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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..33337d6 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51395 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51395) diff --git a/old/51395-h.zip b/old/51395-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ec8780a..0000000 --- a/old/51395-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51395-h/51395-h.htm b/old/51395-h/51395-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index fa0fd08..0000000 --- a/old/51395-h/51395-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1568 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Survival Type, by J. 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Bone. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Survival Type, by J.F. Bone - -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/license - - -Title: Survival Type - -Author: J.F. Bone - -Release Date: March 8, 2016 [EBook #51395] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SURVIVAL TYPE *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="371" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>SURVIVAL TYPE</h1> - -<p>By J. F. BONE</p> - -<p>Illustrated by KIRBERGER</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Galaxy Science Fiction March 1957.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph3"><i>Score one or one million was not enough for<br /> -the human race. It had to be all or nothing ...<br /> -with one man doing every bit of scoring!</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Arthur Lanceford slapped futilely at the sith buzzing hungrily around -his head. The outsized eight-legged parody of a mosquito did a neat -half roll and zoomed out of range, hanging motionless on vibrating -wings a few feet away.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="600" height="223" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>A raindrop staggered it momentarily, and for a fleeting second, -Lanceford had the insane hope that the arthropod would fall out of -control into the mud. If it did, that would be the end of it, for -Niobian mud was as sticky as flypaper. But the sith righted itself -inches short of disaster, buzzed angrily and retreated to the shelter -of a nearby broadleaf, where it executed another half roll and hung -upside down, watching its intended meal with avid anticipation.</p> - -<p>Lanceford eyed the insect distastefully as he explored his jacket for -repellent and applied the smelly stuff liberally to his face and neck. -It wouldn't do much good. In an hour, his sweat would remove whatever -the rain missed—but for that time, it should discourage the sith. As -far as permanent discouraging went, the repellent was useless. Once -one of those eight-legged horrors checked you off, there were only two -possible endings to the affair—either you were bitten or you killed -the critter.</p> - -<p>It was as simple as that.</p> - -<p>He had hoped that he would be fast enough to get the sith before it got -him. He had been bitten once already and the memory of those paralyzed -three minutes while the bloodsucker fed was enough to last him for -a lifetime. He readjusted his helmet, tucking its fringe of netting -beneath his collar. The netting, he reflected gloomily, was like its -owner—much the worse for wear. However, this trek would be over in -another week and he would be able to spend the next six months at a -comfortable desk job at the Base, while some other poor devil did the -chores of field work.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He looked down the rain-swept trail winding through the jungle. -Niobe—a perfect name for this wet little world. The Bureau of -Extraterrestrial Exploration couldn't have picked a better, but the -funny thing about it was that they hadn't picked it in the first place. -Niobe was the native word for Earth, or perhaps "the world" would be -a more accurate definition. It was a coincidence, of course, but the -planet and its mythological Greek namesake had much in common.</p> - -<p>Niobe, like Niobe, was all tears—a world of rain falling endlessly -from an impenetrable overcast, fat wet drops that formed a grieving -background sound that never ceased, sobbing with soft mournful noises -on the rubbery broadleaves, crying with obese splashes into forest -pools, blubbering with loud, dismal persistence on the sounding -board of his helmet. And on the ground, the raindrops mixed with the -loesslike soil of the trail to form a gluey mud that clung in huge -pasty balls to his boots.</p> - -<p>Everywhere there was water, running in rivulets of tear-streaks down -the round cheeks of the gently sloping land—rivulets that merged and -blended into broad shallow rivers that wound their mourners' courses -to the sea. Trekking on Niobe was an amphibious operation unless -one stayed in the highlands—a perpetual series of fords and river -crossings.</p> - -<p>And it was hot, a seasonless, unchanging, humid heat that made a -protection suit an instrument of torture that slowly boiled its wearer -in his own sweat. But the suit was necessary, for exposed human flesh -was irresistible temptation to Niobe's bloodsucking insects. Many of -these were no worse than those of Earth, but a half dozen species were -deadly. The first bite sensitized. The second killed—anaphylactic -shock, the medics called it. And the sith was one of the deadly species.</p> - -<p>Lanceford shrugged fatalistically. Uncomfortable as a protection suit -was, it was better to boil in it than die without it.</p> - -<p>He looked at Kron squatting beside the trail and envied him. It was -too bad that Earthmen weren't as naturally repellent to insects as -the dominant native life. Like all Niobians, the native guide wore no -clothing—ideal garb for a climate like this. His white, hairless hide, -with its faint sheen of oil, was beautifully water-repellent.</p> - -<p>Kron, Lanceford reflected, was a good example of the manner in which -Nature adapts the humanoid form for survival on different worlds. -Like the dominant species on every intelligent planet in the explored -galaxy, he was an erect, bipedal, mammalian being with hands that -possessed an opposable thumb. Insofar as that general description went, -Kron resembled humanity—but there were differences.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Squatting, the peculiar shape of Kron's torso and the odd flexibility -of his limbs were not apparent. One had the tendency to overlook the -narrow-shouldered, cylindrical body and the elongated tarsal and carpal -bones that gave his limbs four major articulations rather than the -human three, and to concentrate upon the utterly alien head.</p> - -<p>It jutted forward from his short, thick neck, a long-snouted, vaguely -doglike head with tiny ears lying close against the hairless, -dome-shaped cranium. Slitlike nostrils, equipped with sphincter -muscles like those of a terrestrial seal, argued an originally aquatic -environment, and the large intelligent eyes set forward in the skull to -give binocular vision, together with the sharp white carnassial teeth -and pointed canines, indicated a carnivorous ancestry. But the modern -Niobians, although excellent swimmers, were land dwellers and ate -anything.</p> - -<p>Lanceford couldn't repress an involuntary shudder at some of the -things they apparently enjoyed. Tastes differed—enormously so between -Earthmen and Niobians.</p> - -<p>There was no doubt that the native was intelligent, yet he, like the -rest of his race, was a technological moron. It was strange that a race -which had a well-developed philosophy and an amazing comprehension of -semantics could be so backward in mechanics. Even the simpler of the -BEE's mechanisms left the natives confused. It was possible that they -could learn about machinery, but Lanceford was certain that it would -take a good many years before the first native mechanic would set up a -machine shop on this planet.</p> - -<p>Lanceford finished tucking the last fold of face net under his collar, -and as he did so, Kron stood up, rising to his five-foot height -with a curious flexible grace. Standing, he looked something like a -double-jointed alabaster Anubis—wearing swim fins. His broad, webbed -feet rested easily on the surface of the mud, their large area giving -him flotation that Lanceford envied. As a result, his head was nearly -level with that of the human, although there was better than a foot -difference in their heights.</p> - -<p>Lanceford looked at Kron inquiringly. "You have a place in mind where -we can sleep tonight?"</p> - -<p>"Sure, Boss. We'll be coming to hunthouse soon. We go now?"</p> - -<p>"Lead on," Lanceford said, groaning silently to himself—another -hunthouse with its darkness and its smells. He shrugged. He could -hardly expect anything else up here in the highlands. Oh, well, he'd -managed to last through the others and this one could be no worse. At -that, even an airless room full of natives was preferable to spending -a night outside. And the sith wouldn't follow them. It didn't like -airless rooms filled with natives.</p> - -<p>He sighed wearily as he followed Kron along the dim path through the -broadleaf jungle. Night was coming, and with darkness, someone upstairs -turned on every faucet and the sheets of rain that fell during the day -changed abruptly into a deluge. Even the semi-aquatic natives didn't -like to get caught away from shelter during the night.</p> - -<p>The three moved onward, immersed in a drumming wilderness of rain—the -Niobian sliding easily over the surface of the mud, the Earthman -plowing painfully through it, and the sith flitting from the shelter of -one broadleaf to the next, waiting for a chance to feed.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The trail widened abruptly, opening upon one of the small clearings -that dotted the rain-forest jungle. In the center of the clearing, -dimly visible through the rain and thickening darkness, loomed the -squat thatch-roofed bulk of a hunthouse, a place of shelter for the -members of the hunters' guild who provided fresh meat for the Niobian -villages. Lanceford sighed a mingled breath of relief and unpleasant -anticipation.</p> - -<p>As he stepped out into the clearing, the sith darted from cover, -heading like a winged bullet for Lanceford's neck. But the man was -not taken by surprise. Pivoting quickly, he caught the iridescent -blur of the bloodsucker's wings. He swung his arm in a mighty slap. -The high-pitched buzz and Lanceford's gloved hand met simultaneously -at his right ear. The buzz stopped abruptly. Lanceford shook his head -and the sith fell to the ground, satisfactorily swatted. Lanceford -grinned—score one for the human race.</p> - -<p>He was still grinning as he pushed aside the fiber screen closing the -low doorway of the hunthouse and crawled inside. It took a moment for -his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom within, but his nose told -him even before his eyes that the house was occupied. The natives, he -thought wryly, must be born with no sense of smell, otherwise they'd -perish from sheer propinquity. One could never honestly say that -familiarity with the odor of a Niobian bred contempt—nausea was the -right word.</p> - -<p>The interior was typical, a dark rectangle of windowless limestone -walls enclosing a packed-dirt floor and lined with a single deck of -wooden sleeping platforms. Steeply angled rafters of peeled logs -intersected at a knife-sharp ridge pierced with a circular smokehole -above the firepit in the center of the room. Transverse rows of -smaller poles lashed to the rafters supported the thick broadleaf -thatch that furnished protection from the rain and sanctuary for -uncounted thousands of insects.</p> - -<p>A fire flickered ruddily in the pit, hissing as occasional drops of -rain fell into its heart from the smokehole, giving forth a dim light -together with clouds of smoke and steam that rose upward through -the tangled mass of greasy cobwebs filling the upper reaches of the -rafters. Some of the smoke found its way through the smokehole, but -most of it hung in an acrid undulating layer some six feet above the -floor.</p> - -<p>The glow outlined the squatting figures of a dozen or so natives -clustered around the pit, watching the slowly rotating carcass of a -small deerlike rodent called a sorat, which was broiling on a spit -above the flames. Kron was already in the ring, talking earnestly to -one of the hunters—a fellow-tribesman, judging from the tattoo on his -chest.</p> - -<p>To a Niobian, the scene was ordinary, but to Lanceford it could have -been lifted bodily from the inferno. He had seen it before, but the -effect lost nothing by repetition. There was a distinctly hellish -quality to it—to the reds and blacks of the flickering fire and the -shadows. He wouldn't have been particularly surprised if Satan himself -appeared in the center of the firepit complete with horns, hoofs and -tail. A hunthouse, despite its innocuousness, looked like the southeast -corner of Hades.