.E. navigator whose automatic equipment is designed to do +practically everything for him, and Corelli seemed to know what he was +talking about.</p> + +<p>Gibbons, being a scientist, saw it differently.</p> + +<p>"That's not even good sophistry," he said. "The concept of identity +between two objects has no meaning whatever, Captain, unless we have a +prior identification of one or the other. Aristotle himself couldn't +have told an apple from a coconut if he'd never seen or heard of +either."</p> + +<p>"Any fool would know that," one of the Haslops grunted. And the other +added in the same tone: "Hey, if you guys are going at it like that, +we'll be here forever!"</p> + +<p>"All right," Corelli said, deflated. "We'll try another tack."</p> + +<p>He thought for a minute or two. "How about screening them for background +detail? The real Haslop was a bounty-claimer, which means that he must +have made thousands of planetfalls before crashing here. The bogus one +couldn't remember the details of all those worlds as well as the +original, no matter how many times he'd been told, could he?"</p> + +<p>"Won't work," one of the Haslops said disgustedly. "Hell, after +twenty-two years I can't remember those places myself, and I was +<i>there</i>."</p> + +<p>The other Haslop gave him a dirty look. "You were <i>here</i>, fellow—<i>I</i> +was <i>there</i>."</p> + +<p>And to the captain he said, "We're getting nowhere, friend. You're +underestimating these Balakians—they look and act like screwballs, but +they're sharp. In the twenty-two years I've lived with that carbon copy +of myself, he's learned everything I know."</p> + +<p>"He's right," Gibbons put in. He blinked a couple of times and turned +pink. "Unless the real Haslop happened to be married, that is. I'm a +bachelor myself, but I'd say there are some memories that a married man +wouldn't discuss, even when marooned."</p> + +<p>Captain Corelli stared at him admiringly. "I never gave you enough +credit, Gibbons," he said. "You're right! How about—"</p> + +<p>"Don't help any," one of the Haslops said morosely. "I never was +married. And now I never will be if I've got to depend on you jerks to +get me out of this mess."</p> + +<p>The sun went down just then and a soft, drowsy darkness fell. I thought +at first that we'd have to finish our investigation in the dark, but the +natives had made provisions for that. A swarm of fireflies as big as +robins sailed in from somewhere and circled around over the court, +lighting it as bright as day. The Balakian houses made a dim row of +flattened shadow-mounds at the outskirts of the circle. A ring of +natives sat tailor-fashion on the ground in front of them—a neat trick +considering that they had three legs each to fold up—and grinned at us.</p> + +<p>They had waited twenty-two years for this show, and now that it had +come they were enjoying every minute of it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Our investigation was pretty rough going. The fireflies overhead all +circled in one direction, which made you dizzy every time you looked up, +and besides that the Quack had remembered that he was a prisoner in an +alien environment and was at the mercy of any outlandish disease that +might creep past his permanent immunization. He muttered and grumbled to +himself about the risk, and his grousing got on our nerves even worse +than usual.</p> + +<p>I moved over to shut him up, and blinked when I saw him pop something +into his mouth. My first guess was that he had managed to sneak some +food concentrate out of the ship somehow, and the thought made me +realize how hungry I was.</p> + +<p>"What've you got there, Quack?" I demanded. "Come on, give—what are you +hiding out?"</p> + +<p>"Antibiotics and stuff," he answered, and pulled a little flat plastic +case out of a pocket.</p> + +<p>It was his portable medicine chest, which he carried the way +superstitious people used to carry rabbits' feet, and it was largely +responsible for our calling him the Quack. It was full of patent capsule +remedies that he had gleaned out of his home medical book—a cut thumb, +a surprise headache, or a siege of gas on the stomach would never catch +the Quack unprepared!</p> + +<p>"Jerk," I said, and went back to Gibbons and Corelli, who were arguing a +new approach to our problem.</p> + +<p>"It's worth a try," Gibbons said. He turned on the two Haslops, who were +bristling like a pair of strange dogs. "This question is for the real +Haslop: Have you ever been put through a Rorschach, thematic +apperception or free association test?"</p> + +<p>The real Haslop hadn't. Either of them.</p> + +<p>"Then we'll try free association," Gibbons said, and explained what he +wanted of them.</p> + +<p>"<i>Water</i>," Gibbons said, popping it out quick and sharp.</p> + +<p>"Spigot," the Haslops said together. Which is exactly what any spaceman +would say, since the only water important to him comes out of a ship's +tank. "Lake" and "river" and "spring," to him, are only words in books.</p> + +<p>Gibbons chewed his lip and tried again, but the result was the same +every time. When he said "payday" they both came back "binge," and when +he said "man" they answered "woman!" with the same gleam in their eyes.