The Duplicators

Chapter 6

“This,” said Link, at once with dignity and with passion, “this is no time to be fooling around with hangings!”

Harl blinked at him in the starlight.

“What’s the matter, Link? What’ you doin’ outside the house? That fella got away, but there’s—”

“Me, yes!” snapped Link. “But we can’t spare the time for that now! Get some men mounted! We’ve got to catch Thistlethwaite!”

“We don’t know where he went,” objected Harl.

“I do!” Link snapped at him. “He went to the ship! If for nothing else, to get some pants! Then he’ll go to Old Man Addison’s. The uffts’ll take him. He’ll make a business deal with him! A trade! A bargain!”

It was an absurd time and place for an argument. Men with torches lighted one small part of the street. They’d come to help a fellow human momentarily buried under swarming, squealing uffts. Link had gotten there first. Then Harl. Now Link, with clenched fists, faced Harl in a sort of passionate frustration.

“Don’t you see?” he demanded fiercely. “He was on Sord Three last year! He made a deal with Old Man Addison then! He’s brought a shipload of unduplied stuff to trade with Old Man Addison for dupliers! Don’t you see?”

Harl wrinkled his forehead.

“But that’d be… that wouldn’t be mannerly!” he objected. “That’d be—sput, Link! That’d be… business!”

He used the term as if it were one only to be used in strictly private consultation with a physician, as if it were a euphemism for something unspeakable.

“That’s exactly what it is!” rasped Link. “Business! And bad business at that! He’ll sell the contents of his ship to Old Man Addison and be paid in dupliers! And with the dupliers—”

“Sput!” Harl waved his hands. He bellowed, “Everybody out! Big trouble! Everybody out! Bring y’spears!”

Men came out of houses. Some of them wore shirts such as Link wore no longer. They were pleased with them. Since the article duplicated was relatively new, the replicas of it had all the properties of new shirts, though the raw stuff of the thread involved had previously had the properties of the centuries-old sample from which it had been duplied, and which hadn’t been new since before the art of weaving was forgotten. New-shirted retainers came out of houses to hear Link’s commands.

“Get mounted!” roared Harl. “We’ ridin’ to that ship that come down today. What’s in it’s goin’ to Old Man Addison if we don’t get there first! Take y’spears! Get movin’! The uffts are goin’ too far!”

There was confusion. More men appeared and ran out of sight. Some of them came back riding unicorns. Some led them. The three animals that had been ringed in and whose tender feet had been bitten by the uffts now came limping back into the village. The two riders had somehow managed to subdue their own beasts, and then had overtaken and caught the riderless animal.

“A unicorn for Link!” roared Harl, in what he evidently considered a military manner. “Get him a spear!”

“Hold it!” said Link grimly. “That stun gun you took from Thistlethwaite! You were carrying it. I’ll take that, Harl! I know how to use it!”

“I ain’t had time to figure it out,” said Harl, agreeing.

He roared. “Get that funny dinkus the whiskery man was carryin’ this mornin’! Give it to Link!”

Confusion developed further. Since his first sight of Harl, riding up to the ship with five unicorn mounted men at his back, Link had made innumerable guesses about the social and economic system of Sord Three. Most of them had been wrong. He’d been sure, though, that the organization into Households was a revival or reinvention of a feudal system, in which a Householder was responsible for the feeding and clothing of his retainers, and in return had an indefinite amount of power. Harl had the power, certainly, to order strangers hanged.

But it became clear that whether it was feudal or not, the system was not designed for warfare. Harl was in command, but nobody else had secondary rank. There were no under-officers or non-commissioned ones. Harl’s howled and bellowed orders got a troop of mounted men assembled. Confusedly and raggedly, they grouped themselves. They carried spears and wore large knives. Harl bellowed additional orders and whoever heard them obeyed them more or less. With great confusion, the group of armed and mounted men got ready to start out in the moonlight.

Just as he was about to give the order to march, Thana’s voice came from the building which was the Householder’s residence.

“Harl! Harl! If you go off now, dinner will get cold!”

