Compleat collected sff w.., p.139
COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 139
Only waiting was left.
He opened his mind. All around him, stretching across the earth, the linked thoughts of the Baldies made a vast, intricate webwork, perhaps the last and mightiest structure man would ever build. They drew him into their midst and made him one with them. There were no barriers at all. They did not judge. They understood, all of them, and he was part of them all in a warm, ultimate unity that was source of enough strength and courage to face whatever decision mankind might make. This might be the last time man would ever bind itself together in this way. The pogrom might go on until the last Baldy died. But until then, no Baldy would live or die alone.
So they waited, together, for the answer that man must give.
-
The helicopter has landed. Men run toward me. They're strangers. I can't read their thoughts. I can't see them clearly; everything is dim, fading into wavering, shadowy ripples.
Something is being slipped around my neck. Something presses against the back of my head.
An Inductor.
A man kneels beside me. A doctor. He has a hypodermic.
The hypodermic comes second. The Inductor first of all. For none of us should die alone. None of us live alone any more. Either we are Baldies, or else we wear the Inductor that has made all men telepaths.
The Inductor begins to operate.
I meant to ask the doctor if I would live, but now I know that this is not the important thing. I know that, as warmth and life come back into the universe, and I am no longer alone. What is important is that my mind, my self, is no longer cut off and incomplete, it is expanding, joining with my people, with all life, as I rise from this lonely grave in which I have lain and I am—
We are—
We are one. We are man. The long, long war is ended, and the answer has been given. The dream has been cleansed, and the fire on the hearth is guarded.
It will not burn out, now, until the last man dies.
The End
Hogben
(1947-1949)*
with Henry Kuttner
Contents
The Old Army Game by Henry Kuttner (non-genre, not available)
EXIT THE PROFESSOR
PILE OF TROUBLE by Henry Kuttner
SEE YOU LATER
COLD WAR
EXIT THE PROFESSOR
Hogben 01
Thrilling Wonder Stories - October 1947
We Hogbens are right exclusive. That Perfesser feller from the city might have known that, but he come busting in without an invite, and I don't figger he had call to complain afterward. In Kaintuck the polite thing is to stick to your own bill of beans and not come nosing around where you're not wanted.
Time we ran off the Haley boys with that shotgun gadget we rigged up—only we never could make out how it worked, somehow—that time, it all started because Rafe Haley come peeking and prying at the shed winder, trying to get a look at Little Sam. Then Rafe went round saying Little Sam had three haids or something.
Can't believe a word them Haley boys say. Three haids! It ain't natcheral, is it? Anyhow, Little Sam's only got two haids, and never had no more since the day he was born.
So Maw and I rigged up that shotgun thing and peppered the Haley boys good. Like I said, we couldn't figger out afterward how it worked. We'd tacked on some dry cells and a lot of coils and wires and stuff and it punched holes in Rafe as neat as anything.
Coroner's verdict was that the Haley boys died real sudden, and Sheriff Abernathy come up and had a drink of corn with us and said for two cents he'd whale the tar outa me. I didn't pay no mind. Only some damyankee reporter musta got wind of it, because a while later a big, fat, serious-looking man come around and begun to ask questions.
Uncle Les was sitting on the porch, with his hat over his face. "You better get the heck back to your circus, mister," he just said. "We had offers from old Barnum hisself and turned 'em down. Ain't that right, Saunk?"
"Sure is," I said. "I never trusted Phineas. Called Little Sam a freak, he did."
The big solemn-looking man, whose name was Perfesser Thomas Galbraith, looked at me. "How old are you, son?" he said.
"I ain't your son," I said. "And I don't know, nohow."
"You don't look over eighteen," he said, "big as you are. You couldn't have known Barnum."
"Sure I did. Don't go giving me the lie. I'll wham you."
"I'm not connected with any circus," Galbraith said. "I'm a biogeneticist."
We sure laughed at that. He got kinda mad and wanted to know what the joke was.
"There ain't no such word," Maw said. And at that point Little Sam started yelling, and Galbraith turned white as a goose wing and shivered all over. He sort of fell down. When we picked him up, he wanted to know what had happened.
"That was Little Sam," I said. "Maw's gone in to comfort him. He's stopped now."
"That was a subsonic," the Perfesser snapped. "What is Little Sam—a short-wave transmitter?"
"Little Sam's the baby," I said, short-like. "Don't go calling him outa his name, either. Now, s'pose you tell us what you want."
He pulled out a notebook and started looking through it.
"I'm a—a scientist," he said. "Our foundation is studying eugenics, and we've got some reports about you. They sound unbelievable. One of our men has a theory that natural mutations can remain undetected in undeveloped cultural regions, and—" He slowed down and stared at Uncle Les. "Can you really fly?" he asked.