</p> + +<p>"I could have told you it wouldn't work," one Haslop said when Gibbons +threw up his hands and quit. "I've lived so long with that phony that +he even knows what I'm going to say next."</p> + +<p>"I was going to say the same thing," the other one growled. "After +twenty-two years of drinking and arguing with him, we've begun—God help +me!—to think alike."</p> + +<p>I tried my own hand just once.</p> + +<p>"Gaffa says that they are exactly identical so far as outside appearance +goes," I said. "But he may be wrong, or lying. Maybe we'd better check +for ourselves."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Haslops raised a howl, of course, but it did them no good. Gibbons +and Corelli and I ganged them one at a time—the Quack refused to help +for fear of being contaminated—and examined them carefully. It was a +lively job, since both of them swore they were ticklish, and under +different circumstances it could have been embarrassing.</p> + +<p>But it settled one point. Gaffa hadn't lied. They were absolutely +identical, as far as we could determine.</p> + +<p>We had given it up and were resting from our labors when Gaffa came +grinning out of the darkness and brought us a big crystal pitcher of +something that would have passed for a first-class Planet Punch except +that it was nearer two-thirds alcohol than the fifty-fifty mix you get +at most interplanetary ginmills.</p> + +<p>The two Haslops had a slug of it as a matter of course, being accustomed +to it, and the rest of us followed suit. Only the Quack refused, turning +green at the thought of all the alien bacteria that might be swimming +around in the pitcher.</p> + +<p>A couple of drinks made us feel better.</p> + +<p>"I've been thinking," Captain Corelli said, "about what Gaffa said when +he limited the time of the test, that we might or might not discover the +reason for ourselves. Now what the hell did the grinning heathen mean by +that? Is there a reason, or was he only dragging a red herring across +the bogus Haslop's track?"</p> + +<p>Gibbons looked thoughtful. I sat back while he pondered and watched the +Quack, who was swallowing another antibiotic capsule.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," Gibbons exclaimed. "Captain, you've hit on something +there!"</p> + +<p>He stared at the Haslops. They stared back, unimpressed.</p> + +<p>"Gaffa said you two were exactly alike outside," Gibbons said. "And +we've proved it. Does that mean you're not alike <i>inside</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," one of them said. "But what of it? You're sure as hell not going +to cut one of us open to see!"</p> + +<p>"You're confusing the issue," Gibbons snapped. "What I'm getting at is +this—if you two aren't made alike inside, then you can't possibly exist +on the same sort of diet. One of you eats the same sort of food as +ourselves. The other can't. But which is which?"</p> + +<p>One of the Haslops pointed a quivering finger at the other. "It's him!" +he said. "I've watched him drink his dinner for twenty-two years—he's +the fake!"</p> + +<p>"Liar!" the other one yelled, springing up. Corelli stepped between them +and the second Haslop subsided, grumbling. "It's true enough, only +<i>he's</i> the one that drinks his meals. This stuff in the pitcher is the +food he lives on—alcohol for energy, with minerals and other stuff +dissolved in it. I drink it with him for kicks, but that phony can't eat +anything else."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Corelli snapped his fingers.</p> + +<p>"So that's why they limited our time, and why they brought this +stuff—to keep their fake Haslop refueled! All we've got to do to +separate our men now is feed them something solid. The one that eats it +is the real Haslop."</p> + +<p>"Sure, all we need now is some solid food," I said. "You don't happen to +have a couple of sandwiches on you, do you?"</p> + +<p>Everybody got quiet for a couple of minutes, and in the silence the +Quack surprised us all by deciding to speak up.</p> + +<p>"Since I'm stuck here for life," he said, "a few germs more or less +won't matter much. Pass me the pitcher, will you?"</p> + +<p>He took a man-sized slug of the fiery stuff without even wiping off the +pitcher's rim.</p> + +<p>After that we gave it up, as who wouldn't have? Captain Corelli said the +hell with it and took such a slug out of the pitcher that the two +Haslops yelled murder and grabbed it quick themselves, and from then on +we just sat around and drank and talked and waited for the sunrise that +would condemn us to Balak for the rest of our lives.</p> + +<p>Thinking about our problem had reminded me of an old puzzle I'd heard +somewhere about three men being placed in a room where they can see each +other but not themselves; they're shown three white hats and two black +ones, and then they're blindfolded and a hat is put on each of their +heads. When the blindfolds are taken off, the third man knows by looking +at the other two and by what they say just what color hat he's wearing +himself, but I always forget how it is that he knows.