The Science-Fantasy Megapack: 25 Classic Tales from Fantasy Adventures

THE GREATER IDEAL, by E. C. Tubb

On Earth the statue is of bronze, gigantic, imposing, a true work of art. On Mars it is of sandstone polished to an incredible smoothness while the one on Venus was carved from a solid block of crystolite. The materials, like the size, do not matter.

Whether it is of bronze, sandstone or crystolite, the planetary monument — or one of the countless smaller ones made from every imaginable material and set in towns and villages, hung against walls or set in medallions — the image is the same. That of a man, arms extended in welcome, head tilted as if to stare at the stars, a smile on his face and his thin, aesthetic features set in resolute determination. There is an inscription, a simple thing but of six words:

There are those who insist that it is not a true likeness, that the eyes should have been covered by the old-fashioned spectacles he wore. But it is hard to portray spectacles in sculpture, invariably they hide the eyes behind blank windows and the eyes are very important.

For it was the eyes of Michael Denninson which first saw the Houmi.

The ship was a leaking old freighter beating around the fifth decant in search of the rich minerals of the Asteroids. It was common of its type, a metal can mostly cargo space, the rest loaded with stores and supplies, some mining tools and explosives, the whole powered by an erratic atomic engine.

Michael Denninson was the astrogator and one half of the crew. He was a tall man with weak eyes and girlishly slim. Physically he was not strong but, in space, animal strength is not important. He was strong where it counted most and his brain and skill governed the ship. Holden was the captain, a dour, grizzled veteran who drank often and slept much. He was asleep when Michael first caught the flash of reflected sunlight. He awoke as the rockets kicked to life.

“What is it?”

“Something bright at two o’clock.” Denninson pointed at the telescreen. “See it?”

Holden grunted, rubbing his chin. He stepped up the magnification of the screen as the flash was repeated and swore at what he saw.

“Metal. That thing’s a ship.”

“That’s what I thought.” Michael adjusted the controls and, in the screen, the flashing object moved to a point directly ahead. “Salvage?”

“Could be.” Holden was eager now. Salvage was always profitable even though it was nothing but twisted metal. Such metal would be refined and be worth more than any of the common ores. And there might be other pickings. “Better try them on the radio,” he suggested. “They might still be alive in there.”

The radio brought no reply and neither of them had really expected any. A ship, twisting out of control among the Asteroids, could only be a ship that had been abandoned. The risk of collision with a hunk of cosmic debris was too great for any crew to have willingly run. They would have abandoned ship long ago.

As they came closer Michael caught the first hint of something unusual.

“Odd shape,” he mused. “Do you recognize it?”

Holden didn’t. The vessel was a polyhedron and outside of his experience. Most ships were dumb-bell or torpedo shaped or, as in their own case, a series of spheres united by external struts.

“An experimental job, perhaps?” His eagerness increased as he thought about it. “And no signs of external damage. We’re in luck.”

“Maybe.” Michael was working at the controls. “I’ll try them with visual. Their radio could be wrecked but, if there’s anyone alive in there, they’ll see our signals.”

From a point on their hull a low-powered rocket streamed a trail of fire, exploded in a flaming gush of brilliance, hung glowing in the void for a long moment and then faded in an expanding cloud of luminescence. Again Michael repeated the signal, a third time, then Holden released his breath in a sigh of regret.

From a point on the polyhedral hull a winking glow replied to their signal.

The ship still held life.

What followed was routine and a perfect example of Michael’s skill He played the jets until they had matched both velocity, and revolution, coupled the contact tube to a dark spot that had yawned on the strange hull and flooded it with air. Together, without suits, without weapons, with no thought than that of offering aid to their own kind, the two men entered the other ship.

And met the Houmi.

The meeting was momentous, though at first it didn’t appear so. The mind cannot grasp more than a little at a time. First there was the strangeness the thrill of meeting, for the first time in recorded history another intelligent race

Then there were the questions, the million unanswerable questions, which had to be left for sheer lack of communication. And, finally, there was the problem of what had to be done.