“Let it!” snapped Harl. “We got to catch that whiskery fella!”

He roared for his followers to march, and march they did in a straggling column behind him. Somebody confusedly searched for and found Link, riding next to Harl, to give him the stun gun which was the only weapon that had been aboard the Glamorgan. He felt it over in the darkness.

“It seems to be in working order,” he told Harl. “Thanks.”

“What—” Then Harl saw the stun gun. The starlight was moderately bright, but it was not possible to see the details of anything, whether of the armed party or the landscape. “Oh. You got that thing. I was layin’ off to figure out what it was, but I didn’t have time. What’s it do, Link?”

“It knocks a man or an animal out,” said Link curtly. “It shoots an electric charge. But you can set the charge not to stun him, but only sting him up more or less.”

“’Lectric? asked Harl. “That’s interestin’! How far does it throw?”

“That depends,” said Link.

“Mmmmm. Uh, Link, how did you find out that that whiskery fella is makin’ a deal with Old Man Addison?”

“Uffts told me,” said Link grimly. “Old Man Addison is going to pay three thousand bottles of beer for Thistlethwaite’s delivery to him. It’s a written contract. Thistlethwaite wouldn’t promise anything like that if he didn’t know his value to Old Man Addison!”

Harl shook his head.

“You spoiled a good hangin’ by not tellin’ me!” he said reproachfully. “He got away. But how d’you know he’s headin’ for the ship?”

“I told you!” said Link. “He wants pants. He wants a shirt. He wants clothes. He wants to be dressed like a business man when he does business with Old Man Addison!”

Harl considered.

“It looks reasonable,” he admitted. “Right reasonable!”

“I was offered a deal to escape, too,” said Link sourly. “The uffts wanted five thousand bottles of beer to take me to Old Man Addison’s Household.”

“You wouldn’t like him,” said Harl sagely. “He’s hardly got any more manners than an ufft. Anybody who’s mannerly like you are couldn’t get along with him, Link. You showed sense in stayin’ with me.”

“To be hanged!” said Link bitterly. “But—”

“Hold on!” said Harl in astonishment. “Didn’t I admire that shirt o’ yours? An’ didn’t I accept it as a gift? I could make a gift to a man I was goin’ to hang, Link. That’d be just manners! But I couldn’t accept a gift an’ then hang him! That’d be disgraceful!” He paused and said in an injured tone, “I’ve heard of Old Man Addison doin’ things like that, but I never thought anybody’d suspect it of me!”

Link waved his hand impatiently. It was remarkable that the discovery that plans for his hanging were changed should make so little difference in this thinking. But right now he was concerned with the prevention of a disaster vastly more important than any concern of his own.

“I doubt,” he said, “that we’d better go through the ufft city. We’d better circle it. We’d be delayed at best, and Thistlethwaite is in a hurry to settle his bargain with Old Man Addison. He’ll hurry.”

Harl cleared his throat and bellowed toward the skies. The trailing cavalcade of ungainly unicorns changed direction to follow him.

The mounted party was probably fifty men and animals strong. In the dimness of starlight alone, it was an extraordinary sight. The men rode in clumps of two or three or half a dozen, on steeds whose gait was camel-like and awkward. The unicorns wobbled as they strode. Their limp and fleshy horns swayed and swung. Link, looking back and observing the total tack of discipline, felt an enormous exasperation.

He didn’t like the situation he was in, even when immediate hanging was no longer included. In all his life before he’d been carefree and zestfully concerned only with doing things because they were novel or exciting, and on occasion because they involved some tumult. In anybody his age, that was a completely normal trait. But now he had a responsibility of intolerable importance. The future of very many millions of human beings would depend on what he did, but he’d get no thanks for his trouble. It went against the grain of Link’s entire nature to dedicate himself to a tedious and exacting task like this. If he were successful it would never be known. In fact, it was a condition of success that it must never be known anywhere off of Sord Three. And it mustn’t be understood there!

At least an hour after their starting out a high, shrill clamor set up, very far away.