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Clustered around the fire, the hunters turned to look at him curiously -and, after a single eye-filling stare, turned back again. Niobians -were almost painfully polite. Although Earthmen were still enough of a -curiosity to draw attention, one searching look was all their customs -allowed. Thereafter, they minded their own business. In some ways, -Lanceford reflected, native customs had undeniable merit.</p> - -<p>Presently Kron rose from his place beside the fire and pointed out two -empty sleeping platforms where they would spend the night. Lanceford -chose one and sank wearily to its resilient surface. Despite its crude -construction, a Niobian sleeping platform was comfortable. He removed -his pack, pulled off his mud-encrusted boots and lay back with a grunt -of relaxation. After a day like this, it was good to get off his feet. -Weariness flowed over him.</p> - -<p>He awoke to the gentle pressure of Kron's hand squeezing his own. "The -food is cooked," the Niobian said, "and you are welcomed to share it."</p> - -<p>Lanceford nodded, his stomach crawling with unpleasant anticipation. -A native meal was something he would prefer to avoid. His digestive -system could handle the unsavory mess, but his taste buds shrank from -the forthcoming assault. What the natives classed as a delicate and -elusive flavor was sheer torture to an Earthman.</p> - -<p>Possibly there was some connection between their inefficient olfactory -apparatus and their odd ideas of flavor, but whatever the physical -explanation might be, it didn't affect the fact that eating native -food was an ordeal. Yet he couldn't refuse. That would be discourteous -and offensive, and one simply didn't offend the natives. The BEE was -explicit about that. Courtesy was a watchword on Niobe.</p> - -<p>He took a place by the fire, watching with concealed distaste as one -of the hunters reached into the boiling vat beside the firepit with a -pair of wooden tongs and drew forth the native conception of a hors -d'oeuvre. They called it vorkum—a boiled sorat paunch stuffed with a -number of odorous ingredients. It looked almost as bad as it smelled.</p> - -<p>The hunter laid the paunch on a wooden trencher, scraped the greenish -scum from its surface and sliced it open. The odor poured out, a -gagging essence of decaying vegetables, rotten eggs and overripe -cheese.</p> - -<p>Lanceford's eyes watered, his stomach tautened convulsively, but the -Niobians eyed the reeking semi-solid eagerly. No meal on Niobe was -considered worthy of the name unless a generous helping of vorkum -started it off.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>An entree like that could ruin the most rugged human appetite, but -when it was the forerunner of a main dish of highly spiced barbecue, -vorkum assumed the general properties of an emetic. Lanceford grimly -controlled the nausea and tactfully declined the greasy handful which -Kron offered. The Niobian never seemed to learn. At every meal they had -eaten during their past month of travel on Niobe, Kron had persistently -offered him samples of the mess. With equal persistence, he had -refused. After all, there were limits.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="600" height="289" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>But polite convention required that he eat something, so he took a -small portion of the barbecued meat and dutifully finished it. The -hunters eyed him curiously, apparently wondering how an entity who -could assimilate relatively untasty sorat should refuse the far greater -delicacy of vorkum. But it was a known fact that the ways of Earthmen -were strange and unaccountable.</p> - -<p>The hunters didn't protest when he retired to his sleeping platform and -the more acceptable concentrates from his pack. His hunger satisfied, -he lay back on the resilient vines and fell into a sleep of exhaustion. -It had been a hard day.</p> - -<p>Lanceford's dreams were unpleasant. Nightmare was the usual penalty of -sitting in on a Niobian meal and this one was worse than usual. Huge -siths, reeking of vorkum, pursued him as he ran naked and defenseless -across a swampy landscape that stretched interminably ahead. The -clinging mud reduced his speed to a painful crawl as he frantically -beat off the attacks of the blood-suckers.</p> - -<p>The climax was horror. One of the siths slipped through his frantically -beating hands and bit him on the face. The shocking pain of the bite -wakened him, a cry of terror and anguish still on his lips.</p> - -<p>He looked around wildly. He was still in the hunthouse. It was just a -dream.</p> - -<p>He chuckled shakily. These nightmares sometimes were too real for -comfort. He was drenched with sweat, which was not unusual, but there -was a dull ache in his head and the hot tense pain that encompassed the -right side of his face had not been there when he had fallen asleep.</p> - -<p>He touched his face with a tentative finger, exploring the hot -puffiness and the enormously swollen ear with a gentle touch. It was -where he had struck the sith, but surely he couldn't have hit that hard.</p> - -<p>He gasped, a soft breath of dismay, as realization dawned. He had -smashed the sith hard enough to squeeze some of the insect's corrosive -body juices through his face net—and they had touched his skin! That -wouldn't normally have been bad, but the sith bite he had suffered -a week ago had sensitized him. He was developing an anaphylactic -reaction—a severe one, judging from the swelling.</p> - -<p>That was the trouble with exploration; one occasionally forgot that a -world was alien. Occasionally danger tended to recede into a background -of familiarity—he had smashed the sith before it had bitten him, so -therefore it couldn't hurt him. He grimaced painfully, the movement -bringing another twinge to his swollen face. He should have known -better.</p> - -<p>He swore mildly as he opened his Aid Kit and extracted a sterile hypo. -The super-antihistamine developed by the Bureau was an unpredictable -sort of thing. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't. He removed -the screw cap that sealed the needle and injected the contents of the -syringe into his arm. He hoped that this was one of the times the drug -worked. If it wasn't, he reflected grimly, he wouldn't be long for this -world.</p> - -<p>He sighed and lay back. There wasn't anything more to do now. All he -could do was wait and see if the anti-allergen worked.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Bureau of Extraterrestrial Exploration had discovered Niobe barely -three years ago, yet already the planet was famous not only for its -peculiar climate, but also for the number of men who had died upon its -watery surface. Knowledge of this planet was bought with life, grim -payment to decrease the lag between discovery and the day men could -live and work on Niobe without having to hide beneath domes or behind -protection suits. Lanceford never questioned the necessity or the -inevitable price that must be paid. Like every other BEE agent, he knew -that Niobe was crash priority—a world that <i>had</i> to be understood in -minimum time.</p> - -<p>For Niobe was a made to order herbarium for a swampland plant called -viscaya. The plant was originally native to Algon IV, but had been -spread to practically every suitable growth center in the Galaxy. -It was the source of a complex of alkaloids known as gerontin, and -gerontin had the property of tripling or quadrupling the normal life -span of mammals.</p> - -<p>It was obvious that viscayaculture should have a tremendous -distribution throughout the Confederation worlds. But unfortunately the -right conditions existed in very few places in the explored galaxy. -Despite the fact that most life is based on carbon, oxygen and water, -there is still very little free water in the Galaxy. Most planets of -the Confederation are semi-arid, with the outstanding exceptions of -Terra and Lyrane. But these two worlds were the seats of human and -humanoid power for so long that all of their swampland had been drained -and reclaimed centuries ago.</p> - -<p>And it was doubly unfortunate that gerontin so far defied synthesis. -According to some eminent chemists, the alkaloid would probably -continue to do so until some facet of the Confederation reached a Class -VIII culture level. Considering that Terra and Lyrane, the two highest -cultures, were only Class VII, and that Class level steps took several -thousands of years to make, a policy of waiting for synthesis was not -worth considering.</p> - -<p>The result was that nobody was happy until Niobe was discovered. -The price of illicit gerontin was astronomical and most of the -Confederation's supply of the drug was strictly rationed to those whom -the government thought most valuable to the Confederation as a whole. -Of course, the Confederation officialdom was included, which caused -considerable grumbling. In the nick of time, Niobe appeared upon the -scene, and Niobe had environment in abundance!</p> - -<p>The wheels of the Confederation began to turn. The BEE was given a -blank check and spurred on by a government which, in turn, was being -spurred on by the people who composed it. The exploration of Niobe -proceeded at all possible speed. With so many considerations weighed -against them, what did a few lives matter? For the sake of the billions -of humanoids in the Confederation, their sacrifice was worthwhile -even if only a few days or hours were saved between discovery and -exploitation.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Lanceford groaned as a violent pain shot through his head. The -anti-allergin apparently wasn't going to work, for it should have had -some effect by now. He shrugged mentally—it was the chance one took in -this business. But he couldn't say that he hadn't been warned. Even old -Sims had told him, called him a unit in the BEE's shortcut trial and -error scheme—an error, it looked like now.</p> - -<p>Seemed rather silly—a Class VII civilization using techniques that -were old during the Dark Ages before the Atomic Revolution, sending -foot parties to explore a world in the chance that they might discover -something that the search mechs missed—anything that would shorten the -lag time. It was incomprehensible, but neither Sims nor the BEE would -do a thing like this without reason. And whatever it was, he wasn't -going to worry about it. In fact, there wasn't much time left to worry. -The reaction was observably and painfully worse.</p> - -<p>It was important that the news of his death and the specimens he had -collected get back to Base Alpha. They might have value in this complex -game Alvord Sims was playing with men, machines and Niobe. But Base -Alpha was a good hundred miles away and, in his present condition, he -couldn't walk a hundred feet.</p> - -<p>For a moment, he considered setting up the powerful little transmitter -he carried in his pack, but his first abortive motion convinced him it -was useless. The blinding agony that swept through him at the slightest -movement left no doubt that he would never finish the business of -setting up the antenna, let alone send a message.</p> - -<p>It was a crime that handie-talkies couldn't be used here on Niobe, but -their range, limited at best, was practically nonexistent on a planet -that literally seemed to be one entire "dead spot." A fixed-frequency -job broadcasting on a directional beam was about the only thing that -could cover distance, and that required a little technical know-how to -set up the antenna and focus it on Base Alpha. There would be no help -from Kron. Despite his intelligence, the native could no more assemble -a directional antenna than spread pink wings and fly.</p> - -<p>There was only one thing to do—get a note off to Sims, if he could -still write, and ask Kron to deliver the note and his pack to the Base.</p> - -<p>He fumbled with his jacket, and with some pain produced a stylus and a -pad. But it was difficult to write. Painful, too. Better get Kron over -here while he could still talk and tell him what he wanted.</p> - -<p>The stylus slipped from numb fingers as Lanceford called hoarsely, -"Kron! Come here! I need you!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Kron looked down compassionately at the swollen features of the -Earthman. He had seen the kef effect before, among the young of his -people who were incautious or inexperienced, but he had never seen it -among the aliens. Surprisingly, the effects were the same—the livid -swellings, the gasping breath, the pain. Strange how these foreigners -reacted like his own people.