“What are eugenic analyzers?”
Devi-en had manufactured the phrase by analogy with what he knew of the wild one’s language. Now he said carefully, “We direct matings and sterilizations to remove, as far as possible, the competitive element in the remnant of the survivors.”
For a moment, he thought the creature would grow violent again.
Instead, the other said in a monotone, “You make them docile, you mean, like these things?” Once again he indicated the Mauvs.
“No. No. These are different. We simply make it possible for the remnants to be content with a peaceful, nonexpanding, nonaggressive society under our guidance. Without this, they destroyed themselves, you see, and without it, they would destroy themselves again.”
“What do you get out of it?”
Devi-en stared at the creature dubiously. Was it really necessary to explain the basic pleasure of life? He said, “Don’t you enjoy helping someone?”
“Come on. Besides that. What’s in it for you?”
“Of course, there are contributions to Hurria.”
“Ha.”
“Payment for saving a species is only fair,” protested Devi-en, “and there are expenses to be covered. The contribution is not much and is adjusted to the nature of the world. It may be an annual supply of wood from a forested world; manganese salts from another. The world of these Mauvs is poor in physical resources and they themselves offered to supply us with a number of individuals to use as personal assistants. They are extremely powerful even for large-primates and we treat them painlessly with anticerebral drugs—”
“To make zombies out of them!”
Devi-en guessed at the meaning of the noun and said indignantly, “Not at all. Merely to make them content with their role as personal servant and forgetful of their homes. We would not want them to be unhappy. They are intelligent beings!”
“And what would you do with Earth if we had a war?”
“We have had fifteen years to decide that,” said Devi-en. “Your world is very rich in iron and has developed a fine steel technology. Steel, I think, would be your contribution.” He sighed, “But the contribution would not make up for our expense in this case, I think. We have overwaited now by ten years at least.”
The large-primate said, “How many races do you tax in this way?”
“I do not know the exact number. Certainly more than a thousand.”
“Then you’re the little landlords of the Galaxy, are you? A thousand worlds destroy themselves in order to contribute to your welfare. You’re something else, too, you know.” The wild one’s voice was rising, growing shrill. “You’re vultures.”
“Vultures?” said Devi-en, trying to place the word.
“Carrion-eaters. Birds that wait for some poor creature to die of thirst in the desert and then come down to eat the body.”
Devi-en felt himself turn faint and sick at the picture conjured up for him. He said weakly, “No, no, we help the species.”
“You wait for the war to happen like vultures. If you want to help, prevent the war. Don’t save the remnants. Save them all.”
Devi-en’s tail twitched with sudden excitement. “How do we prevent a war? Will you tell me that?” (What was prevention of war but the reverse of bringing about a war? Learn one process and surely the other would be obvious.)
But the wild one faltered. He said finally, “Get down there. Explain the situation.”
Devi-en felt keen disappointment. That didn’t help. Besides—He said, “Land among you? Quite impossible.”
His skin quivered in half a dozen places at the thought of mingling with the wild ones in their untamed billions.
Perhaps the sick look on Devi-en’s face was so pronounced and unmistakable that the wild one could recognize it for what it was even across the barrier of species. He tried to fling himself at the Hurrian and had to be caught virtually in mid-air by one of the Mauvs, who held him immobile with an effortless constriction of biceps.
The wild one screamed. “No. Just sit here and wait! Vulture! Vulture! Vulture!”
It was days before Devi-en could bring himself to see the wild one again. He was almost brought to disrespect of the Arch-administrator when the latter insisted that he lacked sufficient data for a complete analysis of the mental make-up of these wild ones.
Devi-en said boldly, “Surely, there is enough to give some solution to our question.”
The Arch-administrator’s nose quivered and his pink tongue passed over it meditatively. “A solution of a kind, perhaps. I can’t trust this solution. We are facing a very unusual species. We know that already. We can’t afford to make mistakes.—One thing, at least. We have happened upon a highly intelligent one. Unless—unless he is at his race’s norm.” The Arch-administrator seemed upset at that thought.
Devi-en said, “The creature brought up the horrible picture of that—that bird—that—”
“Vulture,” said the Arch-administrator.
“It put our entire mission into such a distorted light. I have not been able to eat properly since, or sleep. In fact, I am afraid I will have to ask to be relieved—”
“Not before we have completed what we have set out to do,” said the Arch-administrator firmly. “Do you think I enjoy the picture of—of carrion-eat—You must collect more data.”
Devi-en nodded finally. He understood, of course. The Arch-administrator was no more anxious to cause a nuclear war than any Hurrian would be. He was putting off the moment of decision as long as possible.
Devi-en settled himself for one more interview with the wild one. It turned out to be a completely unbearable one, and the last.
The wild one had a bruise across his cheek as though he had been resisting the Mauvs again. In fact, it was certain he had. He had done so numerous times before, and the Mauvs, despite their most earnest attempts to do no harm, could not help but bruise him on occasion. One would expect the wild one to see how intensely they tried not to hurt him and to quiet his behavior as a result. Instead, it was as though the conviction of safety spurred him on to additional resistance.
(These large-primate species were vicious, vicious, thought Devi-en sadly.)
For over an hour, the interview hovered over useless small talk and then the wild one said with sudden belligerence, “How long did you say you things have been here?”
“Fifteen of your years,” said Devi-en.
“That figures. The first flying saucers were sighted just after World War II. How much longer before the nuclear war?”
With automatic truth, Devi-en said, “We wish we knew,” and stopped suddenly.
The wild one said, “I thought nuclear war was inevitable. Last time you said you overstayed ten years. You expected the war ten years ago, didn’t you?”