“That’s uffts,” said Harl. “Somethin’s happened an’ they feel all happy an’ excited.”

“It’s Thistlethwaite,” said Link. “He got to the ship. He probably passed out some gifts to the uffts.”

The cavalcade went on. The faint shrill clamor continued.

“Uh, Link,” said Harl, in a tone at once apologetic and depressed, “I thought of somethin’ that might make the uffts feel good. If like you said he gave presents to the uffts, maybe it was unduplied things. They couldn’t use ’em, havin’ hoofs instead of hands. But they’d know us humans ’ud have to buy ’em. They like to bargain. They enjoy makin’ humans pay too much. It makes ’em feel smart and superior. He could ha’ made a lot of trouble for us humans! A lot o’ trouble!”

The long, somehow lumpy line of men and animals went on through the darkness. Harl said unhappily:

“The uffts were tryin’ to make me pay ’em for news of where there was a lot of bog-iron. You figure what they’d make me pay for somethin’ unduplied! If that fella’s passin’ out that kinda gifts, the uffts feel swell. They feel happy. But I don’t!”

Link said nothing. It would be reasonable for Thistlethwaite to feel that he had to get samples of his cargo aground to ensure his deal with Old Man Addison, and then to have a train of armed men and animals come to unload the Glamorgan and carry its specially purchased cargo away. If he opened a cargo compartment to get samples, the uffts could well have demanded samples for themselves. Or they could simply take them.

“And,” Harl fumed, “when they got something they’ll ask fifty bottles of beer for, they won’t bother bringin’ in greenstuff, and how’ll I get the beer to pay ’em? They’ll bring in knives an’ cloth and demand beer! And if I don’t have the beer, they’ll take the stuff to another Household.”

“Then you’ll probably have to pay it.”

“Without greenstuff, I can’t,” said Harl bitterly.

There was an addition to the faint, joyous clamor beyond the horizon. Link began to discount any chance of success in this expedition. If Harl was right, Thistlethwaite had gotten to the ship, had gotten more clothing, and had very probably passed out in lieu of cash or beer, such objects of virtue as mirrors, cosmetics, cooking pots made of other metals than iron, crockery, small electric appliances like flashlights, pens, pencils, and synthetic fabrics. None of these things could be duplied on Sord Three, because the minerals required as raw materials had been forgotten if they were ever known.

And all this would put Harl in a bad situation, no doubt. Every Householder would need to deal with Old Man Addison for such trinkets, which he must supply to his retainers or seem less than a desirable feudal superior. But to Link the grim fact was that Thistlethwaite must have gotten to the ship before the mounted party. If he suspected pursuit he’d waste no time. He’d go on. And if he had gone on—

Dead ahead, now, there were peculiar small sounds. It took Link seconds to realize that it was the hoofs of uffts on metal stair treads and metal floors, the sound coming out of an opened exit port.

“Harl,” said Link in a low tone, “Thistlethwaite may still be in the ship. There are certainly plenty of uffts rummaging around in there! Can you get your men—”

But Harl did not wait for such advice as a self-appointed chief of staff might give to his commander-in-chief on the eve of battle. He raised his voice.

“There they are, boys!” he bellowed. “Come along an’ get ’em! Get the whiskery fella! If we don’t get him there’ll be no hangin’ tonight!”

Roaring impressively, he urged his awkward mount forward. He was followed by all his undisciplined troop. It was a wild and furious and completely confused charge. Link and Harl led it, of course. They topped a natural rise in the ground and saw the tall shape of the Glamorgan against the stars.

There was a wild stirring of what seemed to be hordes of uffts, clustered about the exit port and swarming in and swarming out again. A light inside the port cast an inadequate glow outside and in that dim light, rotund, pig-like shapes could be seen squirming and struggling to get into the ship, if they were outside, or to get out if they happened to be in. Link saw the glitter of that light upon metal. Evidently the uffts were making free with at least the contents of one cargo compartment. They were bringing out what small objects they could carry.