“Aliens.” Holden shook his head at the wonder of it. Both he and Michael had returned to their own vessel. “Who’d have thought it?”

“Humanoid,” said Michael. “Man-like in almost every respect.” He moved restlessly about the control room. “Do you realize what this means, Holden? Can you grasp it?”

“I think so.” Holden was a realist, a practical man undisturbed by self-doubts and self-questioning. “We’ve bumped into something really big. I wonder where they came from?”

“I’ll find out,” promised Michael. “I’ll find out many things.” His eyes behind their spectacles, gleamed with vision.

“Think of it, Holden. They have come from outside the system, from another star. Their technology must be far higher than our own.”

“How can you know that?”

“They are too much like us to have come from within the system. They breathe the same air, have the same eye-structure, and their ears are pointed but much like our own.” He nodded as though it was already settled as a fact. “Different, of course, but no more different than a black man is from a white man, I’d be willing to bet that they could live comfortably on Earth.”

“I see what you mean.” Holden was thoughtful. “They must have some form of an interstellar drive.” He stared at the astrogator. “We must get that drive.”

“We must help them to repair their ship.”

“The drive comes first.” Holden sucked in his lips. “Think of it, Michael! With an invention like that we could be rich.”

“Money!” The way Michael said it made it sound like an insult. “Is that all you can think of?”

“No.” Holden didn’t take offence. He had argued with Michael before and neither of them had ever reached an agreement. Denninson was a peculiar man, which was why he and Holden could operate successfully as a two-man crew. He was much given to reading; old books written by people long dead and spent long hours staring at the majesty of the universe. He was an idealist, a fact Holden knew. That he was also a fanatic was something the captain had yet to find out.

“Look,” he said patiently. “What have we? A strange ship from somewhere outside. Luckily for us it has been damaged and, luckier still, we found it before it crashed on the rocks. So that makes it ours to do with as we like. Agreed?”

“No.” Michael was definite. “This ship isn’t salvage.”

“I’m not talking about salvage,” said Holden. “I’m talking about common sense. We need that interstellar drive, they have it, we have them. Simple.”

“You talk like a savage,” said Michael. “These people aren’t primitives to be exploited. If we take their ship and drive we will be worse than thieves. We will have stranded them far from home.” He paced the floor again, his magnetic boots sending dull echoes from the hull. “And what if we do get the drive, what then?”

“We’ll go out to the stars,” said Holden simply. “What else?”

“And land on new worlds and give birth to more copies of Earth.” Michael shook his head. “It will be the same old story but this time played on a greater scale. The explorers first, then the merchants, then the armies and another race, another people subjugated beneath our heel. It happened the black man. It happened to the red man. It has happened with monotonous regularity all through our history. Do you think that men will change overnight just because they have a new toy?”

“We need the drive,” said Holden stubbornly. “Words can’t alter that. We need it and we’re going to take it.”

“No!” It was almost a shout. Michael realized it and lowered his voice. “Listen,” he said urgently, “and try to understand. We’ll get the drive, yes, but not by stealing it. We’ll receive it as a gift from the Houmi. They’ll give us the drive and all the other secrets of their technology because they will want to. We will be their friends, their brothers in space, and together we will share all that we own.” His eyes were gleaming as he thought about it. “A new start, Holden. Another race to teach and guide us and lead us from the slime from which we sprang. Is it worth losing the greater ideal for the sake of a petty theft?”

Holden didn’t answer. He sat, his head lowered, staring at the deck plates beneath his feet. He was thinking, not of the greater ideal expounded by the astrogator, but of things of more immediate moment. He was thinking of his life and the poverty that had been his and the riches waiting for him if he were strong enough and brave enough to take them. Michael was an idealist, he knew that, and privately considered the other man a fool. And yet he was a clever fool. He lifted his head.