</p> - -<p>He scratched his head and pulled thoughtfully at one of his short ears. -It was his duty to help Lanceford, but how could he? The Earthman -had denied his help for weeks, and Niobians simply didn't disregard -another's wishes. Kron scowled, the action lending a ferocious cast to -his doglike face. Tolerance was a custom hallowed by ages of practice. -It went to extremes—even with life at stake, a person's wishes and -beliefs must be respected.</p> - -<p>Kron buried his long-snouted head in his hands, a gesture that held in -it all the frustration which filled him.</p> - -<p>The human was apparently resolved to die. He had told Kron his last -wishes, which didn't include a request for help, but merely to get -his pack back to the others in their glass dome. It was astonishing -that such an obviously intelligent species should have so little -flexibility. They didn't understand the first principles of adaptation. -Always and forever, they held to their own ways, trying with insensate -stubbornness to mold nature to their will—and when nature overcome -their artificial defenses, they died, stubborn, unregenerate, -inflexible to the end. They were odd, these humans—odd and a little -frightening.</p> - -<p>Lanceford breathed wheezily. The swelling had invaded the inner -tissues of his throat and was beginning to compress his windpipe. It -was uncomfortable, like inhaling liquid fire, and then there was the -constant desire to cough and the physical inability to do so.</p> - -<p>"Dirty luck," he whispered. "Only a week more and I'd have had it -made—the longest trek a man's made on this benighted planet."</p> - -<p>Kron nodded, but then belatedly realized that the human was muttering -to himself. He listened. There might be something important in these -dying murmurings, something that might explain their reasons for being -here and their strange driving haste that cared nothing for life.</p> - -<p>"It's hard to die so far from one's people, but I guess that can't be -helped. Old Sims gave me the score. Like he said, a man doesn't have -much choice of where he dies in the BEE."</p> - -<p>"You don't want to die!" Kron exploded.</p> - -<p>"Of course not," Lanceford said with weak surprise. He hadn't dreamed -that Kron was nearby. This might well destroy the Imperturbable -Earthman myth that the BEE had fostered.</p> - -<p>"Not even if it is in accord with your customs and rituals?"</p> - -<p>"What customs?"</p> - -<p>"Your clothing, your eating habits, your ointments—are these not part -of your living plan?"</p> - -<p>Despite the pain that tore at his throat, Lanceford managed a chuckle. -This was ridiculous. "Hell, no! Our only design for living is to stay -alive, particularly on jobs like this one. We don't wear these suits -and repellent because we <i>like</i> to. We do it to stay alive. If we -could, we'd go around nearly as naked as you do."</p> - -<p>"Do you mind if I help you?" Kron asked diffidently. "I think I can -cure you." He leaned forward anxiously to get the man's reply.</p> - -<p>"I'd take a helping hand from the devil himself, if it would do any -good."</p> - -<p>Kron's eyes were brilliant. He hummed softly under his breath, the -Niobian equivalent of laughter. "And all the time we thought—" he -began, and then broke off abruptly. Already too much time was wasted -without losing any more in meditating upon the ironies of life.</p> - -<p>He turned toward the firepit, searched for a moment among the stones, -nodded with satisfaction and returned to where Lanceford lay. The -hunthouse was deserted save for himself and the Earthman. With -characteristic Niobian delicacy, the hunters had left, preferring to -endure the night rain than be present when the alien died. Kron was -thankful that they were gone, for what he was about to do would shock -their conservative souls.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Lanceford was dimly conscious of Kron prying his swollen jaws apart -and forcing something wet and slippery down his throat. He swallowed, -the act a tearing pain to the edematous membranes of his gullet, but -the stuff slid down, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The act -triggered another wave of pain that left him weak and gasping. He -couldn't take much more of this. It wouldn't be long now before the -swelling invaded his lungs to such a degree that he would strangle. It -wasn't a pleasant way to die.</p> - -<p>And then, quite suddenly, the pain eased. A creeping numbness spread -like a warm black blanket over his outraged nervous system. The stuff -Kron had given him apparently had some anesthetic properties. He felt -dimly grateful, even though the primitive native nostrum would probably -do no good other than to ease the pain.</p> - -<p>The blackness went just far enough to paralyze the superficial areas of -his nervous system. It stopped the pain and left him unable to move, -but the deeper pathways of thought and reason remained untouched. He -was conscious, although no external sensation intruded on his thoughts. -He couldn't see Kron—the muscles that moved his eyes were as paralyzed -as the other muscles of his body and the native was outside his field -of vision—but somehow he knew exactly what the Niobian was doing. He -was washing mucus from his hands in a bowl of water standing beside the -fire pit <i>and he was wondering wryly whether forced feeding was on the -list of human tabus</i>!</p> - -<p>Lanceford's mind froze, locked in a peculiar contact that was more -than awareness. The sensation was indescribable. It was like looking -through an open door into the living room of a stranger's house.</p> - -<p>He was aware of the incredible complexity and richness of Kron's -thoughts, of oddly sardonic laughter, of pity and regret that such a -little thing as understanding should cause death and suffering through -its lack, of bewildered admiration for the grim persistence of the -alien Earthmen, mixed with a wondering curiosity about what kept them -here—what the true reasons were for their death-defying persistence -and stubbornness—of an ironic native paraphrase for the Terran saying, -"Every man to his own taste," and a profound speculation upon what -fruits might occur from true understanding between his own race and the -aliens.</p> - -<p>It was a strangely jumbled kaleidoscopic flash that burned across the -explorer's isolated mind, a flash that passed almost as soon as it had -come, as though an invisible door had closed upon it.</p> - -<p>But one thing in that briefly shocking contact stood out with great -clarity. The Niobians were as eager as the BEE to establish a true -contact, a true understanding, for the message was there, plain -in Kron's mind that he was thinking not only for himself but for -a consensus of his people, a decision arrived at as a result of -discussion and thought—a decision of which every Niobian was aware and -with which most Niobians agreed.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The magnitude of that thought and its implications staggered -Lanceford's imagination.</p> - -<p>After two years of exploration and contact with the dominant race -of this planet, the BEE still knew literally nothing about the sort -of people with whom they were dealing. This instantaneous, neural -contact proved that. Equated against the information dished out in -Basic Training, it merely emphasized the fact that the BEE was grossly -ignorant.</p> - -<p>Anthropological Intelligence had a lot to account for—the job they'd -done so far could have been performed by low-grade morons. In wishing -to avoid the possibility of giving offense, in hiding behind a wall of -courtesy and convention, there had been no contact worthy of the name. -Yet here was the possibility of a rapport that could be closer than any -which existed between any races in the Galaxy.</p> - -<p>Lanceford groaned with silent frustration. To learn this when he was -dying was the bitterest of ironies. In any other circumstances, the -flash of insight could be parlayed into a key which might unlock the -entire problem of Niobian relationships.</p> - -<p>Bitterly he fought against the curtain of unconsciousness that closed -down on him, trying by sheer will to stay awake, to make some move that -could be interpreted, to leave some clue to what he had learned.</p> - -<p>It was useless. The darkness closed in, inexorable and irresistible.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Arthur Lanceford opened his eyes, surprised that he was still alive. -The pain was gone from his face and the swelling had subsided. He -grinned with relief—his luck had held out.</p> - -<p>And then the relief vanished in a wave of elation. He held the key. -He knew the basics for mutual understanding. And he would be alive to -deliver them to the specialists who could make them operate.</p> - -<p>He chuckled. Whatever the cure was—the BEE drug, Kron's treatment, -whatever it was, it didn't matter. The important thing was that he was -going to live.</p> - -<p>He wondered whether that flash of insight just before unconsciousness -had been real or a figment of delirium. It could have been either, but -Lanceford clung to the belief that the contact was genuine. There was -far too much revealed in that sudden flash that was entirely alien to -his normal patterns of thought.</p> - -<p>He wondered what had triggered that burst of awareness. The BEE drug, -the stuff Kron had given him, the poison of the sith and the histamines -floating around in his system—it could have been any one of a number -of things, or maybe a complex of various factors that had interacted to -make him super-receptive for an instant of time.</p> - -<p>It was something that would have to be reported and studied with the -meticulous care which the BEE gave to any facet of experience that was -out of the ordinary. A solution might possibly be found, or the whole -thing might wind up as one of those dead ends that were so numerous in -Exploration work. But that was out of his field and, in consequence, -out of his hands. His specialty wasn't parapsychological research.</p> - -<p>Kron was standing beside his bed, long doglike face impassive, looking -at him with pleased satisfaction. Behind him, a group of natives were -clustered around the cooking fire. It was as if no time had passed -since the allergy struck—but Lanceford knew differently. Still, the -lost time didn't matter. The bright joy that he was going to live -transcended such unimportant things.</p> - -<p>"Looks like you won't have to bury me after all," Lanceford said -happily.</p> - -<p>He stretched his arms over his head. He felt wonderful. His body was -cool and comfortably free of the hot confinement of the protection -suit. He did a slow horrified doubletake as he realized that he was -lying on the sleeping platform practically naked—a tempting hors -d'oeuvre for the thousand and one species of Niobe's biting insects.</p> - -<p>"Where's my suit?" he half shouted.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Kron smiled. "You don't need it, friend Lanceford. If you will notice, -you are not bitten. Nor will you be."</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>Kron didn't answer. It wasn't the proper time, and the euphoria that he -and the Earthman were enjoying was too pleasant to shatter.</p> - -<p>Lanceford didn't press the matter. Apparently Kron knew what he was -talking about. Lanceford had been watching one particularly vicious -species of biting fly hover above his body. The insect would approach, -ready to enjoy a mandible full of human epidermis, but, about six -inches from his body, would slow down and come to a stop, hanging -frustrated in midair. Finally the fly gave up and flew off into the -darkness of the rafters. Lanceford hoped that one of the spiders would -get it—but he was convinced. Whatever happened to him while he was -unconscious had made him as insect-repellent as the Niobians.</p> - -<p>The smell of cooking came from the firepit and, incredibly, it smelled -good.</p> - -<p>Lanceford looked startledly at Kron. "I'm hungry."</p> - -<p>"An excellent sign," Kron replied. "You are nearly cured. Soon you will -be able to finish this trek."</p> - -<p>"Incidentally," Lanceford said, "for the first time since I have been -out on this showerbath world of yours, you're cooking something that -smells fit to eat. I think I'd like to try it."</p> - -<p>Kron's eyebrows rose and he hummed softly under his breath. This was -something entirely unexpected—an added delight, like the flavor of -komal in a sorat stew. He savored it slowly, enjoying its implications.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" Lanceford persisted.</p> - -<p>"A dish called akef," Kron said. The name was as good as any and -certainly described the effect well enough.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The last hundred miles had been a breeze. Lanceford stood at the -edge of the clearing, looking across the planed-off landscape to the -shimmering hemispherical bulk of Base Alpha, glistening like a giant -cabochon jewel under Niobe's dark sky. Without the protection suit to -slow him down and hamper his movements, what would have been a week's -trip had been shortened to four days.