Harl bellowed again, and his followers dutifully yelled behind him, and the whole pack of them went sweeping over the hillcrest and down upon the aggregation of uffts. The unicorns were apparently blessed with good night vision, because none of them fell among the boulders that strewed the hillside.

The charge was discovered. Squeals and squeaks of alarm came from the uffts. It was not as much of a tumult as so many small creatures should make, however. Those with aluminum pots and pans, or kitchen appliances, or small tools or other booty, those of them with objects carried in their mouths simply bolted off into the dark, making no outcry because it would have made them drop their loot. Link saw one of them with an especially large pot dive into it and roll over, and pick it up again and run ten paces and then trip and dive into it again before it found a way to hold the pot safely and go galloping madly away.

The other uffts scattered. But there were boulders here. They shrilled defiant slogans from behind them. “Down with men! Uffts forever!” they yapped at the men on their unicorns. So far as combat was concerned, however, the charge on the spaceship was anticlimactic. The uffts outside either fled with whatever they’d picked up in their teeth, or scattered to abuse the men from lurking-places among the boulders all round about. But there were very many more inside the ship. They came streaming out in a struggling, squabbling flood. The riders did not try to stop them. They seemed satisfied and even pleased with themselves over the panicky flight of the uffts. They clustered about the exit port, but they allowed the uffts through as they fled.

“What’ll we do now?” asked Harl.

“See if Thistlethwaite’s inside,” said Link curtly.

He got the stun gun ready. There’d been no effort by any of the riders to use their spears on the uffts. Link could understand it. Uffts talked. And a man can kill a dangerous animal, or even a merely annoying one, but it would seem like murder to use a deadly weapon on a creature which was apparently incapable of anything more dangerous than nipping at a unicorn’s foot or tearing the clothes of a man buried under a squealing heap of them. A man simply wouldn’t think of killing a talking animal which couldn’t harm him save by abuse.

Harl swung from his saddle and strode inside the ship. Link heard him climb the metal stairs inside. There was a wild squealing sound, and something came falling down the steps with a clatter as of tinware. An ufft rolled out of the door and streaked for the horizon, squealing.

There were more yellings.

“Down with murderers of interstellar travelers!” squeaked an invisible ufft somewhere nearby. “Men have hands!

“Shame! Shame! Shame!” yapped another. Then a chorus set up, “Men go home! Men go home! Men go home!”

The men on the unicorns seemed to grow uneasy. They were bunched around the exit port of the ship. There were very many uffts concealed nearby. They made a racket of abuse. Sometimes they shouted whatever of competing outcries caught their fancy, as in the rhythmic, “Men go home!” effort. Then there was merely a wild clamor until some especially strident voice began a more attractive phrase of insulting content.

There were thumpings inside the ship. Harl bellowed somewhere. More thumpings. The yellings of abuse grew louder and louder. Apparently the burdenless uffts had ceased to flee when they found themselves not pursued. The torrent of insult became deafening. At the very farthest limit of the light from the port, round bodies could be seen, running among the boulders as they yelled epithets.

The riders stirred apprehensively. The military tactics of the uffts, it could be said, consisted of derogatory outcries for moral effect and the biting of unicorns’ feet as direct attack. Agitated running in circles had prefaced the attack on three unicorns, most tender parts in the village street. The riders in the starlight, here, were held immobile because Harl was inside the ship. But they showed disturbance at the prospect of another such attack on their mounts. More, there came encouraging, bloodthirsty cries from across the hilltop as if a war party from the ufft city were on the way to reinforce the uffts making a tumult about the ship.

Footsteps. Two pairs of them. Harl came out the exit port, very angry, with a woebegone retainer following him.

“This fella,” said Harl, fuming, “is the one I left to watch the ship for you, Link. The whiskery fella came here with a crowd of uffts. He hadn’t any clothes on and he told this fella he’d got in trouble and needed to get his clothes. The fella thought it was only mannerly to let a man have his own clothes, so he let him in. An’ then the whiskery fella hit him from behind with somethin’, an’ locked him in a cabin an’ let the uffts in.”

