Feeder and Doctor scurried to the fallen Pusher, picked him up, and carried him back to the Ship.
The Walls sealed again. They released the Pusher and prepared to talk.
As soon as he was free, the Pusher sprang to his limbs and ran at the place where the Walls had sealed. He pounded against them frantically, his eating organ open and vibrating.
“Stop that,” the Wall said. He bulged, and the Pusher tumbled to the floor. Instantly, he jumped up and started to run forward.
“Stop him,” Talker said. “He might hurt himself.”
One of the Accumulators woke up enough to roll into the Pusher’s path. The Pusher fell, got up again, and ran on.
Talker had his filaments in the front of the Ship also, and he caught the Pusher in the bow. The Pusher started to tear at his tendrils, and Talker let go hastily.
“Plug him into the communication system!” Feeder shouted. “Maybe we can reason with him!”
Talker advanced a filament toward the Pusher’s head, waving it in the universal sign of communication. But the Pusher continued his amazing behavior, jumping out of the way. He had a piece of metal in his hand and he was waving it frantically.
“What do you think he’s going to do with that?” Feeder asked. The Pusher started to attack the side of the Ship, pounding at one of the Walls. The Wall stiffened instinctively and the metal snapped.
“Leave him alone,” Talker said. “Give him a chance to calm down.”
Talker consulted with Thinker, but they couldn’t decide what to do about the Pusher. He wouldn’t accept communication. Every time Talker extended a filament, the Pusher showed all the signs of violent panic. Temporarily, it was an impasse.
Thinker vetoed the plan of finding another Pusher on the planet. He considered this Pusher’s behavior typical; nothing would be gained by approaching another. Also, a planet was supposed to be contacted only by a Contact Team.
If they couldn’t communicate with this Pusher, they never would with another on the planet.
“I think I know what the trouble is,” Eye said. He crawled up on an Accumulator. “These Pushers have evolved a mechanical civilization. Consider for a minute how they went about it. They developed the use of their fingers, like Doctor, to shape metal. They utilized their seeing organs, like myself. And probably countless other organs.” He paused for effect.
“These Pushers have become unspecialized!”
They argued over it for several hours. The Walls maintained that no intelligent creature could be unspecialized. It was unknown in the Galaxy. But the evidence was before them—The Pusher cities, their vehicles ... This Pusher, exemplifying the rest, seemed capable of a multitude of things.
He was able to do everything except Push!
Thinker supplied a partial explanation. “This is not a primitive planet. It is relatively old and should have been in the Cooperation thousands of years ago. Since it was not, the Pushers upon it were robbed of their birthright. Their ability, their specialty was to Push, but there was nothing to Push. Naturally, they have developed a deviant culture.
“Exactly what this culture is, we can only guess. But on the basis of the evidence, there is reason to believe that these Pushers are—uncooperative.”
Thinker had a habit of uttering the most shattering statement in the quietest possible way.
“It is entirely possible,” Thinker went on inexorably, “that these Pushers will have nothing to do with us. In which case, our chances are approximately 283 to one against finding another Pusher planet.”
“We can’t be sure he won’t cooperate,” Talker said, “until we get him into communication.” He found it almost impossible to believe that any intelligent creature would refuse to cooperate willingly.
“But how?” Feeder asked. They decided upon a course of action. Doctor walked slowly up to the Pusher, who backed away from him. In the meantime, Talker extended a filament outside the Ship, around, and in again, behind the Pusher.
The Pusher backed against a Wall—and Talker shoved the filament through the Pusher’s head, into the communication socket in the center of his brain.
The Pusher collapsed.
When he came to, Feeder and Doctor had to hold the Pusher’s limbs, or he would have ripped out the communication line. Talker exercised his skill in learning the Pusher’s language.
It wasn’t too hard. All Pusher languages were of the same family, and this was no exception. Talker was able to catch enough surface thoughts to form a pattern.
He tried to communicate with the Pusher.
The Pusher was silent.
“I think he needs food,” Feeder said. They remembered that it had been almost two days since they had taken the Pusher on board. Feeder worked up some standard Pusher food and offered it.
“My God! A steak!” the Pusher said.
The Crew cheered along Talker’s communication circuits. The Pusher had said his first words!
Talker examined the words and searched his memory. He knew about two hundred Pusher languages and many more simple variations. He found that this Pusher was speaking a cross between two Pusher tongues.
After the Pusher had eaten, he looked around. Talker caught his thoughts and broadcast them to the Crew.
The Pusher had a queer way of looking at the Ship. He saw it as a riot of colors. The walls undulated. In front of him was something resembling a gigantic spider, colored black and green, with his web running all over the Ship and into the heads of all the creatures. He saw Eye as a strange, naked little animal, something between a skinned rabbit and an egg yolk—whatever those things were.
Talker was fascinated by the new perspective the Pusher’s mind gave him. He had never seen things that way before. But now that the Pusher was pointing it out, Eye was a pretty funny looking creature.
They settled down to communication.
“What in hell are you things?” the Pusher asked, much calmer now than he had been during the two days. “Why did you grab me? Have I gone nuts?”
“No,” Talker said, “you are not psychotic. We are a galactic trading ship. We were blown off our course by a storm, and our Pusher was killed.”
“Well, what does that have to do with me?”
“We would like you to join our crew,” Talker said, “to be our new Pusher.”
The Pusher thought it over after the situation was explained to him. Talker could catch the feeling of conflict in the Pusher’s thoughts. He hadn’t decided whether to accept this as a real situation or not. Finally, the Pusher decided that he wasn’t crazy.
“Look, boys,” he said, “I don’t know what you are or how this makes sense. I have to get out of here. I’m on a furlough, and if I don’t get back soon, the US Army’s going to be very interested.”
Talker asked the Pusher to give him more information about “army,” and he fed it to Thinker.
“These Pushers engage in personal combat,” was Thinker’s conclusion.
“But why?” Talker asked. Sadly he admitted to himself that Thinker might have been right; the Pusher didn’t show many signs of willingness to cooperate.
“I’d like to help you lads out,” Pusher said, “but I don’t know where you get the idea that I could push anything this size. You’d need a whole division of tanks just to budge it.”
“Do you approve of these wars?” Talker asked, getting a suggestion from Thinker.
“Nobody likes war—not those who have to do the dying at least.”
“Then why do you fight them?”
The Pusher made a gesture with his eating organ, which Eye picked up and sent to Thinker. “It’s kill or be killed. You guys know what war is, don’t you?”
“We don’t have any wars,” Talker said.
“You’re lucky,” the Pusher said bitterly. “We do. Plenty of them.”
“Of course,” Talker said. He had the full explanation from Thinker now. “Would you like to end them?”