</p> + +<p>We got so interested in the hat problem that the east was turning pink +before we realized it.</p> + +<p>None of us actually saw the sun rise, though, except the Quack and the +bogus Haslop.</p> + +<p>I was right in the middle of a sentence when all of a sudden my stomach +rolled over and growled like a dying tiger, and I never had such an +all-gone feeling in my life. I looked at the others, wondering if the +stuff in the pitcher had poisoned us all, and saw Gibbons and Corelli +staring at each other with the same startled look in their eyes. One of +the Haslops was hit, too—he had the same pinched expression around the +mouth, and perspiration stood out on his forehead in drops as big as +grapes.</p> + +<p>And then the four of us were on our feet and dashing for open country, +leaving the Quack and the remaining Haslop staring after us. The Haslop +who stayed looked puzzled, I thought, but the Quack only seemed +interested and very much entertained.</p> + +<p>I couldn't be sure of that, though. There wasn't time to look twice.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When we came back to the court later, shaken and pale and bracing +ourselves for another dash at any minute, we found Gaffa and his +grinning chums congratulating the Quack. The bogus Haslop had dropped +his impersonation act and seemed very happy.</p> + +<p>"I've learned to like Haslop so well after twenty-two years," he said, +"that I'm quite prejudiced in favor of his species, and I'm delighted +that we are to join your Realm. Balak and Terra will get along famously, +I know, since you people are so ingenious and appreciative of humor."</p> + +<p>We ignored the Balakians and swooped down on the Quack.</p> + +<p>"You put something in that pitcher after you drank out of it, you insult +to humanity," I said. "What was it?"</p> + +<p>The Quack backed off with a wary look in his eye.</p> + +<p>"A recipe from the curiosa section of my medical book," he said. "I +whipped up some capsules for my pocket kit, just in case of emergency, +and I couldn't help thinking of them when—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind the buildup," Captain Corelli said. "<i>What was it?</i>"</p> + +<p>"A formula invented by ancient Terran bartenders, and not recommended +except in extreme cases," the Quack said. "With a very odd name. It's +called a twin Mickey."</p> + +<p>We'd probably have murdered him then and there if the Quack's concoction +had let us.</p> + +<p>Later on we had to admit that the Quack had actually done us a service, +since his identifying the real Haslop saved us from being marooned for +life on Balak. And the Balakians were such an immediate sensation in the +Terran Realm that the Quack's part in their admittance made him famous +overnight. Somebody high up in Government circles got him out of Solar +Exploitations field work and gave him a sinecure in an antibiotics +laboratory, where he wound up as happy as a pig in a peanut field.</p> + +<p>Which points up the statement I made in the beginning, that one thing +you never have to worry about in Solar Exploitations work is being +bored.</p> + +<p>You see what I mean?</p> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Problem on Balak, by Roger D. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Problem on Balak + +Author: Roger D. Aycock + +Release Date: October 4, 2010 [EBook #33839] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PROBLEM ON BALAK *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + PROBLEM ON BALAK + + By ROGER DEE + + Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS + +[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from the September 1953 +issue of Galaxy Science Fiction. Extensive research did not uncover any +evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Sidenote: _Sometimes you can solve your problem by running out on it!_] + + +What I'm getting at is that you don't ever have to worry about being +bored stiff in Solar Exploitations field work. It never gets dull--and +in some pretty strange places, at that. + +Take the _S.E.2100's_ discovery of Balak, which is a little planet +circling 70 Ophiuchi some 20,000 light-years from Earth, for example. +You'd never expect to run across the greatest race of surgeons in the +Galaxy--structural, neural or what have you--on a little apple like +that, any more than you'd expect a four man complement like ours to be +handed the sort of life-and-death problem they put to us. + +And, if by some miracle of prophecy you anticipated both, it's a cinch +you'd never expect that problem to be solved in the way ours was. + + * * * * * + +Captain Corelli and Gibbons and I couldn't have gone more than a hundred +yards from the _S.E.2100_ before we met our first Balakian native. Or, +to be more accurate, before he met us. + +Corelli and I were filling our little sterilized bottles with samples of +soil and vegetation and keeping a wary eye out for possible predators +when it happened. Gibbons, our ecologist and the scientific mainspring +of our crew, was watching a swarm of little twelve-legged bugs that were +busily pollinating a dwarf shrub at the top and collecting payment in +drops