Link said curtly, “Too bad, but—”

“We’d better get movin’,” said Harl angrily. “We missed him. He musta got away before we found it out. He opened up a door somewheres, this fella says, and he heard him cussin’ the uffts like they were just takin’ anything they could close their teeth on. Then he heard some noise.”

An ufft leaped a boulder and darted at the uneasily stamping unicorns. He hadn’t quite the nerve to make it all the way. He swerved back. But other uffts made similar short rushes. Presently there’d be one underfoot, nipping at the animals’ feet, and they’d stampede.

“We’d better get movin’,” said Harl. “They’re gettin’ nervy.”

“No,” said Link, grimly. “Wait a minute!”

He swung the stun gun around. He opened the cone-of-fire aperture. He adjusted the intensity-of-shock stud. He raised it. The yells were truly deafening. “Scoundrels! Villains!” yapped the racing, jumping small creatures.

Link pulled the trigger. The stun gun made a burping noise. Electric charges sped out of it, scattering. The gun would carry nearly a hundred yards at widest dispersion of its fire. Within the cone-shaped space it affected, any flesh unshielded by metal would receive a sharp and painful but totally uninjurious electric shock. To men who knew nothing of electricity it would have been startling. To uffts it would be unparalleled and utterly horrifying. They squealed.

Link fired it again, at another area in the darkness. Shrieks of ufftian terror rose to the stars.

“Murderers!” cried ufft voices. “Murderers! You’re killing us!”

Link aimed at the voices and fired again. Twice.

The uffts around the spaceship went away from there, making an hysterical outcry in which complaints that the complainer had been killed were only drowned out by louder squealings to the effect that the squealers were dead.

“Sput!” said Harl, astounded. “What’re you doin’, Link? You ain’t killin’ ’em, are you? I need ’em to bring in greenstuff!”

“They’ll live,” said Link. “Wait here. I want to see what Thistlethwaite did. Anyhow, he didn’t try to lift the ship off to Old Man Addison’s Household!”

He went in. He climbed the stairway. He saw a cargo compartment door. It had been sealed. It was now welded shut. Thistlethwaite had used an oxygen torch on it. A second cargo door. Welded shut. The third door was open. It was apparently the compartment from which the loot of the uffts had come. It appeared to be empty. The engine room door was welded shut, and the spaceboat blister. The control room was sealed off from any entry by anybody without at least a cold chisel, but preferably a torch. And the oxygen torch was gone.

Link went down the stairs again, muttering. Thistlethwaite had made the Glamorgan useless to anybody possessing neither a cold chisel nor an oxygen torch. Harl couldn’t seize the materials Thistlethwaite planned to trade for dupliers. Old Man Addison might—

In the one gutted cargo space—he looked into it again with no hope at all—he found a plastic can of beans, toppled on the floor. He picked it up. It was too large for the jaws of uffts to grasp.

He went down to the exit port again, piously turning out the electric lights that Thistlethwaite had left burning. He was deeply and savagely disappointed. He was almost at the exit port when an idea came to him. He climbed back up and touched the bottommost weld. It scorched his fingers.

Thistlethwaite hadn’t done it long ago. He couldn’t be far off.

Link turned on the lights again and searched. The only loose object left anywhere was an open can of seal-off compound, for stopping air leaks such as the Glamorgan had a habit of developing. It was black and tarry and even an ufft would not want it. Link did.

He reached the open air again. He said briefly, “Hold this, Harl.”

He handed over the container of beans and worked on the landing fin in which the exit port existed. He had only the narrow bristle brush used to apply the seal-off compound, and only the compound to apply. The light was starlight alone. But when he’d finished he read the straggling letters of the message with some satisfaction. The message read:

“What’d you do, Link?” demanded Harl. “The uffts’ve all run away, squealing. What’d you do? And what’s that writing for?”

“That writing,” said Link, “is to end the Thistlethwaite problem on Sord Three. You may not realize that there is such a problem, Harl, but that’s to take care of it. And what I did was use a stun gun at maximum dispersion and minimum power. And I’m going to ask you, Harl, to go back to the Household straight through the ufft city. If they try to object I’ll give them more of what they’ve had. I think the psychological effect will be salutary.”