</p> - -<p>In a few minutes, he would be back among his own kind—and he wasn't -sure whether he was glad or sorry. Of course, there was a certain -satisfaction in bringing back a first-class discovery—perhaps the -greatest in the short history of Niobian exploration—but there was a -stigma attached to the way it had been found. It wouldn't be easy to -confess that it had practically been forced upon him, but it would have -to be done. It would have been much nicer to have found the answer by -using his head. There would have been some really deserved prestige in -that.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He sighed and turned to Kron. "Farewell, friend," he said soberly, "and -thanks."</p> - -<p>"We are even," Kron replied. "You saved my life from a roka and I saved -yours from the sith. The scales are balanced."</p> - -<p>Lanceford blinked. He had forgotten that incident where he had shot the -big catlike animal shortly after the 'copter had dropped them for the -start of their journey back to Base. Apparently it was after Kron—or -at least the native had thought so. Lanceford grinned ruefully. Score -another point for blind luck.</p> - -<p>"But, Kron, it's not that easy. You have given me a secret of your -people and I shall have to tell it to mine."</p> - -<p>"I expected that you would. Besides, it is no secret. Even our children -know its composition and how to make it. We have never held it from -you. You simply wouldn't accept it. But it is about time, friend -Lanceford, that your race began learning something of Niobe if they -wish to remain here—and it is about time that we began learning -something about you. I think that there will be some rather marked -changes in the future. And in that regard, I leave you with the -question of whether a civilization should be judged entirely upon its -apparent technological achievements."</p> - -<p>"I—" Lanceford began.</p> - -<p>"You have learned how we avoid the insects," Kron continued, -maneuvering past the abortive interruption, "and perhaps someday you -will know the full answer to my question. But in the meantime, you and -your kind will be free to move through our world, to learn our ways, -and to teach us yours. It should be a fair exchange."</p> - -<p>"Thanks to akef," Lanceford said fervently, "we should be able to do -just that."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Kron smiled. "You have used the drug enough to have overcome the mental -block that prevented you from naming it before. The word I coined from -your own language of science is no longer necessary."</p> - -<p>"I suppose not, but it's pleasanter to think of it that way."</p> - -<p>"You Earthmen! Sometimes I wonder how you ever managed to achieve a -civilization with your strange attitudes toward unpleasant facts." Kron -smiled broadly, relishing the memory of his deception and Lanceford's -shocked awakening to the truth. "I hope," he continued, "that you -have forgiven my little deceit and the destruction of your protective -clothing."</p> - -<p>"Of course. How could I do otherwise? It's so nice to be rid of that -sweatbox that I'd forgive anything." Lanceford frowned. "But there's -one thing that puzzles me. How did you disguise the stuff?"</p> - -<p>"I didn't," Kron replied cryptically. "You did." He turned away and, -with characteristic Niobian abruptness, walked off into the jungle. His -job was done and natives were never ones to dally with leavetaking, -although their greetings were invariably ceremonious.</p> - -<p>Lanceford watched until the native was out of sight and then walked -slowly across the clearing toward the dome. He had learned a lot these -past few days, enough to make him realize that his basic training had -been so inadequate as to be almost criminal. It was lacking in many of -the essentials for survival and, moreover, was slanted entirely wrong -from a psychological point of view.</p> - -<p>Sure, it was good enough to enable a man to get along, but it seemed to -be particularly designed to deny the fact that the natives obviously -possessed a first-rate culture of their own. It didn't say so directly, -but the implications were there. And that was wrong. The natives -possessed a civilization that was probably quite as high as the one -Terra possessed. It was simply oriented differently. One thing was -certain—the Confederation wasn't going to expropriate or exploit -<i>this</i> planet without the natives' consent. It would be suicide if they -tried.</p> - -<p>He grinned. Actually there would be no reason for such action. It -was always easier to deal with advanced races than to try to conquer -or educate primitive ones. Kron had the right idea—understanding, -exchange, appreciation—Confederation culture for Niobian. It would -make a good and productive synthesis.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="466" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Still grinning, Lanceford opened the airlock and stepped inside, -ignoring the pop-eyed guard who eyed his shorts and sandals with an -expression of incredulous disbelief.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Alvord Sims, Regional Director, Niobe Division BEE, looked up from his -desk and smiled. The smile became a nose-wrinkling grimace as Lanceford -swung the pack from his shoulders and set it carefully on the floor.</p> - -<p>"Glad to see that you made it, Lanceford," Sims said. "But what's that -awful smell? You should have done something about it. You stink like a -native."</p> - -<p>"All the baths in the world won't help, sir," Lanceford said woodenly.</p> - -<p>He was tired of the stares and the sniffs he had encountered since he -had entered the base. In his present condition, a fellow-human smelled -as bad to him as he did to them, but he didn't complain about it and he -saw no reason why they should. Humanity should apply more courtesy and -consideration to members of their own species.</p> - -<p>"It's inside me," he explained. "My metabolism's changed. And -incidentally, sir, you don't smell so sweet yourself."</p> - -<p>Sims sputtered for a moment and then shrugged. "Perhaps not," -he admitted. "One can't help sweating in this climate even with -air-conditioning."</p> - -<p>"It's the change inside me," Lanceford said. "I suppose it'll wear off -in time, once I've been on a normal diet. But I didn't think that was -too important in view of the information I have. I've learned something -vital, something that you should know at once. That's why I'm here."</p> - -<p>"That's decent of you," Sims replied, "but an interoffice memo would -have served just as well as a personal visit. My stomach isn't as good -as it once was. Ulcers, you know."</p> - -<p>"The executive's disease," Lanceford commented.</p> - -<p>Sims nodded. "Well, Arthur, what did you find that was so important?"</p> - -<p>"That we've been fools."</p> - -<p>Sims sighed. "That's nothing new. We've been fools since the day we -left Earth to try and conquer the stars."</p> - -<p>"That's not what I mean, sir. I mean that we've been going at this -Niobe business the wrong way. What we need is to understand the -natives, instead of trying to understand the planet."</p> - -<p>"Out of the mouths of babes and probationers—" Sims said with gentle -irony.</p> - -<p>"It pays off," Lanceford replied doggedly. "Take my case. I've found -out why the natives are insect-proof!"</p> - -<p>"That's a new wrinkle. Can you prove it?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly. I came the last hundred miles in shorts."</p> - -<p>"What happened to your suit?"</p> - -<p>"Kron destroyed it accidentally."</p> - -<p>"Accidentally—hah!" Sims snorted. "Niobians never do things -accidentally."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Lanceford looked sharply at the director. The observation carried a -wealth of implications that his sharpened senses were quick to grasp. -"Then you know the natives aren't simple savages, the way we were -taught in Basic Training?"</p> - -<p>"Of course! They're a non-technical Class V at the very least—maybe -higher. Somehow they've never oriented their civilization along -mechanical lines, or maybe they tried it once and found it wanting. -But no one in the upper echelons has ever thought they were stupid or -uncivilized."</p> - -<p>"Then why—"</p> - -<p>"Later," Sims said. "You're entitled to an explanation, but right -now I'd appreciate it if you'd finish your statement. What makes the -natives insect-proof?"</p> - -<p>"Vorkum."</p> - -<p>"That gunk?"</p> - -<p>"That's the repellent."</p> - -<p>"In more ways than one," Sims said.</p> - -<p>"It's not so bad after you get used to it. It just smells awful at -first."</p> - -<p>"That's an understatement, if I ever heard one."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Perhaps the lab can analyze it and find the active principle," -Lanceford said hopefully.</p> - -<p>"If they do, I'll bet it is distilled quintessence of skunk," Sims -replied gloomily. "I'll be willing to bet that our native friends tried -that trick ages ago and gave it up for a bad job. They're pretty fair -biochemists as well as being philosophers."</p> - -<p>"Could be," Lanceford said thoughtfully. "I never thought of that."</p> - -<p>"You'd better start thinking all the time. These lads are <i>smart</i>. -Why do you think we have this complicated rigmarole about native -relations and respect? Man, we're running scared. We don't want to -lose this planet, and anything less than the kid-glove treatment would -be sheer suicide until we learn how far we can go. These natives have -an organization that'd knock your eye out. I didn't believe it myself -until I got the proof. As you learn more about it, you'll understand -what I mean. We're dealing with an ecological <i>unit</i> on this planet!"</p> - -<p>"But I thought—"</p> - -<p>"That you were here to explore a primitive world?"</p> - -<p>"Wasn't that what I was trained for?"</p> - -<p>"No. We can do that sort of thing with a couple of geodetic cruisers. -We don't need men trekking through the jungles to assay a world's -physical resources. That business went out of date during the Dark -Ages. There's a better reason than that for these treks."</p> - -<p>"Like what?"</p> - -<p>"You asked the question. Now answer it," Sims said. "You have enough -data."</p> - -<p>Lanceford thought for a moment "I can see one reason," he said slowly.</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"The trek could be a test. It could be used to determine whether or -not the probationer was a survival type—a sort of final examination -before he's turned loose in a responsible job here in the BEE."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Sims smiled. "Bull's-eye! It's part of the speedup—a pretty brutal -part, but one that can't be helped if we want to get this planet -in line quickly enough to stop the riot that's brewing in the -Confederation. It's as much for Niobe's good as ours, because the -Confederation wants that gerontin like an alcoholic wants another -drink—and they're not going to wait for normal exploration and -development. That's why the treks. It's a tough course. Failure can and -often does mean death. Usually we can pull a misfit out in time, but -not always. If you live through the trek and we don't have to pull you -out, though, you've proved yourself a survival type—and you're over -the first hurdle.</p> - -<p>"Then we check with your guide and anyone you happen to meet en route. -The natives are very cooperative about such things. If you pass their -evaluation, you're ready to join the club. It's been forming ever since -we landed here two years ago, but it's still pretty exclusive. It's the -nucleus of the BEE's mission here, the one that'll get things rolling -with the gerontin plantations. We'll know about you in a few more -minutes after the Cyb Unit gets through processing your data." Sims -grinned at the thunderstruck youngster.</p> - -<p>Lanceford nodded glumly. "I'll probably fail. I sure didn't use my -head. I never caught the significance of the trek, I failed to deduce -the reason for the insect-repellent qualities of the natives, and I -missed the implications of their culture until I had almost reached -Base. Those things are obvious. Any analytical brain would have figured -them out."</p> - -<p>"They're only obvious when you know what you're looking for," Sims said -gently. "Personally, I think you did an excellent job, considering the -handicaps you have faced. And the discovery of the vorkum was masterly."</p> - -<p>Lanceford blushed. "I hate to admit it, but Kron literally shoved the -stuff down my throat."</p> - -<p>"I didn't mean the <i>method</i> by which you learned that vorkum was the -stuff we've been searching for," Sims said. "I meant the <i>results</i> you -obtained. Results are what count in this business. Call it luck if you -wish, but there is more to it than that. Some people are just naturally -lucky and those are the sort we need here. They're survival types. A -lot is going to depend on having those so-called lucky people in the -right places when we settle Niobe's status in the Confederation."