of white sap that oozed out at the bottom in return. His eyes were +shining behind their spectacles, and he was swearing to himself in a +pleased monotone. + +"Signal the ship and tell the Quack--if you can pry that hypochondriac +idiot away from his gargles and germicide sprays--to bring out a +live-specimen container," he called to Captain Corelli. "We've stumbled +onto something really new here, a conscious symbiosis between entirely +dissimilar life-forms! If the rest of the flora and fauna cooperate like +this...." + +At the moment, Gibbons' discovery didn't register, because it was just +then that the first Balakian showed himself. + +The native looked at first glance something like a wrinkled pink +octopus, standing three feet high and nearly as broad, and he walked in +a skip-a-step swing like a man on crutches because his three short legs +were set in a horizontal row. He had four arms to each side, the lower +ones meant for grasping and holding and the upper ones for manipulation. +He didn't have a head, exactly, but there was a face of sorts up near +the top of the body that looked like nothing so much as a politely +grinning Oriental's. + +He wasn't armed, but I took no chances--I dropped my specimen kit and +yanked out the heat-gun that is a part of every S.E. field operative's +gear. Captain Corelli, who was on the point of calling the Quack at the +ship, took his thumb off the mike button and grabbed for his own +weapon. Gibbons, like a true scientist, stood by with his mouth open, +too interested to be scared. + +Then the Balakian spoke, and Corelli and I gaped wider than Gibbons. As +I said before, Balak is some 20,000 light-years from Earth, and to our +knowledge we were the first human beings ever to come within a hundred +parsecs of the place. + +"Please don't shoot, gentlemen," he said to us in Terran. "My name is +Gaffa, and I assure you that I am quite friendly." + + * * * * * + +I had to give Gibbons credit for being fast on his mental feet; he had +taken over before Corelli and I could get our mouths closed, and was +talking to the native as if this sort of thing happened every time we +made planetfall. + +"You speak Terran fluently," Gibbons said. "Or is this some sort of +telepathic contact that creates the illusion of oral communication?" + +The native grinned delightedly. "The contact is oral. We learned your +language from an independent planet-hunter named Haslop, who was +wrecked here some years ago." + +In Solar Exploitations you learn to expect the unexpected, but to me +this was stretching coincidence clear out of joint. We had the latest +zero-interval-transference drive made, and I couldn't believe that any +independent planet-staker could have beaten us here with outmoded +equipment. + +"A Terran?" I asked. "Where is he now?" + +"Coming up," Gaffa said. "With my fellows." + +A couple of dozen other Balakians, looking exactly like him, bore down +on us through the dwarf shrubbery, and with them were two lanky Terrans +dressed in loose shirt-and-drawers ensembles which obviously had been +made on Balak. Even at a distance the Terrans looked disturbingly alike, +and when they got closer I could see that they were identical twins. + +"You don't count so good, chum," I said. "I see _two_ Terrans." + +"Only one," Gaffa corrected, grinning wider. "The other is one of us." + +I didn't believe it, of course. Corelli didn't get it, either; his eyes +had a glazed look, and he was shaking his head like a man with a gnat in +his ear. + +One of the Terrans rushed up to us with tears in his eyes and his +Adam's apple bobbing, so overcome with emotion that I was afraid he +might kiss us. + +"I'm Ira Haslop," he said in a choked voice. "I've been marooned here +for twenty-two eternal years, and I never thought I'd see a Terran face +again. And now--" + +He stopped, but not for breath. The other skinny Terran had grabbed his +arm and swung him around. + +"What the hell do you think you're doing, you masquerading nightmare?" +the second one yelled. "_I'm_ Ira Haslop, and you damn well know it! If +you think you're going to pass yourself off as me and go home to Earth +in my place...." + +The first Haslop gaped at him for a moment; then he slapped the other's +hand off his arm and shook a bony fist in his face. + +"So that's your game! That's why these grinning freaks made you look +like me and threw us together all these years--they've planned all along +to ring in a switch and send you home instead of me! Well, it won't +work!" + + * * * * * + +The second Haslop swung on him then and the two of them went to the mat +like a pair of loose-drawered tigers, cursing and gouging. The grinning +natives separated them after a moment and examined them carefully for +damage, chattering away with great satisfaction in their own language. + +Corelli and Gibbons and I stared at each other like three fools. It was +impossible to think that either of the two men could be anything but +what he claimed to be, a perfectly normal and thoroughly angry Terran; +but when each of them swore that one of them--the other one, of +course--was an alien, and the natives backed up the accusation, what +else could we