Harlan Ellison - Blind Lightning

So he stole a cat litter and hid himself for weeks—until the gigantic storms abated. The high body heat- of the creature dictated that it must have a great deal of food to keep it alive when the temperature went down. When a cat litter wasn’t available, the logical alternative was to kill and eat an alien ecologist .

This was no stupid being, Kettridge reminded himself.

Its religion was a sound combination of animal wisdom and native observation. The lightning killed. Don’t go abroad in the storms. The storms brought cold. Get food and stay alive.

It was indeed strange how a terrifying situation could bring a man to a realization of himself.

Here is a chance , he thought. The words came unbidden.

Just four words. Here is a chance . An opportunity not only to survive—something he had long since stopped doing consciously—but a chance to redeem himself, if only in his own mind. Before him was an aborigine, a member of a dying race, a cowering creature of the caves. Before him was a creature afraid to walk in the storms for fear of the lightning, shackled by a primitive religion and doomed never to see the sky.

In that split moment Ben Kettridge devised a plan to save Lad-nar’s soul.

There are times when men sum up their lives, take accounting, and find themselves wanting. Lad-nar suddenly became a symbol of all the people who had been lost in the Mass Death.

In the mind of an old and tired man, many things are possible.

I must get out of here ! Ben Kettridge told himself, over and over. But more than that, he knew that he must save the poor hulk before him. And in saving the creature he would save himself. Lad-nar had no idea what a star was. Well, Ben Kettridge would tell him. Here was a chance!

Kettridge moved up flat against the wall, his back straining with his effort to sink into the stone. Watching the Blestonian come to wakefulness was an ordeal of pure horror.

The huge body tossed and heaved as it rose. It sat erect from the thin, pinched waist and raised the massive wedge-shaped chest, the hideous head, the powerful neck and arms. A thin trickle of moisture dripped from a corner of its fanged mouth. It sat up and thought: Lad-nar hungers .

“Oh, God in Heaven, please let me have time! Please allow me this one little thing!”

Kettridge found himself with his hands clasped on his chest, his face raised to the roof of the cave. For the first time in his life he felt tears of appeal on his cheeks.

Thought :You speak to the Lord of the Heaven . Lad-nar seemed awed. He watched, his huge, brilliant eyes suddenly grown wide.

Kettridge thought at the beast: Lad-nar! I come from the Lord of Heaven, I can show you how to walk in the storms! I can show you how to —

The creature’s roar deafened Kettridge. Accompanying it came a mental scream! Kettridge felt himself lifted off the floor by the force of the blow to his mind and hurled violently back against the rocks.

The aborigine leaped to his feet, threw his taloned hands upward, and bellowed in rage.

Thought: You speak that which is Forbidden! You say that which is Untrue. No human walks when the Essence-Stealer speaks in the night. You are a fearful thing! Lad-nar is afraid !

“Heresy, I’ve spoken heresy!” Kettridge wanted to rip off the metal-plastic hood and tear his tongue from his mouth.

Thought: Yes, you have spoken that which is Unclean and Untrue !

Kettridge cowered in fear. The creature was truly enraged now. How could it be afraid when it stood there so powerful and so massive?

Thought: Yes, Lad-nar is afraid! Afraid !

Then the waves of fear hit Kettridge. He felt his head begin to throb. The tender fiber of his mind was being twisted and seared and buffeted. Burned and scarred forever with Lad-nar’s terrible all-consuming fear.

Stop, stop, Lad-nar! I speak the truth! I will show you how to walk in the storm as I do.

He spoke then—softly, persuasively, trying to convince a being that had never known any god but a deity that howled and slashed in streamers of electricity. He spoke of himself, and of his powers. He spoke of them as though he truly believed in them. He built himself a glory on two levels.

Slowly Lad-nar became calmer, and the waves of fear diminished to ripples. The awe and trembling remained, but there was a sliver of belief in the creature’s mind now.

Kettridge knew he must work on that.

“I come from the Heaven-Home, Lad-nar. I speak as a messenger from the sky. I am stronger than the puny Essence-Stealer you fear!” As if to punctuate his words, a flash of lightning struck just outside the cave, filling the hollow with fury and light.

Kettridge continued, speaking faster and faster, “I can walk abroad in the storm, and the Essence-Stealer will not harm me. Let me go out, and I will show you, Lad-nar.”

He was playing a dangerous hand; at any moment the creature might leap. It might dare to venture upon a leap, hoping that Kettridge was speaking falsely and preferring not to incur the wrath of a god he knew to be dangerous.

Thought: Stop !

“Why, Lad-nar? I can show you how to walk in the night, when the Essence-Stealer screams. I can show you how to scream back at him and to laugh at him too.”

Kettridge reminded himself that the creature was indeed clever. Not only did it fear the wrath of the Lord of the Heaven and his screaming death. It knew that if it let the man go, it would have nothing to eat during the coming cold days.

“Let me go, Lad-nar. I will bring you back a cat litter for your feasting. I will show you that I can walk in the night, and I will bring you food. I will bring back a cat litter, Lad-nar!”

Thought: If you are what you say, why do you speak to the Lord of the Heaven ?

Kettridge bit his lip. He kept forgetting…

“Because I want the Lord of the Heaven to know that I am as great as he,” he said. “I want him to know I am not afraid of him and that my prayers to him are only to convince him that I am as great as he.” It was gibberish, but he hoped that if he kept talking the creature would shuck off the thoughts rather than try to fathom them.

The Earthman knew he had one factor in his favor: Lad-nar had never before heard anyone speak against his own god and to do so with impunity immeasurably strengthened Kettridge’s hand.

Kettridge hit Lad-nar with the appeal again, before the creature had time to wonder.

“I’ll get you a cat litter, Lad-nar. Let me go! Let me show you! Let me show you that you can walk in the storms as I do!”

Thought: You will go away .

There was a petulance, a little child sound, to the objection, and Kettridge knew the first step had been achieved.

“No, Lad-nar. Here is a rope.” He drew a thin cord of tough metal-plastic from his utility belt. His hand brushed against his service revolver, and he laughed deep in his mind once more as he thought of how useless it had become.

He would not have used the gun in any case. Only by his wits could he hope to win through to victory. There was more at stake now than mere self-preservation.

“Here is a rope,” he repeated, extending the coiled cord. “I will tie it about myself. See—like this. You take the other end. If you hold it tightly I can’t escape. It is long enough to enable me to go out and seek a cat litter, and to convince you that I can walk abroad.”

At first Lad-nar refused, eyeing the glistening, silvery cord with fear in his heavily lidded eyes. But Kettridge spoke on two levels, and soon the creature touched the cord.

It drew back its seven-taloned hand quickly. It tried again.

The third tune it grasped the cord.