</p> - -<p>He paused as the message tube beside his desk burped a faint hiss of -compressed air and a carrier dropped out into the receiving basket.</p> - -<p>"Somehow I think that this is your membership card to the club," he -said. He read it, smiled, and passed the sheet to Lanceford. "And now, -Arthur, before I appoint you as a Niobe Staff member, I'd like to know -one thing."</p> - -<p>"What is that, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Just why in the name of hell did you bring that pack in here with you? -I've just realized where that smell is coming from!"</p> - -<p>"I didn't dare leave it anywhere," Lanceford said. "Someone might have -thrown it down a disposal chute."</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't blame them. That's vorkum you have in there, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>Lanceford nodded. "Yes, sir. I didn't want to lose it."</p> - -<p>"Why not? We can always get more from the natives if we need it."</p> - -<p>"I know that, sir. <i>We</i> can, but this is all <i>I'll</i> get for the next -six months, and if I ration myself carefully, it might last that long. -You see, sir, it's mildly habit-forming—like cigarettes—and one gets -accustomed to it. And besides, you really don't know what flavor is -until you've tried vorkum on chocolate."</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Survival Type, by J.F. 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Bone - -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/license - - -Title: Survival Type - -Author: J.F. Bone - -Release Date: March 8, 2016 [EBook #51395] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SURVIVAL TYPE *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - SURVIVAL TYPE - - By J. F. BONE - - Illustrated by KIRBERGER - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Science Fiction March 1957. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - Score one or one million was not enough for - the human race. It had to be all or nothing ... - with one man doing every bit of scoring! - - -Arthur Lanceford slapped futilely at the sith buzzing hungrily around -his head. The outsized eight-legged parody of a mosquito did a neat -half roll and zoomed out of range, hanging motionless on vibrating -wings a few feet away. - -A raindrop staggered it momentarily, and for a fleeting second, -Lanceford had the insane hope that the arthropod would fall out of -control into the mud. If it did, that would be the end of it, for -Niobian mud was as sticky as flypaper. But the sith righted itself -inches short of disaster, buzzed angrily and retreated to the shelter -of a nearby broadleaf, where it executed another half roll and hung -upside down, watching its intended meal with avid anticipation. - -Lanceford eyed the insect distastefully as he explored his jacket for -repellent and applied the smelly stuff liberally to his face and neck. -It wouldn't do much good. In an hour, his sweat would remove whatever -the rain missed--but for that time, it should discourage the sith. As -far as permanent discouraging went, the repellent was useless. Once -one of those eight-legged horrors checked you off, there were only two -possible endings to the affair--either you were bitten or you killed -the critter. - -It was as simple as that. - -He had hoped that he would be fast enough to get the sith before it got -him. He had been bitten once already and the memory of those paralyzed -three minutes while the bloodsucker fed was enough to last him for -a lifetime. He readjusted his helmet, tucking its fringe of netting -beneath his collar. The netting, he reflected gloomily, was like its -owner--much the worse for wear. However, this trek would be over in -another week and he would be able to spend the next six months at a -comfortable desk job at the Base, while some other poor devil did the -chores of field work. - - * * * * * - -He looked down the rain-swept trail winding through the jungle. -Niobe--a perfect name for this wet little world. The Bureau of -Extraterrestrial Exploration couldn't have picked a better, but the -funny thing about it was that they hadn't picked it in the first place. -Niobe was the native word for Earth, or perhaps "the world" would be -a more accurate definition. It was a coincidence, of course, but the -planet and its mythological Greek namesake had much in common. - -Niobe, like Niobe, was all tears--a world of rain falling endlessly -from an impenetrable overcast, fat wet drops that formed a grieving -background sound that never ceased, sobbing with soft mournful noises -on the rubbery broadleaves, crying with obese splashes into forest -pools, blubbering with loud, dismal persistence on the sounding -board of his helmet. And on the ground, the raindrops mixed with the -loesslike soil of the trail to form a gluey mud that clung in huge -pasty balls to his boots. - -Everywhere there was water, running in rivulets of tear-streaks down -the round cheeks of the gently sloping land--rivulets that merged and -blended into broad shallow rivers that wound their mourners' courses -to the sea. Trekking on Niobe was an amphibious operation unless -one stayed in the highlands--a perpetual series of fords and river -crossings. - -And it was hot, a seasonless, unchanging, humid heat that made a -protection suit an instrument of torture that slowly boiled its wearer -in his own sweat. But the suit was necessary, for exposed human flesh -was irresistible temptation to Niobe's bloodsucking insects. Many of -these were no worse than those of Earth, but a half dozen species were -deadly. The first bite sensitized. The second killed--anaphylactic -shock, the medics called it. And the sith was one of the deadly species. - -Lanceford shrugged fatalistically. Uncomfortable as a protection suit -was, it was better to boil in it than die without it. - -He looked at Kron squatting beside the trail and envied him. It was -too bad that Earthmen weren't as naturally repellent to insects as -the dominant native life. Like all Niobians, the native guide wore no -clothing--ideal garb for a climate like this. His white, hairless hide, -with its faint sheen of oil, was beautifully water-repellent. - -Kron, Lanceford reflected, was a good example of the manner in which -Nature adapts the humanoid form for survival on different worlds. -Like the dominant species on every intelligent planet in the explored -galaxy, he was an erect, bipedal, mammalian being with hands that -possessed an opposable thumb. Insofar as that general description went, -Kron resembled humanity--but there were differences. - - * * * * * - -Squatting, the peculiar shape of Kron's torso and the odd flexibility -of his limbs were not apparent. One had the tendency to overlook the -narrow-shouldered, cylindrical body and the elongated tarsal and carpal -bones that gave his limbs four major articulations rather than the -human three, and to concentrate upon the utterly alien head. - -It jutted forward from his short, thick neck, a long-snouted, vaguely -doglike head with tiny ears lying close against the hairless, -dome-shaped cranium. Slitlike nostrils, equipped with sphincter -muscles like those of a terrestrial seal, argued an originally aquatic -environment, and the large intelligent eyes set forward in the skull to -give binocular vision, together with the sharp white carnassial teeth -and pointed canines, indicated a carnivorous ancestry. But the modern -Niobians, although excellent swimmers, were land dwellers and ate -anything. - -Lanceford couldn't repress an involuntary shudder at some of the -things they apparently enjoyed. Tastes differed--enormously so between -Earthmen and Niobians. - -There was no doubt that the native was intelligent, yet he, like the -rest of his race, was a technological moron. It was strange that a race -which had a well-developed philosophy and an amazing comprehension of -semantics could be so backward in mechanics. Even the simpler of the -BEE's mechanisms left the natives confused. It was possible that they -could learn about machinery, but Lanceford was certain that it would -take a good many years before the first native mechanic would set up a -machine shop on this planet. - -Lanceford finished tucking the last fold of face net under his collar, -and as he did so, Kron stood up, rising to his five-foot height -with a curious flexible grace. Standing, he looked something like a -double-jointed alabaster Anubis--wearing swim fins. His broad, webbed -feet rested easily on the surface of the mud, their large area giving -him flotation that Lanceford envied. As a result, his head was nearly -level with that of the human, although there was better than a foot -difference in their heights. - -Lanceford looked at Kron inquiringly. "You have a place in mind where -we can sleep tonight?" - -"Sure, Boss. We'll be coming to hunthouse soon. We go now?" - -"Lead on," Lanceford said, groaning silently to himself--another -hunthouse with its darkness and its smells. He shrugged. He could -hardly expect anything else up here in the highlands. Oh, well, he'd -managed to last through the others and this one could be no worse. At -that, even an airless room full of natives was preferable to spending -a night outside. And the sith wouldn't follow them. It didn't like -airless rooms filled with natives. - -He sighed wearily as he followed Kron along the dim path through the -broadleaf jungle. Night was coming, and with darkness, someone upstairs -turned on every faucet and the sheets of rain that fell during the day -changed abruptly into a deluge. Even the semi-aquatic natives didn't -like to get caught away from shelter during the night. - -The three moved onward, immersed in a drumming wilderness of rain--the -Niobian sliding easily over the surface of the mud, the Earthman -plowing painfully through it, and the sith flitting from the shelter of -one broadleaf to the next, waiting for a chance to feed. - - * * * * * - -The trail widened abruptly, opening upon one of the small clearings -that dotted the rain-forest jungle. In the center of the clearing, -dimly visible through the rain and thickening darkness, loomed the -squat thatch-roofed bulk of a hunthouse, a place of shelter for the -members of the hunters' guild who provided fresh meat for the Niobian -villages. Lanceford sighed a mingled breath of relief and unpleasant -anticipation. - -As he stepped out into the clearing, the sith darted from cover, -heading like a winged bullet for Lanceford's neck. But the man was -not taken by surprise. Pivoting quickly, he caught the iridescent -blur of the bloodsucker's wings. He swung his arm in a mighty slap. -The high-pitched buzz and Lanceford's gloved hand met simultaneously -at his right ear. The buzz stopped abruptly. Lanceford shook his head -and the sith fell to the ground, satisfactorily swatted. Lanceford -grinned--score one for the human race. - -He was still grinning as he pushed aside the fiber screen closing the -low doorway of the hunthouse and crawled inside. It took a moment for -his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom within, but his nose told -him even before his eyes that the house was occupied. The natives, he -thought wryly, must be born with no sense of smell, otherwise they'd -perish from sheer propinquity. One could never honestly say that -familiarity with the odor of a Niobian bred contempt--nausea was the -right word. - -The interior was typical, a dark rectangle of windowless limestone -walls enclosing a packed-dirt floor and lined with a single deck of -wooden sleeping platforms. Steeply angled rafters of peeled logs -intersected at a knife-sharp ridge pierced with a circular smokehole -above the firepit in the center of the room. Transverse rows of -smaller poles lashed to the rafters supported the thick broadleaf -thatch that furnished protection from the rain and sanctuary for -uncounted thousands of insects. - -A fire flickered ruddily in the pit, hissing as occasional drops of -rain fell into its heart from the smokehole, giving forth a dim light -together with clouds of smoke and steam that rose upward through -the tangled mass of greasy cobwebs filling the upper reaches of the -rafters. Some of the smoke found its way through the smokehole, but -most of it hung in an acrid undulating layer some six feet above the -floor. - -The glow outlined the squatting figures of a dozen or so natives -clustered around the pit, watching the slowly rotating carcass of a -small deerlike rodent called a sorat, which was broiling on a spit -above the flames. Kron was already in the ring, talking earnestly to -one of the hunters--a fellow-tribesman, judging from the tattoo on his -chest. - -To a Niobian, the scene was ordinary, but to Lanceford it could