believe? + +Gaffa, who seemed to be a sort of headman, took over and explained the +situation--which seemed to be an incredibly long-range gag cooked up by +these octopod jokers, without the original Haslop's knowledge, against +the day when another Terran ship might land on Balak. Their real intent, +Gaffa said, was to present us with a problem that could be solved only +by a species with a real understanding of its own kind. If we could +solve it, his people stood ready to assist us in any way possible. If +not.... + +I didn't like the sound of it, so I reached for my heat-gun again. So +did Captain Corelli and Gibbons, but we were too slow. + +A little stinging bug--another link in the cooperative Balakian +ecology--bit each of us on the back of the neck and we passed out cold. +When we woke up again, we were "guests" of Gaffa and his tribe in a sort +of settlement miles from the _S.E.2100_, and there wasn't so much as a +nail file among us in the way of weapons. + +The natives hadn't bothered to shackle us or lock us up. We found +ourselves lying instead in the middle of a circular court surrounded by +mossy mounds that looked like flattened beehives, but which were +actually dwellings where the Balakians lived. + +We learned later that the buildings were constructed by swarms of tiny +burrowing brutes like termites, who built them up grain by grain +according to specifications. I can't begin to explain the principle +behind the harmony existing between all living things on Balak; it just +was, and seemed to operate like a sort of hyper-sympathy or interlocking +telepathy between species. Every creature on the planet performed some +service for some other creature--even the plants, which grew edibles +without pain-nerves so it wouldn't hurt to be plucked, and which sent up +clouds of dust-dry spores once a week to make it rain. + +And the three-legged, eight-armed natives were right at the top of this +screwy utopia, lords of it all. + +Not that any of us were interested at first in it as an ecological +marvel, of course. From the moment we woke up we were too busy with +plans for escaping the trap we'd fallen into. + + * * * * * + +"The Quack is our only hope," Captain Corelli said, and groaned at the +thought. "If that hypochondriac idiot has brains enough to sit tight, we +may have a chance. If they get him, too, we're lost." + +The Quack was a damned poor reed to lean on. + +His name was Alvin Frick, but no one ever used it. He was twenty-nine, +and would never have rated a space berth as anything but a hydroponics +attendant, which is one step above manual labor. He was short, plump and +scrubbed to the pink, and he was the only hypochondriac I ever knew in +this modern age of almost no sickness. He groused about the germs +swarming in his reduction tanks, and he was scared green, in spite of +his permanent immunization shots, that he'd contract some nameless alien +disease at every planetfall. He dosed himself continuously with +concoctions whipped up from an old medical book he had found somewhere, +and he spent most of his off-duty time spraying himself and his quarters +with disinfectant. His mania had only one good facet--if he had been the +careless sort, hydroponics being what it is, he'd have smelled like a +barnyard instead of a dispensary. + +We had never made any attempt to get rid of him, since we might have +drawn an even worse tank-farmer, but we began to wish now that we had. +We had hardly begun to figure ways and means of escaping when a bunch of +grinning natives swung into our court and deposited the Quack, sleeping +soundly, in our midst. + +He came to just before sundown, and when we told him what had happened, +he promptly passed out again--this time from fright. + +"A fine lot of help _you_ are, you super-sterile slob," I said when he +woke up for the second time. I'd probably have said worse, but it was +just then that the real squeeze began. + +Gaffa came back with the two scowling Haslops in tow and handed us the +problem his tribe had spent twenty-two years in working up. + +"We have learned enough already from Haslop," Gaffa said, "to know +something of the pressures and complexities that follow the expansion of +your Terran Realm through the galaxy, and to assure us that in time we +must either become a part of that Realm or isolate ourselves completely. + +"We are a peaceful species and feel that we should probably benefit as +much from your physical sciences as your people would from our +biological skills, but there is a question of compatibility that must be +settled first, before we may risk making ourselves known to Terra. So we +have devised a test to determine what our course shall be." + + * * * * * + +We raised our brows at one another over that, not guessing at the time +just what the Balakians really had on the ball. + +"For thousands of generations, we have devoted our energies to knowing +ourselves and our environment," Gaffa said, "because we know that no +species can be truly balanced unless it understands itself. The +symbiosis between all life-forms on our planet is the result of that +knowledge. We should like to assure ourselves that you are capable