“Talk,” he said. “Nice talk, but talk just the same. How do you know how the Houmi will feel about this hand-in-hand stuff? They may not want to help us and we may not want to mingle with them. Just because they look human doesn’t mean that they are human.” He sucked in his breath. “They are alien, never forget that. More alien than bees are to men. Do we ask the permission of a bee before we take its honey?”

“Sophistry,” said Michael impatiently “Backwoods logic. You should know better.”

“Maybe I do know better.” Holden was annoyed. He did not like being spoken to as a fool. “So we fix their ship and wave them goodbye and then what? Maybe they’ll never come back or maybe they’ll come back in force. Either way we’ve lost.” He rose to his feet. “Mix with them, yes, but on equal terms. You say that they’ll act like humans, all right. I know humans and how they act, not from books but from life. The strong respect the strong. Both despise the weak.” He reached out towards the radio.

“What are you doing?” Michael’s voice was high-pitched, strained.

“This thing is too big for us.” Holden tripped a switch. “I’m going to call up some help.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll do things my way. We’ll take the drive and anything else we can find. Later, when we’ve built interstellar ships of our own, we may go visiting. Or we may not.”

“And the Houmi?”

Holden shrugged.

Michael was an idealist and a fanatic and so was far more dangerous than Holden had suspected. His dream had been nurtured by old philosophies and forgotten injustices and, in the face of the greater ideal, nothing could be permitted to stand in his way. Nothing. Not even Holden’s life. He was regretful but determined.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I had to do it.”

“You almost cracked my skull.” Holden tugged at his bonds and stared at the other man. “How long have I been out?”

“A long time.” Michael hesitated. “I had to drug you after I stopped you using the radio. Then the repairs took longer than I thought. They are all finished now though.” He stared at a point above Holden’s head. “You were quite wrong about them, you know. I’ve learned a little of their language and they’re quite sincere. They want to see Earth, I’m traveling with them as a kind of ambassador, and they promise to return.”

“And me?”

“I’m sorry.” Michael lowered his eyes. “You’ll have to stay here.”

“Tied? Like this?” Holden strained at his bonds then relaxed. “That’s murder,” he said quietly. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“What’s trust got to do with it?” Holden was frightened now; Michael meant exactly what he said. “What harm can I do? You’ve had your own way, the Houmi’s ship has been repaired, what more do you want?”

Michael didn’t answer.

“You’re frightened that I’ll upset your plans, is that it?” Holden laughed, a short sound without humor. “Well, maybe I’d try if I could. But what damage can I do now?” He began to sweat. “At least you could cut me free and leave me the ship.”

“The ship isn’t space-worthy,” said Michael. “I had to use most of the parts for the repairs and I’ll need the radio, of course, the Houmi don’t use our type of communication. I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to lie,” said Holden with sudden understanding. “You’re going to tell them that the Houmi rescued you from a wrecked ship. You’re going to say that because you want us to be friendly towards them and you think that lie will help things along.” He sneered. “Crazy logic! They helped us, therefore they must be friends, therefore we must be friendly towards them. Lies! All lies!”

Michael rose to his feet.

“You fool!” screamed Holden. “You blind, stupid fool! Don’t you know that you’re selling out your own race?”

Michael stepped towards the door. He spoke once before he left Holden to his fate. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish that you could understand.”

“Go to hell,” said Holden, and turned his face to the wall.

Michael Denninson did not go to hell, not then, though he may have done later when he died by his own hand. He went to Earth with his friends the Houmi where, partly because of his lie, they were made welcome. They gave us some of their secrets, little things of no real value but, we thought a promise of what was to come. That was all they gave us, toys and the assurance that they would return. A promise that they kept only too well.

The Houmi look almost human but they are not human and. what is worse, they do not regard us as human. Human, that is, by their own standards. And yet they have a wry sense of humor. It was they who insisted on the statues immortalizing Michael Denninson, the most hated man in the entire history of the human race. It was they who permitted the inscription and in this they reveal their lack of irony. Or perhaps they just don’t care. For as every schoolchild knows the inscription, as it stands, is true but indefinite. It lacks a hyphen and one other word.

— SLAVES