Clifford Simak - The Werewolf Principle

'I simply live with it, said Blake. 'That's the only way I can get along.

'It's the only sensible approach, Daniels agreed. 'You have a good day fishing and I'll see you tomorrow. Seems to me there are some trout streams out in your locality. Hunt up one of them.

'Thank you, doctor.

The phone clicked off and the screen went blank. Blake swung around.

'As soon as you've finished breakfast, said the House, 'we'll have the floater waiting on the patio. You'll find fishing tackle in the back bedroom, which is used as a sort of store house, and Kitchen will fix you up a lunch. In the meantime I'll look up a good trout stream and have directions for you and…

'Cut out that yammering! howled the Kitchen. 'Breakfast is getting cold.

The water foamed through the jam of fallen trees and brush that in some earlier springtime flood had been caught between the clump of birch and the high cut bank that marked a sharp curve in the stream — foamed through the barrier and then smoothed out in a quiet, dark pool.

Carefully Blake guided the chairlike floater to the ground at one end of the barrier, close to the clump of birch, snapped off the gravity field as it came to rest. For a moment he sat in the chair unmoving, listening to the churning of the water, charmed by the deep quietness of the pool. Ahead of him the mountain range lifted in the sky.

Finally he got out of the floater and from its back unstrapped the hamper of lunch to get at his fishing tackle. He set the hamper to one side on the grassy bank from which the clump of birches grew.

Something scrabbled in the dam of twisted tree trunks that lay across the stream. At the sound, Blake spun about. A pair of beady eyes stared at him from beneath a log.

A mink, he thought. Or perhaps an otter. Peering out at him from its den inside the log jam.

'Hello, there, said Blake. 'Do you mind if I try my luck.

'Hello, there, said the otter-mink, in a high and piping voice. 'What is this luck that you wish to try? Please elucidate.

'What was that you… Blake's voice ran down to a stop. The otter-mink emerged from beneath the log. It was neither an otter nor a mink. It was a bipedal being — like something that had stepped from the pages of a children's book. A hairy rodent snout was topped by a high domed skull from which flared a pair of pointed ears with tassels on the tips of them. It stood two feet high or so and its body was covered with a smooth, brown coat of fur. It wore a pair of bright red trousers that were mostly pockets and its hands were equipped with long and slender fingers.

Its snout twitched. 'Would you, perhaps, it asked in its squeaking voice, 'have food inside that basket?

'Why, yes, said Blake. 'I take it you are hungry.

It was absurd, of course. In just a little while — in another minute, if not less — this illustration from a children's book would simply go away and he could get on with his fishing.

'I'm starving, said the illustration. 'The people who usually set out food for me have gone on a vacation. I've been scrounging ever since. Have you, perhaps, sometime in your life, tried scrounging for your food?

'I don't think, said Blake, 'that I ever have.

It did not disappear. It kept on staying and it kept on talking and there was no getting rid of it.

Good God, thought Blake, here I go again!

'If you are hungry, he said, 'we should get at the hamper. Is there anything, especially, that you like to eat?

'I eat, said the creature, 'anything, that Homo sapiens can. I am not fussy in the least. My metabolism seems to match most admirably with the denizens of Earth.

Together they walked over to the hamper and Blake lifted off the cover.

'You seem unconcerned, said the creature, 'by my appearance from the log jam.

'It's no concern of mine, said Blake, trying to think fast, but unable to prod his mind out of its jog. 'We have sandwiches here and some cake and a bowl of. I believe — yes, a bowl of potato salad, and some devilled eggs.

'If you don't mind, I will take a couple of those sandwiches.

'Go right ahead, invited Blake.

'You do not intend to join me?

'I had breakfast just a while ago.

The creature sat down with a sandwich in each hand and began eating ravenously.

'You must pardon my poor table manners, it said to Blake, 'but I have not had any decent food for almost two weeks. I suppose that I expect too much. These people that take care of me set out real food for me. Not like a lot of people do — just a bowl of milk.

Crumbs clung to its trembling whiskers and it went on eating. It finished the two sandwiches and reached out a hand, halted with it poised above the hamper.

'You do not mind? it asked.

'Not at all, said Blake.

It took another sandwich.

'You will pardon me, it asked, 'but how many of you are there?

'How many of me?

'Yes, of you. How many of you are there?

'Why, said Blake, 'there is only one of me. How could there be more?

'It was foolish of me, of course, said the creature, 'but when I first saw you, I could have sworn there were more than one of you.

He began eating the sandwich, but at a somewhat slower rate than he'd employed on the other two.

He finished it and dabbed delicately at his whiskers, knocking off the crumbs.

'I thank you very much, he said.

'You are most welcome, said Blake. 'Are you sure you won't have another one?

'Not a sandwich, perhaps. But if you had some cake to spare.

'Help yourself, said Blake.

The creature helped itself.

'And now, said Blake, 'you've asked me a question. Would you say it might be fair if I asked you one.

'Very fair, indeed, the creature said. 'Go ahead and ask it.

'I have found myself wondering, said Blake, 'exactly who and what you are.

'Why bless you, said the creature, 'I thought that you would know. It never occurred to me that you wouldn't recognize me.

Blake shook his head. 'I'm sorry, but I don't.

'I am a Brownie, said the creature, bowing. 'At your service, sir.

Dr. Michael Daniels was waiting at his desk when Blake was ushered into his office.

'How are you feeling this morning? Daniels asked.

Blake grinned bleakly. 'Not too badly, after the going over you gave me yesterday. Were there any tests that you left out?

'We sort of threw the book at you, Daniels admitted. 'There's still a test or two, if…

'No, thank you.

Daniels gestured at a chair. 'Make yourself comfortable. We have some things to talk about.

Blake took the indicated chair. Daniels pulled a fat folder in front of him and opened it.

'I would assume, said Blake, 'that you have been doing some checking on what might have happened out in space — what happened to me, I mean. Any luck at all?

Daniels shook his head. 'None. We've gone over the passenger and crew lists of all missing ships. That is, Space Administration has. They're as interested in this as I am, perhaps even more so.

'Passenger lists wouldn't tell you much, said Blake. 'I'd be just a name and we don't know…

'True, said Daniels, 'but there are also fingerprints and voice prints. And you aren't there.

'Somehow I got out into space…

'Yes, we know you did. Also someone froze you. Someone took the trouble to freeze you. If we could find out why someone did that, we'd know a lot more than we do. But, of course, when a ship is lost, the records are lost.

'I've been doing some thinking myself, said Blake. 'We have been presuming all the time that I was frozen so that my life would be spared. Which means it was done before whatever happened to the ship had come about. How could anyone know what was going to happen? Oh, I suppose there would be situations where they would. Have you ever thought that I was frozen and thrown off the ship because they didn't want me aboard, because I'd done something or they were afraid of me or something of the sort?