of +understanding your own kind as well before we offer our services to your +Terran Realm--and therein lies the test we have arranged for you." + +Captain Corelli drew himself up stiffly. "I think," he said, "that the +three of us should be able to unravel your little riddle, if you'll +condescend to tell us what it is." + +Gaffa sent a puzzled look at the Quack, and I could see that he was +wondering why Corelli hadn't included him in the boast. But Gaffa +didn't know how simple the Quack could be, nor how preoccupied with his +own physiology he was. + +"One of these two," said Gaffa, pointing to the two Haslops, "is the +original Ira Haslop, who was stranded here twenty-two Terran years ago. +The other is a synthetic creation of ours--an android, if you like, who +is identical, cell by cell, with the original so far as exterior +likeness is concerned. We could not duplicate the interior without +dissection, which of course was out of the question, so we were forced +to make compromises that--" + +Gibbons interrupted him incredulously. "You mean you've created a living +creature, brain and all?" + +"Only the body," Gaffa said. "Creation of intelligence is still beyond +us. The brain of the duplicate Haslop is one of our own, transplanted +and conditioned to Haslop's knowledge, memories and ideology." + +He paused for a moment, and the waiting circle of Balakians grinned with +him in anticipation. + +"Your problem is this," Gaffa said. "If you know yourselves well enough +to merit our help, then you should be able to distinguish readily +between the real and false Haslops. If you fail, we shall have no +alternative but to keep you here on Balak for the rest of your lives, +since to release you would bring other Terrans down on us in force." + +And that was it. All we had to do was to take these two identical +twins--who looked alike, thought alike and cursed alike--and determine +which was real and which was bogus. + +"For a very pertinent reason which you may or may not discover," Gaffa +said, "the test must be limited to a few hours. You have until sunrise +tomorrow morning, gentlemen." + +And with that he crutched away at his skip-a-step walk, taking his +grinning cohorts with him. The two Haslops remained behind, glowering +and grumbling at each other. + + * * * * * + +The situation didn't look too bad at first. + +"There are no two things," Captain Corelli declared, "that are exactly +and absolutely identical. And that applies, I should say, especially to +identities." + +It had a heartening sound. I've never been long on logic, being a very +ordinary S.E. navigator whose automatic equipment is designed to do +practically everything for him, and Corelli seemed to know what he was +talking about. + +Gibbons, being a scientist, saw it differently. + +"That's not even good sophistry," he said. "The concept of identity +between two objects has no meaning whatever, Captain, unless we have a +prior identification of one or the other. Aristotle himself couldn't +have told an apple from a coconut if he'd never seen or heard of +either." + +"Any fool would know that," one of the Haslops grunted. And the other +added in the same tone: "Hey, if you guys are going at it like that, +we'll be here forever!" + +"All right," Corelli said, deflated. "We'll try another tack." + +He thought for a minute or two. "How about screening them for background +detail? The real Haslop was a bounty-claimer, which means that he must +have made thousands of planetfalls before crashing here. The bogus one +couldn't remember the details of all those worlds as well as the +original, no matter how many times he'd been told, could he?" + +"Won't work," one of the Haslops said disgustedly. "Hell, after +twenty-two years I can't remember those places myself, and I was +_there_." + +The other Haslop gave him a dirty look. "You were _here_, fellow--_I_ +was _there_." + +And to the captain he said, "We're getting nowhere, friend. You're +underestimating these Balakians--they look and act like screwballs, but +they're sharp. In the twenty-two years I've lived with that carbon copy +of myself, he's learned everything I know." + +"He's right," Gibbons put in. He blinked a couple of times and turned +pink. "Unless the real Haslop happened to be married, that is. I'm a +bachelor myself, but I'd say there are some memories that a married man +wouldn't discuss, even when marooned." + +Captain Corelli stared at him admiringly. "I never gave you enough +credit, Gibbons," he said. "You're right! How about--" + +"Don't help any," one of the Haslops said morosely. "I never was +married. And now I never will be if I've got to depend on you jerks to +get me out of this mess." + +The sun went down just then and a soft, drowsy darkness fell. I thought +at first that we'd have to finish our investigation in the dark, but the +natives had made provisions for that. A swarm of fireflies as big as +robins sailed in from somewhere and circled around over the court, +lighting it as bright as day. The Balakian houses made a dim row of +flattened shadow-mounds at the outskirts of the circle. A ring of +natives sat tailor-fashion on the ground in front of them--a