Harl thought it over. His followers did not look very military in the starlight.

“Wel-l-l-l,” said Harl, “I’m not sure what those words mean, Link, but I was thinkin’ we’d have a tough time gettin’ home, with uffts bitin’ the unicorns’ feet all the way. But you say we won’t. Or do you?”

“Yes,” said Link. “I say we won’t. I guarantee it.”

“Then we’ll try it,” said Harl heavily. “Uh… what’s this you gave me to hold?”

“It’s a guest-gift for Thana,” said Link.

Harl bellowed.

“Come on, fellas! Back to home! We’re ridin’ through the ufft city! There’s a dinkus with maximum dispersion an’ minimum power that drove off the uffts just now, an’ we want to use it on them some more.”

The cavalcade set out upon another long, shambling journey underneath the stars. It was some time before the unicorns reached the ufft city. It was not silent, even though all was darkness. There were shrill babblings everywhere. The agitated stories of uffts who’d experienced stun gun stings were being discussed by uffts who hadn’t experienced them. Those who’d felt the shocks couldn’t describe them, and those who hadn’t couldn’t believe them. The discussions tended to grow acrimonious. Then there were squealings that men were about to pass through the city. Those who hadn’t been shocked went valiantly to oppose the passage, or at least make it as unpleasant as possible by abuse.

Link let the congregation of zestfully vituperative uffts grow very large and get very near. “Murderers!” and “Massacrers!” were the least of the epithets thrown at the men. “The world will hear of this massacre!” shouted an ufft. Another took it up, “They’ll know how many of our comrades you murdered tonight!” The unicorns picked their way onward in their loose-jointed, wobbling fashion. Voices found an easier word. “Killers!” they shouted from the darkness. “Killers! Killers!” Actually, and Link knew it, no ufft in all the city would be able to find so much as a spot on his hide that was pinker than the rest, come tomorrow morning.

But now—Presently there was a huge, milling, madly galloping and wildly yelling barrier of uffts before the cavalcade. If the animals went into it, their feet would suffer. They’d be bitten. If they turned back, the uffts would be encouraged to follow and close in on them and again bite large splay feet.

Harl bellowed a halt. The cavalcade came to a standstill. Link gave the running, tumbling aggregation of abusive creatures two more shots from the stun gun. Individuals suffered the equivalent of bee stings for the fraction of a second. They shrieked and ran away.

The rest of the travel through the city was without incident, save that very occasionally very brave uffts squealed insults from not less than half a mile away, and then fled still farther from the shambling line of mounts and men.

Then there were the undulating miles beyond, to where very faint and feeble lights showed through the darkness. And then eventually the houses of the village loomed up on either side.

Thana welcomed Harl and Link, but she was inclined to be distressed that their dinner now had to be warmed over and was inferior in quality for that reason. They dined. Link presented Thana with the plastic can of beans. Harl asked what they were. When Link told him, he said absorbedly:

“I’ve heard that there’s a Household over past Old Man Addison that has beans. But I never tasted ’em myself. We’ll duply some an’ have ’em for breakfast. Right?”

And Link was ushered into a guest room, with a light consisting of a wick floating in a dish of oil. He slept soundly, until an hour after sunrise. Then he was waked by the sound of shoutings. He could see nothing from his window, so he dressed and went leisurely to see from the street.

There were many villagers out-of-doors, staring at the distance. From time to time they shouted encouragement. Link saw what they shouted at.

A small, hairy figure, chastely clad in a red-checked tablecloth around his middle, ran madly toward the Household. The figure was Thistlethwaite. The red-checked cloth had once been draped over a table in the Glamorgan’s mess room. Thistlethwaite ran like a deer and behind him came uffts yapping insults and trying to nip his heels.

He reached safety and the uffts drew off, shouting “Traitor!” and “Murderer!” as the mildest of accusations. But now and then one roared shrilly at him, “Agent provocateur!”