Arthur Clarke: Expedition to Earth

“In that case,” said Clindar promptly, “we’ll follow it and find out. I’m tired of dodging trees, but I hope nothing jumps on us again: it’s bad for my nerves.”

“You were right, Altaian,” said Bertrond a little later. “It’s certainly a path. But that doesn’t mean intelligence. After all, animals-”

He stopped in mid-sentence, and at the same instant Clindar brought the advancing robot to a halt. The path had suddenly opened out into a wide clearing, almost completely occupied by a village of flimsy huts. It was ringed by a wooden palisade, obviously defence against an enemy who at the moment presented no threat. For the gates were wide open, and beyond them the inhabitants were going peacefully about their ways.

For many minutes the three explorers stared in silence at the screen. Then Clindar shivered a little and remarked: “It’s uncanny. It might be our own planet, a hundred thousand years ago. I feel as if I’ve gone back in time.”

“There’s nothing weird about it,” said the practical Altman. “After all, we’ve discovered nearly a hundred planets with our type of life on them.”

“Yes,” retorted Clindar. “A hundred in the whole Galaxy! I still think it’s strange it had to happen to us.”

“Well, it had to happen to somebody,” said Bertrond philosophically. “Meanwhile, we must work out our contact procedure. If we send the robot into the village it will start a panic.”

“That,” said Altman, “is a masterly understatement. What we’ll have to do is catch a native by himself and prove that we’re friendly. Hide the robot, Clindar. Somewhere in the woods where it can watch the village without being spotted. We’ve a week’s practical anthropology ahead of usl”

It was three days before the biological tests showed that it would be safe to leave the ship. Even then Bertrond insisted on going alone—alone, that is, if one ignored the substantial company of the robot. With such an ally he was not afraid of this planet’s larger beasts, and his body’s natural defences could take care of the micro-organisms. So, at least, the analysers had assured him; and considering the complexity of the problem, they made remarkably few mistakes…

He stayed outside for an hour, enjoying himself cautiously, while his companions watched with envy. It would be another three days before they could be quite certain that it was safe to follow Bertrond’s example. Meanwhile, they kept busy enough watching the village through the lenses of the robot, and recording everything they could with the cameras. They had moved the spaceship at night so that it was hidden in the depths of the forest, for they did not wish to be discovered until they were ready.

And all the while the news from home grew worse. Though their remoteness here at the edge of the Universe deadened its impact, it lay heavily on their minds and sometimes overwhelmed them with a sense of futility. At any moment, they knew, the signal for recall might come as the Empire summoned up its last resources in its extremity. But until then they would continue their work as though pure knowledge were the only thing that mattered.

Seven days after landing, they were ready to make the experiment. They knew now what paths the villagers used when going hunting, and Bertrond chose one of the less frequented ways. Then he placed a chair firmly in the middle of the path and settled down to read a book.

It was not, of course, quite as simple as that: Bertrond had taken all imaginable precautions. Hidden in the undergrowth fifty yards away, the robot was watching through its telescopic lenses, and in its hand it held a small but deadly weapon. Controlling it from the spaceship, his fingers poised over the keyboard, Clindar waited to do what might be necessary.

That was the negative side of the plan: the positive side was more obvious. Lying at Bertrond’s feet was the carcass of a small, homed animal which he hoped would be an acceptable gift to any hunter passing this way.

Two hours later the radio in his suit harness whispered a warning. Quite calmly, though the blood was pounding in his veins, Bertrond laid aside his book and looked down the trail. The savage was walking forward confidently enough, swinging a spear in his right hand. He paused for a moment when he saw Bertrond, then advanced more cautiously. He could tell that there was nothing to fear, for the stranger was slightly built and obviously unarmed.

When only twenty feet separated them, Bertrond gave a reassuring smile and rose slowly to his feet. He bent down, picked up the carcass, and carried it forward as an offering. The gesture would have been understood by any creature on any world, and it was understood here. The savage reached forward, took the animal, and threw it effortlessly over his shoulder. For an instant he stared into Bertrond’s eyes with a fathomless expression; then he turned and walked back towards the village. Three times he glanced round to see if Bertrond was following, and each time Bertrond smiled and waved reassurance. The whole episode lasted little more than a minute. As the first contact between two races it was completely without drama, though not without dignity.

Bertrond did not move until the other had vanished from sight. Then he relaxed and spoke into his suit microphone.

“That was a pretty good beginning,” he said jubilantly. “He wasn’t in the least frightened, or even suspicious. I think he’ll be back.”

“It still seems too good to be true,” said Altman’s voice in his ear. “I should have thought he’d have been either scared or hostile. Would you have accepted a lavish gift from a peculiar stranger with such little fuss?”

Bertrond was slowly walking back to the ship. The robot had now come out of cover and was keeping guard a few paces behind him.

“I wouldn’t,” he replied, “but I belong to a civilized community. Complete savages may react to strangers in many different ways, according to their past experience. Suppose this tribe has never had any enemies. That’s quite possible on a large but sparsely populated planet. Then we may expect curiosity, but no fear at all.”

“If these people have no enemies,” put in Clindar, no longer fully occupied in controlling the robot, “why have they got a stockade round the village?”

“I meant no human enemies,” replied Bertrond. “If that’s true, it simplifies our task immensely.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“Of course. If he’s as human as I think, curiosity and greed will make him return. In a couple of days we’ll be bosom friends.”

Looked at dispassionately, it became a fantastic routine. Every morning the robot would go hunting under Clindar’s direction, until it was now the deadliest killer in the jungle. Then Bertrond would wait until Yaan—which was the nearest they could get to his name—came striding confidently along the path. He came at the same time every day, and he always came alone. They wondered about this: did he wish to keep his great discovery to himself and thus get all the credit for his hunting prowess? If so, it showed unexpected foresight and cunning.

At first Yaan had departed at once with his prize, as if afraid that the donor of such a generous gift might change his mind. Soon, however, as Bertrond had hoped, he could be induced to stay for a while by simple conjuring tricks and a display of brightly coloured fabrics and crystals, in which he took a childlike delight. At last Bertrond was able to engage him in lengthy conversations, all of which were recorded as well as being filmed through the eyes of the hidden robot.

One day the philologists might be able to analyse this material; the best that Bertrond could do was to discover the meanings of a few simple verbs and nouns. This was made more difficult by the fact that Yaan not only used different words for the same thing, but sometimes the same word for different things.