neat trick +considering that they had three legs each to fold up--and grinned at us. + +They had waited twenty-two years for this show, and now that it had +come they were enjoying every minute of it. + + * * * * * + +Our investigation was pretty rough going. The fireflies overhead all +circled in one direction, which made you dizzy every time you looked up, +and besides that the Quack had remembered that he was a prisoner in an +alien environment and was at the mercy of any outlandish disease that +might creep past his permanent immunization. He muttered and grumbled to +himself about the risk, and his grousing got on our nerves even worse +than usual. + +I moved over to shut him up, and blinked when I saw him pop something +into his mouth. My first guess was that he had managed to sneak some +food concentrate out of the ship somehow, and the thought made me +realize how hungry I was. + +"What've you got there, Quack?" I demanded. "Come on, give--what are you +hiding out?" + +"Antibiotics and stuff," he answered, and pulled a little flat plastic +case out of a pocket. + +It was his portable medicine chest, which he carried the way +superstitious people used to carry rabbits' feet, and it was largely +responsible for our calling him the Quack. It was full of patent capsule +remedies that he had gleaned out of his home medical book--a cut thumb, +a surprise headache, or a siege of gas on the stomach would never catch +the Quack unprepared! + +"Jerk," I said, and went back to Gibbons and Corelli, who were arguing a +new approach to our problem. + +"It's worth a try," Gibbons said. He turned on the two Haslops, who were +bristling like a pair of strange dogs. "This question is for the real +Haslop: Have you ever been put through a Rorschach, thematic +apperception or free association test?" + +The real Haslop hadn't. Either of them. + +"Then we'll try free association," Gibbons said, and explained what he +wanted of them. + +"_Water_," Gibbons said, popping it out quick and sharp. + +"Spigot," the Haslops said together. Which is exactly what any spaceman +would say, since the only water important to him comes out of a ship's +tank. "Lake" and "river" and "spring," to him, are only words in books. + +Gibbons chewed his lip and tried again, but the result was the same +every time. When he said "payday" they both came back "binge," and when +he said "man" they answered "woman!" with the same gleam in their eyes. + +"I could have told you it wouldn't work," one Haslop said when Gibbons +threw up his hands and quit. "I've lived so long with that phony that +he even knows what I'm going to say next." + +"I was going to say the same thing," the other one growled. "After +twenty-two years of drinking and arguing with him, we've begun--God help +me!--to think alike." + +I tried my own hand just once. + +"Gaffa says that they are exactly identical so far as outside appearance +goes," I said. "But he may be wrong, or lying. Maybe we'd better check +for ourselves." + + * * * * * + +The Haslops raised a howl, of course, but it did them no good. Gibbons +and Corelli and I ganged them one at a time--the Quack refused to help +for fear of being contaminated--and examined them carefully. It was a +lively job, since both of them swore they were ticklish, and under +different circumstances it could have been embarrassing. + +But it settled one point. Gaffa hadn't lied. They were absolutely +identical, as far as we could determine. + +We had given it up and were resting from our labors when Gaffa came +grinning out of the darkness and brought us a big crystal pitcher of +something that would have passed for a first-class Planet Punch except +that it was nearer two-thirds alcohol than the fifty-fifty mix you get +at most interplanetary ginmills. + +The two Haslops had a slug of it as a matter of course, being accustomed +to it, and the rest of us followed suit. Only the Quack refused, turning +green at the thought of all the alien bacteria that might be swimming +around in the pitcher. + +A couple of drinks made us feel better. + +"I've been thinking," Captain Corelli said, "about what Gaffa said when +he limited the time of the test, that we might or might not discover the +reason for ourselves. Now what the hell did the grinning heathen mean by +that? Is there a reason, or was he only dragging a red herring across +the bogus Haslop's track?" + +Gibbons looked thoughtful. I sat back while he pondered and watched the +Quack, who was swallowing another antibiotic capsule. + +"Wait a minute," Gibbons exclaimed. "Captain, you've hit on something +there!" + +He stared at the Haslops. They stared back, unimpressed. + +"Gaffa said you two were exactly alike outside," Gibbons said. "And +we've proved it. Does that mean you're not alike _inside_?" + +"Sure," one of them said. "But what of it? You're sure as hell not going +to cut one of us open to see!" + +"You're confusing the issue," Gibbons snapped. "What I'm getting at is +this--if you two aren't made alike inside, then you can't possibly exist +on the same sort of diet. One of you eats the same sort of food as +ourselves. The other can't. But which is which?" + +One of the Haslops