Well, we don't like to talk about that. The preacher gave us a good dressing-down once. Uncle Les had got likkered up and went sailing over the ridges, scaring a couple of bear hunters outa their senses. And it ain't in the Good Book that men should fly, neither. Uncle Les generally does it only on the sly, when nobody's watching.
So anyhow Uncle Les pulled his hat down further on his face and growled.
"That's plumb silly. Ain't no way a man can fly. These here modern contraptions I hear tell about—'tween ourselves, they don't really fly at all. Just a lot of crazy talk, that's all."
Galbraith blinked and studied his notebook again.
"But I've got hearsay evidence of a great many unusual things connected with your family. Flying is only one of them. I know it's theoretically impossible—and I'm not talking about planes—but—"
"Oh, shet your trap."
"The medieval witches' salve used aconite to give an illusion of flight—entirely subjective, of course."
"Will you stop pestering me?" Uncle Les said, getting mad, on account of he felt embarrassed, I guess. Then he jumped up, threw his hat down on the porch and flew away. After a minute he swooped down for his hat and made a face at the Perfesser. He flew off down the gulch and we didn't see him fer a while.
I got mad, too.
"You got no call to bother us," I said. "Next thing Uncle Les will do like Paw, and that'll be an awful nuisance. We ain't seen hide nor hair of Paw since that other city feller was around. He was a census taker, I think."
Galbraith didn't say anything. He was looking kinda funny. I gave him a drink and he asked about Paw.
"Oh, he's around," I said. "Only you don't see him no more. He likes it better that way, he says."
"Yes," Galbraith said, taking another drink. "Oh, God. How old did you say you were?"
"Didn't say nothing about it."
"Well, what's the earliest thing you can remember?"
"Ain't no use remembering things. Clutters up your haid too much."
"It's fantastic," Gaibraith said. "I hadn't expected to send a report like that back to the foundation."
"We don't want nobody prying around," I said. "Go way and leave us alone."
"But, good Lord!" He looked over the porch rail and got interested in the shotgun gadget. "What's that?"
"A thing," I said.
"What does it do?"
"Things," I said.
"Oh. May I look at it?"
"Sure," I said. "I'll give you the dingus if you'll go away."
He went over and looked at it. Paw got up from where he'd been sitting beside me, told me to get rid of the damyankee and went into the house. The Perfesser came back. "Extraordinary!" he said. "I've had training in electronics, and it seems to me you've got something very odd there. What's the principle?"
"The what?" I said. "It makes holes in things."
"It can't fire shells. You've got a couple of lenses where the breech should—how did you say it worked?"
"I dunno."
"Did you make it?"
"Me and Maw."
He asked a lot more questions.
"I dunno," I said. "Trouble with a shotgun is you gotta keep loading it. We sorta thought if we hooked on a few things it wouldn't need loading no more. It don't, neither."
"Were you serious about giving it to me?"
"If you stop bothering us."
"Listen," he said, "it's miraculous that you Hogbens have stayed out of sight so long."
"We got our ways."
"The mutation theory must be right. You must be studied. This is one of the most important discoveries since—" He kept on talking like that. He didn't make much sense.
Finally I decided there was only two ways to handle things, and after what Sheriff Abernathy had said, I didn't feel right about killing nobody till the Sheriff had got over his fit of temper. I don't want to cause no ruckus.
"S'pose I go to New York with you, like you want," I said. "Will you leave the family alone?"
He halfway promised, though he didn't want to. But he knuckled under and crossed his heart, on account of I said I'd wake up Little Sam if he didn't. He sure wanted to see Little Sam, but I told him that was no good. Little Sam couldn't go to New York, anyhow. He's got to stay in his tank or he gets awful sick.
Anyway, I satisfied the Perfesser pretty well and he went off, after I'd promised to meet him in town next morning. I felt sick, though, I can tell you. I ain't been away from the folks overnight since that ruckus in the old country, when we had to make tracks fast.
Went to Holland, as I remember. Maw always had a soft spot fer the man that helped us get outa London. Named Little Sam after him. I fergit what his name was. Gwynn or Stuart or Pepys—I get mixed up when I think back beyond the War between the States.
That night we chewed the rag. Paw being invisible, Maw kept thinking he was getting more'n his share of the corn, but pretty soon she mellowed and let him have a demijohn. Everybody told me to mind my p's and q's.
"This here Perfesser's awful smart," Maw said. "All perfessers are. Don't go bothering him any. You be a good boy or you'll ketch heck from me."
"I'll be good, Maw," I said. Paw whaled me alongside the haid, which wasn't fair, on account of I couldn't see him.
"That's so you won't fergit," he said.
"We're plain folks," Uncle Les was growling. "No good never come of trying to get above yourself."
"Honest, I ain't trying to do that," I said. "I only figgered—"
"You stay outa trouble!" Maw said, and just then we heard Grandpaw moving in the attic. Sometimes Grandpaw don't stir for a month at a time, but tonight he seemed right frisky.
