Gordon Dickson - The Right to Arm Bears

The parts took shape with approximate accuracy in three dimensions, and the programming section of the lathe took it from there. Eventually a red light lit up below the screen, revealing the black letters of the word “ ready .” Bill pressed the replay button, and before him on the screen there appeared completed and corrected, three-dimensional blueprints of the components for a block-and-tackle.

The lathe was now prepared to go to work. Bill fed his log sections to it, one by one, and ended up fifteen minutes later with twelve lathe-turned, wooden parts which he proceeded to join into two separate units by wood-weld processing. The first unit consisted of two double pulleys welded together, or four movable pulleys. This was the fixed block and had a brake and lock as well as a heavy wooden hook welded to the top of it. The other unit was the movable block which contained three pulleys. The two units, combined with the rope, together should give Bill a block-and-tackle with a lifting power seven times whatever pull he could put upon the fall rope. Flat Fingers, being a little bigger than most Dilbians, outweighed Bill by—Bill calculated—about five to one. In other words, the village blacksmith could probably lift about his own body weight of nine hundred pounds. However, the block-and-tackle Bill had constructed gave him a seven-times advantage. Therefore, if he could put upon the rope he would be holding a pull equal to his own human body weight of a hundred and sixty-five pounds, he should be able to lift well over a half-ton. Bill looked at what he had constructed, feeling satisfied.

He looked at his wristwatch. The hands, recalibrated to Dilbian time, stood at about half an hour short of noon. He was reminded, suddenly, that he had had no breakfast, and no evening meal the day before except for the Dilbian fare he had choked down in Outlaw Valley. He remembered seeing a well-stocked kitchen in his earlier exploration of the Residency. He turned away from the block-and-tackle, leaving it where it was on the workbench, and opened the doorway to the hallway leading back to the living quarters of the building. The hallway was dim, but as he stepped into it he thought he saw a flicker of movement from behind the door as it opened before him.

But that was all he saw. For a second later a smashing blow on the back of his head sent him tumbling down and away into spark-shot darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, it was at first with the confused impression that he was still asleep in his bed at the Residency. Then he became conscious of a headache that gradually increased in intensity until it seemed to fit his head like a skullcap, and, following this, he was made aware of a sickly taste in his nose and mouth, as if he had been inhaling some sort of anesthetic gas.

Cautiously he opened his eyes. He found himself seated in a small woodland clearing, by the banks of a stream about fifteen or twenty feet wide. The dell was completely walled about by underbrush, beyond which could be seen the trunks and the trees of the forest.

He blinked. For before him, seated crosslegged like an enormous Buddha on the ground with his robe spread about him, was Mula- ay . Seeing himself recognized, the Hemnoid produced one of his rich, gurgling chuckles.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, ah—Pick-and-Shovel,” said Mula- ay cheerfully. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come to.”

“What do you mean, knocking me on the head and bringing me here—” Bill was beginning, when the thunder of his own voice and the working of his own jaw muscles so jarred his skullcap of headache pain that he was forced to stop.

“I?” replied Mula- ay , in a tone of mild, if unctuous surprise, folding his hands comfortably upon his cloth-swathed belly. “How can you suspect me of such a thing? I give you my word I was simply out for a stroll through these woods, and noticed you tied up here.”

“Tied up—?” began Bill, too jolted by the words to pay attention to the stab of pain that the effort of speaking sent through his skull, from back to front. He became aware that his hands were pulled around behind him, and a moment’s experimentation revealed that his wrists were tied together on the opposite side of the narrow tree trunk that was serving him for a backrest.

“You can’t get away with this sort of thing!” he stormed at Mula- ay . “You know no Dilbian would do something like this. You’re breaking the Human-Hemnoid treaty on Dilbia. Your own superiors will have your hide for this!”

“Come now, my young friend,” chuckled Mula- ay . “As I say—my superiors are reasonable individuals. And where are the witnesses who can call me a liar? I was merely wandering through the woods and happened to see you here, and sat down to wait for you to wake up.”

“If that’s true,” said Bill, his headache by this time completely disregarded, “how about untying my hands and turning me loose?”

“Well, now, I don’t know if I could do anything like that!” said Mula- ay thoughtfully. “That might be interference in native affairs—expressly forbidden, as you yourself point out, by the Hemnoid-Human agreements. For all I know you’ve been caught in the act of committing some crime, and the local inhabitants have tied you up here, until you can be taken back to face their native justice.” He shook his head. “No, no, my dear Pick-and-Shovel. I couldn’t take it on myself to untie you—much, of course, as I’d like to.”

“You can’t get away with claiming something like that!” exploded Bill. “You—” He became aware abruptly of a sheer look of enjoyment on the round face opposite him, and checked himself with sudden understanding. He was rewarded by seeing a slight shade of disappointment overshadow the smile with which Mula- ay had been regarding him up until now.

“All right,” said Bill, as coolly as he could. “You’ve had your fun. Now suppose you tell me what this is all about. I suppose you want to make some kind of deal with me, and your idea in kidnapping me and tying me up here is to start me out at a disadvantage. Is that right?”

Mula- ay chuckled again and rubbed his large hands together.

“Very good,” he said. “Oh, very, very good, young Pick-and-Shovel! If you’d only had a little more training and experience, you might have made quite a decent undercover agent—for a human, that is. Of course, that was the last thing your superiors wanted, in this case—someone with training and experience. Oh, the last thing!”

He chuckled once more.

“Cut it out!” said Bill in a level voice. “I told you, you’ve had all the enjoyment out of me you are going to have. Quit hinting and come right out with whatever it is you’ve got to say. I’m not going to squirm just to please you.”

Mula- ay shook his head, and his smile evaporated.

“You really are uninformed, aren’t you, Pick-and-Shovel?” he said seriously. “Your knowledge of my race is only that kind of half-rumor that circulates among humans who have never done anything but listen to tall tales about Hemnoids. Do you seriously think that my business here on Dilbia would allow me to engage in that special and demanding art form among my people which you humans consider to be merely the exercise of a taste for deliberate cruelty? To be sure, I’m mildly pleased by your responses when they verge on sana , as our great art is known among us. But any serious consideration of such is impossible in this time and place.”

“Oh, is that a fact?” said Bill ironically.

“Indeed,” said Mula- ay steadily, “it is so. Let me try to draw you a parallel out of your own human experience. You humans have a response called empathy —the emotional ability to put yourself in another’s skin and echo in your own feelings what that other is feeling. As you know empathy, we Hemnoids do not have it. But our sana is a comparable response, among us, even though you humans would consider it quite the opposite. Sana , like empathy, is a response that puts two individuals into a special relationship with one another. Like your empathy, it requires a powerful involvement on the part of the individual engaging in it.”