have -been lifted bodily from the inferno. He had seen it before, but the -effect lost nothing by repetition. There was a distinctly hellish -quality to it--to the reds and blacks of the flickering fire and the -shadows. He wouldn't have been particularly surprised if Satan himself -appeared in the center of the firepit complete with horns, hoofs and -tail. A hunthouse, despite its innocuousness, looked like the southeast -corner of Hades. - - * * * * * - -Clustered around the fire, the hunters turned to look at him curiously -and, after a single eye-filling stare, turned back again. Niobians -were almost painfully polite. Although Earthmen were still enough of a -curiosity to draw attention, one searching look was all their customs -allowed. Thereafter, they minded their own business. In some ways, -Lanceford reflected, native customs had undeniable merit. - -Presently Kron rose from his place beside the fire and pointed out two -empty sleeping platforms where they would spend the night. Lanceford -chose one and sank wearily to its resilient surface. Despite its crude -construction, a Niobian sleeping platform was comfortable. He removed -his pack, pulled off his mud-encrusted boots and lay back with a grunt -of relaxation. After a day like this, it was good to get off his feet. -Weariness flowed over him. - -He awoke to the gentle pressure of Kron's hand squeezing his own. "The -food is cooked," the Niobian said, "and you are welcomed to share it." - -Lanceford nodded, his stomach crawling with unpleasant anticipation. -A native meal was something he would prefer to avoid. His digestive -system could handle the unsavory mess, but his taste buds shrank from -the forthcoming assault. What the natives classed as a delicate and -elusive flavor was sheer torture to an Earthman. - -Possibly there was some connection between their inefficient olfactory -apparatus and their odd ideas of flavor, but whatever the physical -explanation might be, it didn't affect the fact that eating native -food was an ordeal. Yet he couldn't refuse. That would be discourteous -and offensive, and one simply didn't offend the natives. The BEE was -explicit about that. Courtesy was a watchword on Niobe. - -He took a place by the fire, watching with concealed distaste as one -of the hunters reached into the boiling vat beside the firepit with a -pair of wooden tongs and drew forth the native conception of a hors -d'oeuvre. They called it vorkum--a boiled sorat paunch stuffed with a -number of odorous ingredients. It looked almost as bad as it smelled. - -The hunter laid the paunch on a wooden trencher, scraped the greenish -scum from its surface and sliced it open. The odor poured out, a -gagging essence of decaying vegetables, rotten eggs and overripe -cheese. - -Lanceford's eyes watered, his stomach tautened convulsively, but the -Niobians eyed the reeking semi-solid eagerly. No meal on Niobe was -considered worthy of the name unless a generous helping of vorkum -started it off. - - * * * * * - -An entree like that could ruin the most rugged human appetite, but -when it was the forerunner of a main dish of highly spiced barbecue, -vorkum assumed the general properties of an emetic. Lanceford grimly -controlled the nausea and tactfully declined the greasy handful which -Kron offered. The Niobian never seemed to learn. At every meal they had -eaten during their past month of travel on Niobe, Kron had persistently -offered him samples of the mess. With equal persistence, he had -refused. After all, there were limits. - -But polite convention required that he eat something, so he took a -small portion of the barbecued meat and dutifully finished it. The -hunters eyed him curiously, apparently wondering how an entity who -could assimilate relatively untasty sorat should refuse the far greater -delicacy of vorkum. But it was a known fact that the ways of Earthmen -were strange and unaccountable. - -The hunters didn't protest when he retired to his sleeping platform and -the more acceptable concentrates from his pack. His hunger satisfied, -he lay back on the resilient vines and fell into a sleep of exhaustion. -It had been a hard day. - -Lanceford's dreams were unpleasant. Nightmare was the usual penalty of -sitting in on a Niobian meal and this one was worse than usual. Huge -siths, reeking of vorkum, pursued him as he ran naked and defenseless -across a swampy landscape that stretched interminably ahead. The -clinging mud reduced his speed to a painful crawl as he frantically -beat off the attacks of the blood-suckers. - -The climax was horror. One of the siths slipped through his frantically -beating hands and bit him on the face. The shocking pain of the bite -wakened him, a cry of terror and anguish still on his lips. - -He looked around wildly. He was still in the hunthouse. It was just a -dream. - -He chuckled shakily. These nightmares sometimes were too real for -comfort. He was drenched with sweat, which was not unusual, but there -was a dull ache in his head and the hot tense pain that encompassed the -right side of his face had not been there when he had fallen asleep. - -He touched his face with a tentative finger, exploring the hot -puffiness and the enormously swollen ear with a gentle touch. It was -where he had struck the sith, but surely he couldn't have hit that hard. - -He gasped, a soft breath of dismay, as realization dawned. He had -smashed the sith hard enough to squeeze some of the insect's corrosive -body juices through his face net--and they had touched his skin! That -wouldn't normally have been bad, but the sith bite he had suffered -a week ago had sensitized him. He was developing an anaphylactic -reaction--a severe one, judging from the swelling. - -That was the trouble with exploration; one occasionally forgot that a -world was alien. Occasionally danger tended to recede into a background -of familiarity--he had smashed the sith before it had bitten him, so -therefore it couldn't hurt him. He grimaced painfully, the movement -bringing another twinge to his swollen face. He should have known -better. - -He swore mildly as he opened his Aid Kit and extracted a sterile hypo. -The super-antihistamine developed by the Bureau was an unpredictable -sort of thing. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't. He removed -the screw cap that sealed the needle and injected the contents of the -syringe into his arm. He hoped that this was one of the times the drug -worked. If it wasn't, he reflected grimly, he wouldn't be long for this -world. - -He sighed and lay back. There wasn't anything more to do now. All he -could do was wait and see if the anti-allergen worked. - - * * * * * - -The Bureau of Extraterrestrial Exploration had discovered Niobe barely -three years ago, yet already the planet was famous not only for its -peculiar climate, but also for the number of men who had died upon its -watery surface. Knowledge of this planet was bought with life, grim -payment to decrease the lag between discovery and the day men could -live and work on Niobe without having to hide beneath domes or behind -protection suits. Lanceford never questioned the necessity or the -inevitable price that must be paid. Like every other BEE agent, he knew -that Niobe was crash priority--a world that _had_ to be understood in -minimum time. - -For Niobe was a made to order herbarium for a swampland plant called -viscaya. The plant was originally native to Algon IV, but had been -spread to practically every suitable growth center in the Galaxy. -It was the source of a complex of alkaloids known as gerontin, and -gerontin had the property of tripling or quadrupling the normal life -span of mammals. - -It was obvious that viscayaculture should have a tremendous -distribution throughout the Confederation worlds. But unfortunately the -right conditions existed in very few places in the explored galaxy. -Despite the fact that most life is based on carbon, oxygen and water, -there is still very little free water in the Galaxy. Most planets of -the Confederation are semi-arid, with the outstanding exceptions of -Terra and Lyrane. But these two worlds were the seats of human and -humanoid power for so long that all of their swampland had been drained -and reclaimed centuries ago. - -And it was doubly unfortunate that gerontin so far defied synthesis. -According to some eminent chemists, the alkaloid would probably -continue to do so until some facet of the Confederation reached a Class -VIII culture level. Considering that Terra and Lyrane, the two highest -cultures, were only Class VII, and that Class level steps took several -thousands of years to make, a policy of waiting for synthesis was not -worth considering. - -The result was that nobody was happy until Niobe was discovered. -The price of illicit gerontin was astronomical and most of the -Confederation's supply of the drug was strictly rationed to those whom -the government thought most valuable to the Confederation as a whole. -Of course, the Confederation officialdom was included, which caused -considerable grumbling. In the nick of time, Niobe appeared upon the -scene, and Niobe had environment in abundance! - -The wheels of the Confederation began to turn. The BEE was given a -blank check and spurred on by a government which, in turn, was being -spurred on by the people who composed it. The exploration of Niobe -proceeded at all possible speed. With so many considerations weighed -against them, what did a few lives matter? For the sake of the billions -of humanoids in the Confederation, their sacrifice was worthwhile -even if only a few days or hours were saved between discovery and -exploitation. - - * * * * * - -Lanceford groaned as a violent pain shot through his head. The -anti-allergin apparently wasn't going to work, for it should have had -some effect by now. He shrugged mentally--it was the chance one took in -this business. But he couldn't say that he hadn't been warned. Even old -Sims had told him, called him a unit in the BEE's shortcut trial and -error scheme--an error, it looked like now. - -Seemed rather silly--a Class VII civilization using techniques that -were old during the Dark Ages before the Atomic Revolution, sending -foot parties to explore a world in the chance that they might discover -something that the search mechs missed--anything that would shorten the -lag time. It was incomprehensible, but neither Sims nor the BEE would -do a thing like this without reason. And whatever it was, he wasn't -going to worry about it. In fact, there wasn't much time left to worry. -The reaction was observably and painfully worse. - -It was important that the news of his death and the specimens he had -collected get back to Base Alpha. They might have value in this complex -game Alvord Sims was playing with men, machines and Niobe. But Base -Alpha was a good hundred miles away and, in his present condition, he -couldn't walk a hundred feet. - -For a moment, he considered setting up the powerful little transmitter -he carried in his pack, but his first abortive motion convinced him it -was useless. The blinding agony that swept through him at the slightest -movement left no doubt that he would never finish the business of -setting up the antenna, let alone send a message. - -It was a crime that handie-talkies couldn't be used here on Niobe, but -their range, limited at best, was practically nonexistent on a planet -that literally seemed to be one entire "dead spot." A fixed-frequency -job broadcasting on a directional beam was about the only thing that -could cover distance, and that required a little technical know-how to -set up the antenna and focus it on Base Alpha. There would be no help -from Kron. Despite his intelligence, the native could no more assemble -a directional antenna than spread pink wings and fly. - -There was only one thing to do--get a note off to Sims, if he could -still write, and ask Kron to deliver the note and his pack to the Base. - -He fumbled with his jacket, and with some pain produced a stylus and a -pad. But it was difficult to write. Painful, too. Better get Kron over -here while he could still talk and tell him what he wanted. - -The stylus slipped from numb fingers as Lanceford called hoarsely, -"Kron! Come here! I need you!" - - * * * * * - -Kron looked down compassionately at the swollen features of the -Earthman. He had seen the kef effect before, among the young of his -people who were incautious or inexperienced, but he had never seen it -among the aliens. Surprisingly, the effects were the same--the livid -swellings, the gasping breath, the pain. Strange how these foreigners -reacted like his own people. - -He scratched his head and pulled thoughtfully at one of his short ears. -It was his duty to help Lanceford, but how could he? The Earthman -had denied his help for weeks, and Niobians simply didn't disregard -another's wishes. Kron scowled, the action lending a ferocious cast to -his doglike face. Tolerance was a custom hallowed by ages