pointed a quivering finger at the other. "It's him!" +he said. "I've watched him drink his dinner for twenty-two years--he's +the fake!" + +"Liar!" the other one yelled, springing up. Corelli stepped between them +and the second Haslop subsided, grumbling. "It's true enough, only +_he's_ the one that drinks his meals. This stuff in the pitcher is the +food he lives on--alcohol for energy, with minerals and other stuff +dissolved in it. I drink it with him for kicks, but that phony can't eat +anything else." + + * * * * * + +Corelli snapped his fingers. + +"So that's why they limited our time, and why they brought this +stuff--to keep their fake Haslop refueled! All we've got to do to +separate our men now is feed them something solid. The one that eats it +is the real Haslop." + +"Sure, all we need now is some solid food," I said. "You don't happen to +have a couple of sandwiches on you, do you?" + +Everybody got quiet for a couple of minutes, and in the silence the +Quack surprised us all by deciding to speak up. + +"Since I'm stuck here for life," he said, "a few germs more or less +won't matter much. Pass me the pitcher, will you?" + +He took a man-sized slug of the fiery stuff without even wiping off the +pitcher's rim. + +After that we gave it up, as who wouldn't have? Captain Corelli said the +hell with it and took such a slug out of the pitcher that the two +Haslops yelled murder and grabbed it quick themselves, and from then on +we just sat around and drank and talked and waited for the sunrise that +would condemn us to Balak for the rest of our lives. + +Thinking about our problem had reminded me of an old puzzle I'd heard +somewhere about three men being placed in a room where they can see each +other but not themselves; they're shown three white hats and two black +ones, and then they're blindfolded and a hat is put on each of their +heads. When the blindfolds are taken off, the third man knows by looking +at the other two and by what they say just what color hat he's wearing +himself, but I always forget how it is that he knows. + +We got so interested in the hat problem that the east was turning pink +before we realized it. + +None of us actually saw the sun rise, though, except the Quack and the +bogus Haslop. + +I was right in the middle of a sentence when all of a sudden my stomach +rolled over and growled like a dying tiger, and I never had such an +all-gone feeling in my life. I looked at the others, wondering if the +stuff in the pitcher had poisoned us all, and saw Gibbons and Corelli +staring at each other with the same startled look in their eyes. One of +the Haslops was hit, too--he had the same pinched expression around the +mouth, and perspiration stood out on his forehead in drops as big as +grapes. + +And then the four of us were on our feet and dashing for open country, +leaving the Quack and the remaining Haslop staring after us. The Haslop +who stayed looked puzzled, I thought, but the Quack only seemed +interested and very much entertained. + +I couldn't be sure of that, though. There wasn't time to look twice. + + * * * * * + +When we came back to the court later, shaken and pale and bracing +ourselves for another dash at any minute, we found Gaffa and his +grinning chums congratulating the Quack. The bogus Haslop had dropped +his impersonation act and seemed very happy. + +"I've learned to like Haslop so well after twenty-two years," he said, +"that I'm quite prejudiced in favor of his species, and I'm delighted +that we are to join your Realm. Balak and Terra will get along famously, +I know, since you people are so ingenious and appreciative of humor." + +We ignored the Balakians and swooped down on the Quack. + +"You put something in that pitcher after you drank out of it, you insult +to humanity," I said. "What was it?" + +The Quack backed off with a wary look in his eye. + +"A recipe from the curiosa section of my medical book," he said. "I +whipped up some capsules for my pocket kit, just in case of emergency, +and I couldn't help thinking of them when--" + +"Never mind the buildup," Captain Corelli said. "_What was it?_" + +"A formula invented by ancient Terran bartenders, and not recommended +except in extreme cases," the Quack said. "With a very odd name. It's +called a twin Mickey." + +We'd probably have murdered him then and there if the Quack's concoction +had let us. + +Later on we had to admit that the Quack had actually done us a service, +since his identifying the real Haslop saved us from being marooned for +life on Balak. And the Balakians were such an immediate sensation in the +Terran Realm that the Quack's part in their admittance made him famous +overnight. Somebody high up in Government circles got him out of Solar +Exploitations field work and gave him a sinecure in an antibiotics +laboratory, where he wound up as happy as a pig in a peanut field. + +Which points up the statement I made in the beginning, that one thing +you never have to worry about in Solar Exploitations work is being +bored. + +You see what I mean? + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Problem on Balak, by Roger D. 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