So, natcherally, we went upstairs to see what he wanted.
He was talking about the Perfesser.
"A stranger, eh?" he said. "Out upon the stinking knave. A set of rare fools I've gathered about me for my dotage! Only Saunk shows any shrewdness, and, dang my eyes, he's the worst fool of all."
I just shuffled and muttered something, on account of I never like to look at Grandpaw direct. But he wasn't paying me no mind. He raved on.
"So you'd go to this New York? 'Sblood, and hast thou forgot the way we shunned London and Amsterdam—and Nieuw Amsterdam—for fear of questioning? Wouldst thou be put in a freak show? Nor is that the worst danger."
Grandpaw's the oldest one of us all and he gets kinda mixed up in his language sometimes. I guess the lingo you learned when you're young sorta sticks with you. One thing, he can cuss better than anybody I've ever heard.
"Shucks," I said. "I was only trying to help."
"Thou puling brat," Grandpaw said. " 'Tis thy fault and thy dam's. For building that device, I mean, that slew the Haley tribe. Hadst thou not, this scientist would never have come here."
"He's a perfesser," I said. "Name of Thomas Galbraith."
"I know. I read his thoughts through Little Sam's mind. A dangerous man. I never knew a sage who wasn't. Except perhaps Roger Bacon, and I had to bribe him to—but Roger was an exceptional man. Hearken:
"None of you may go to this New York. The moment we leave this haven, the moment we are investigated, we are lost. The pack would tear and rend us. Nor could all thy addlepated flights skyward save thee, Lester—dost thou hear?"
"But what are we to do?" Maw said.
"Aw, heck," Paw said. "I'll just fix this Perfesser. I'll drop him down the cistern."
"An' spoil the water?" Maw screeched. "You try it!"
"What foul brood is this that has sprung from my seed?" Grandpaw said, real mad. "Have ye not promised the Sheriff that there will be no more killings—for a while, at least? Is the word of a Hogben naught? Two things have we kept sacred through the centuries—our secret from the world, and the Hogben honor! Kill this man Galbraith and ye'll answer to me for it!"
We all turned white. Little Sam woke up again and started squealing. "But what'll we do?" Uncle Les said.
"Our secret must be kept," Grandpaw said. "Do what ye can, but no killing. I'll consider the problem."
He seemed to go to sleep then, though it was hard to tell.
The next day I met Galbraith in town, all right, but first I run into Sheriff Abernathy in the street and he gave me a vicious look.
"You stay outa trouble, Saunk," he said. "Mind what I tell you, now." It was right embarrassing.
Anyway, I saw Galbraith and told him Grandpaw wouldn't let me go to New York. He didn't look too happy, but he saw there was nothing that could be done about it.
His hotel room was full of scientific apparatus and kinda frightening. He had the shotgun gadget set up, but it didn't look like he'd changed it any. He started to argue.
"Ain't no use," I said. "We ain't leaving the hills. I spoke outa turn yesterday, that's all."
"Listen, Saunk," he said. "I've been inquiring around town about you Hogbens, but I haven't been able to find out much. They're closemouthed around here. Still, such evidence would be only supporting factors. I know our theories are right. You and your family are mutants and you've got to be studied!"
"We ain't mutants," I said. "Scientists are always calling us outa our names. Roger Bacon called us homunculi, only—"
"What?" Galbraith shouted. "Who did you say?"
"Uh—he's a share-cropper over in the next county," I said hasty-like, but I could see the Perfesser didn't swaller it. He started to walk around the room.
"It's no use," he said. "If you won't come to New York, I'll have the foundation send a commission here. You've got to be studied, for the glory of science and the advancement of mankind."
"Oh, golly," I said. "I know what that'd be like. Make a freak show outa us. It'd kill Little Sam. You gotta go away and leave us alone."
"Leave you alone? When you can create apparatus like this?" He pointed to the shotgun gadget. "How does that work?" he wanted to know, sudden-like.
"I told you, I dunno. We just rigged it up. Listen, Perfesser. There'd be trouble if people came and looked at us. Big trouble. Grandpaw says so."
Galbraith pulled at his nose.
"Well, maybe—suppose you answered a few questions for me, Saunk."
"No commission?"
"We'll see."
"No, sir. I won't—"
Galbraith took a deep breath.
"As long as you tell me what I want to know, I'll keep your whereabouts a secret."
"I thought this fundation thing of yours knows where you are."
"Ah—yes," Galbraith said. "Naturally they do. But they don't know about you."
That gave me an idea. I coulda killed him easy, but if I had, I knew Grandpaw would of ruined me entire and, besides, there was the Sheriff to think of. So I said, "Shucks," and nodded.
My, the questions that man asked! It left me dizzy. And all the while he kept getting more and more excited.