of practice. -It went to extremes--even with life at stake, a person's wishes and -beliefs must be respected. - -Kron buried his long-snouted head in his hands, a gesture that held in -it all the frustration which filled him. - -The human was apparently resolved to die. He had told Kron his last -wishes, which didn't include a request for help, but merely to get -his pack back to the others in their glass dome. It was astonishing -that such an obviously intelligent species should have so little -flexibility. They didn't understand the first principles of adaptation. -Always and forever, they held to their own ways, trying with insensate -stubbornness to mold nature to their will--and when nature overcome -their artificial defenses, they died, stubborn, unregenerate, -inflexible to the end. They were odd, these humans--odd and a little -frightening. - -Lanceford breathed wheezily. The swelling had invaded the inner -tissues of his throat and was beginning to compress his windpipe. It -was uncomfortable, like inhaling liquid fire, and then there was the -constant desire to cough and the physical inability to do so. - -"Dirty luck," he whispered. "Only a week more and I'd have had it -made--the longest trek a man's made on this benighted planet." - -Kron nodded, but then belatedly realized that the human was muttering -to himself. He listened. There might be something important in these -dying murmurings, something that might explain their reasons for being -here and their strange driving haste that cared nothing for life. - -"It's hard to die so far from one's people, but I guess that can't be -helped. Old Sims gave me the score. Like he said, a man doesn't have -much choice of where he dies in the BEE." - -"You don't want to die!" Kron exploded. - -"Of course not," Lanceford said with weak surprise. He hadn't dreamed -that Kron was nearby. This might well destroy the Imperturbable -Earthman myth that the BEE had fostered. - -"Not even if it is in accord with your customs and rituals?" - -"What customs?" - -"Your clothing, your eating habits, your ointments--are these not part -of your living plan?" - -Despite the pain that tore at his throat, Lanceford managed a chuckle. -This was ridiculous. "Hell, no! Our only design for living is to stay -alive, particularly on jobs like this one. We don't wear these suits -and repellent because we _like_ to. We do it to stay alive. If we -could, we'd go around nearly as naked as you do." - -"Do you mind if I help you?" Kron asked diffidently. "I think I can -cure you." He leaned forward anxiously to get the man's reply. - -"I'd take a helping hand from the devil himself, if it would do any -good." - -Kron's eyes were brilliant. He hummed softly under his breath, the -Niobian equivalent of laughter. "And all the time we thought--" he -began, and then broke off abruptly. Already too much time was wasted -without losing any more in meditating upon the ironies of life. - -He turned toward the firepit, searched for a moment among the stones, -nodded with satisfaction and returned to where Lanceford lay. The -hunthouse was deserted save for himself and the Earthman. With -characteristic Niobian delicacy, the hunters had left, preferring to -endure the night rain than be present when the alien died. Kron was -thankful that they were gone, for what he was about to do would shock -their conservative souls. - - * * * * * - -Lanceford was dimly conscious of Kron prying his swollen jaws apart -and forcing something wet and slippery down his throat. He swallowed, -the act a tearing pain to the edematous membranes of his gullet, but -the stuff slid down, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The act -triggered another wave of pain that left him weak and gasping. He -couldn't take much more of this. It wouldn't be long now before the -swelling invaded his lungs to such a degree that he would strangle. It -wasn't a pleasant way to die. - -And then, quite suddenly, the pain eased. A creeping numbness spread -like a warm black blanket over his outraged nervous system. The stuff -Kron had given him apparently had some anesthetic properties. He felt -dimly grateful, even though the primitive native nostrum would probably -do no good other than to ease the pain. - -The blackness went just far enough to paralyze the superficial areas of -his nervous system. It stopped the pain and left him unable to move, -but the deeper pathways of thought and reason remained untouched. He -was conscious, although no external sensation intruded on his thoughts. -He couldn't see Kron--the muscles that moved his eyes were as paralyzed -as the other muscles of his body and the native was outside his field -of vision--but somehow he knew exactly what the Niobian was doing. He -was washing mucus from his hands in a bowl of water standing beside the -fire pit _and he was wondering wryly whether forced feeding was on the -list of human tabus_! - -Lanceford's mind froze, locked in a peculiar contact that was more -than awareness. The sensation was indescribable. It was like looking -through an open door into the living room of a stranger's house. - -He was aware of the incredible complexity and richness of Kron's -thoughts, of oddly sardonic laughter, of pity and regret that such a -little thing as understanding should cause death and suffering through -its lack, of bewildered admiration for the grim persistence of the -alien Earthmen, mixed with a wondering curiosity about what kept them -here--what the true reasons were for their death-defying persistence -and stubbornness--of an ironic native paraphrase for the Terran saying, -"Every man to his own taste," and a profound speculation upon what -fruits might occur from true understanding between his own race and the -aliens. - -It was a strangely jumbled kaleidoscopic flash that burned across the -explorer's isolated mind, a flash that passed almost as soon as it had -come, as though an invisible door had closed upon it. - -But one thing in that briefly shocking contact stood out with great -clarity. The Niobians were as eager as the BEE to establish a true -contact, a true understanding, for the message was there, plain -in Kron's mind that he was thinking not only for himself but for -a consensus of his people, a decision arrived at as a result of -discussion and thought--a decision of which every Niobian was aware and -with which most Niobians agreed. - - * * * * * - -The magnitude of that thought and its implications staggered -Lanceford's imagination. - -After two years of exploration and contact with the dominant race -of this planet, the BEE still knew literally nothing about the sort -of people with whom they were dealing. This instantaneous, neural -contact proved that. Equated against the information dished out in -Basic Training, it merely emphasized the fact that the BEE was grossly -ignorant. - -Anthropological Intelligence had a lot to account for--the job they'd -done so far could have been performed by low-grade morons. In wishing -to avoid the possibility of giving offense, in hiding behind a wall of -courtesy and convention, there had been no contact worthy of the name. -Yet here was the possibility of a rapport that could be closer than any -which existed between any races in the Galaxy. - -Lanceford groaned with silent frustration. To learn this when he was -dying was the bitterest of ironies. In any other circumstances, the -flash of insight could be parlayed into a key which might unlock the -entire problem of Niobian relationships. - -Bitterly he fought against the curtain of unconsciousness that closed -down on him, trying by sheer will to stay awake, to make some move that -could be interpreted, to leave some clue to what he had learned. - -It was useless. The darkness closed in, inexorable and irresistible. - - * * * * * - -Arthur Lanceford opened his eyes, surprised that he was still alive. -The pain was gone from his face and the swelling had subsided. He -grinned with relief--his luck had held out. - -And then the relief vanished in a wave of elation. He held the key. -He knew the basics for mutual understanding. And he would be alive to -deliver them to the specialists who could make them operate. - -He chuckled. Whatever the cure was--the BEE drug, Kron's treatment, -whatever it was, it didn't matter. The important thing was that he was -going to live. - -He wondered whether that flash of insight just before unconsciousness -had been real or a figment of delirium. It could have been either, but -Lanceford clung to the belief that the contact was genuine. There was -far too much revealed in that sudden flash that was entirely alien to -his normal patterns of thought. - -He wondered what had triggered that burst of awareness. The BEE drug, -the stuff Kron had given him, the poison of the sith and the histamines -floating around in his system--it could have been any one of a number -of things, or maybe a complex of various factors that had interacted to -make him super-receptive for an instant of time. - -It was something that would have to be reported and studied with the -meticulous care which the BEE gave to any facet of experience that was -out of the ordinary. A solution might possibly be found, or the whole -thing might wind up as one of those dead ends that were so numerous in -Exploration work. But that was out of his field and, in consequence, -out of his hands. His specialty wasn't parapsychological research. - -Kron was standing beside his bed, long doglike face impassive, looking -at him with pleased satisfaction. Behind him, a group of natives were -clustered around the cooking fire. It was as if no time had passed -since the allergy struck--but Lanceford knew differently. Still, the -lost time didn't matter. The bright joy that he was going to live -transcended such unimportant things. - -"Looks like you won't have to bury me after all," Lanceford said -happily. - -He stretched his arms over his head. He felt wonderful. His body was -cool and comfortably free of the hot confinement of the protection -suit. He did a slow horrified doubletake as he realized that he was -lying on the sleeping platform practically naked--a tempting hors -d'oeuvre for the thousand and one species of Niobe's biting insects. - -"Where's my suit?" he half shouted. - - * * * * * - -Kron smiled. "You don't need it, friend Lanceford. If you will notice, -you are not bitten. Nor will you be." - -"Why not?" - -Kron didn't answer. It wasn't the proper time, and the euphoria that he -and the Earthman were enjoying was too pleasant to shatter. - -Lanceford didn't press the matter. Apparently Kron knew what he was -talking about. Lanceford had been watching one particularly vicious -species of biting fly hover above his body. The insect would approach, -ready to enjoy a mandible full of human epidermis, but, about six -inches from his body, would slow down and come to a stop, hanging -frustrated in midair. Finally the fly gave up and flew off into the -darkness of the rafters. Lanceford hoped that one of the spiders would -get it--but he was convinced. Whatever happened to him while he was -unconscious had made him as insect-repellent as the Niobians. - -The smell of cooking came from the firepit and, incredibly, it smelled -good. - -Lanceford looked startledly at Kron. "I'm hungry." - -"An excellent sign," Kron replied. "You are nearly cured. Soon you will -be able to finish this trek." - -"Incidentally," Lanceford said, "for the first time since I have been -out on this showerbath world of yours, you're cooking something that -smells fit to eat. I think I'd like to try it." - -Kron's eyebrows rose and he hummed softly under his breath. This was -something entirely unexpected--an added delight, like the flavor of -komal in a sorat stew. He savored it slowly, enjoying its implications. - -"What is it?" Lanceford persisted. - -"A dish called akef," Kron said. The name was as good as any and -certainly described the effect well enough. - - * * * * * - -The last hundred miles had been a breeze. Lanceford stood at the -edge of the clearing, looking across the planed-off landscape to the -shimmering hemispherical bulk of Base Alpha, glistening like a giant -cabochon jewel under Niobe's dark sky. Without the protection suit to -slow him down and hamper his movements, what would have been a week's -trip had been shortened to four days. - -In a few minutes, he would be back among his own kind--and he wasn't -sure whether he was glad or sorry. Of course, there was a certain -satisfaction in bringing back a first-class discovery--perhaps the -greatest in the short history of Niobian exploration--but there was a -stigma attached to the way it had been found. It wouldn't be easy to -confess that it had practically been forced upon him, but it would have -to be done. It would have been much nicer to have found the answer by -using his head. There would have been some really deserved prestige in -that. - - * * * * * - -He sighed and turned to Kron. "Farewell, friend," he said soberly, "and -thanks." - -"We are even," Kron replied. "You saved my life from a roka and I saved -yours from the sith. The scales are balanced." - -Lanceford blinked. He had forgotten that incident where he had shot the -big catlike animal shortly after the 'copter had dropped them for the -start of their journey back to Base. Apparently it was after Kron--or -at least the native had thought so. Lanceford grinned ruefully. Score -another point for blind luck. - -"But, Kron, it's not that easy. You have given me a secret of your -people and I shall have to tell it to mine." - -"I expected that you would. Besides, it is no secret. Even our children -know its composition and how to make it. We have never held it from -you. You simply wouldn't accept it. But it is about time, friend -Lanceford, that your race began learning something of Niobe if they -wish to remain here--and it is about time that we began learning -something about you. I think that there will be some rather marked -changes in the future. And in that regard, I leave you with the -question of whether a civilization should be judged entirely upon its -apparent technological achievements." - -"I--" Lanceford began. - -"You have learned how we avoid the insects," Kron continued, -maneuvering past the abortive interruption, "and perhaps someday you -will know the full answer to my question. But in the meantime, you and -your kind will be free to move through our world, to learn our ways, -and to teach us yours. It should be a fair exchange." - -"Thanks to akef," Lanceford said fervently, "we should be able to do -just that." - - * * * * * - -Kron smiled. "You have used the drug enough to have overcome the mental -block that prevented you from naming it before. The word I coined from -your own language of science is no longer necessary." - -"I suppose not, but it's pleasanter to think of it that way." - -"You Earthmen! Sometimes I wonder how you ever managed to achieve a -civilization with your strange attitudes toward unpleasant facts." Kron -smiled broadly, relishing the memory of his deception and Lanceford's -shocked awakening to the truth. "I hope," he continued, "that you -have forgiven my little deceit and the destruction of your protective -clothing." - -"Of course. How could I do otherwise? It's so nice to be rid of that -sweatbox that I'd forgive anything." Lanceford frowned. "But there's -one thing that puzzles me. How did you disguise the stuff?" - -"I didn't," Kron replied cryptically. "You did." He turned away and, -with characteristic Niobian abruptness, walked off into the jungle. His -job was done and natives were never ones to dally with leavetaking, -although their greetings were invariably ceremonious. - -Lanceford watched until the native was out of sight and then walked -slowly across the clearing toward the dome. He had learned a lot these -past few days, enough to make him realize that his basic training had -been so inadequate as to be almost criminal. It was lacking in many of -the essentials for survival and, moreover, was slanted entirely wrong -from a psychological point of view. - -Sure, it was good enough to enable a man to get along, but it seemed to -be particularly designed to deny the fact that the natives obviously -possessed a first-rate culture of their own. It didn't say so directly, -but the implications were there. And that was wrong. The natives -possessed a civilization that was probably quite as high as the one -Terra possessed. It was simply oriented differently. One thing was -certain--the Confederation wasn't going to expropriate or exploit -_this_ planet without the natives' consent. It would be suicide if they -tried. - -He grinned. Actually there would be no reason for such action. It -was always easier to deal with advanced races than to try to conquer -or educate primitive ones. Kron had the right idea--understanding, -exchange, appreciation--Confederation culture for Niobian. It would -make a good and productive synthesis. - -Still grinning, Lanceford opened the airlock and stepped inside, -ignoring the pop-eyed guard who eyed his shorts and sandals with an -expression of incredulous disbelief. - - * * * * * - -Alvord Sims, Regional Director, Niobe Division BEE, looked up from his -desk and smiled. The smile became a nose-wrinkling grimace as Lanceford -swung the pack from his shoulders and set it carefully on the floor. - -"Glad to see that you made it, Lanceford," Sims said. "But what's that -awful smell? You should have done something about it. You stink like a -native." - -"All the baths in the world won't help, sir," Lanceford said woodenly. - -He was tired of the stares and the sniffs he had encountered since he -had entered the base. In his present condition, a fellow-human smelled -as bad to him as he did to them, but he didn't complain about it and he -saw no reason why they should. Humanity should apply more courtesy and -consideration to members of their own species. - -"It's inside me," he explained. "My metabolism's changed. And -incidentally, sir, you don't smell so sweet yourself." - -Sims sputtered for a moment and then shrugged. "Perhaps not," -he admitted. "One can't help sweating in this climate even with -air-conditioning." - -"It's the change inside me," Lanceford said. "I suppose it'll wear off -in time, once I've been on a normal diet. But I didn't think that was -too important in view of the information I have. I've learned something -vital, something that you should know at once. That's why I'm here." - -"That's decent of you," Sims replied, "but an interoffice memo would -have served just as well as a personal visit. My stomach isn't as good -as it once was. Ulcers, you know." - -"The executive's disease," Lanceford commented. - -Sims nodded. "Well, Arthur, what did you find that was so important?" - -"That we've been fools." - -Sims sighed. "That's nothing new. We've been fools since the day we -left Earth to try and conquer the stars." - -"That's not what I mean, sir. I mean that we've been going at this -Niobe business the wrong way. What we need is to understand the -natives, instead of trying to understand the planet." - -"Out of the mouths of babes and probationers--" Sims said with gentle -irony. - -"It pays off," Lanceford replied doggedly. "Take my case. I've found -out why the natives are insect-proof!" - -"That's a new wrinkle. Can you prove it?" - -"Certainly. I came the last hundred miles in shorts." - -"What happened to your suit?" - -"Kron destroyed it accidentally." - -"Accidentally--hah!" Sims snorted. "Niobians never do things -accidentally." - - * * * * * - -Lanceford looked sharply at the director. The observation carried a -wealth of implications that his sharpened senses were quick to grasp. -"Then you know the natives aren't simple savages, the way we were -taught in Basic Training?" - -"Of course! They're a non-technical Class V at the very least--maybe -higher. Somehow they've never oriented their civilization along -mechanical lines, or maybe they tried it once and found it wanting. -But no one in the upper echelons has ever thought they were stupid or -uncivilized." - -"Then why--" - -"Later," Sims said. "You're entitled to an explanation, but right -now I'd appreciate it if you'd finish your statement. What makes the -natives insect-proof?" - -"Vorkum." - -"That gunk?" - -"That's the repellent." - -"In more ways than one," Sims said. - -"It's not so bad after you get used to it. It just smells awful at -first." - -"That's an understatement, if I ever heard one." - - * * * * * - -"Perhaps the lab can analyze it and find the active principle," -Lanceford said hopefully. - -"If they do, I'll bet it is distilled quintessence of skunk," Sims -replied gloomily. "I'll be willing to bet that our native friends tried -that trick ages ago and gave it up for a bad job. They're pretty fair -biochemists as well as being philosophers." - -"Could be," Lanceford said thoughtfully. "I never thought of that." - -"You'd better start thinking all the time. These lads are _smart_. -Why do you think we have this complicated rigmarole about native -relations and respect? Man, we're running scared. We don't want to -lose this planet, and anything less than the kid-glove treatment would -be sheer suicide until we learn how far we can go. These natives have -an organization that'd knock your eye out. I didn't believe it myself -until I got the proof. As you learn more about it, you'll understand -what I mean. We're dealing with an ecological _unit_ on this planet!" - -"But I thought--" - -"That you were here to explore a primitive world?" - -"Wasn't that what I was trained for?" - -"No. We can do that sort of thing with a couple of geodetic cruisers. -We don't need men trekking through the jungles to assay a world's -physical resources. That business went out of date during the Dark -Ages. There's a better reason than that for these treks." - -"Like what?" - -"You asked the question. Now answer it," Sims said. "You have enough -data." - -Lanceford thought for a moment "I can see one reason," he said slowly. - -"Yes?" - -"The trek could be a test. It could be used to determine whether or -not the probationer was a survival type--a sort of final examination -before he's turned loose in a responsible job here in the BEE." - - * * * * * - -Sims smiled. "Bull's-eye! It's part of the speedup--a pretty brutal -part, but one that can't be helped if we want to get this planet -in line quickly enough to stop the riot that's brewing in the -Confederation. It's as much for Niobe's good as ours, because the -Confederation wants that gerontin like an alcoholic wants another -drink--and they're not going to wait for normal exploration and -development. That's why the treks. It's a tough course. Failure can and -often does mean death. Usually we can pull a misfit out in time, but -not always. If you live through the trek and we don't have to pull you -out, though, you've proved yourself a survival type--and you're over -the first hurdle. - -"Then we check with your guide and anyone you happen to meet en route. -The natives are very cooperative about such things. If you pass their -evaluation, you're ready to join the club. It's been forming ever since -we landed here two years ago, but it's still pretty exclusive. It's the -nucleus of the BEE's mission here, the one that'll get things rolling -with the gerontin plantations. We'll know about you in a few more -minutes after the Cyb Unit gets through processing your data." Sims -grinned at the thunderstruck youngster. - -Lanceford nodded glumly. "I'll probably fail. I sure didn't use my -head. I never caught the significance of the trek, I failed to deduce -the reason for the insect-repellent qualities of the natives, and I -missed the implications of their culture until I had almost reached -Base. Those things are obvious. Any analytical brain would have figured -them out." - -"They're only obvious when you know what you're looking for," Sims said -gently. "Personally, I think you did an excellent job, considering the -handicaps you have faced. And the discovery of the vorkum was masterly." - -Lanceford blushed. "I hate to admit it, but Kron literally shoved the -stuff down my throat." - -"I didn't mean the _method_ by which you learned that vorkum was the -stuff we've been searching for," Sims said. "I meant the _results_ you -obtained. Results are what count in this business. Call it luck if you -wish, but there is more to it than that. Some people are just naturally -lucky and those are the sort we need here. They're survival types. A -lot is going to depend on having those so-called lucky people in the -right places when we settle Niobe's status in the Confederation." - -He paused as the message tube beside his desk burped a faint hiss of -compressed air and a carrier dropped out into the receiving basket. - -"Somehow I think that this is your membership card to the club," he -said. He read it, smiled, and passed the sheet to Lanceford. "And now, -Arthur, before I appoint you as a Niobe Staff member, I'd like to know -one thing." - -"What is that, sir?" - -"Just why in the name of hell did you bring that pack in here with you? -I've just realized where that smell is coming from!" - -"I didn't dare leave it anywhere," Lanceford said. "Someone might have -thrown it down a disposal chute." - -"I wouldn't blame them. That's vorkum you have in there, isn't it?" - -Lanceford nodded. "Yes, sir. I didn't want to lose it." - -"Why not? We can always get more from the natives if we need it." - -"I know that, sir. _We_ can, but this is all _I'll_ get for the next -six months, and if I ration myself carefully, it might last that long. -You see, sir, it's mildly habit-forming--like cigarettes--and one gets -accustomed to it. And besides, you really don't know what flavor is -until you've tried vorkum on chocolate." - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Survival Type, by J.F. 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